Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [129]
“Three things,” Daoud said happily.
“Can you remember them?”
“Oh, yes.” Daoud was a trifle slow, but there was nothing wrong with his wits, or his memory, and he was delighted to be the bearer of important information. He ticked the points off on his fingers. “The lady Minton is asking about antiquities thieves. A letter is coming. Mr. Bertie has a new interest, Jumana. Who is she?”
“Yusuf’s daughter. You will meet her this afternoon; she is a very intelligent young woman and we hope to train her as an Egyptologist. I know the Sitt Hakim will want to hear your opinion of the girl.”
“Ah,” Daoud said thoughtfully. “A girl. Hmmm.”
Nefret waited for the idea to penetrate. Glancing at Ramses, she said impatiently, “Just write a few words. She doesn’t really care what you say, she just wants to hear from you.”
“So,” said Daoud. “A girl.” His pensive face brightened as the obvious answer occurred to him. “It will be as Allah and the Sitt Hakim decide.”
“He’s got that right,” Ramses said, after Daoud had taken an affectionate leave of them. “What a devious woman you are. Daoud will break the news of our intentions to Yusuf, and if poor old Yusuf objects, he will be sat upon by Daoud, who considers Allah and the Sitt Hakim, not necessarily in that order, as infallible.”
Nefret looked demure. “That had occurred to me.”
Cyrus’s carriage came for them at five. They hadn’t expected it to be so early, and Nefret hurried to complete her toilette. She was fastening on her earrings when Ramses came back from the bath chamber. His face fell. He was no more observant about women’s clothing than his father, but he could tell the difference between work clothes and an evening frock.
“I didn’t know we were supposed to dress. They surely won’t force Bertie into a boiled shirt and all the rest.”
“What were you planning to wear?”
“Oh . . .” He looked vaguely around the room. “The usual, I suppose. Clothes.”
“Wear whatever you like,” Nefret said. “It’s just the Vandergelts. They won’t care.”
Cyrus had dressed formally; he was a bit of a dandy and had a wardrobe almost as extensive as that of his wife. Being accustomed to the Emersons’ habits, he made no comment about Ramses’s flannels and the low-heeled, sensible slippers Nefret had substituted for the satin shoes she had intended to wear. They had bundled Bertie up like a mummy and ensconced him in a chair, but he swept the coverings aside and got to his feet when Nefret entered the room. She hastily sat down so that he could do the same.
“So what’s your family up to now?” Cyrus inquired, while servants passed round the tea-things.
“Why do you ask that?” Ramses said. “Did anything happen while you were there?”
“Well, no. Not that I know of. But they were sure in a durned hurry to get us out of Cairo.”
“They were probably afraid you’d try to run off and fight the Senussi,” Nefret said.
Cyrus enjoyed her teasing, but he remained serious. “Well, I wouldn’t mind taking a hand in something. I’m getting kind of bored. Any chance of catching a few tomb robbers?”
Katherine murmured protestingly and Nefret laughed. “I’m sorry, Cyrus. There’ve been a few incidents, but only the sort of thing you might expect, with supervision so lax. Alain Kuentz caught one of the Gurnawis investigating a cliff tomb near Deir el Bahri, but there was nothing in it.”
“Kuentz is in Luxor? Nice young fellow. We’ll have to have him to dinner.” Cyrus tugged thoughtfully at his goatee. “Maybe the man he caught knows about more tombs.”
“Now get that out of your head, Cyrus,” his wife said firmly. “I will not have you chasing after thieves. If you’re bored, hire some men and find your own tombs.”
“Are you planning to excavate in Thebes this winter?” Ramses asked.
“Been thinking about it,” Cyrus admitted. “Question is, where? Carnarvon’s got the concession for the Valley . . .”
They discussed possibilities until dinner was announced and Katherine said, “No more shoptalk this evening, if you please.