The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [112]
The hall was filled to capacity. There was an aisle on either side and another running down the centre, dividing the rows of chairs. Flaring gas jets illuminated the raised stage, on which were several chairs, a long table, a lectern, and a pair of trestles. The press occupied a reserved section in the front left, the choice seats in the centre being occupied by the most distinguished of the guests. Kevin’s colleagues gallantly made room for me, and we had scarcely seated ourselves when two men carried the coffin onto the stage and placed it carefully on the trestles.
Budge was the next to appear. Taking one of the chairs on the stage, he crossed his legs in an affected manner and pretended to study the papers he had brought with him.
He was followed by several other gentlemen – Sir William Appleby, one of the trustees of the Museum, Mr Alan Smythe-Jones, a member of the Royal Society, and a stout bald-headed man in evening clothes who I assumed must be the surgeon. There were no Egyptologists present, and Emerson did not appear.
After waiting for anticipation to rise to fever pitch, Budge rose and went to the podium. ‘My lords, ladies, and gentlemen,’ he began – and then launched into the same interminable lecture he had given before.
His listeners endured very little of this before showing signs of impatience. They had come to see a mummy being unwrapped; they were not interested in Herodotus or the Book of the Dead. Evidently a few lower-class persons had got past the custodians, for the first voice to be heard over the growing murmur of boredom was unmistakably cockney. ‘’Ere, chum, let’s get the ol’ girl’s clothes off, eh?’
He was suppressed by his neighbours, but the next interruption was not so easily dealt with. Budge had just mentioned the ‘bath of liquid natron in which the body of the deceased was submerged for the regulation ninety days,’ when a voice shouted, ‘Arrant nonsense, Budge! Why don’t you give over the podium to someone who knows what he is talking about?’
My heart, which had slowly been subsiding into my slippers (black patent leather, beaded with gold, steel, and grey and white pearl beads), gave a sudden bound. There was no mistaking that voice! He was present; he had not gone . . . elsewhere. My worst fears were, if not allayed, at least delayed.
A loud murmur of approval from the bored audience forced Budge to stop droning on. Adjusting his spectacles, he peered into the room. He knew who had spoken as well as I did, but he pretended not to.
‘If I may continue,’ he began.
‘No, you dunderhead, you may not,’ the same voice thundered; and Kevin, who had turned to stare, gave a chortle of delight. ‘It’s the professor! Hurrah! This evening may not turn out to be a deadly bore after all.’
From the opposite side of the room, about halfway back, a form arose. It was not the stalwart form of my errant but adored husband. It was that of a black-haired child, dressed, I was pained to observe, in an extremely dusty Eton jacket and crumpled collar. With a weird air of levitation this apparition rose briskly into the air. I observed he was perched on his father’s shoulders.
Ramses – for indeed, as the reader must have surmised, it was he – called out, ‘With all due respect, Mr Budge, you are mistaken. My own experiments have proved what I suspected from the first –’
Budge recovered himself. ‘Of all the . . . this is the most . . . Sit down, Professor! Be silent, young man! How dare you allow –’
‘Let the nipper talk,’ cried a voice from the back of the room. A burst of approving laughter seconded the speaker, and Emerson made his way to the front of the room. Ramses, as I hardly need mention, was still talking. I could see his lips moving, but his words, and the frantic expostulations of Mr Budge, were drowned by the laughter from the auditorium. Beside me, Kevin gurgled with amusement as he made rapid notes.
Facing the audience, Emerson held up an admonishing hand. The noise subsided, and the voice of Ramses became audible. ‘. . . strong smell of putrefaction,