Children Of The Storm Part 15

"Tomorrow morning," I said.

"Tomorrow afternoon," said Emerson.

I agreed with a show of reluctance that persuaded Emerson he had won the argument. In fact, the timing suited me very well. There were several other matters I meant to attend to while we were in Luxor.

WE PUT PART OF RAMSES'S scheme into operation as soon as we arrived at Deir el Medina the following morning, gathering our men and telling them of what had happened. Shock and surprise and expressions of their readiness to cooperate were the only results, however. Selim summed it up by declaring that no resident of the West Bank villages could have been responsible. Moral considerations aside, they knew only too well that attacks on tourists would be severely punished. There were always a few harmless madmen wandering about; they were well known and watched over with the respect Muslims show to the mentally afflicted, and none of them was given to violence.

"We will pa.s.s the word," Selim promised. "And ask about strangers."

So that was that. David and Evelyn had gone to the Castle, but Bertie was with us and so was Sennia. Letting her come was a reward and a distinction to which I felt she was ent.i.tled. Unfortunately, bringing Sennia along meant that we also had to bring Gargery and Horus. They were both frightful nuisances. Horus growled and snapped at everyone who came near Sennia, and Gargery refused to admit that he was no longer quick enough and strong enough to guard her from danger. Watching Sennia dash around the site with Gargery hobbling after her, cursing at Horus, who swore back at him, would have been amusing if it had not been so inconvenient. I hadn't the heart to deny Gargery, though-or the courage to deny Horus.

Sennia's self-appointed task was to collect inscribed ostraca for Ramses, so I persuaded her to help me sift the debris the men had removed from the house we were clearing. She had keen eyes and had been trained to recognize the cursive hieratic writing. The shards of broken pottery, some small, some quite large, sometimes had sketches instead of inscriptions. Fortunately I was able to s.n.a.t.c.h one particular sc.r.a.p away before she got a good look at it. Later, I handed it to Ramses.

"Thank you, Mother," he said. "Is this . . . Oh. Good Lord. Did Sennia see it?"

"No, I sent her off to help Emerson. You have been allowing her to fit broken pieces together, I believe; I hope and trust she has not come across others of this nature."

"So do I," Ramses muttered, holding the fragment by the edges. "I don't think so, Mother. Knowing Sennia, she would have shown them to me and asked me to explain them. I will go over the others again before I let her work on them."

"This is part of a larger piece. You see where this lower limb-"

"Yes," Ramses said quickly. He was visibly embarra.s.sed, not by the subject matter of the drawing itself but by my discussion of it. Young persons never quite accept the fact that their parents-particularly their mothers-are familiar with the mechanisms of the human body.

"It reminds me," I went on, "of the drawings on that papyrus in the Turin Museum."

"How the h.e.l.l-" Ramses almost dropped the sc.r.a.p. "I beg your pardon, Mother. How did you get a look at that papyrus? Women aren't supposed to-"

"Have you ever known me to be deterred from my research by a foolish convention? It is quite possible that though its origins are unknown, that papyrus was found here at Deir el Medina, early in the last century. The villagers seem to have been a-er-merry lot."

"Quite," said Ramses, flushed and perspiring. "If you will excuse me, Mother-"

"Not just yet. I want to discuss another matter with you."

Resignedly, Ramses subsided into a sitting position. I did not doubt he would find this subject even more embarra.s.sing, but if it had not already occurred to him he was no son of mine. I plunged straight in medias res.

"The reappearance of Maryam casts a new light on the Affair of the Veiled Hathor and lends greater credence to one of our theories. She was not on my list-"

"List?" His jaw tightened and his black eyes narrowed to slits as comprehension was succeeded by outrage. "What list? Mother, you didn't!"

"It was a legitimate, indeed, necessary, part of my criminal investigation."

Ramses pushed his hat back and covered his flushed face with his hands. "I suppose you consulted Nefret," he muttered between clenched fingers.

