Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [120]
Though Fatima did not share our faith, this was her favorite time of year. The Lord Issa was a revered prophet, after all, and Fatima loved making other people happy. She was the admitted queen of the oven, and Maaman gave way to her with good grace.
“Good Gad,” said Emerson. “What an uproar! Having a happy time, are you, my dears?”
Charla embraced him round the waist, leaving floury handprints on his shirt. “You must stir the Christmas cake,” she shouted. “For good luck.”
“I have already stirred it,” said Sethos, looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Gargery was sitting next to him at the table, stoning raisins.
There was a good deal of flour on the floor, the table, and the dog; but everyone seemed to be having a jolly time, to say nothing of the dog. Even Fatima laughed as I escorted Amira out of the room.
“She ate all the biscuits I had cooling on the table. She burned her tongue, I think.”
We all had the obligatory stir of the cake, including David, who had returned from the West Valley and come to see what was going on.
“I trust there is something for luncheon,” said Emerson, licking the spoon he had dipped into the batter.
“Salads,” said Maaman. “I have been helping Fatima.”
“I will serve them,” said Kareem eagerly.
I expected Gargery to offer, but either he and Fatima had come to an understanding or he was enjoying the pandemonium. The children always perked him up; he was chuckling like a thin beardless Father Christmas.
Fatima declined Kareem in favor of one of her sous-chefs, a sturdy young woman named Badra, and shooed us out of the kitchen.
Her pleasure was infectious. While we waited on the veranda for luncheon to be served, every face wore a smile and Emerson did not refer, even in passing, to the confounded tomb.
“It is time we turned our attention to celebrating the blessed season,” he declared, with a provocative look at me. “What do you say, Peabody?”
Blessed season indeed, I thought. Emerson considered Christmas a survival of pagan celebrations of the midwinter solstice. He was something of a pagan himself. At my request he had not expressed his opinions to the children, and since they were present I did not allow him to provoke me.
“As you have observed, Emerson, those preparations are underway,” I replied.
“We need a tree,” said Emerson.
“And presents,” Charla offered.
“Perhaps we should go to Luxor and do some shopping,” said Emerson, with the air of a man who had just made a major discovery.
A general cry of approval greeted the idea. Even Sennia forgot her dignity and clapped her hands.
Emerson’s good humor was only slightly dimmed when Gargery insisted on coming with us. The old fellow had informed me that he had brought gifts with him; however, it was his duty to watch over Miss Sennia, particularly in view of what had happened to him in Cairo. “She is a defenseless child, sir and madam,” he said.
“And you think you can protect her?” Emerson demanded. “If you are so keen on your duty, why did you let her go to the Valley without you?”
“That was an entirely different situation, sir,” said Gargery, squaring his narrow shoulders.
“Oh, bah,” said Emerson. “Very well, very well.” After Gargery had gone off, smirking, he added, “We’ll have to keep a close eye on him.”
Despite Emerson’s forebodings (which he would have described as “simple common sense, Peabody”) we had no difficulty keeping track of Gargery. Exhilarated and rejuvenated, he kept pace with Sennia, who never left his side. The rest of us divided forces, but there were enough of us to ride herd on the twins and watch over one another. We agreed to meet at the Winter Palace for tea, and I went off with the group that included Charla, Ramses, and David.
Charla appeared