The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [26]
“You are very handsome, Papa,” said Ramses admiringly. “But I would not like a suit like dat. It is too hard to keep clean.”
Emerson brushed absently at the cat hairs adhering to his sleeve, and I sent Ramses off for another bath. It was apparent that no one ever dusted under the bed. We ordered supper to be sent up for John and Ramses and went downstairs to meet our guests.
Dinner was not wholly a success. But then dinner never was when Emerson was in a surly mood, and he was almost always in a surly mood when he was forced to dine out in public and in formal attire. I have seen him behave worse. He had a grudging respect for Mr. Wilberforce, but the Reverend Sayce brought out all his baser instincts. There could not have been a greater contrast between two men—Emerson, tall, broad-shouldered and hearty, Sayce small and spare, with sunken eyes behind his steel-rimmed spectacles. He wore clerical garb even when on an excavation, and looked like a magnified beetle in his long-tailed black coat and reversed collar.
Wilberforce, whom the Arabs called “Father of a Beard,” was a more phlegmatic character, and Emerson had given up teasing him, since he only responded by smiling and stroking his magnificent white beard. They greeted us with their customary affability and expressed regret that they would not have the pleasure of meeting Ramses that evening.
“As usual you are au courant with all the news,” I said in a spritely manner. “We only arrived yesterday, yet you are aware that our son is with us this season.”
“The community of scholars and Egyptologists is small,” said Wilberforce with a smile. “It is only natural we should take an interest in one another’s activities.”
“I don’t see why,” said Emerson, with the air of a man who has determined to be disagreeable. “The personal activities of others, scholars or not, are exceedingly dull. And the professional activities of most of the archaeologists of my acquaintance are not worth talking about.”
I tried to turn the conversation by a courteous inquiry after Mrs. Wilberforce. I had, of course, included that lady in my invitation, but she had been forced to decline. She was always forced to decline. She appears to have been a rather sickly person.
My tactful efforts were unavailing, however. The Reverend Sayce, who had been needled by Emerson on only too many occasions, was not Christian enough to forgo a chance at revenge. “Speaking of professional activities,” he said, “I understand our friend de Morgan has great hopes for his excavations at Dahshoor. Where is it that you will be working this season, Professor?”
Seeing by Emerson’s expression that he was about to launch into a diatribe against de Morgan, I kicked him under the table. His expression changed to one of extreme anguish and he let out a cry of pain. “Mazghunah,” I said, before Emerson could collect himself. “We are excavating at Mazghunah this season. The pyramids, you know.”
“Pyramids?” Wilberforce was too courteous to contradict a lady, but he looked doubtful. “I confess I don’t know the site, but I did think I was familiar with all the known pyramids.”
“These,” I said, “are unknown pyramids.”
Conversation then became general. It was not until we had retired to the lounge for brandy and cigars (in the case of the gentlemen) that I produced my scrap of papyrus and handed it to the reverend.
“I procured this today from one of the antiquities dealers. Since you are the biblical authority among us, I thought you might make more of it than I have been able to do.”
The reverend’s deep-set eyes lit with the flame of inquiry. Adjusting his spectacles, he examined the writing, saying as he did so, “I am no authority on Coptic, Mrs. Emerson. I expect this is probably…” His voice trailed off as he bent his full attention to the text, and Wilberforce remarked, smiling, “I am surprised at you, Mrs. Amelia. I thought you and your husband refused to buy from dealers.”