Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [124]
“He says he is being excessively generous,” Emerson reported, after reading the enclosed letter. “By rights the Museum ought to keep everything. Except for Tetisheri, this is the only royal burial that has been found, and the Museum has few pieces from this period.”
“It’s a reburial, though,” Bertie said. “Doesn’t that change the terms?”
“Lacau defines the terms. He requests that we begin packing the objects. He is sending a government steamer for them.”
“Why not ship them by train?” Bertie asked.
“Too rough a ride,” Ramses replied. “They will be jostled less in the hold of a boat. When will the steamer arrive?”
“He doesn’t say.”
“Let him send his damned steamer,” said Emerson through his teeth. “He can sit here twiddling his thumbs until we have finished the job, which we will do at our leisure.”
“No.” Cyrus rose slowly to his feet. “What’s the use? May as well get it over with, the sooner the better. I can count on your help, I know, Amelia.”
“I commend your fortitude, Cyrus,” she said. “We will all help, of course.”
Emerson’s black brows drew together. “Now see here, Peabody!”
“No one expects you to assist in such menial tasks,” she informed him. “It is woman’s work, as usual. At least this will be one thing off our minds. I believe we still have the packing materials we used when we transported the objects to the Castle. I will begin tomorrow morning, with Lia and Evelyn, and Nefret, unless she has a patient.”
“You’ve got it all worked out,” David said with a smile, while Emerson mumbled discontentedly. “What about me, Aunt Amelia? I’m fairly good at this sort of woman’s work.”
“Yes, my dear, you are. Very well. Sennia too; under supervision, she can handle the less fragile objects. And Maryam, if she is willing.”
“Come back to the Castle with me now, Amelia,” Cyrus begged. “We can make a start, anyhow.”
“I have another appointment this afternoon, Cyrus. There is the little matter of the bones of Martinelli.”
CHAPTER NINE
We have to do something with him,” I pointed out, after Emerson had run out of expletives. “It would be indecent to leave him lying round the police station. I asked Father Benedict to make the arrangements, and to meet us at the cemetery this afternoon. Since Martinelli was Italian, I assume he was of the Roman Catholic faith.”
“I doubt he believed in anything beyond his own gratification,” Sethos murmured.
“He may have repented at the end,” I said firmly. “We must give him the benefit of the doubt. The rest of you need not attend, but I feel obliged to be present.”
“I don’t know how you do it, Aunt Amelia,” Lia said, shaking her curly head. “I admire your energy and goodwill, but I think I will beg off.”
“I suppose I ought to be there,” Cyrus said. “Should have made the arrangements myself.”
The only other volunteer was Sethos. At the last minute Cyrus—guided by a few gentle hints from me—decided he was not obliged to pay his last respects to the man who had robbed him so callously. He had only offered because he did not want me to go alone. “You’ll keep an eye on her,” he said to Sethos. “And don’t let her dash off on some private expedition. She does that.”
“Why else would I go?” Sethos inquired rhetorically.
The small Christian cemetery, on the road to Karnak, was somewhat more seemly than it had been when I attended my last funeral there. Distressed by the neglected graves and the feral animals who made it their home, I had formed a committee. My friend Marjorie, who headed it, had done her best to improve matters; the graves were clear of weeds and the headstones were straight. Not much could be done about the animals. If driven off, they returned as soon as the guards departed. One had to watch out for droppings and gnawed bones. It was a dismal place, despite—or because of—the wilting flowers on the graves of those who had friends or kin in Luxor. Flowers did not last long in the heat. The shade of my parasol was welcome. It was black—not for mourning, but for practicality. The parasol was one of the heavier