"My dearest boy, how could you suppose I would do such a thing? I waited until I could get you alone before raising the subject. And," I went on, "I beg that you won't waste time with false modesty. Emerson will be shouting for you soon. Maryam, as Molly, fancied herself in love with you-"

"For G.o.d's sake, Mother, she was only fourteen. It was a youthful fancy, nothing more."

I did not need to remind him of what she had done; the picture was probably as clear in his mind as it was in mine: Alone with him in his room, her dress pulled down to bare a youthful but unquestionably mature shape. What had preceded that moment I had no need to ask. She had been the aggressor, and he had immediately summoned me.

"All the same, she may have considered herself a woman scorned," I said. "Fourteen is a difficult age, given to melodrama and long-held resentment."

"Not for four years!" Ramses wiped perspiration off his forehead with his sleeve.

"Was there anyone else who might hold a grudge?"

Instead of protesting, he shrugged helplessly. "How the devil should I know what a woman considers . . . Oh, all right, Mother, since you insist. There was Dolly Bellingham. The fact that I murdered her father might reasonably prejudice her against me."

"You acted in defense of yourself and of me," I said. "I considered her, of course-"

"Of course," Ramses muttered.

"But she was a thoroughly selfish little creature who cared nothing for her father. And easily distracted, would you not say?"

"Definitely." An unwilling smile curled Ramses's mouth. "She has probably been through a dozen men since."

"I wouldn't have put it quite that way, but I agree. Anyone else?"

"No. There's Father, looking for me. May I be excused?"

I let him go, since I didn't suppose I would get any more out of him-at that time. No doubt he was right about Maryam's pa.s.sing infatuation; but she had another, more compelling, reason for hating the entire lot of us. I wondered if Ramses had forgotten that her mother had met a violent end at the hands of one of our men-we had never ascertained which. Bertha had been in the process of attempting to kill me at the time, but Maryam might not see it that way. I remembered Sethos's words: "If she blames me for her mother's death, how do you suppose she feels about you?"

I gave myself a little shake and told myself to be sensible. I did not know how the girl felt about a number of things, and neither did her father.

I meant to add her to my list, though.

I managed to get Emerson away from the site and forced into a proper suit by mid-afternoon. Everyone had decided to come along. We were to dine at the Winter Palace after completing our various errands. Daoud had offered to take us across in his new boat. He had bought it for one of his sons and set him up in business, ferrying tourists back and forth from Luxor to the tombs and temples of the West Bank. Sabir was, his proud father informed us, one of the most successful of such entrepreneurs, which was not surprising, since his boat was the most attractive-brightly painted, immaculately clean, and fitted out with rugs on the floor and colorful cus.h.i.+ons on the seats along both sides.

We pulled up to the dock amid a group of similar vessels, and Daoud announced he intended to visit relatives and would wait to take us back. I attempted to dissuade him, explaining that we might be late, but he was determined, and as the other boatmen gathered round I realized that he was looking forward to a good gossip with his friends. After disembarking we separated. David and Walter went off to look for antiquities and renew their acquaintances with various dealers; Evelyn and Lia decided to stroll about and perhaps visit a few shops. I declined their invitation to join them.

"I suppose you want to go to the police with me," said Emerson resignedly.

"Why, no, my dear, I will leave that to you. Ramses, are you going with your father?"

Ramses nodded. "I believe we also ought to inform the police about the carelessness of the hunters. We will meet you at the hotel later."

They started off down the dusty road side by side. "That's got them out of the way," I said to Nefret, who had remained with me.

"Yes. I presume you mean to call on Mrs. Fitzroyce. Father wouldn't approve."

"That is why I wanted him out of the way. You see the necessity of such a visit."

"I see why you believe it to be necessary."

"You don't agree?"

"I don't know," Nefret said, frowning slightly. "I have nothing against the girl, and I would like to see her reconciled with her father, for his sake as much as hers."

"But?"

"But . . ." Nefret's brow smoothed out and she smiled affectionately at me. "No buts. You offered to a.s.sist her, and if I were in your place I would wait for her to make the next move. It's your decision, though."

