The Mummy Case (2 page)

Petrie, the brilliant young excavator, was Emerson's bete noire. They had a great deal in common—their insistence on order and method in archaeology, their contempt for the lack of order and method displayed by all other archaeologists, and their habit of expressing that contempt publicly. Instead of making them friends, this unanimity had made them rivals. The custom of publishing within a year was unique to the two of them, and it had developed into an absurd competition—a demonstration of masculine superiority on an intellectual level. It was not only absurd, it was inefficient, resulting, at least in Petrie's case, in rather slipshod work.

I said as much, hoping this would comfort my afflicted husband. "He can't have done a good job in such a short time, Emerson. What is more important, the quality of the work or the date on which it is published?"

This reasonable attitude unaccountably failed to console Emerson. "They are equally important," he bellowed. "Where the devil is my pen? I must not waste an instant."

"You threw it against the wall. I doubt that we will be able to get the ink off that bust. Socrates looks as if he has measles."

"Your humor—if it can be called that—is singularly misplaced, Peabody. There is nothing funny about the situation."

I abandoned my attempts to cheer him. The news might as well be told.

"I had a telegram from Evelyn this afternoon," I said. "We must go to Chalfont at once."

The flush of temper drained from Emerson's face, leaving it white to the lips. Remorsefully I realized the effect of my ill-considered speech on a man who is the most affectionate of brothers and uncles and the most fatuous of fathers. "All is well," I cried. "It is good news, not bad. That is what Evelyn says." I picked up the telegram and read it aloud. '"Wonderful news. Come and share it with us. We have not seen you for too long.' There, you see?"

Emerson's lips writhed as he struggled to find words in which to express his relief. Finally he shouted, "Amelia, you are the most tactless woman in the universe. What the devil ails you? You did that deliberately."

I pointed out the injustice of the charge, and we had a refreshing little discussion. Then Emerson mopped his brow, gave himself a shake, and remarked calmly, "Good news, eh? An honorary degree for Walter, perhaps. Or someone has endowed a chair of Egyptology for him."

"Foolish man," I said with a smile. "You are off the mark. My guess is that Evelyn is expecting again."

"Now that is ridiculous, Peabody. I have no strong objection to my brother and his wife continuing to produce offspring, but to call it wonderful news—"

"My sentiments are in accord with yours, Emerson. But neither of us wrote this telegram. You know Evelyn's feelings about children."

"True." Emerson reflected, pensively, on the peculiar opinions of Evelyn. Then his face became radiant. "Peabody! Do you realize what this means? If Evelyn has recovered from her melancholia, she will no longer require Ramses to keep her company. We can bring our boy home!"

"I had arrived at the same conclusion."

Emerson leaped up. I rose to meet him; he caught me in his arms and spun me around, laughing exultantly. "How I have missed the sound of his voice, the patter of his little feet! Reading to him from my History of Ancient Egypt, admiring the
 
bones he digs up from the rose garden— I have not complained, Peabody—you know I never complain—but I have been lonely for Ramses. This year we will take him with us. Won't it be wonderful, Peabody—we three, working together in Egypt?"

"Kiss, me, Emerson," I said faintly.

Our neighbors are not interesting people. We have little to do with them. Emerson has antagonized most of the gentlemen, who consider him a radical of the most pernicious sort, and I have not cultivated their ladies. They talk of nothing but their children, their husbands' success, and the faults of their servants. One of the favorite sub-topics under the last head is the rapidity with which the servants' hall becomes acquainted with the private affairs of the master and mistress. As Lady Bassington once declared, in my presence, "They are frightful gossips, you know. I suppose they have nothing better to do. By the by, my dear, have you heard the latest about Miss Harris and the groom?"

Our servants unquestionably knew more about our affairs than I would have liked, but I attributed this to Emerson's habit of shouting those affairs aloud, without regard for who might be listening. One of the footmen may have overheard his cries of rapture at the prospect of being reunited with his child, or perhaps Wilkins had allowed himself to theorize. In any event, the word spread quickly. When I went up to change for dinner, Rose knew all about it.

