Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [55]
There had been a number of them, including Madame Berengeria, who claimed to have been wedded to Emerson in not one but several past lives, and poor confused Miss Murgatroyd, a theosophist and believer in reincarnation. (I should add, in justice to my sex, that the delusion was not limited to females.) If Emerson was correct, the woman need not have been anyone with whom we were previously acquainted.
“Admit it, Peabody, that is the most logical explanation,” Emerson went on. “It is unlikely that she would follow us to Luxor, and Ramses is even more unlikely to fall into a similar trap. I will watch over the boy, as I always do. Why the devil won’t you let me get on with my work?”
“But you do agree that the others are entitled to get on with the work that interests them? Walter is a philologist, not an excavator; Ramses is itching to get at those ostraca. Evelyn and David—”
“Can draw every bloody artifact in Cyrus’s collection, if that is what you want. I don’t know why I bother arguing with you,” Emerson muttered. He began removing his garments and tossing them round the room. “You always win.”
“My dear, with us it is not a question of winning or losing.” I sat down at my dressing table, took the pins from my hair and shook it out. “We are always of one mind, are we not? I am, as you have so often told me, the other half of yourself—the voice of your own conscience and sense of fair play.”
Emerson came up behind me and gathered my loosened hair into his hands. “The better half of myself is what you mean. Well, my love, you may be right. You have not yet won me over completely, but if you care to try another sort of persuasion . . .”
I was more than happy to do so. Emerson’s fits of temper are particularly becoming to him.
I had it all worked out, so when we met for breakfast I explained their duties to the persons concerned. The presence of all four of the children and both of the cats was somewhat distracting, but I persevered. “Cyrus awaits you at the Castle, Evelyn,” I said, returning to Davy the boiled egg he had handed me. “He would like you to begin, I believe, with the ornamentation on the robe. I trust that is agreeable to you? Good. I—that is, we—Emerson and I—offered him David’s services for several hours each afternoon, subject, of course, to David’s approval . . . ? Good. Walter, you will want to have a look at the site, but it would be inadvisable for you to put in a full day until after you have become reacclimated. Is that not so? Yes. If you feel up to it, you may work on the inscribed material after luncheon. Ramses will show you how far he has got, won’t you, my boy? Yes. Lia, dear, the Great Cat of Re only scratches when he is cornered. Evvie appears to have cornered him. Perhaps you had better . . . Thank you.
“I believe,” I continued, as the children’s parents and Fatima pulled them out from under various pieces of furniture and attempted to scrape them off, “that except on special occasions the children might take breakfast by themselves from now on. We are going to be late.”
This was a little hard on Dolly, whose manners were impeccable. However, I felt sure he would prefer to be with the others.
If I may say so, we made a handsome party as we set out on horseback. The animals, progeny of a pair of fine Arabians given to Ramses and David some years back, were splendid beasts. Ramses bestrode his great stallion with easy grace, and Nefret was no less at home in the saddle. Walter kept up better than I had expected; when I commended him he informed me that he had been in the habit of riding each day to prepare himself for the trip.
“But,” he added somewhat wistfully, “the years have taken their toll, Amelia dear. It has been a long time since I had the skill of those two lads.”
I did not contradict him, though, in fact, he had never been up to the standards of the boys. They rode like Arabs, a much more graceful method in my opinion than our stiff English style.
As we went through the narrow opening that led into the valley