Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [141]
To say that we were watchful and wary is to understate the case. Fatima went through both houses several times a day brandishing a broom, on the lookout for venomous creatures. Kadija and two of her daughters took up permanent residence, sitting with Selim and keeping the children under close surveillance. I refused to allow Emerson to go alone to the dig, which provoked him into furious protests—though he insisted I follow the same precaution. The inevitable result was that everyone became twitchy and irritable, especially the children.
We got on with packing the artifacts. As Emerson continued to point out, with increasing acrimony and inventive swear words, Lacau would damn well have to sit and wait until we finished the job, but I had reasons of my own for wanting it completed before he got there. One of them—I feel no shame in admitting it—was that I had no intention of mentioning the stolen jewelry, or of allowing the others to do so. Lacau was unlikely to demand that the carefully packed cases be opened. He would have his lists and his inventory, and would doubtless go over them painstakingly when he unpacked the cases in the Museum. If at that time he realized several pieces were missing . . . sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, as Scripture so wisely reminds us. We would confess if we had to, but not until we had to—and there was still a chance, however unlikely, that we might yet find the thief and murderer. In fact, as Emerson would have expressed it, we had bloody well better find him, before he decided to strike again.
At least the packing process kept us occupied. Everyone pitched in with a will, including Maryam. She had a delicate touch, and demonstrated a genuine interest in the precious things.
“You can help me with this, if you will,” I said, indicating a painted chest. “I really do not know what we are going to do about packing materials. I have used up all the fabric and most of the cotton wool, and even so I fear the garments in this chest will shatter when it is moved.”
“What does the writing say?”
“It is a list of the contents—gloves, sandals, two robes, and a few other articles. Ramses has already copied and translated it. He reads hieratic as easily as he does English.”
“I would like to learn more, so that I can help with your work. Perhaps he would give me a lesson?”
“If you are truly interested, we can arrange for you to study the subject.” I added, with a laugh, “Though it will take more than a few lessons. You have already been very useful, Maryam. I have been meaning to thank you for your help with the children.”
“I want to be useful. And I love being with the children.” The next words were so soft I had to strain to hear them. “I am very happy here. I will be sorry to go.”
“That won’t be for a while. We must have you here for Christmas, at least.”
“And afterward? I know it is a great deal to ask. But . . . could I stay with you for a while? You have all been so good to me, and I think I could be useful—with the children, even on the dig, if you will teach me.”
It was not only that she was happy with us; she was still uncomfortable with him. I had wondered what on earth he meant to do with her. He traveled a great deal, and so did Margaret. They had no permanent establishment where she could receive the attention she needed. And how in heaven’s name would Margaret respond to the role of stepmother? Not well, if I knew Margaret.
“I will discuss it with your father,” I promised, though I felt like an overburdened donkey who has just had another sack of grain added to his load. “Perhaps something can be worked out.”
FROM MANUSCRIPT H
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Ramses was sitting with Selim reading from the motorcar