The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [111]
‘It must be your irresistible charm,’ I said. ‘Bastet is fond of tombs and she is seldom far distant from Ramses; but she has not come closer than the mouth of the entrance passage.’
We did not inform the others of our scheme until after Gertrude and Sir Edward– and Kevin, whose hints that he might be induced to stay for tea I had ignored – were on their way to Luxor. It was Emerson who made the announcement, adding, with a stern look at me, ‘We will not attempt it until I have examined the place thoroughly and made certain there is no danger of further collapse. This will be a preliminary reconnaissance, and unless I am completely satisfied, we will not proceed. Is that understood?’
All insisted on accompanying us. I did not attempt, as I once would have done, to dissuade Evelyn. Those Turkish trousers, to which neither of us had referred directly, affected me to the point of tears (or would have done had I been given to tears). She must have had that ensemble made in secret, tried it on during the rare moments of privacy afforded a wife and mother, and hidden it away again. It was a poignant fantasy, a substitute for the active life she had been denied. Well, she had it now, and who was I to prevent her from taking the risks that gave such a life its piquant pleasure?
Ramses’ reaction was the most interesting. He did not say anything at all. That was suspicious in itself. I said, ‘Well, Ramses?’
Ramses returned my steady stare for several seconds, and then admitted defeat. ‘It is safe enough, Mother, for a person of small girth. The debris slopes down and thins out as one proceeds.’
‘How far did you go?’ I inquired, with the control I had gained from years of painful experience.
‘Only a few yards. Father came back up the stairs and I –’
‘Curse it!’ Emerson exclaimed.
After some discussion it was agreed that Ramses would be the one to enter the tunnel. Nefret’s objections were the most vehement. ‘I am no fatter than Ramses! Just because I am a girl –’
‘Now you know I allow no such discriminatory practices, Nefret,’ I interrupted. ‘Ramses has had more experience than you.’
‘Er, hmmm, yes,’ Emerson agreed. In his case, Nefret’s accusation had been only too accurate, though he would never admit it. ‘Ramses is skilled at squirming through narrow spaces. Are you sure you are fit, my boy?’
‘Yes, Father, quite fit.’
‘He is not!’ Nefret never argued with Emerson’s decisions. She had other, more effective methods of persuading him to change his mind. I could judge the degree of her indignation on this occasion by her abandonment of those methods in favour of direct confrontation. ‘He will have to crawl on his stomach, and a sharp edge of stone may tear the wound open again and I –’
‘That will do,’ Emerson said.
Nefret knew that tone, though Emerson had never used it to her. Her lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears. It was an extremely affecting expression. I wondered if she had practised in front of the mirror.
Emerson looked so guilty one would have thought he had slapped her, but he stuck to his guns. ‘Your concern for your brother does you credit, Nefret, but it is unnecessary.’
Her concern (if that was what had prompted her objections) might have been unnecessary, but I thought I had better make certain. After dinner, before changing into my work clothes, I went to Ramses’ room.
The wound had healed nicely. However, I took the precaution of adding several additional layers of bandages and strapping them firmly in place.
We made no attempt to steal away unseen; our destination would soon be known to the men on guard. It was only our purpose we hoped to conceal, for the present at least. Our men were still gathered round the campfire when we arrived. Emerson’s stentorian shout brought them to their feet, and Abdullah hastened to meet us.
‘Is it you, Father of Curses?’
‘If you thought it was someone else, why the devil didn’t you challenge them?’ Emerson demanded.
‘Be reasonable, Emerson,’ I said, as Abdullah shuffled his feet and looked away. ‘They have just finished their first meal