Rose is the housemaid, but since I do not employ a personal servant, she acts in that capacity when I require assistance with my toilette. I had not called her that evening; yet I found her in my room, ostensibly mending a skirt I could not recall having
ripped. After asking what she should pack for the journey to Chalfont, she said, "And while you are away, ma'am, shall I see that Master Ramses' room is got in order?"

"His room is in order," I replied. "I see no reason to do anything more, since it won't remain in order for five minutes after he occupies it."

"Then Master Ramses will be coming home, ma'am?" Rose asked with a smile.

Rose's fondness for Ramses is absolutely unaccountable. I cannot calculate how many cubic feet of mud she has scraped off carpets and walls and furniture as a result of his activities, and mud is the least disgusting of the effluvia Ramses trails in his wake. I replied, rather shortly, that the day and hour of Ramses' return was as yet mere speculation, and that if any action on her part was necessary, she would be informed as soon as I knew myself.

Ramses had no nanny. We had naturally employed one when we took the house; she left after a week, and her successors passed in and out of the place so rapidly, Emerson complained that he never got to know what they looked like. (He had once taken the Honorable Miss Worth, whose religious beliefs demanded a puritanical simplicity of dress, for the new nanny, and before this assumption could be corrected, he had insulted the lady to such a degree that she never called on me again.) At the age of three Ramses had informed us that he did not need a nanny and would not have one. Emerson agreed with him. I did not agree with him. He needed something—a stout healthy woman who had trained as a prison wardress, perhaps—but it had become more and more difficult to find nannies for Ramses. Presumably the word had spread.

When we went in to dinner I saw that Ramses' imminent return had been accepted as fact. Wilkins' face bore the look of supercilious resignation that constitutes his version of sulking, and John, the footman, was beaming broadly. Like Rose, he is unaccountably devoted to Ramses.

I had long since resigned myself to the impossibility of teaching Emerson the proper subjects of conversation before the servants. Wilkins is not resigned; but there is nothing he can do about it. Not only does Emerson rant on and on about personal matters at the dinner table, but he often consults Wilkins and John. Wilkins has a single reply to all questions: "I really could not say, sir." John, who had never been in service before he came to us, had adapted very comfortably to Emerson's habits.

That evening, however, Emerson sipped his soup and made banal remarks about the weather and the beauty of the roses. I suspected he was up to something; and sure enough, as soon as John had retired to fetch the next course, he said casually, "We must make plans for our winter campaign, Peabody. Will you be taking your maid?"

Neither of us has ever taken a personal attendant on our expeditions. The very idea of Rose, in her neat black frock and ruffled cap, crawling in and out of a tent or pitching a camp cot in an abandoned tomb, was preposterous. I reminded Emerson of this, which he knew as well as I did.

"You may do as you like, of course," he replied. "But I believe that this year I may require the services of a valet. John—" for the young man had returned with the roast beef, "how would you like to go with us to Egypt this year?"

Wilkins rescued the platter before much of the juice had dripped onto the floor. John clasped his hands. "What, sir? Me, sir? Oh, sir, I would like it above all things. D'you really mean it, sir?"

"I never say anything I don't mean," Emerson shouted indignantly.

"Have you taken leave of your senses?" I demanded.

"Now, now, Mrs. Emerson—pas devant les domestiques." Emerson grinned in a vulgar manner.

Naturally I paid no attention to this remark, which was only meant to annoy me. Emerson had introduced the subject; I was determined to thrash it out then and there.

"You, with a valet? You don't employ one here; what possible use could you have for an attendant in Luxor?"

"I had in mind—" Emerson began.

He was interrupted by John. "Oh, please, sir and madam— I'd be of use, truly I would. I could keep them tombs clean, and polish your boots—I'm sure they take a deal of polishing, with all that sand there—"

"Splendid, splendid," Emerson said. "That's settled, then. What the devil are you doing, Wilkins? Why don't you serve the food? I am ravenous."

There was no response from Wilkins, not even a blink. "Put the platter on the table, John," I said resignedly. "Then take Mr. Wilkins away."

"Yes, madam. Thank you, madam. Oh, madam—"

"That will do, John."

