The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [77]
John returned at this point in the discussion. “Madam,” he exclaimed, “there is a great ’uge mummy case in the courtyard. What shall I do with it?”
“It must be the baroness’s mummy case,” I said. “I suppose M. de Morgan’s men simply dropped it and left. How vexatious! What shall we do with it, Emerson?”
“Throw the cursed thing out,” Emerson replied, returning to his writing.
“We will put it with the others,” I said. “Come along, John, I will unlock the storeroom.”
The moon had not yet risen, but the varnished surface of the mummy case glimmered darkly in the brilliant starlight. I unlocked the door and John hoisted the coffin into his arms, as effortlessly as if it had been an empty paper shell. I was reminded of that Italian mountebank Belzoni, a former circus strongman who had turned to archaeology. He had been one of the first to excavate in Egypt, but his methods could hardly be called scientific, for among other sins he had employed gunpowder to blast his way into closed pyramids.
The storeroom was full of coffins and we had to shift several of them to find a place for the newcomer. It would have been more practical, perhaps, to open another room, but I always like to keep objects of the same type together. When the thing had been stowed away, John said, “Would you be wanting me to go to spy on Brother ’amid now, madam?”
I gave him the disguise I had procured for him. Abdullah’s spare robe barely reached his shins, and the boots showing under the hem of the garment looked rather peculiar. John offered to remove them, but I decided against it. His feet were not hardened like those of the Egyptians, and if he trod on something sharp and painful he might let out a cry that would alert Hamid to his presence. I wound the turban around his head and then stood back to study the effect.
It was not convincing. However, we had done the best we could. I sent John on his way and returned to Emerson. He was curious as to why John had retired so early, but I was able to distract him without difficulty.
It seemed as if I had slept for only a few hours (which was in fact the case) when I was awakened by a furious pounding at the door. For once I was not impeded by a mosquito netting. At that season, in the desert, the noxious insects do not present a problem. Springing from the bed, I seized my parasol and assumed a posture of defense. Then I recognized the voice that was calling my name.
Emerson was swearing and flailing around in the bed when I flung the door open. The first streaks of dawn warmed the sky, but the courtyard was still deep in shadow. Yet there was no mistaking the large form that confronted me. Even if I had not recognized John’s voice, I would have recognized his shape. That shape was, however, oddly distorted, and after a moment I realized that he held a smaller, slighter body closely clasped in his arms.
“Who the devil have you got there?” I asked, forgetting my usual adherence to proper language in my surprise.
“Sister Charity, madam,” said John.
“Will you please ask him to let me down, ma’am?” the girl asked faintly. “I am not injured, but Brother John insists—”
“Don’t move, either of you,” I interrupted. “This is a most unprecedented situation, and before I can assess it properly I must have light.” A vehement curse from the direction of the nuptial couch reminded me of something I had momentarily overlooked and I added quickly, “Emerson, pray remain recumbent and wrapped in the blanket. There is a lady present.”
“Curse it, curse it, curse it,” Emerson cried passionately. “Amelia—”
“Yes, my dear, I have the matter well in hand,” I replied soothingly. “Just a moment till I light the lamp…. There. Now we will see what is going on.”
First I made certain Emerson was not in a state that would cause embarrassment to him or to anyone else. Only his head protruded from the sheet he had wrapped around himself. The expression on his face did his handsome features no justice.
John’s turban had come unwound and hung down his back. His once snowy robe was ripped half off; the