Gail Whitiker (12 page)

Mr Rowe, his face bright red, bowed, turned and walked away, waiting until he was at the other side of the room before surreptitiously wiping his eye and then his forehead.

‘That was not kind, Joanna,’ Mrs Gavin said, though her own lips trembled with barely suppressed mirth.

‘Neither was what he said about Mr Bretton.’

‘What’s this? Coming to the defence of the playwright?’ her aunt murmured. ‘I thought you did not like him.’

‘Whether I like him or not has nothing to do with it,’ Joanna said. ‘I simply do not wish to hear him denigrated by a man like Mr Rowe. After all, what has
he
to recommend himself?’

‘Ten thousand a year and the promise of a viscountcy,’ her aunt said drily. ‘And do not for a moment think that in Lady Cynthia’s eyes that does not count for a great deal.’

Joanna’s gaze lingered a moment longer on Mr Bretton—who was chatting comfortably with Sir Anthony and Lady Clifford—before moving on to Mr Rowe in one corner and Captain Sterne in the other. Both looked a little too smug for her liking and she sincerely hoped it was not their intention to do or say anything that might embarrass Mr Bretton during the course of the evening.

She would find it very hard to forgive any man such an act of unkindness...even those who circumstances forced her to consider marrying.

Chapter Seven

A
s expected, conversation around the dinner table was lively and entertaining. It moved, as good conversations do, from topic to topic, the gentlemen discussing politics and life in the country while the ladies discussed fashion and entertainments in town.

Joanna, who was seated across from Mrs Chesapeake and to the left of Mr Blair, glanced at Jane, who was sitting next to Mr Rowe, and thought what a pity it was that she hadn’t thought to check with Lady Cynthia about the seating arrangement. She suspected Mr Rowe had few of the conversational skills necessary to put a timid girl like Jane at ease; a suspicion confirmed by her cousin’s heightened colour and frequently downcast eyes.

Mr Bretton, on the other hand, was seated a little further down the table, with Mrs Gavin on his right and Lady Barker-White across from him. Joanna, who was trying to listen to a number of the conversations going on around her, realised that he was perfectly at ease in the countess’s company and that he was adroitly fielding questions about having to submit his work to the Examiner of Plays.

‘Naturally, I don’t agree with such harsh censorship of creative works,’ he said. ‘Any content deemed to be subversive or inflammatory is removed, but in removing that content, you often risk weakening the story and perhaps losing some of the play’s strongest elements.’

‘But you have not been so heavily censored,’ Sir Anthony Clifford observed. ‘I recall a number of passages in
A Winter’s Escapade
that must have raised a few clerical eyebrows.’

Mr Bretton laughed with the ease of one long accustomed to such questions. ‘Yes, I suspect they did. In truth, the Examiner has not been as critical of my works as he has been of some. But I expect the tide will turn and I will be forced into writing works that do not ruffle the diocesan feathers quite so much.’

Joanna returned her attention to her soup, impressed by Mr Bretton’s clever handling of the questions put to him. He might not have been born with a title, but there was nothing in his manner that led her to believe he was not at ease in the company of those who had been.

The same applied when the conversation came around to the subject of her father’s work in Egypt. A lively discussion ensued over what he had discovered on his latest trip and what his plans were for the next even longer one in the spring.

‘So, Bonnington, are you really thinking of travelling all the way down to Abu Simbel next year?’ Sir Clifford enquired.

‘In actual fact, we will be travelling
up
to Abu Simbel,’ the earl said, ‘given that the Nile runs from the mountains in the south to the Mediterranean in the north. So the site is actually in Upper Egypt.’

‘Yes, yes, but what matters is that you’re planning to go a damn sight further than you’ve gone before, am I right?’

‘Yes, you are, and, yes, I am.’

‘How long do you expect to be away?’

‘Well, taking the logistics of the trip into account, I’d say the better part of eight months. Nearly two will be spent travelling and, given the location of Abu Simbel and what we expect to find along the way, I don’t see how we can do it in less.’

‘Really, my lord, I cannot imagine why you would wish to spend so much time in such a barbaric country,’ Mrs Chesapeake commented in her usual forthright manner. ‘From what I understand, a person takes their life in their hands when they step outside their door, especially civilised people like us. I cannot stop thinking about that poor girl who was shot dead in the streets.’

‘I take it you’re referring to the daughter of the Swedish consul,’ Lord Amberley said.

‘I am. That poor child did absolutely nothing to provoke the attack. She was simply on her way to the public baths when an Arab jumped out and shot her.’ Mrs Chesapeake turned a censorious eye on Joanna’s aunt. ‘I don’t know how you can let your niece go on these expeditions, Lady Cynthia. I would fear for her safety every hour she was away. A young woman has no place on an expedition like that.’

