The Curse of the Pharaohs - Elizabeth Peters [87]
“Shucks,” Vandergelt exclaimed. “Listen here, Professor, I’ll take my chances down there; you’ve got some ropes here, just you lower me down and I’ll—”
“Aber nein, it is the younger and stronger who will descend,” Karl exclaimed. “Herr Professor, let me—”
“The first person to descend will be myself,” Emerson said, in a tone that silenced further comment. “And that will be tomorrow morning.” He looked hard at me. I smiled, but did not speak. It was obvious that the lightest person in the group should be the one to make the descent, but there would be time to discuss that later.
After a moment Emerson cleared his throat. “Very well, we are agreed. I propose that we stop for the day and make an early start tomorrow. I am anxious to learn how matters are going at the house.”
“And who will be on guard tonight?” Vandergelt asked.
“Peabody and I.”
“Peabody? Who is—oh, I see. Now look here, Professor, you wouldn’t cheat on me, would you? No fair you and Mrs. Amelia going ahead with the work tonight.”
“May I remind you that I am the director of this expedition?” Emerson said.
When he speaks in that tone it is seldom necessary for him to speak twice. Vandergelt, a man of strong personality, recognized a stronger, and fell silent.
However, he dogged our footsteps all the way back, and it was impossible for me to speak privately to my husband, as I had hoped to do. My heart had leaped with exultation at hearing him name me the partner of his watch, and the decision had confirmed my hunch that he meant to do more than watch. Whom else could he trust as he trusted me, his life and professional partner? His decision to stop work early made excellent sense; so long as there was light, of sun or moon, the tomb was safe. The ghouls of Gurneh, like other evil creatures of the night, worked only in darkness. When the moon set behind the hills the danger began; and by then, perhaps, we would have penetrated the secret of the pharaoh.
Although this thought roused me to the highest pitch of archaeological excitement, never believe I neglected my duties. I went first to the chamber where Arthur lay. The silent, black-garbed figure of the nun might not have moved since morning. Only the faint clack of the beads that slipped through her fingers showed she was a living woman and not a statue. She did not speak when I asked about the patient, only shook her head to indicate there had been no change.
Madame Berengeria was next on my agenda. I decided it would be more convenient for everyone if she were safely tucked away for the night before I left. I assumed she was still in the parlor communing with the gods, and as I walked in that direction I pondered how my aim might best be achieved. A wholly contemptible and unworthy idea occurred to me. Dare I confess it? I have vowed to be completely honest, so, at the risk of incurring the censure of my readers, let me admit that I contemplated making use of Madame’s weakness for drink to render her inebriated and unconscious. If those who would condemn me had faced the situation that confronted me, and had seen the dreadful woman in action, they would, I daresay, be more tolerant of this admittedly reprehensible plan.
I was spared the necessity of acting, however. When I reached the room in question, I found that Berengeria had anticipated me. The sound of her rasping snores was audible at some distance; even before I saw her sprawled in an ungainly and indecent heap on the carpet, I knew what had happened. An empty brandy bottle lay by her right hand.
Lady Baskerville was standing over her, and I trust I may not be accused of malice if I remark that one of the lady’s dainty slippers was lifted as if in preparation for a kick. Seeing me, she hastily lowered her foot.
“Abominable!” she exclaimed, her eyes flashing. “Mrs. Emerson,