The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [178]
So he had not overheard any of the preceding discussion. That was a relief; I felt certain I could rely on his discretion but I was glad I did not have to. My – and Emerson’s – previous acquaintance with the mystery woman was best kept secret.
I again assured him of my appreciation. ‘None of us can be blamed for failing to realize that our unknown adversary was female,’ I explained. ‘Women, Sir Edward, are sadly discriminated against in this man’s world, but their subordinate status does give them one advantage. They are always the last to be suspected!’
‘I have learned my lesson,’ was the rueful reply. ‘Never again will I underestimate a lady’s capabilities, for good or evil.’
‘You too must be entirely candid,’ I said. ‘You followed me because you feared Hamed’s henchmen might still be in Gurneh. Emerson will be very grateful.’
‘Not so grateful that he will regret my departure,’ said the young man smoothly. ‘Yes; I must leave Luxor almost immediately. Urgent family matters have arisen that require my attention.’
‘I am sorry to hear it. Have you informed Emerson?’
‘I intended to do so today. He will have no difficulty replacing me; every archaeologist in Egypt has offered the services of his staff.’
‘We will be sorry to lose you.’
‘It is kind of you to say so.’ He turned amused blue eyes in my direction. ‘You haven’t seen the last of me, Mrs Emerson.’
‘Give up all hope of Nefret, Sir Edward. Emerson would never stand for it.’
‘One never knows, Mrs Emerson. I am reckoned a persuasive fellow.’ We were riding slowly side by side; smiling, as if to himself, he said musingly, ‘Miss Nefret is a beautiful girl and will be a wealthy heiress; but her greatest attraction to a man like myself is the possibility that she may one day become a woman of character – the sort of woman you are now. I hope you will take it in the spirit in which it is meant, Mrs Emerson, when I say that were it not for the fact that you are esteemed by one whom I hold in the highest regard, I would venture to . . . But I believe you understand me.’
It is difficult to be angry with a gentleman who pays you compliments, even impertinent compliments. Especially impertinent compliments.
On 5 April 1900, we opened the sarcophagus.
It had taken us almost two months, working day and night, to clear the way to that massive structure. Fortunately for Emerson’s blood pressure, we were able to accomplish this without sacrificing his (our, I should say) professional principles. Starting from the doorway, we cleared a metre-wide path directly towards the sarcophagus, recording the contents of each section before proceeding to the next. Our labours were made easier by the fact that this passageway was relatively free of objects, as if someone had removed or pushed them aside. The tangle of jewellery was one of the prizes we preserved, but the tantalizing wheels had to wait; they were not in the direct path to the sarcophagus. Emerson calculated it would require at least two more seasons to clear the rest of the chamber, but it was imperative, in his opinion and mine, that the mummy be removed before we left Egypt. Though the tomb would be locked and guarded, we did not underestimate the industrious robbers of Luxor.
Curiosity and public interest had risen to fever pitch after Kevin published his first ‘scoop’ – the fact that Walter’s painstaking study of the scraps of plaster found in the debris of the entrance corridor revealed the name of Queen Hatshepsut. He and Emerson agreed that the fragmentary cartouche could only be hers. It appeared nowhere else; Emerson insisted that the remaining reliefs and the inscriptions on the sarcophagus made it certain that the tomb was that of Tetisheri, but that did not prevent the imagination of press and public from running wild. Tetisheri was virtually unknown, except to Egyptologists, but the great queen Hatshepsut was familiar to every tourist who had visited her