‘So I have tried to tell her, but I fear she has a mind of her own,’ Lady Cynthia said. ‘And her father sees nothing wrong with it.’

‘No he does not,’ Joanna said, smiling so that her aunt would not take offence, but irritated none the less. ‘Papa is aware that I am as capable as any man who sets out and that I know better than most what to expect.’

‘Only because you have accompanied him in the past,’ Mrs Chesapeake said. ‘But you could have had no knowledge of what to expect the first time you went.’

‘On the contrary, I read extensively about the conditions and had Papa’s knowledge of previous expeditions to guide me,’ Joanna said. ‘When I went, I was very well prepared.’

‘What do you think, Bretton?’ Lord Amberley said. ‘I’m sure you’re a more liberal thinker than most, being so intimately connected with the theatrical world. What are your sentiments on women being allowed to go on such expeditions?’

Joanna flushed, her attention immediately shifting from Lord Amberley to Mr Bretton. ‘I hardly think it fair to ask Mr Bretton a question like that, my lord.’

‘It’s quite all right, Lady Joanna,’ Mr Bretton replied, looking remarkably at ease, even though the eyes of the entire room were on him. ‘Like you, I believe it is up to the individual to decide whether or not he or she wishes to go on such an expedition. I have read accounts of women who travelled to Egypt, either with or without a husband, and for the most part they enjoyed the experience immensely. It gave them a chance to step outside the confines of their normal lives and to see wonders they would never have seen otherwise.’

‘You sound as though going to Egypt is something you would like to do, Mr Bretton,’ Mrs Taylor observed with a smile. ‘Yet you have established your fame as a playwright.’

‘A man may have many interests in his life, Mrs Taylor. Writing is but one of mine.’

‘Well, personally, I cannot imagine anything pleasurable in the finding of a dried-out old mummy in the depths of some stuffy old tomb,’ Mrs Blair said with a shudder. ‘God knows what manner of blight or disease it might be harbouring. Plague is quite common in Egypt, is it not, Lord Bonnington?’

‘It is, though I suspect any form of life that might once have existed in the tombs died out thousands of years ago.’

‘Speaking of such things,’ Captain Sterne said, casting an amused glance in Mr Bretton’s direction. ‘Lady Joanna has given us to believe that you are quite knowledgeable on the subject of ancient Egypt, Bretton. Is that right?’

Mr Bretton’s eyes narrowed. ‘I enjoy reading about it, yes.’

‘Then what is your opinion of Henniker’s famous disappearing mummy? I’m sure you’re familiar with Antonio Lebolo and his work in Thebes.’

Joanna only just managed to stifle a gasp of outrage. Antonio Lebolo was an antiquities dealer who had discovered the Archon Sotor’s tomb in the winter of 1819. Inside the tomb were fourteen coffins, each with a well-preserved mummy inside. Mr Frederick Henniker, a tourist, purchased one of the coffins from Lebolo, but upon reaching Cairo reported that the coffin, which he assured everyone had not been opened, was empty—hence the mystery of the disappearing mummy.

The story had made the rounds of the archaeological community, but it was highly unlikely anyone outside that would be familiar with it. ‘Again, I hardly think it fair to put Mr Bretton on the spot—’

‘And again, I do not mind answering.’ Mr Bretton’s blue eyes glowed with quiet enjoyment. ‘I am familiar with Antonio Lebolo’s discovery of Sotor’s tomb, though I suspect the mystery of the disappearing mummy has more to do with greed than it does with any supernatural influences. As I recall, Mr Henniker was present when the tomb was opened and he bought one of the coffins that supposedly contained the body of Sotor Cornelious, governor of Thebes. Knowing of the fabulous wealth that was often deposited in mummies, especially those of noble birth or position, I suspect he unwrapped the mummy during his trip back to Cairo in the hopes of finding gold coins or jewels hidden within. When no such bounty was found, he disposed of the mummy and claimed when he arrived in Cairo that it had mysteriously vanished.’

‘But that’s disgraceful,’ Mrs Taylor said.

‘Yes, it is, but not all that surprising when you consider that the main interest of men like Lebolo and Henniker is the
value
of what is to be found in the tombs rather than the historical relevance of the find itself.’

‘So, do you share the layman’s view that such things should be left where they are?’ Mr Chesapeake asked. ‘Or do you side with the archaeologists who feel they owe it to the world to bring such treasures home?’

Again, Mr Bretton smiled, tracing with his index finger a pattern of embroidery on the tablecloth. ‘I understand the value in bringing such treasures to light and thereby giving historians a chance to find out about the civilisations that existed long before ours, but I do take issue with the tombs being plundered without thought.’