Though John is an extremely large person, he is only a boy, and his fair complexion reflects every shade of emotion. It had run the gamut from the flush of excitement to the pallor of apprehension; he was now a delicate shell-pink with pleasure as he led his unfortunate superior away.

Emerson attacked the beef with knife and fork. He avoided my eye, but the quirk at the corner of his mouth betokened a smug satisfaction I found maddening.

"If you believe the subject is closed, you are in error," I said. "Really, Emerson, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. Will you never learn? Your inconsiderate behavior has shocked Wilkins into a stupor and raised hopes in John that cannot be realized. It is too bad of you."

"I'll be cursed if I will apologize to Wilkins," Emerson mumbled. "Whose house is this, anyway? If I can't behave naturally in my own house—"

"He will recover; he is accustomed to your ways. It is John I am thinking of. He will be so disappointed—"

"I am surprised at you, Amelia," Emerson interrupted. "Do you suppose I really want John to act as my valet? I have another function in mind."

"Ramses," I said.

"Naturally. Devoted as I am to that adorable child, I know
his ways. I cannot concentrate on my work if I must worry about him."

"I had, of course, planned to employ a woman to look after the boy when we arrive in Cairo—"

"A woman!" Emerson dropped the knife and planted both elbows on the table. "No native servant can deal with Ramses; Egyptians spoil their own children badly, and those who work for English people have been taught to indulge all members of the so-called superior race. Superior! It makes my blood boil when I hear such—"

"You are changing the subject," I warned, knowing his propensity to lecture on this topic. "We will find a man, then. A strong, healthy young man—"

"Like John. Do use your head, Amelia. Even if we could find a suitable person in Cairo—what about the journey out?"

"Oh," I said.

"It turns me cold with terror to think of Ramses running loose aboard ship," Emerson said—and indeed, his bronzed countenance paled visibly as he spoke. "Aside from the possibility that he might tumble overboard, there are the other passengers, the crew, and the ship's engines to be considered. We could go down with all hands, never to be heard of again. Only a life preserver, floating on the surface__"

With an effort I shook off the dreadful vision. "That seems an exaggeration," I assured him.

"Perhaps." Emerson gave me a look I knew well. "But there are other difficulties, Amelia. If Ramses has no attendant, he will have to share our cabin. Curse it, my dear, the trip lasts two weeks! If you expect me to forgo—"

I raised a hand to silence him, for John had returned, carrying a bowl of brussels sprouts and beaming like the sun over the pyramids of Giza. "You have made your point, Emerson. I confess that problem had not occurred to me."

"Had it not?" The intensity of Emerson's gaze increased. "Perhaps I had better remind you, then."

And he did, later that evening, in a most effective manner.

We reached Chalfont on the next afternoon and were greeted by Evelyn herself. One look at her radiant face assured me of the correctness of my surmise, and as I gave her a sisterly embrace I murmured, "I am so happy for you, Evelyn."

Emerson's acknowledgment of the news was less conventional. "Amelia informs me you are at it again, Evelyn. I had hoped you were finished; you promised to come out with us once you had got this business of children over and done with; we haven't had a satisfactory artist on a dig since you abandoned the profession, and it does seem to me—"

Laughing, Walter interrupted him. "Now, Radcliffe, you ought to know that in these matters Evelyn is not solely responsible. Leave off abusing my wife, if you please, and come see my latest acquisition."

"The demotic papyrus?" Emerson can be distracted from almost any subject by an antiquity. He released his affectionate grasp of Evelyn and followed his brother.

Evelyn gave me an amused smile. The years had dealt kindly with her; her fair beauty was as serene as it had been when I first met her, and motherhood had scarcely enlarged her slim figure. Her blooming looks reassured me, but I could not help but feel a certain anxiety; as soon as the gentlemen were out of earshot, I inquired, "You are certain this time that all is well? Perhaps I ought to stay with you for the remainder of the summer. If I had been here last time—"

I had believed Emerson could not overhear, but his ears are abnormally keen on occasion. He turned. "Are you at it again, Amelia? The Egyptians may call you Sitt Hakim, but that does not qualify you to practice medicine. Evelyn will do much better without your dosing her."