The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [55]
“Amazing woman,” he remarked, shifting the cat and sitting up. “She seems to take my metamorphoses for granted.”
“I trust your day was productive?” Ramses inquired.
His uncle ignored the sarcastic tone. “I sent off a few telegrams. There were two for Emerson waiting at the telegraph office. I took the liberty of bringing them along.”
He indicated the post basket, which was overflowing again.
After a suspicious examination of the first telegram—it was still sealed—Emerson ripped it open. “Ah! I told you Gargery would come through. He found out the name of Petherick’s solicitor and made friends with the clerk. The terms of the will were easy to remember. Everything to the wife. It seems the lady was telling the truth about that.”
He opened the next. “From Carter,” he announced, and read it aloud. “‘Appreciate supervision. Arriving shortly to resume excavations.’”
“Quite a tactful way of warning you to restrict your activities,” Sethos remarked. “Anything else of interest, Amelia?”
“The usual unwanted invitations and impertinent inquiries. Here’s one for you, Ramses. Hand delivered.”
“It’s from Heinrich Lidman,” Ramses reported. “Repeating his application for a position.”
“What?” Emerson glared. “You haven’t gone and hired someone without my permission, have you?”
“If you had listened to what Ramses said you would have realized we did nothing of the sort,” his wife replied. “We told him we would consider his offer, but that you would have to approve it.”
“Well, I don’t. Who is the fellow, anyhow?”
“He was with Borchardt at Amarna before the War,” Ramses said. “Experience like that might be useful to us. I met another fellow the other day you may also want to consider. He’s a demoticist and—”
“Why the devil would I want another demoticist when I have you?” Emerson demanded. “I don’t want anyone else. Once David gets here, my staff will be adequate. I wish the boy would hurry up. I need a skilled photographer when I open KV55.”
“He’ll be here in a few days,” Ramses said. Emerson was being his unreasonable self. He had curtly dismissed both Ramses’s suggestions, and airily ignored David’s other skills, which far outshone his talents as a photographer. Nefret and Selim were almost as competent in that specialty. Trying to conquer his annoyance, Ramses said, “If you need David so badly, why don’t you wait for him?”
Emerson stroked his chin. “I suppose another day or two won’t matter. Give me a chance to have a general look round.”
“And,” said his wife, “pursue our inquiries into Mrs. Petherick’s disappearance.”
“Bah,” said Emerson. “There’s no mystery about that. She’ll reappear in a day or two, and regale the newspapers with lurid stories.”
In this Emerson was mistaken. Mrs. Petherick did not reappear next day, or the day after. The search for her was sporadic at best, since no one knew where to look, or what to look for—a living woman or a dead body. The newspapers attempted to keep the sensation alive with dire hints of foul play and deadly curses, but the official position was that the lady was presumed to be alive unless proven dead, and without a corpus delicti the press had little to work on. They had taken up the term “black afrit,” however, and it appeared frequently in their stories, together with an explanation of the meaning of the word “afrit,” how it was pronounced, and fictitious reports of its appearances in various localities. This filled in space which was otherwise devoid of interest.
Emerson, of course, ignored the matter. He was unable to get ahead with his work at Deir el Medina as rapidly as he had hoped (an assessment any sensible individual would have made in the beginning). We had to spend an entire day excavating the broken