The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [85]
“Naturally I will do my duty, Emerson. When did you ever know me to fail?” I turned back to Ramses, who stood waiting outside his room, and dismissed him with a gesture. He went in at once and closed the door.
Whatever the nature of Ramses’ discoveries, they could not have been poorer than our own. We had found a small family burial ground dating from the Fourth or Fifth Dynasty, but the humble little tombs contained no funeral goods worthy of preserving, and the ground in that part of the site was so damp the bones were of the consistency of thick mud. Even now I cannot recall that period without a pall of ennui settling over me.
Fortunately this miserable state of uneventfulness was not to last long. The first intimation of a new outbreak of violence was innocent enough—or so it seemed at the time. We were sitting in the parlor after our simple supper, Emerson and I. He was writing up his notes and I was fitting together my eleventh Roman amphora—a form of vessel I have never admired. Ramses was in his room, engaged in some mysterious endeavor; John was in his room trying to finish Leviticus. The lion club played at my feet, finishing off my house slippers. Since it had already eaten one, I decided it might as well have the other. Bastet lay on the table next to Emerson’s papers, her eyes slitted and her rare purr echoing in the quiet room.
“I believe I must make a trip to Cairo soon,” I remarked.
Emerson threw his pen down. “I knew this was coming. Peabody, I absolutely forbid you to prowl the bazaars looking for murderers. Everything is peaceful just now and I won’t have you—”
“Emerson, I cannot imagine where you get such ideas. I need to shop, that is all. We have not a pair of house slippers among us, and my store of bismuth is getting low. All these people seem to suffer from stomach complaints.”
“If you didn’t deal it out so lavishly, you would not be running out of it.”
Our amiable discussion was developing nicely when we were interrupted from a hail without. Since the breaking in at the storeroom, Abdullah had taken it upon himself to set a guard on the house. He or one of his sons slept near the door every night. I was touched by this gesture, all the more so because I knew Abdullah was not completely convinced that Emerson had got rid of all the evil spirits.
Hearing him call out, we both went to the door. Two forms were approaching. In the light of the torch Abdullah held high I soon recognized friends. “It is the reverend and Mr. Wilberforce,” I exclaimed. “What a surprise!”
“I am only surprised they haven’t come before,” Emerson grumbled. “It has been three or four days since we had callers; I was beginning to entertain the fond delusion we might be allowed to get on with our work in peace.”
The presence of our visitors was soon explained. “We moored this morning at Dahshoor,” the Reverend Sayce declared, “and spent the afternoon with de Morgan. Since we must be on our way again in the morning, we decided to ride over and call on you tonight.”
“How very kind of you,” I said, elbowing Emerson in the ribs to keep him from contradicting the statement. “Welcome to our humble quarters.”
“Not so humble,” said the American, with an approving glance at the cozy scene. “You have the true womanly knack, Mrs. Amelia, of making any abode seem homelike. I congratulate—good heavens!” He leaped backward, just in time to prevent the lion cub from seizing his foot. He was wearing elegant tassled gaiters, and I could hardly blame the young creature for being interested in this new form of fashion.
I seized the lion and tied its lead to a table leg. Mr. Wilberforce took a chair as far from it as possible, and the reverend said, “Can that be the lion belonging to the baroness? We heard it had been lost.”
“Ramses found it,” I explained. I do not believe in telling falsehoods unless it is absolutely necessary.