The Isis was one of the few private dahabeeyahs moored alongside the tourist steamers. Nefret let out a low whistle (an unladylike habit she had got from Ramses) when she saw it. It was a steam-dahabeeyah, one of the largest and most ostentatious boats I had ever seen. Bra.s.s railings shone and gilt ta.s.sels adorned the gold-and-crimson awning that shaded the upper deck. Large gold lettering spelled out the name, and the British flag flew at the stern. A wide carpeted gangplank extended from the boat to the bank. There was no one in sight on deck or on the shaded upper deck, but as soon as I set foot on the gangplank, a man dressed in Egyptian style appeared and hailed me in English, asking what I wanted. I replied in Arabic that I had come to call on the Sitt. "Take this to her," I went on, handing the fellow one of my cards. "And ask if she will see me."

He bowed very politely, but instead of going on his errand he handed the card to another servant who had come up, soft-footed in felt slippers. "You will wait here, please," he said.

He was a st.u.r.dy, muscular fellow, who was obviously prepared to stop us if we disregarded his request. I did not blame Mrs. Fitzroyce for taking such steps to prevent intrusion. As I knew from personal experience, some idle visitors had no scruples about forcing themselves on persons they believed to be important.

We did not have to wait long. When the second servant returned he was accompanied by a portly person wearing a fez on his large head. His hair was very black and very thick, and his face was practically spherical. It was a young face, fair-skinned and good-natured, and set off by a set of curling mustaches. He was formally attired in frock coat and striped trousers and an extraordinary waistcoat embroidered with pink roses.

"It is an honor to meet you, Sitt Hakim," he said, nodding vigorously and smiling broadly. "I am Dr. Mohammed Abdul Khattab, Mrs. Fitzroyce's personal physician."

I presented him to Nefret, which brought on another round of nods and grins. "I trust Mrs. Fitzroyce is not ill?" I inquired.

"She is only old," said the doctor nonchalantly. "She will receive you, but may I remind you that she tires easily."

"You may," I said. "We won't stay long."

The curtains of the windows of the saloon had been drawn to shut out the direct rays of the declining sun. There was enough light for me to see reasonably well, however. The room was elegantly furnished-over-furnished, in fact-with a pianoforte, rows of bookshelves, tables and chairs and sofas. It was reminiscent of the style of decoration popular before the turn of the century, and the lady who awaited us was also reminiscent of that era. She sat bolt upright in an armchair with her hands resting on the head of her stick, and her widow's weeds were as black and enveloping as those of the late Queen, who had mourned her deceased husband for-in my opinion-far too long. Instead of gloves she wore black lace mitts, of a style I hadn't seen for years. Dr. Khattab went at once to her and took her hand, his fingers pressed against the pulse in her wrist. She shook him off.

"I trust Mrs. Emerson will not be offended," she said in a creaking voice, "if I say that welcome as her visit is, it is not likely to overexcite me."

"Not at all," I said, acknowledging her little jest with a genteel chuckle.

"Please take a chair," she went on. "May I offer you tea?"

"No, thank you. We will only take a few minutes of your time. We called to-"

"Complain of my grandson," she broke in.

She appeared to like plain speaking, so I decided to oblige her. "No, we came to complain about Justin's manservant. He was responsible for my husband's fall off a cliff yesterday."

"I trust he was not seriously injured."

It was not the words but the tone that I found somewhat irritating. Old age has its privileges, but in my opinion rudeness is not one of them.

"No thanks to Francois," I retorted. "Do you consider him a suitable person to look after a gentle boy like Justin?"

"That is, I presume, a criticism couched as a question. Obviously I do, or I would not continue to employ him." She went on in a less autocratic tone. "I regret the injury to your husband, and I have spoken to Francois. It won't happen again. Why did you give my companion that hat?"

The abrupt change of subject left me speechless for a moment. I rallied instantly, of course. "She had lost hers and it was improper for her to appear in public without one."

"It is a pretty hat," said Mrs. Fitzroyce. "I had an even prettier one when I was a girl. It had on it a stuffed c.o.c.katoo with rubies for eyes."

