The Curse of the Pharaohs - Elizabeth Peters [31]
“She wishes you—and Mrs. Emerson, of course—to dine with her this evening at the hotel.”
“Splendid, splendid,” Emerson exclaimed vivaciously. “How I look forward to the meeting!”
Needless to say, I was quite amused at Emerson’s transparent attempt to annoy me by professing admiration for Lady Baskerville. I said calmly, “If we are dining at the hotel you had better unpack, Emerson; your evening clothes will be sadly wrinkled. You, Mr. Milverton, must go back to bed at once. I will visit you shortly to make sure you have everything you need. First I will inspect the kitchen and speak to the cook. Karl, you had better introduce me to the domestic staff. Have you had difficulty in keeping servants?”
Taking Karl firmly by the arm, I left the room before Emerson could think of a reply.
The kitchen was in a separate building behind the main house, a most sensible arrangement in a hot climate. As we approached, a variety of delicious aromas told me that luncheon was being prepared. Karl explained that most of the house servants were still at their jobs. Apparently they felt there was no danger in serving the foreigners so long as they did not actively participate in the desecration of the tomb.
I was pleased to recognize an old acquaintance in Ahmed the chef, who had once been employed at Shepheard’s. He seemed equally happy to see me. After we had exchanged compliments and inquiries concerning the health of our families I took my leave, happy to find that in this area at least I would not have to exercise constant supervision.
I found Emerson in our room going through his books and papers. The suitcases containing his clothes had not been opened. The young servant whose task it was to unpack them squatted on the floor, talking animatedly with Emerson.
“Mohammed has been telling me the news,” Emerson said cheerfully. “He is the son of Ahmed the chef—you remember—”
“Yes, I have just spoken to Ahmed. Luncheon will be ready shortly.” As I spoke I extracted the keys from Emerson’s pocket; he continued to sort his papers. I handed the keys to Mohammed, a slender stripling with the luminous eyes and delicate beauty these lads often exhibit; with my assistance he soon completed his task and departed. I observed with pleasure that he had filled the water jar and laid out towels.
“Alone at last,” I said humorously, unbuttoning my dress. “How refreshing that water looks! I am sadly in need of a wash and change, after last night.”
I hung my dress in the wardrobe and was about to turn when Emerson’s arms came round my waist and pressed me close.
“Last night was certainly unsatisfactory,” he murmured (or at least he thought he was murmuring; Emerson’s best attempt at this sound is a growling roar, exceedingly painful to the ear). “What with the hardness of the bunks and their extreme narrowness, and the motion of the ship—”
“Now, Emerson, there is no time for that now,” I said, attempting to free myself. “We have a great deal to do. Have you made arrangements for our men?”
“Yes, yes, it is all taken care of. Peabody, have I ever told you how much I admire the shape of your—”
“You have.” I removed his hand from the area in question, though I confess it required some willpower for me to do so. “There is no time for that now. I would like to walk across to the Valley this afternoon and have a look at the tomb.”
It is no insult to me to admit that the prospect of archaeological investigation is the one thing that can distract Emerson from what he was doing at that moment.
“Hmmm, yes,” he said thoughtfully. “It will be hot as the hinges of Hades, you know.”
“All the better; the Cook’s people will have gone and we will enjoy a little peace and quiet. We must leave immediately after luncheon if we are to dine with Lady Baskerville this evening.”
So it was agreed, and for the first time in many years we assumed our working attire. A thrill permeated my being to its very depths when I beheld my dear Emerson in the garments in which he had first won my heart. (I speak figuratively, of course; those original garments