The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [196]
“Quite,” said Emerson, giving me a meaningful look.
“Ah,” I said.
“What on earth are you two talking about?” Nefret asked.
“I am waiting for your Aunt Amelia to tell ME what I am talking about,” said Emerson.
“Oh, very well,” I said. “Far be it from me to make you break your sworn word. You will not be guilty of that error if I tell you.”
“Precisely,” said Emerson, no longer attempting to conceal his smile.
“Please do, madam,” Gargery exclaimed. “I can’t stand the suspense much longer.”
There was no use ordering Gargery out of the room; he would only listen at the door.
“Confound it,” I muttered. “Why can’t they leave us alone? I suppose the meeting occurred last week, when you said you went up to London to work at the British Museum. What were you given this time? I don’t want any more cursed emeralds.”
“I was given nothing, Peabody. Not even the threat of a title. Apparently the royal family only pays on delivery.”
“Royal family,” said Gargery in dying tones. “Madam …”
I addressed Nefret instead of Gargery. She had been courteous enough to refrain from questions, though her wide blue eyes indicated her interest. “Some years ago we were able to be of service to her late Majesty in a delicate family matter. Upon its successful conclusion she summoned Emerson to Windsor and offered him a knighthood—which of course he refused.”
I ignored the groan from that consummate snob Gargery and went on. “She then presented him with that vulgarly ostentatious emerald ring which you may have seen in my jewel box. Apparently she passed on the story to her heirs, in case another delicate situation arose. This delicate situation, one may deduce, inspired the otherwise inexplicable visit today from Mr. Morley. Now, Emerson, it is your turn. I hope His Majesty doesn’t expect you to go looking for the Ark yourself.”
One of the kittens wandered in and jumped onto Nefret’s lap. Stroking it, she remarked, “Does it exist? As I recall, from my studies at the vicarage, the Ark contained the tablets given to Moses on Mt. Sinai.”
“The Ten Commandments,” I said helpfully.
“Yes, Aunt Amelia. But I thought the professor didn’t believe in Moses. Or the Exodus. Or—”
“That doesn’t mean the fabled Ark is pure fiction,” Emerson replied, taking, as was his habit, the opposing side. “We know that Jerusalem was besieged and overrun by the Babylonians, who carried away its residents into captivity. There was time—”
“So you admit that not all the Old Testament is a tissue of lies,” I said. “The fall of Jerusalem is mentioned in Second Kings, if my memory serves.”
“It is also described in the Babylonian annals,” Emerson retorted. “An historical source, Peabody. As I was saying, there was time during the siege for the inhabitants to conceal their greatest treasures. The Ark was only one of them, though the most important. There were vessels of gold—an altar, candelabra, incense vessels, and so on. Who is to say they may not still lie hidden under the ruins of the Temple?”
“Do you believe that, Emerson?”
“Certainly not,” said Emerson, tiring of his teasing. “Jerusalem was taken and sacked many times. If the Bablyonians didn’t seize the temple treasures somebody else did. The Arch of Titus in Rome shows Roman soldiers carrying away some of the treasures, including a menorah. The Ethiopians claim the Ark was taken there by the son of Solomon and the Queen of Sheba. People have looked for it in Ireland, at Mt. Sinai, and for all I know in Birmingham. Even if I believed there were the possibility of such a discovery, I would not countenance an expedition by an untrained amateur in a particularly sensitive part of the world.”
“Gargery,” I said in some exasperation. “Will you please finish clearing the tea things away? The kitten is about to knock over the cream jug.”
Nefret removed the cat, and Gargery, who had abandoned all pretense of carrying out his duties, exclaimed, “Then why don’t you and madam go looking for the treasure, sir? You’d do a proper job of it.”
“Kindly stay out of this, Gargery,” I said. “It is difficult enough