The Curse of the Pharaohs - Elizabeth Peters [7]
He had not changed physically in the years since we were wed. His hair was as thick and black and unruly as ever, his shoulders as broad, his body as straight. When I had first met him, he had worn a beard. He was now clean-shaven, at my request, and this was a considerable concession on his part, for Emerson particularly dislikes the deep cleft, or dimple, in his prominent chin. I myself approve of this little flaw; it is the only whimsical touch in an otherwise forbiddingly rugged physiognomy.
On that day his looks, manners, and speech were as usual. Yet there was something in his eyes…. I had seen the look before; it was more noticeable now. So I said nothing about his muddy feet.
“I entertained Lady Harold this afternoon,” I said in answer to his question. “Hence the dress. Have you had a pleasant day?”
“No.”
“Neither have I.”
“Serves you right,” said my husband. “I told you not to do it. Where the devil is Rose? I want my tea.”
Rose duly appeared, with the tea tray. I meditated, sadly, on the tragedy of Emerson, querulously demanding tea and complaining about the weather, like any ordinary Englishman. As soon as the door had closed behind the parlormaid, Emerson came to me and took me in his arms.
After an interval he held me out at arm’s length and looked at me questioningly. His nose wrinkled.
I was about to explain the smell when he said, in a low, hoarse voice, “You are particularly attractive tonight, Pea-body, in spite of that frightful frock. Don’t you want to change? I will go up with you, and—”
“What is the matter with you?” I demanded, as he… Never mind what he did, it prevented him from speaking and made it rather difficult for me to speak evenly. “I certainly don’t feel attractive, and I smell like moldy bone. Ramses has been excavating in the compost heap again.”
“Mmmm,” said Emerson. “My darling Peabody…”
Peabody is my maiden name. When Emerson and I first met, we did not hit it off. He took to calling me Peabody, as he would have addressed another man, as a sign of annoyance. It had now become a sign of something else, recalling those first wonderful days of our acquaintance when we had bickered and sneered at one another.
Yielding with pleasure to his embraces. I nevertheless felt sad, for I knew why he was so demonstrative. The smell of Ramses’ bone had taken him back to our romantic courtship, in the unsanitary tombs of El Amarna.
I left off feeling sad before long and was about to accede to his request that we adjourn to our room; but we had delayed too long. The evening routine was set and established; we were always given a decent interval alone after Emerson arrived, then Ramses was permitted to come in to greet his papa and take tea with us. On that evening the child was anxious to show off his bone, so perhaps he came early, It certainly seemed too early to me, and even Emerson, his arm still around my waist, greeted the boy with less than his usual enthusiasm.
A pretty domestic scene ensued. Emerson took his son, and the bone, onto his knee, and I seated myself behind the teapot. After dispensing a cup of the genial beverage to my husband and a handful of cakes to my son, I reached for the newspapers, while Emerson and Ramses argued about the bone. It was a femur—Ramses was uncannily accurate about such things—but Emerson claimed that the bone had once belonged to a horse. Ramses differed. Rhinoceroses having been eliminated, he suggested a dragon or a giraffe.
The newspaper story for which I searched was no longer on the front page, though it had occupied this position for some time. I think I can do no better than relate what I then knew of the case, as if I were beginning a work of fiction; for indeed, if the story had not appeared in the respectable pages of the Times, I would have thought it one of the ingenious inventions of Herr Ebers or Mr. Rider Haggard—to whose romances, I must confess, I was addicted. Therefore, be patient, dear reader, if we begin with a sober narrative of facts. They are necessary to your understanding