Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [132]
“Yes,” I said. “Are you acquainted with him?”
“Not well. We served on several committees together. Mr. Vandergelt mentioned him, with,” he added, chuckling, “a certain degree of disparagement.”
Our other guests began to arrive—Marjorie Fisher and Miss Buchanan from Luxor, Rex Engelbach, and finally, Kevin and Margaret Minton. They had come together, which surprised me until I caught Margaret’s ironical eye. She was taking no chances on being waylaid again.
She was wearing what I took to be her best frock, of the same drab ash-brown as most of her other garments. A crimson scarf knotted loosely round her neck and a pair of small gold earrings were her only concessions to fashion. Compared with the other ladies present, in their emerald satins and blue silks, she looked like a governess. Even Miss Buchanan, who was noted for her sobriety of dress, had added a string of pearls and a tortoiseshell comb to her ensemble.
I managed to have a private word with Margaret before we went in to dinner.
“Do you dress badly on purpose?” I asked. “In your youth, as I recall, you kept up with the latest modes.”
Her eyes glittered wickedly. “In my youth—and into my middle years—I was a fool. What is the purpose of decking oneself out in order to compete with silly women and attract foolish men?”
I was wearing scarlet, Emerson’s favorite color, and the diamond earrings that had been his gift. Not one whit discomposed by her implicit criticism, I smiled and adjusted her scarf so that it framed her face more becomingly.
After much nagging I had agreed that Gargery should serve the wine, and I had instructed him to make certain it flowed freely. The Reader may question my motives for doing so. The Reader would be correct. In vino veritas, as the saying goes.
I got a little more veritas than I had bargained for. Margaret became more and more acerbic as the meal went on, and she and Kevin began sniping at each other. Rex Engelbach and Emerson got into a loud argument about Howard Carter, Emerson taking Carter’s part out of sheer perversity. Jumana—very pretty in pale yellow—made a point of telling David that his copies of the Ay tomb paintings were the finest she had ever seen. Suzanne made a point of telling Jumana that she ought to find herself a nice Egyptian husband. And, during one of those unfortunate lulls in the conversation that sometimes occur even with us, Sir William asked Ramses whether Sennia was his illegitimate daughter.
He didn’t use the word. “Under the blanket,” accompanied by a wink and a chuckle, were the words he used.
The vulgar rumor had first been spread about when Ramses took the abandoned child under his wing and we proceeded to adopt her. In fact, she was, as I believe I have mentioned, the offspring of my despicable nephew Percy and an Egyptian prostitute; but those who are incapable of understanding nobility of character (I refer to Ramses) and love never believed the true story. I was sorry but not surprised to find that the lie was still in circulation. Malice is often stronger than truth.
Sennia’s eyes filled with tears. She knew what he meant; she had been subjected to even more unkind insults when she first attended school in Cairo. Emerson choked on his wine and Ramses went white around the mouth, as he did when in a violent rage.
“She is my beloved adopted little sister,” Ramses said, very quietly. “Cyrus, has Father told you of his theory that there is another unknown royal tomb in the Valley?”
It wasn’t Emerson’s theory; it was something Abdullah had told me. Cyrus, who had gone purple with indignation, took up his cue, and everyone began talking at once.
We got through the rest of the meal without incident. Sethos had excused himself from dinner, claiming that he did not want to inflict his cold on the other guests. It had reached a rather unpleasant stage, to judge by the number of times he used his handkerchief during the earlier part of the evening.
With my usual skill as a hostess, I kept the conversation centered on Egyptology, knowing Emerson wouldn’t permit a word on any other subject.