The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [63]
It was after the prince’s death in ’92 that Lord St John had lured the young Earl (then Viscount Blackpool) into his ‘set.’ The result (said Emerson) I had seen for myself. There was no vice, natural or unnatural, to which the young man had not been exposed by his Machiavellian mentor.
‘Natural or unnatural,’ I repeated. ‘To be quite honest, Emerson, I am unsure of the distinction, when applied to vice.’
Emerson gave me a freezing stare. ‘The distinction is one that need not concern you, Peabody.’
‘Ah,’ I said. ‘I believe I understand. Are you suggesting, Emerson, that Lord St John is the false priest?’
‘No,’ Emerson said reluctantly. ‘He cannot be. I saw him among the spectators just before the priest made his entrance.’
‘Are you certain he didn’t slip out and assume the disguise at the last moment?’
‘Impossible, my dear Peabody. Look here.’ Emerson drew a pencil from his pocket (he had refused, as usual, to dress for dinner) and began drawing on the tablecloth. ‘The robe would cover a multitude of sins, including trousers; it was floor-length. The sleeves reached below the elbow; coat-and shirt sleeves could be rolled or pushed up under those of the robe. Those operations would take only a few seconds, but then he had to adjust the leopard skin, lower the mask over his head, remove his shoes and socks, and slip his feet into sandals.’
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘It was not a bad copy of Nineteenth Dynasty garb, in fact. Except that the original would have been of sheer fabric; and the wig is not often seen in representations of priests, who usually had shaven heads.’
‘The modifications were dictated by the necessity of concealment, obviously,’ Emerson replied impatiently. ‘And contrary to Budge and that overquoted authority Herodotus – who was describing, not always accurately, customs prevalent two thousand years later than the period in question – what was I about to say?’
‘That there are depictions of individuals wearing both the sem priest costume and an ornate wig,’ I replied. ‘Not that it matters; as you say, authenticity had to give way to practicality.’
‘True. Yet there is a certain suggestion of knowledgeability in his behaviour, Peabody. Did you happen to hear what he said to the mummy?’
Having observed that Gargery had given up all pretence of serving the food and was leaning over Emerson’s shoulder trying to see what he had drawn on the tablecloth, I announced we would retire to the drawing room. Gargery bore the disappointment bravely.
After we were comfortably settled, I answered the question Emerson had asked earlier.
‘No, I did not hear what the lunatic said to the mummy, Emerson. There was a great deal of noise.’
‘But I was closer,’ Emerson replied. ‘And, as you know, I am fairly adept at lip reading. This is my best recollection of his remarks.’
Since there was no tablecloth at hand, and he was too impatient to search for writing materials, he scribbled on his cuff, pronouncing the hieroglyphs aloud as he wrote them.
‘Hmph,’ I remarked. ‘Very good, Emerson. But why are you speaking ancient Egyptian if the priest spoke English?’
‘He did not speak English, Peabody.’
‘Good heavens, how astonishing. But that means – that suggests –’
‘I don’t know what it means, Peabody, and neither do you.’
‘He spoke English before.’
‘Precisely. There is no consistency in his behaviour, which is what one might expect from a madman, eh? It is obvious that he has some familiarity with Egyptology, but any intelligent