The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [145]
“Bissinghurst,” I corrected. “You mustn’t let him get on your nerves, Emerson, ‘he only does it to annoy because he knows it teases.’”
I had expected the romantic ambience would keep Emerson occupied, but he had something on his mind.
“Why were you and Ramses exchanging those meaningful glances?”
“When did we do that?”
“Off and on all day. Don’t equivocate, Peabody.”
“Never, my dear.” I moved a little closer to him. “Ramses isn’t satisfied that Daffinger’s confession solved all the unexplained incidents.”
“You said yourself that there were dozens of people after the statuette.”
“A slight exaggeration, my dear. To be honest, I would love to find Sir Malcolm guilty of something, but I fear he is too cautious to break, or even bend, the law. However, the points that bother Ramses are the incidents directed at him, here and in Cairo. Daffinger couldn’t have been responsible for the latter, since he never left Luxor.”
“It was the Petherick boy,” Emerson said flatly.
“So I assume. Ramses doesn’t want to believe it.”
“He’s too damned softhearted,” Emerson said in a fond grumble. “I pity young Petherick—he’s another casualty of that filthy, unnecessary War—but he can’t be held blameless because of his misfortune. I wonder what will become of the girl.”
“Harriet? You rather liked her, didn’t you?”
“I admire her spunk. And her loyalty.”
“I fear she is another casualty of the War. She will spend the rest of her life taking care of Adrian, with no chance for her own happiness. I wonder if I ought not make a quick trip to Cairo—”
“Now there I draw the line, Peabody.” Emerson gathered me into a close embrace. “You cannot take all the troubles of the world on your shoulders. I need you here. Tomorrow—”
“We go to Deir el Medina. And Ramses gets back to work on his papyri.”
“Oh,” said Emerson. “Hmmm. It will help distract him, I suppose.”
“I do wish you would take more interest in his work, Emerson. He seems to be quite excited about some of the fragments we found this year.”
“I don’t mean to denigrate his work,” Emerson said guiltily. “It is of first-rate importance. You think I haven’t been complimentary enough? Very well, my dear, I will try to make it up to him.”
He meant it most sincerely, as he proceeded to demonstrate at dinner. His unexpected interest so astonished Ramses that at first he replied only in monosyllables.
“Tell us more, my boy,” Emerson urged, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. “Consciousness of personal sin, you say?”
Ramses hadn’t said that; I had, when I explained his theory to Emerson. He couldn’t avoid the question, though, and as he went on, enthusiasm overcame his modesty.
“I think the concept appears much earlier than Professor Breasted believed,” he explained. “There is one fragment in particular—quite a large one—that from the handwriting would seem to be Eighteenth Dynasty. I haven’t had a chance to translate it as yet, but the words ‘crime’ and ‘forgiveness’ appear several times.”
“Then it’s time you did,” Emerson declared. “Get your friend Katchevsky back, why don’t you?”
“Katchenovsky,” Ramses said patiently. “I’m sure he is waiting to hear from me. Thank you, Father.”
“Not at all, not at all.” Emerson looked at me for approval. I nodded and Emerson beamed. “Tell me more, my boy.”
Our morning’s work at Deir el Medina went smoothly. We had borrowed Bertie, who began a final plan, and Emerson’s praise made Selim glow with pride. The only one of our crew who appeared somewhat sulky was Daoud.
“We did nothing to help,” he said. “All by yourselves you found the evil man and what he had stolen. We did nothing.”
“You protected the house and brought us the dog,” Ramses offered.
Daoud’s large face wrinkled. “The dog did nothing.”
“There was no need,” I said, realizing that his distress was genuine. “It was the magic of the Father of Curses that prevailed—er—eventually.”
“Ah,” said Daoud. “Eventually means—”
“That the magic took a little longer than usual to work,” Ramses explained.
“Ah.” Daoud thought