The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [8]
“How did your father die?” I asked.
“Of purely natural causes,” said Miss Petherick. “He had a stroke, which left him partially paralyzed. The second finished him.”
Emerson took out his watch. “Let me be brief. Maaman will be sobbing into the soup, and I want my dinner. I will of course pay Mrs. Petherick a reasonable price for the artifact, or return it to her, should she prefer that.”
“She wants it back,” said Miss Petherick. “She sent us to retrieve it.”
“Oh, come now,” Emerson shouted. He had kept his temper under control until that moment, but hunger always makes him irascible. Brother and sister flinched, and Emerson skewered them with a terrible glare. “You insult my intelligence, young woman. I don’t know who the legal owner of this object may be. I intend to hang on to it until I find out. I shan’t bother asking you, since I wouldn’t trust your word in any case.”
Miss Petherick recognized that she had met her match. She scowled.
“Hmph,” said Emerson. “Do you know from whom your father purchased the statuette?”
“No.”
“Did he ever discuss his purchases with you?”
“No.”
“So your only interest in his collection is in its monetary value?”
The young woman flushed angrily. “You have no right to imply that.”
“Oh, bah,” said Emerson. “Go away.”
Miss Petherick rose. “If that is your attitude, Professor Emerson—”
“Ramses,” said Emerson. “Hand Miss Petherick her wrap and escort her to her carriage.”
When Ramses attempted to put the garment around her shoulders, she snatched it from him. “Come, Adrian,” she said. Her brother stood up, smiling vaguely. She took his arm and swept out of the room, followed by Ramses.
“Dinner,” said Fatima, in a near shriek, “is served.”
Cyrus had not relaxed his grip on the statuette. He carried it with him into the dining room and was with difficulty persuaded to put it down in order to pick up his napkin.
“What a family,” Emerson grumbled. “The stepmother is a hysteric or a liar, the brother a lunatic—”
“And the sister has a fist like a boxer’s,” said Ramses, whose cheek was beginning to darken.
A wordless grunt from Fatima, who was serving the soup, indicated her opinion of the proceedings. She had been in a happy frame of mind since, for the first time in many years, she did not have to share the cherished chore of serving meals with our butler, Gargery. He was really too old for the strenuous activities that accompany our excavation seasons, but he had agreed to remain in England only because our ward Sennia, whom he adored, had also stayed behind in order to further her education. She was twelve, and bright as a button; the schools of Luxor and Cairo had nothing more to offer her.
“You ought to have given the confounded girl a good hard shove,” said Emerson, who would have done nothing of the sort. He swallowed a mouthful of soup and made a face. “Salty. Well, Vandergelt, what do you think?”
“You did the right thing,” Cyrus said. “I remember hearing that Petherick left nothing except his collection. It’s worth a pretty penny, but I don’t know who his legal heirs are. Maybe the kids are trying to put one over on the widow.”
“If she really believes the statue carries a curse, she won’t take it back,” I remarked.
“Emerson,” said Cyrus piteously, “I’ll pay the lady. Anything she wants. I’ve got to have that!”
Emerson pushed his soup plate away. “Frankly, Vandergelt, I don’t give a curse who gets it. What I want to know is where it came from.”
“A dealer, one presumes,” I said.
“And before that?”
I shrugged. “Another dealer. A tomb robber or illicit digger. What are you getting at, Emerson?”
“Tell her, Ramses.” Emerson picked up the little statue and handed it to his son.
“Yes, sir. We may or may not be able to trace the object back through its previous owners; but the statue itself offers certain clues as to where it was found.” Holding the statuette up to the light, he ran an appreciative finger along the delicately modeled cheek and down the curves of the body. “It’s one of the Amarna kings.”
I nodded agreement. “The style is unmistakable