‘By the natives, certainly,’ Mr Rowe said. ‘But surely you do not disagree with British explorers removing whatever antiquities we happen to find?’

‘Would it matter to you if the person breaking into your family crypt and carting off bits of your ancestor’s belongings was an Englishman or an Arab, Mr Rowe?’

The remark elicited the expected round of laughter and Joanna smiled too—until she saw the thunderous expression on Mr Rowe’s face. Clearly, he was not amused by Mr Bretton’s remark, though whether his annoyance stemmed from the comment itself or from the fact Mr Bretton had been instrumental in turning the question back on him, it was difficult to know.

‘But it is different now, isn’t it,’ she said quickly. ‘We don’t bury our dead with the same pomp and ceremony that was employed in ancient times.’

‘We certainly don’t have our entrails plucked out, sealed in a jar and placed in the grave with us,’ Mr Chesapeake said.

Several of the ladies went pale, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Joanna’s father. ‘I think, Chesapeake, that the ladies might prefer a little less detail. As for Mr Bretton’s comment, I understand what he is saying, though I’m not sure how we go about achieving it.’

‘Well, I don’t agree with him at all,’ Captain Sterne said with a tight, cool smile. ‘The world deserves to know about the treasures being found in that part of the world. The Arabs have no interest in such things. They open up the tombs, hoping to find treasure, and when they don’t, they grind up the mummies and sell the dust, claiming it has magical medicinal powers. I say we get out as much as we can as fast as we can.’

‘How? By blowing up the entrances to the tombs?’ Mr Bretton said, his expression darkening. ‘Far too much wanton destruction is being caused by such heavy-handed methods. Time needs to be taken to excavate the sites properly and precautions must be put in place to prevent random looting.’

‘A nice idea, Mr Bretton, but how do you propose to enforce it?’

‘I doubt anyone at this table has the answer to that, Captain Sterne,’ Joanna said, painfully aware of the tension between the two men. ‘And certainly not Mr Bretton. He hasn’t had the advantage of visiting the sites the way you have.’

‘Yet
he
was the one who made the suggestion,’ Sterne tossed back. ‘If he has an opinion, let him state it. I would be interested in hearing what he has to say.’

‘My opinion is simply that extreme care must be taken in the exploration of these ancient sites,’ Mr Bretton said. ‘
And
that accurate records must be kept. Lady Joanna and those with similar skills render an invaluable service to the archaeological community. They have the ability to sketch, in almost perfect detail, the temples and structures that are being found. A number of years ago, a French archaeologist did a sketch of the chapel of Amenhotep III. His decision to do so was providential given that the chapel was torn down a few years later. That would have been a piece of history lost had it not been for the fact that someone had taken the time to capture it on paper.’

‘Is that what you do, Lady Joanna?’ Mrs Taylor asked. ‘Draw pictures of what you see?’

Joanna nodded. ‘Yes, it is.’

‘So you’re saying, Mr Bretton,’ Mrs Blair said, ‘that you approve of women being allowed to go on these expeditions?’

‘Not all women, no. Some have a romanticised idea of what they’re going to find and are totally unprepared for the conditions they meet,’ Mr Bretton said, smiling at Joanna across the table. ‘Lady Joanna knows what to expect and enjoys being able to put her skills to good use.’

‘But to be away for such a long time,’ Mrs Chesapeake said, ‘and to work under such horrendous conditions. Surely a lady should not be exposed to such hardships.’

‘With all due respect, I think if a person has a talent that serves such a useful purpose, he
or
she should be allowed to make their own choice.’

‘Well, from what I read in the paper,’ Mr Blair said, ‘there are plenty of tombs being discovered and no doubt the potential for many more. What does it matter if the contents of a few are lost along the way?’

‘It matters a great deal!’ Joanna said fervently. ‘These are relics from an ancient civilisation. Who can say that a piece of sculpture tossed indifferently to one side might not hold a vital clue to the deciphering of an as yet undiscovered language, as happened with the Rosetta Stone?’

‘Well, there can be no question that my daughter is as passionate about the subject as anyone at the table,’ Lord Bonnington said indulgently. ‘But I think the rest of the ladies are finding it somewhat less interesting.’

‘Indeed, I would far rather ask Mr Bretton about his next play,’ Lady Barker-White said, stifling a yawn.

‘And I fear the gentlemen would find that equally tedious,’ Mr Bretton countered with a smile. ‘Surely there is something about which both genders can talk with equal interest.’

‘Good God, the man’s a diplomat as well as a playwright,’ Lord Amberley said. ‘You would do well to take him with you next year, Bonnington. Aside from knowing his history as well as anyone at this table, you might just be able to make use of his negotiating skills when you run into a hostile tribe.’