Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [70]
“Where did you hear that?” asked Emerson.
“From Carnarvon.”
“Did he tell you that he was in the Valley that night?”
“He denies he was there. Says you invented the story in order to cover up your own illegal entry into the tomb and your theft of several valuable items.”
“Qui s’excuse, s’accuse,” Ramses murmured.
His mother, stiff with indignation, said, “Or rather, he who accuses another seeks to excuse himself. How contemptible!”
Barton, who had been squirming, said, “We don’t believe it, ma’am. I mean, it’s known that you were in the Valley that night. The Gurnawis have been jeering at the ibn Simsah brothers for letting themselves be caught by the Professor, and Farhat has gone into hiding. But we all know you’d never have done anything wrong. I mean, confound it, you may have saved the tomb from being robbed. I think it’s damned—er—darned ungrateful of his lordship not to thank you.”
“Have another cup of tea,” said Ramses’s mother with a friendly smile. “And a biscuit or two, before the children arrive and finish them.”
Barton helped himself. “Were they there?” he asked.
“Unlike his lordship, we do not accuse others,” Emerson said loftily. “I will say no more.”
“Admirable,” Winlock said. “George has it right, Professor. No one would ever believe you had behaved in an underhanded manner. But—well—you folks understand the position we’re in.”
Emerson took out his pipe. “So it’s true that Carter has asked you to join in the excavation?”
“Unofficially. I believe he is wiring Lythgoe in New York for official permission. So you see we can’t afford to be drawn into your feud with Carnarvon. But,” said Winlock emphatically, “no one, not even the President of the U.S. of A., tells me how to choose my friends.”
Emerson appeared touched by this declaration, but after their guests had left he remarked, “Friendship is all very well, but Winlock won’t let it interfere with business.”
“I need to have a talk with Daoud,” Emerson declared. “This is the third day in succession that he has been late.”
We had concluded the excavation of Ay’s tomb and moved most of the crew to the unfinished tombs, numbers 24 and 25. The only ones left behind were Suzanne, who had begun copying the paintings in the burial chamber, and Bertie, who was making his final plan. This arrangement pleased Jumana, for a staff artist was considered to be lower on the scale than an excavator. She was inclined to put on airs.
“Daoud is no shirker,” I said. “And he is entitled to time off if he needs it.”
“But he won’t answer questions,” Emerson complained. “That isn’t like Daoud. Curse it, he is verging on insubordination.”
“Perhaps he is taking steps to counter the curse of the golden bird,” Nefret suggested.
“What steps?” Emerson demanded.
Nefret chuckled. “Praying.”
“He prays too cursed much,” grumbled Emerson.
Suzanne emerged from the entrance to the tomb, sketch pad in hand. Her blond curls hung limp around her face and her neat shirtwaist was soaked with perspiration. With a murmur of thanks she accepted the glass of tea Nefret handed her.
“You ought not stay inside so long,” the latter said with a look of concern. “You aren’t accustomed to the heat.”
“I don’t mind,” Suzanne said valiantly. “The trouble is I drip perspiration onto the paper. The paint keeps smearing.”
Disconsolately she studied her sketch pad. The drawing was indeed blurry.
“Have one of the men standing by to wipe your brow,” I suggested.
Suzanne seemed to find the image amusing. “It would make me feel silly. I will just keep on trying.”
“Come and see me if you feel unwell,” Nefret said. “I’ll prescribe a day of rest.”
“That is kind. Perhaps when Mr. Carter returns I may be allowed to watch him reopen the tomb. What I have seen of it has not been exciting.”
“None of us is going there,” said Emerson.
“You may do as you like, Emerson, but you cannot dictate how others spend their leisure hours,” I said.
“Did I hear you say something about the curse?” Suzanne asked, forestalling what would certainly have been a heated response from Emerson. “The men are all talking