The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [26]
“Ask them to stay for tea,” I instructed, rising and stretching stiffened limbs. “I will join them as soon as I have freshened up.”
“Yes, Sitt.” She handed me a small sheaf of calling cards. “These are the ones I told you were not at home.”
“Good heavens, so many?” I went quickly through them. None of the names was familiar—but one was that of a representative of a newspaper. “Confound the cursed woman,” I said. “I was right about her; it is publicity she is after. She must have told everyone in Luxor about the curse. It was wise of you, Fatima, to suggest we needed a guard.”
“Yes, Sitt.” I didn’t blame her for looking smug.
My guests were Mr. Barton, one of the Metropolitan Museum crew, and an acquaintance of his, whom he introduced as Heinrich Lidman. Barton always put me in mind of a good-natured scarecrow, with his long gangly limbs and shock of sandy hair. His companion was several inches shorter and somewhat stouter. He peered at me through steel-rimmed eyeglasses and at once burst into speech.
“Mrs. Emerson, I cannot tell you what an honor it is to meet you, of whom I have heard so much and with whose work I am of course well acquainted, particularly the excellent excavations conducted by you and your distinguished husband at el Amarna in the—”
“Shut up, Heinrich,” Barton said amiably. “You have to interrupt him once he starts talking, or he never stops,” he explained to me.
“It is my failing,” Lidman admitted sheepishly—and he did rather resemble a sheep, with his long nose and head of tight fair curls. “Excuse me, Mrs. Emerson, I was carried away by—”
“Do sit down, gentlemen,” I said, taking Mr. Barton at his word. “Emerson is away, but I expect Ramses and Nefret will join us shortly.”
In fact, it was after five and I was surprised at their tardiness. The dear little children were always on time for tea. When my son and daughter-in-law appeared they were alone, and looking a trifle harried.
“Where are the children?” I asked.
“Sent to bed early,” Ramses said shortly.
“They misbehaved?”
Ramses nodded. It was not an unusual occurrence, but this misdemeanor must have been serious, since being deprived of tea with the family was the worst punishment in our power. I did not pursue the subject, since we had guests.
Barton was greeted by Ramses and Nefret as the old friend he was. He introduced Mr. Lidman, who began spouting compliments.
“It is an honor, such an honor, Dr. Emerson.”
“I don’t use the title,” Ramses said. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Lidman. Nice to see you, George.”
Fatima brought the tea tray. I dispensed the genial beverage and she offered a plate of cakes, the sight of which brought a greedy glitter to Mr. Lidman’s brown eyes.
“I thought for a few minutes you weren’t going to see me,” said Barton, laughing. “Wasim didn’t recognize me at first, kept waving that antique rifle at me. Never known you folks to set a guard before. What’s up? Don’t tell me those wild stories are true.”
Having learned caution from my encounters with the vultures of the press, I replied with another question. “What wild stories are you referring to, Mr. Barton, and from whom did you hear them?”
Eating and drinking kept Mr. Lidman silent while Barton explained that his workmen had been full of the tale that morning. It was as I feared; the news had spread all over Luxor, and our acquisition had been exaggerated to the point of absurdity: jewels, golden statues, vessels of precious metals—a veritable hoard, in fact. I decided it would be advisable to correct these misapprehensions, so I went and got the statuette and explained how it had come to us.
Barton gasped