The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [121]
‘Are you certain Mr Amherst is who he says he is, Cyrus?’
‘My dear Mrs Amelia! You must get over this habit of thinking everyone you meet is in disguise.’
‘He seems very interested in Nefret.’
‘What young fellow would not be? He is just showing off, Mrs Amelia, heaving that volume of Lepsius around the way another lad might lift weights, to impress a pretty young lady. Ah, but here is your husband. Let’s go to breakfast.’
The food was excellent, as Cyrus’ cuisine always was. Basking in our commendations, he reiterated his invitation. ‘There’s plenty of room here, folks. What about you, Miss Marmaduke? And Sir Edward?’
‘Kindly allow me to make the arrangements for my staff, Vandergelt,’ Emerson growled.
‘No need to put out good money for a hotel,’ Cyrus insisted. ‘And it would save them making that trip across the river twice a day. Willy and I rattle around in this big old place, and I’m not much company for an energetic young chap. Isn’t that right, Willy?’
Amherst smiled politely. ‘Your company, Mr Vandergelt, could never be dull. It is entirely up to you, sir, of course.’
‘Wrong,’ said Emerson. ‘It is also up to me. Oh, the devil. Do as you like. Everyone always does.’
I expected Gertrude would jump at the offer. Not only would proximity make it easier for her to spy on us, but the accommodations, which she had seen earlier, were as elegant as any female could desire. She demurred, however, and when Sir Edward also expressed his reluctance to take advantage of Cyrus I thought I knew why. Both would accept, or neither would. They wanted to confer privately before deciding.
‘Think it over, then,’ Cyrus said good-humouredly. ‘The offer stands; just let me know.’
We were soon on our way, following a path through the wadi. I had of course visited the Valley innumerable times, but it never fails to cast its spell upon me. As we rode on, the gorge gradually narrowed between walls of bare rock, golden yellow in the sunlight and utterly devoid of life – only the vultures lazily gliding overhead and an occasional serpentine slither among the rocky slopes – and, of course, flies. They appeared to bother Gertrude most. She looked ridiculous, bouncing up and down in her saddle and flailing at the air with her whisk. Again I asked myself: Could this silly woman be an adventuress or a spy?
The answer, of course, was: Yes, she could. A talent for acting and for disguise is essential to both professions.
When the path forked we followed the left hand branch through a natural gateway of rock and saw the Valley before us. As Emerson had predicted, the place swarmed with tourists.
Only a few of the royal tombs were considered by Baedeker to be worthy of starred entries, and it was around these that the tourists had gathered. Disdaining the vulgar mobs, we were led by Cyrus to the place he had selected for this season’s work. None of the men was working that day, but the evidence of their labour was visible in holes and piles of sand.
‘I figure there’s got to be a tomb here someplace,’ Cyrus declared.
Miss Marmaduke studied the barren ground and piles of rubble with obvious bewilderment, and Emerson said with a snort, ‘You would be better employed, Vandergelt, in conducting a proper excavation of one of the tombs that has never been completely explored – number 5, for instance. Burton’s incomplete plan has several interesting features.’
‘The doggone place is full of debris,’ Cyrus objected. ‘It would take months to dig it out. Anyhow, it’s not a royal tomb.’
‘Typical,’ Emerson muttered. ‘That is all you care about, you and the others – royal tombs.’
Whereupon he stalked off, leaving us to remain or follow as we chose.