Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [75]
“I’m already in it, thanks to you. And so are the rest of us.”
“I made a mistake,” Sethos admitted. “I should not have come here. But that’s all water over the dam.”
That was undeniably true, but, in Ramses’s opinion, inadequate. He knew it was as close to an apology as he was likely to get, though. Sethos went on breezily, “I will tell you part of my plan. I shall come out of seclusion and make myself visible.”
“In order to draw attention to you and away from us?” Ramses raised skeptical eyebrows. “How noble.”
“Not at all. It’s time I took an interest in that tomb.”
Ramses duly reported this statement to his mother when she returned from the Valley. Her only response was a brief “We will discuss it later.”
She was dusty and flushed and he knew she was anxious to get to the comfort of her “nice tin bathtub,” but he held her back.
“Mother, has it occurred to you that we have only Sethos’s word that he is in danger? Even the attacks, on Father and me, and on Nadji, bear his hallmarks—melodramatic but not life-threatening. Designed, perhaps, to bear out his claim of being in imminent danger. The only fatality has been the death of the old holy man, and that might not have been intended. Every incident could have been engineered by him, and the so-called code may be a fake.”
She took off her hat and pushed the damp hair back from her face. “Why would he arrange such an elaborate scheme?”
“He’s after Carter’s tomb.”
“Naturally the possibility had occurred to me.”
Ramses managed not to swear. Observing his expression, she smiled. “Dear boy, I admit I have a tendency to claim the credit for prescience after the fact. In this case, however, I am not exaggerating. The conjunction of a rich find and an unexpected visit from a former antiquities thief could not but arouse suspicion. Certain facts do cast doubt on that theory, however—the timing, for one thing. The first attack, on you and your father, occurred long before Howard’s discovery.”
“Sethos has his sources,” Ramses argued. “Father suspected the tomb was there, and so might Sethos have done.”
“The bout of malaria could not have been planned.”
“It was fortuitous, but if it hadn’t happened he’d have found some other excuse for coming here.”
“You make a compelling case.” She patted his arm. “Now if you will excuse me, I must tidy up. Cyrus is coming for tea.”
“Are you going to let him in on this?”
“High time I did, don’t you think?”
When his father and Cyrus arrived, Suzanne was with them. Ramses had the distinct impression that his mother had not included the girl in her invitation, but she greeted the unexpected and unwanted guest with bland courtesy, and suggested Suzanne might want to “tidy herself” before tea.
“I could use a bit of tidying too,” Nefret said with a rueful smile. “Come with me, Suzanne. You haven’t seen our house yet, I believe.”
“Bring the kiddies back with you,” Emerson ordered. He settled himself in a cushioned chair and stretched his legs out. “Never mind tea, Peabody. I want a whiskey and soda.”
She raised her eyebrows, but went to the door and called to Fatima. The housekeeper appeared with the tray so promptly that Ramses realized she must have been lurking. She often did when Sethos was among those present.
Seated modestly at a little distance from the others, he was the perfect picture of a humble subordinate, a propitiatory smile on his lips and his eyes fixed on Emerson as if awaiting an order.
“I could do with something too,” Cyrus declared. “Never mind the soda. Now what about it, Amelia? You got rid of Suzanne very neatly; she more or less invited herself. Start talking before she comes back.”
She whisked one of her little lists from the pocket of her skirt. “How to begin,” she mused, perusing it.
“Perhaps you had better let me begin,” Sethos said. He had abandoned his subservient pose. “Cyrus knows what I do. He won’t be surprised to hear that I ran into a spot of trouble on my last assignment. I…er…borrowed a certain document which seems to be of interest to a number of people.