The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [121]
Too moved to speak, David bowed his head and carried her hand to his lips.
Emerson had begun to fidget. He does not enjoy excessive displays of sentimentality—public displays, that is. “You two look like ghosts. Go to bed. We will talk again tomorrow, when you are rested. Say good night, boys, and let’s be going.”
“Going?” I exclaimed. “Where, at this hour?”
“To the Valley, of course. Davis will be wrecking the tomb first thing in the morning, and I mean to get there before him.”
“Emerson, you can’t do that! ”
“Can’t give him the benefit of my advice, and attempt in my most tactful fashion to persuade him to adhere to the basic principles of scientific excavation? What is wrong with that?”
“It is Mr. Davis’s tomb, my dear, not yours. You should—”
“The tomb,” said Emerson in the sonorous tones he employed when he was making a speech, “does not belong to Davis, Amelia. It belongs to the Egyptian people, and to the world.”
He looked so self-righteous I would have laughed if I had not been so filled with horrified apprehension. Walter did laugh. He laughed so hard he had to wipe his eyes, and if there was a slight touch of hysteria in his mirth I could hardly blame him. “Never mind, Amelia dear,” he gasped. “Radcliffe told us all about it on the way here. You cannot prevent him; I cannot prevent him; the entire heavenly host could not prevent him. Radcliffe, dear old chap, it is good to be back!”
Emerson flatly refused to take me with him; I was needed at the house, he explained, to make certain everything was safe and in order. I would not have minded so much if he had not yielded to Nefret’s demands.
“Hmm, yes, you may be useful. You can get round Davis better than most people. Don’t forget the camera.”
Filled with the direst of apprehensions, I took Ramses aside. “Don’t let him strike anyone, Ramses. Especially Mr. Weigall. Or Mr. Davis. Or—”
“I will do my best, Mother.”
“And take care of Nefret. Don’t let her—”
“Wander off on her own? No fear of that.” A glint of what might have been amusement shone in his dark eyes. “She’ll be too busy flirting with Mr. Davis.”
“Oh dear,” I murmured.
“It will be all right, Mother. How can an adversary lie in wait for us when even we don’t know what the devil Father is going to do next?”
I saw them off and returned to my duties. Fatima had supplied the guest chamber with everything a visitor might need, including rose petals in the wash water; but when I went to Nefret’s room to see how Lia was doing, I found her mother lying on the pallet by the bed. Both were asleep. Wiping a tear from my eye, I went to listen at Walter’s door and deduced, from the sound of snoring, that he too had succumbed. Sir Edward’s door was ajar and lamplight showed within; he had not joined in the joyous reunion, but he was obviously awake and alert.
I sent Fatima to bed and lay down, thinking to snatch a few hours’ repose. Repose I did, but sleep was impossible with so many impressions and questions crowding into my head. Sir Edward’s solemn warning—to be honest, it was a theory that had not occurred to me, but knowing Nefret as I did I feared he might be right. Then there was Lia’s outrageous behavior to be considered. Her dear parents’ haggard looks had made me angry with her all over again. How thoughtless and self-centered the young can be! I did not doubt her affection for us, but she owed her parents a greater affection, and I knew she had been moved in part by a selfish desire to get her own way.
Foremost in my thoughts, as always, was Emerson. Was I concerned for his safety? Well, not really. With all four of them together, on the alert and on horseback, it would have required an attack in force to overcome them—especially since, as Ramses had pointed out, no one could possibly have expected them to be abroad at that hour. I was more concerned about Emerson’s formidable temper. He was already at odds with the entire Department of Antiquities,