Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [73]
“I must accept that, I suppose. In the meantime…”
“A chair,” I promised, happy to find her so reasonable. “Whatever else you would like.”
“All you know about the tomb of Tutankhamon.”
“I beg your pardon?” I gasped.
“That scoundrel O’Connell is already here,” Margaret said, taking pencil and notebook from the pocket of her coat. The smolder was back, about to burst into flames. “While I sit immured in this…this cell. The least you can do for me is give me a story.”
The least I had done for her was, possibly, to have saved her life. Perhaps to a true journalist this meant less than an exclusive story. She and Kevin had been rivals for years, and as a woman she had had a hard struggle making a name for herself. A half promise would keep her quiet and give her something to do, but I attempted to temporize.
“If you have read the newspaper accounts, you probably know more than I do. We have not been invited to view the tomb.”
“Why not?” The question came quick as a pistol shot.
“I would not care to speculate.”
“But I would.” The lines around her mouth folded into a grin. “Professional jealousy? Some personal disagreement? Did Lady Evelyn make eyes at Ramses and Nefret slap her face?”
“Really, Margaret, your imagination has got out of hand.” I handed her the book I had brought with me. “Here is the second volume of Emerson’s History of Egypt. Why don’t you write a nice biography of Tutankhamon and his more famous father-in-law Akhenaton?”
“That will do to start.” She took the book. “But I expect daily reports, Amelia, about what is going on in the Valley. And send Nefret to see me. She and Kadija are great chums, I understand, so a visit from her won’t cause comment.”
I left feeling as if I had got off fairly easily. “Sharp” was certainly the word for Margaret. One of the words.
She hadn’t asked to see Sethos.
I didn’t want to see him either, so instead of returning to the house I went straight to the West Valley. Emerson had been on the lookout for me; he hurried to meet me, with Nefret close on his heels.
“Well?” he demanded.
“How is she?” Nefret asked anxiously.
“I presume you are inquiring about her mental state, since you can hardly suppose Daoud or Kadija would have offered her bodily harm.” I allowed Emerson to lift me down from the saddle. He set me on my feet with a thump.
“Don’t equivocate, Peabody.”
“I explained the situation and she has agreed to remain where she is for the time being.” I took my handkerchief out and patted my damp forehead and cheeks before I added, “So long as I keep her informed about what is happening with the tomb.”
Hands on hips, head tilted, Emerson considered this. The sun woke highlights in his raven locks, for he was, of course, without a hat. Finally he said, “I must give you credit, Peabody, for deviousness exceeding your usual talents in that direction. You have found the sole excuse I would have accepted for joining that lot in the East Valley.”
“I assure you, Emerson, no such idea entered my mind until Margaret—”
“Hmph,” said Emerson loudly.
“She also requested that Nefret visit her.”
“Requested?”
“It was more along the lines of a demand,” I admitted.
“I haven’t been to see Kadija for some time,” Nefret said. “Of course I will go. Margaret must be frightfully worried about him.”
“On the surface she appears more angry than worried,” I said. “However, anger is one sign of profound concern, according to—”
“She is hoping you will be more indiscreet than Peabody,” said Emerson loudly. He was afraid I was about to utter the forbidden word “psychology.” “You will have to watch what you say, Nefret.”
Nefret looked alarmed. “What shouldn’t I say?”
“Hmmm,” I said. “We had better talk about that before you go.”
Since I endeavor to be truthful whenever possible, I will admit to the Reader that Margaret’s request/demand was like the answer to a prayer. I do not like being kept out of things. We had been excluded from interesting