Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [133]
It took a while to get Nefret back into the mood that had been interrupted, not once but twice. She was upset about something—he had learned to know the signs—but he couldn’t think what.
THE FANTASIA WAS NOT DUE to begin until evening, but even Emerson glumly conceded that there was no use going to Deir el Medina that morning. Selim and Daoud and the others were determined to put on the most extravagant performance ever given in Gurneh. The whole village had been buzzing, and no one had the least intention of working that day. The motorcar stood in front of the house, shining like jet. Selim had spent all evening scrubbing and polishing it.
After breakfast his mother rallied her troops and took them off to the Castle to begin packing the artifacts. She declined Emerson’s half-hearted offer to join them—“You’ll only stand round grumbling and lecturing”—and Sethos said he had business in Luxor. Cyrus was ready for them; the packing materials they had used before had been taken out of storage and brought to the display room, and a local carpenter was nailing the wooden cases back together. Ramses understood why Cyrus wanted to get the job done. It was pure torment to see the magnificent assemblage and know it was lost to him. In theory Ramses agreed, as did his father, with the idea that Egypt’s treasures belonged in Egypt, but Cyrus’s hangdog looks made him wish Lacau had been a little more generous.
They started with the smaller and less fragile objects—the stone and metal vessels. Even these were wrapped in cotton wool or waste fabric, with layers of straw under, between, and over them. When a packing case was full, Bertie and David nailed it shut. Cyrus trusted no one except themselves in that room. Ramses was assigned to the task of making lists of the contents of each case, with Lia to help.
In some ways the job was easier this time, since they had done it before, but additional precautions were necessary for a more prolonged trip—and, Ramses feared, more careless handling. Cases containing the more breakable objects, of faience and pottery, would be fastened with screws instead of nails.
Maryam hadn’t seen the display before. Awestruck and breathless, she moved from one table to another, her hands tightly clasped behind her back like a child who is afraid she will be tempted to touch. As it would any woman, the jewelry held her longest.
“How can you bear to let it go?” she asked naively, gazing up at Cyrus.
“I haven’t got any choice in the matter, my dear. Take your time; you’ll never see anything like this again.”
“I think it is very unkind of him not to leave you more.”
“I think so too,” Bertie said with a rueful grin. He straightened up and stretched. “Which piece of jewelry do you like the best?”
“Oh, goodness!” Unconsciously she moistened her lips with a pink tongue. She put out her hand, glanced guiltily at Bertie, and pulled it back. He laughed indulgently. “You can touch them, they won’t break. What about these earrings?”
“They’re beautiful, but so big.” Timidly one finger indicated a ring. “This is pretty.”
It was one of the least impressive of the lot, a gold band with a flattened bezel on which the figure of a seated crowned woman had been somewhat clumsily inscribed.
“Try it on,” Bertie said. He took her hand.
“Oh, no, I couldn’t!”
“You have tiny hands and slim fingers. You won’t hurt it.”
Ramses noticed that his mother was watching the pair with an enigmatic smile. She had been critical of Bertie’s “moping” over Jumana—not because she disapproved of the relationship, one-sided as it was, but because she disapproved of moping. Katherine had made no secret of her hope that Bertie’s interest in the Egyptian girl was only a temporary infatuation. Ramses wondered if she would be less prejudiced against