The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [52]
Since the inebriated individuals had also invaded the house of Mrs. Petrie that same morning and behaved rudely to her, there was no doubt that they had been in the wrong—but for a “native” to strike a foreigner, even in self-defense, was a greater wrong in the eyes of the pompous officials who controlled the Egyptian government. The French demanded an official apology. Howard refused to give it. Maspero transferred him to a remote site in the Delta, and after several months of brooding Howard resigned. Since then he had been scraping a dubious living by selling his paintings and acting as a guide to distinguished tourists. He had no private means, and the career which had been so promising was now cut short.
It was Emerson who broke the silence, with the sort of comment he had promised me he would not make. The previous year he had had a major falling-out with Mr. Davis—as opposed to his minor fallings-out with other people. He had sworn he would not disturb the felicity of the day by cursing Davis, but I might have known he would be unable to resist.
“You’re well out of it, Carter,” he growled. “Quibell couldn’t stick working with Davis, that’s why he got himself transferred back north, and after Weigall took over the inspectorate he persuaded Davis to hire Ayrton because he couldn’t stand the old idiot either.”
Emerson’s fulminations had a better effect than my attempts at tact. They broke the ice as emphatically as a boulder crashing onto a frozen stream. Everybody relaxed, and even Howard grinned sympathetically at Ned Ayrton. Nevertheless, I felt obliged to utter a gentle remonstrance.
“Really, Emerson, you are the most tactless man alive. I had hoped that on this day of all times we might avoid topics that lead to cursing and controversy.”
Cyrus chuckled. “That would be doggone dull, Amelia dear.”
Nefret went to sit on the arm of Emerson’s chair. “Quite right. The Professor only said what we were all thinking, Aunt Amelia. Allow us the pleasure of a little malicious gossip.”
“I never gossip,” said Emerson loftily. “I am only stating facts. Where are you planning to work this season, Ayrton?”
This sounded to Ned like a relatively innocent question, and he was quick to answer. “The area south of the tomb of Ramses IX was what I had in mind, sir. The heaped-up rubble doesn’t appear to have been disturbed since . . .”
After a while Cyrus drew up a chair and joined in, so I went to sit beside Katherine, who had been listening with considerable amusement.
“Poor Cyrus,” she said. “It is no wonder he resents Mr. Davis, after all those unproductive years he spent digging in the Valley.”
“He might not be so resentful if Davis didn’t swagger and gloat whenever they chance to meet. It really isn’t fair. Cyrus was at his dig every day, supervising and assisting; Davis only turns up after his archaeologist has found something interesting.”
A burst of laughter drew our attention back to the group. Ramses must have said something particularly rude (or possibly witty), for they had all turned to him, and Nefret went to sit beside her brother on the ledge. The rays of the setting sun gilded her luxuriant golden-red hair and flushed, laughing face. Katherine drew in her breath.
“She is frighteningly beautiful, isn’t she? I know, Amelia, I know—beauty is only skin-deep, and vanity is a sin, and nobility of character is more important than appearance—but most women would sell their souls to look like that. I had better go and remind Cyrus that he is a happily married man. Only see how he is staring.”
“They are all staring,” I said, with a smile. “But Nefret is completely without vanity, thank heaven, and it is the qualities within that render her beautiful. Without them she would be only a pretty little doll. She is in tearing high spirits today.”
“There is certainly a glow about her,” Katherine said thoughtfully. “The sort of glow one sees on the face of a girl who is in the company of an