The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [34]
Ramses, sprawled on the settee in a position as languorous as Emerson’s had been before I stirred him up, started and straightened. “I beg your pardon, Mother?”
“How lazy you are this morning,” I said disapprovingly. “And Nefret looks as if she had not slept either. Was it one of your bad dreams that kept you awake, my dear girl?”
“No, Aunt Amelia.” She covered her mouth with her hand to hide a yawn. “I was up late. Studying.”
“Very commendable. But you need your sleep, and I would like to see you take a little more trouble over your morning toilette. You ought to have put your hair up, the wind is blowing it all over your face. Ramses, finish doing up your shirt buttons. David at least is . . . What is that mark on your neck, David? Did you cut yourself?”
He had buttoned his shirt as high as it would go, but eyes as keen as mine cannot be deceived. His hand went to his throat.
“The razor slipped, Aunt Amelia.”
“Now that is just what I mean. Lack of sleep makes one clumsy and careless. Those straight razors are dangerous implements, and you—”
The engines of a passing tourist steamer made me break off, for it was impossible for me to make myself heard over the racket. Emerson managed to make himself heard, however.
“Damnation! The sooner we leave this cacophonous chaos, the better! I am going to speak with Reis Hassan.”
Hassan informed him we could not possibly get off before the Thursday, two days hence, and Emerson had to be content with that. He was still muttering profanely when we started for the museum, where he proposed to spend the morning examining the most recent exhibits.
His refusal to call on Maspero suited me quite well, in fact, since an encounter between them was sure to make matters worse. I decided to take Nefret with me. She and M. Maspero were on excellent terms. French gentlemen are usually on excellent terms with pretty young women.
We left Emerson and the boys in the Salle d’Honneur and proceeded to the administrative offices on the north side of the building. Maspero was expecting us. He kissed our hands and paid us his usual extravagant compliments—which were, honesty compels me to admit, not undeserved. Nefret looked quite the lady in her spotless white gloves and beribboned hat; her elegant frock of green muslin set off her slim figure and golden-red hair. My own frock was a new one and I had put aside my heavy working parasol for one that matched the dress. Like all my parasols it had a stout steel shaft and a rather sharp point, but ruffles and lace concealed its utility.
After a servant had served tea, I began by making Emerson’s apologies. “We are to leave Cairo in two days, Monsieur, and he has a great deal of work to do. He asked me to present his compliments.”
Maspero was too intelligent to believe this and too suave to say so. “You will, I hope, present my compliments to the Professor.”
Frenchmen are almost as fond as Arabs of prolonged and formal courtesies. It took me a while to get to the reason for my visit. I had not counted on a positive answer, so I was not surprised—though I was disappointed—when Maspero’s face lost its smile.
“Alas, chère Madame, I would do anything in my power to please you, but you must see that it is impossible for me to give the Professor permission to carry out new excavations in the Valley of the Kings. Mr. Theodore Davis has the concession and I cannot arbitrarily take it from him, particularly when he has had such remarkable luck in finding new tombs. Have you seen the display of the materials he discovered last year in the tomb of the parents of Queen Tiyi?”
“Yes,” I said.
“But, Monsieur Maspero, it is such a pity.” Nefret leaned forward. “The Professor is the finest excavator in Egypt. He is wasting his talents on those boring little tombs.”
Maspero gazed admiringly at her wide blue eyes and prettily flushed cheeks—but he shook his head. “Mademoiselle, no one regrets this more than I. No one respects the abilities of M. Emerson more than I. It is entirely his decision. There are hundreds of other sites in