Her head bobbed up and down and she spoke in a soft, crooning voice quite unlike her earlier peremptory tones. I looked questioningly at the doctor. He smiled and shrugged. Evidently the old lady had "spells" too, sinking into senile reminiscence without warning.

"Is she here?" I asked.

"No, she has been dead for twenty years," murmured Mrs. Fitzroyce. "She was a beautiful girl, but not so beautiful as I . . ."

"Miss Underhill has gone with Justin and Francois to Karnak," said the doctor smoothly.

"Quite right," said Mrs. Fitzroyce, snapping back into coherence. "Why do you take it upon yourself to answer questions addressed to me, Khattab?"

"Your pardon, madame." The doctor's grin appeared to be glued in place.

Not knowing how long the old lady would keep her wits, I said, "We discovered, Miss Underhill and I, that we had acquaintances in common. I wonder if she might be allowed to come to us, for dinner, or for the day, at some time."

"She is a good girl," Mrs. Fitzroyce murmured. I was not sure whether she was referring to the long-dead beauty or to Maryam, until she went on, "Very faithful. She has not missed a single day since she came to me."

She raised a limp hand, which was promptly grasped by Dr. Khattab. "Faint," he announced portentously. "Too faint, dear lady."

"We are tiring you," I said, rising. "Good day."

"Has not the pretty Mrs. Emerson something to say?" the old lady inquired.

"Only good day," said Nefret, on her feet.

"You are very pretty," said Mrs. Fitzroyce judiciously. "But not as pretty as she was."

The doctor remained with his patient, and one of the crewmen escorted us to the gangplank.

"You didn't tell her about Maryam," Nefret said in a low voice.

"There is a limit to the degree of interference even I consider appropriate," I replied. "I do not have the right to expose Maryam's secret to her employer. Mrs. Fitzroyce is an interesting individual, isn't she?"

"She must have been quite a commanding character before her mind began to go. No wonder they need such a large staff, with Mrs. Fitzroyce increasingly feeble in mind and body, and Justin utterly unpredictable."

Since it was still early, we strolled back along the corniche toward the suk. Luxor is not a large town; it was not long before we ran into Lia and Evelyn. At my suggestion we joined forces and went looking for Walter and David, who were likely to lose track of the time in their search for antiquities. We located them in the shop of Omar, drinking tea and inspecting the old rascal's collection of dubious papyri and questionable ushebtis. Omar's shop was always worth a look, since he occasionally mixed a few genuine articles in with his spurious artifacts. I believe he enjoyed testing the knowledge of his buyers, for he always gave in with good grace and no shame at all when his duplicity was exposed. David was particularly skilled at recognizing fakes, since he had made a number of them in his youth.

"What, is it time for tea already?" he asked when we entered the shop. "I am at your disposal, ladies; Omar has nothing of interest except this amulet of Isis, for which he is asking too much."

His eyes twinkling, Omar let out a heartrending groan. "Too much? I let you have it for nothing, for less than I paid!"

"I presume you have been asking about jewelry in general and bracelets in particular," I said, after we had bade Omar farewell-without purchasing the amulet.

"I put out a few feelers," David admitted, offering me his arm. "Cyrus seems to be resigned to his loss, but I am mystified at how Martinelli and his loot could have disappeared without a trace."

"It is not difficult to lose oneself in the teeming tenements of Cairo, my dear, as you ought to know. I do not doubt that he went there. If he had remained in Luxor we would have located him by now."

The Winter Palace enjoyed an unparalleled view from its raised terraces, straight across the river to the cliffs of the West Bank. They shone pink in the rays of the declining sun, and the river blazed all shades of crimson and scarlet with reflected sunset. Ramses was waiting for us.

"Where is your father?" I asked.

"He stopped off at Cook's." He resumed his chair and beckoned a waiter. "They handle most of the tours, so perhaps they can be more effective than the police at controlling the hunters in their parties."

Nefret chuckled. "Lia, what do you say we run down and listen at the door? I do love hearing Father read someone the riot act."

Lia laughed, and Ramses said, "You are in a cheerful mood this evening, Nefret. What have you and Mother been doing?"