The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [128]
‘Oh, it is you, Amelia. I thought I would just get in a few more minutes’ work before breakfast. The cartouche I spoke of last night is one I never expected to find in that context. I believe it to be the name of –’
‘Breakfast is being served,’ said Emerson, behind me. ‘Lock that tray in the cupboard, Walter, and come upstairs.’
Waiting for the others to join us, Emerson and I sat in silence for a while, watching the sky brighten and the light creep slowly down the slopes of the western cliffs. Emerson let out a sigh.
‘I have been having second thoughts about this, Peabody. Has it occurred to you – but of course it has! – that I may be doing precisely what our unknown opponent wants me to do?’
‘It had of course occurred to me, Emerson. Yesterday’s attempt was a reckless and chancy business, if they really intended to enter the burial chamber. Perhaps our enemy is becoming impatient. If we clear those stairs we will save him the trouble of doing the work.’
‘I dislike being goaded and manipulated,’ Emerson muttered.
‘Well, of course you do, my dear. But I don’t see what choice you have now.’
The advent of Mahmud with breakfast ended the discussion. Ramses was the next to appear. He was wise enough to allow Emerson one cup of coffee before raising a subject he knew would annoy, and we were still discussing it when the others came.
‘Ramses is in the right, Emerson,’ I said. ‘David had better come with us.’
‘I will keep him with me,’ Evelyn said firmly. ‘He will not observe what you are doing.’
‘Can you keep the Marmaduke woman out of my way too?’ Emerson inquired humbly. ‘There wasn’t time to head her off this morning, and I need to locate one of those confounded writing machines.’
‘Certainly,’ Evelyn said. ‘Leave it to me, Radcliffe.’
I know I was not the only one to feel a thrill of anticipation ripple through me when we set off that morning. Even Emerson’s eyes shone with greater lustre. We archaeologists are superior to the common herd in our appreciation of knowledge for its own sake, but we are human after all; the thought of what might await us behind that sealed door would stir the feeblest imagination.
No thrill of anticipation rippled through the frame of poor Abdullah, who was waiting for us. Chagrin and shame lengthened his countenance, and I deduced, from the crest-fallen looks of his men, that they had been lectured at length on their failure to perform their duties.
Emerson wasted no time in additional recriminations. (There is seldom any need for him to repeat a reprimand, since he makes his feelings clear at the outset.) After Evelyn had gone off with David, her hand on the boy’s shoulder, Emerson drew his foreman aside and told him of our intentions.
Abdullah’s face brightened at this evidence of confidence. He so forgot himself as to interrupt Emerson’s admonitions about silence. ‘Our lips are sealed, Father of Curses. We will not fail you again.’
‘It was not your fault, Abdullah,’ I said, patting his arm.
‘Yes, it was,’ said Emerson, dismissing the subject. He took out his watch. ‘Where are the others? I cannot wait for them. Send Sir Edward up as soon as he arrives, Evelyn, and keep that tedious woman out of the way. The rest of you come with me.’
And off he went, up the stairs.
It was at my insistence that we stopped for luncheon. The air was thick with plaster dust and the bat guano stirred up by our movements; Walter’s breathing had become uneven and even Sir Edward was showing signs of distress. I had, over her strenuous objections, sent Nefret down earlier.
She came running towards me when I descended the last steps. ‘Aunt Amelia, you look terrible.’
‘Do I? Then I had better tidy up a bit before we join the others.’
We all made use of the buckets of water and towels, and then retired to the shelter. Knowing Emerson would refuse to return to the Amelia until nightfall, I had ordered picnic baskets, and we tucked into the food and especially the drink with gusto. It was interesting to see how the group divided. I joined Gertrude at