The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [73]
His customary loquacity seemed to have deserted him that evening. To be sure, it would have been difficult for him to get a word in, since Emerson immediately began quizzing Jack and Geoffrey.
Geoffrey was more helpful than Jack, who spent part of the time trying to fend off Emerson’s criticisms of Reisner and the rest of it gazing sentimentally at Nefret.
“I did regret we were unable to do more in the area west of the pyramid,” Geoffrey said in his quiet, well-bred voice. “The tombs were all early dynastic and some had not been plundered. One, which contained some rather pleasant bits of ivory and carnelian jewelry, was that of a woman. Beside her lay the tiny bones of a newborn child. It is that sort of thing, isn’t it, that brings the past to life.”
“Hmph,” said Emerson, waving away this touch of sentimentality. “So you suggest proceeding with that cemetery on the west?”
“It is entirely up to you, sir, of course.”
“No, it is up to Ramses,” said Emerson. “Mrs. Emerson has been nagging me about the interior of the pyramid and I will probably have to spend some time on that project since—”
“Really, Emerson,” I exclaimed. “How dare you accuse me of nagging? I never nag. I simply pointed out that it behooves us to excavate all the way down to the bottom of the shaft in order to ascertain whether there is an entrance to a lower passageway.”
“I hardly think so,” said Jack Reynolds with a superior smile. “The shaft can’t be much deeper.”
“So far,” said Emerson mildly, “we have gone down another five meters, without reaching bedrock.”
“What? Oh. Well, now. Er—have you found anything?”
“Bits and pieces,” said Emerson. “Bits and pieces.”
That was all we had found, in fact—bits and pieces of the ubiquitous pottery, fragments of basketry, and scraps of wood—but Emerson’s portentous tone and mysterious looks suggested something much more interesting. Having aroused the curiosity of our visitors, he proceeded to change the subject.
“I am leaving the cemeteries to Ramses for the moment. I believe he plans to begin in the area to the north. And now it is getting late.” Emerson rose and tapped the ashes from his pipe. “Time for everyone to go home.”
The two young men sprang to their feet like soldiers who have been given an order. Maude followed suit, pouting. Nefret exchanged glances with Ramses, cleared her throat and squared her shoulders.
“There’s no need to leave so soon. We’ll just retire—er—go up to our sitting room where we won’t disturb you, Professor.”
“What? Where? Oh.” Emerson exchanged glances with me, coughed, and shuffled his feet. “Oh. Yes.”
Karl was the only one to decline the invitation. He was some years older than the others, and I think he felt his age that night, for even his mustache drooped as he bowed over my hand and Nefret’s in his formal German fashion. We said good night and I led Emerson away.
“When did that happen?” he inquired.
“The sitting room? Now, Emerson, you know we agreed that Ramses and Nefret are entitled to more independence.”
“Yes, but—”
“Nefret asked some time ago if they might not have a place of their own where they can entertain their friends. She furnished it herself and very attractive it is.”
“Certainly. But—”
“This is the twentieth century, Emerson. Old-fashioned notions about chaperonage are passing away, and a good thing, too. Surely you trust Nefret to behave like a lady at all times.”
“Of course! But—”
“We have no hold on her except that of affection, my dear. Or on Ramses, come to that. It is sometimes necessary to slacken the reins a trifle if one wishes to keep a high-spirited young creature under control.”
Emerson’s furrowed brow smoothed out. “Peabody, you do talk the most infernal nonsense at times.”
“Your decision to give Ramses a nice mastaba of his own is the same sort of thing, Emerson. We want to keep him happy and contented so he won’t go wandering off again, to Saint Petersburg or Capetown or Lhasa.”
“Why would he want to go … Oh. I happen to want the cemetery excavated anyhow, Peabody,