The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [177]
“Wreck” was Emerson’s word, and so was “important.” He does tend to exaggerate when he is in a temper. How important the discovery might be was questionable as yet, but it certainly had its points of interest, and I had to agree that the clearance of the tomb might have been handled better.
When we returned to the Valley on the Thursday, we found Ned Ayrton removing the fill from the entrance corridor. The black scowl on Emerson’s face as he stood, hands on hips, surveying the activity, would have thrown anyone into a panic. Ned began to stutter.
“Sir—Mrs. Emerson—good morning, everyone, I am pleased to see you. We could use Abdullah now, couldn’t we? But the panels will be all right, you’ll see; I am inserting props as I remove the rubble from under them, and I am being very careful, and I—uh—”
“Quite,” said Emerson, in a voice like the rumble of thunder. He looked down at the streaked dust on the stairs. “Water. It rained yesterday. Quite hard.”
“No damage done,” Ned said. His voice cracked, but he squared his shoulders and spoke up bravely. “Really. M. Maspero was here yesterday, and he—”
“Was he?” Emerson said.
Ramses took pity on his unhappy young friend. “Father, the men will have arrived by now; don’t you want to make certain the ceiling in the far corner is properly braced before they begin? Selim hasn’t Abdullah’s experience.”
Duty, and concern for the safety of his men, always took precedence with Emerson. He allowed himself to be pulled away by David and Nefret.
With his father’s permission Ramses spent most of that day and the next with Ned, though I cannot imagine he was able to do much to assist. His reports were not encouraging. I would not have encouraged him to prevaricate, of course, but I did wish he could equivocate just a little.
“There was some water in the tomb, even before the recent storm,” he said. “Condensation or rain, through that long crack in the ceiling. Nothing has been done to stabilize the gold foil on the panels. To be fair, one would not know what to use. It is so fragile, and most of it is already loose, just lying on the surface; even a breath disturbs it.”
Emerson put his head in his hands.
“Paraffin wax,” I suggested. “I have often used it successfully.”
“Ned thought of it, naturally. But it would have to be applied with great care, almost drop by drop, and that would take a long time.”
I looked anxiously at Emerson, whose face was hidden, but from whom issued strange groaning noises. “Well, never mind,” I said heartily. “It is time we got cleaned up. Katherine and Cyrus are coming for dinner.”
I had invited the Masperos, but Madame had pleaded a previous engagement. It was just as well, considering Emerson’s state of mind, and the fact that we had a number of loose ends to tie up—matters we could only discuss with our oldest friends.
The school was Katherine’s main interest, and for a while she would talk of nothing else. The owner of the building turned out to be our old friend Mohassib, who had been more than happy to hand over the lease to Katherine.
Cyrus was not so happy about having her acquire it. “Why don’t we just build a new house? That one’s got some pretty nasty memories connected with it.”
“Pure superstition, my dear,” Katherine said comfortably. “That woman is dead and her assistant has disappeared. She won’t dare show her face in Luxor again. The students can’t be left high and dry. None of them knew anything.”
“Except for some of the women from the House of—from that house,” I said. “The authorities have assured me it will be closed.”
“For a time, perhaps,” my tactless son said cynically. “Places like that have a way of surviving, in one form or another.”
“Not if I can help it,” Nefret said fiercely. “Mrs. Vandergelt and I are going to find decent positions for those girls, as housemaids and servants, until they can be trained for better things.”
Cyrus’s jaw dropped. “Housemaids? Where? Katherine, did you—”
“Now, Cyrus, don’t fuss. The household staff is my responsibility, you know.”
I beckoned