Part 25 (1/2)
”Of course you did. Quite right, too. I will make further inquiries, but don't get your hopes up.”
”Sure appreciate it,” Cyrus said, his hopes obviously rising. ”Well, I better get on home. Sorry for busting in on you like this.” He had avoided looking directly at Maryam. Now he went to her and held out his hand. ”Good to have you back in the family, young lady. We will see you at our soiree on Sunday, I hope.”
His tact and kindness brought a becoming flush to her cheeks. ”Thank you, sir. I don't know . . .” She glanced at her father, who said easily, ”We accept with pleasure. Please convey my thanks and regards to Mrs. Vandergelt. I look forward to seeing her and her son again.”
”Oh, say, that reminds me.” Hat in hand, Cyrus turned to me. ”Katherine told me to ask whether some of you folks might want to stay with us at the Castle. We've got plenty of room, and you must be getting a mite crowded here.”
Such was certainly the case. I had had to move Sennia out of her pleasant little suite of rooms and give them to David and Lia and their children. She was in David's old room, with the one next to it serving as a schoolroom. Evelyn and Walter occupied the guest rooms at the other house. What with additional offices and storage rooms, both houses were full up, and I had been forced to ask Sennia to share her schoolroom with Maryam, an arrangement that did not please Sennia. I would have consigned the Luxor gossips to the devil and sent Maryam to stay with her father on the Amelia, but she needed a little more time to be comfortable with him. Besides, I wanted her with me, where I could keep an eye on her. The girl had been attacked once already, and that incident had yet to be explained.
I was tempted to send Sennia to the Castle, along with Basima and Gargery, whose constant surveillance was beginning to get on my nerves. However, Horus would have had to accompany them, and he had no manners, particularly with regard to the Vandergelts' cat Sekhmet.
I was about to tell Cyrus I would think it over and let him know, when Evelyn spoke up. ”That is very good of Katherine, Cyrus. If you are sure, Walter and I will take advantage of your kind offer. I will speak to Katherine about it tomorrow.”
Evelyn was the mildest and most accommodating of women, but when she spoke in that decisive tone I never attempted to differ with her. I waited until after Cyrus had left us before venturing to ask what had prompted her decision.
”Having houseguests for a protracted period becomes inconvenient” was her smiling reply. ”Ramses and Nefret would never say so, but I am sure we are putting them out. Katherine and I enjoy each other's company; she has been feeling a bit neglected, I think.”
Ramses leaned over the back of the sofa and put his arm round her shoulders. ”You needn't be so tactful, Aunt Evelyn. Being in the same house with my children is enough to drive anyone into a nervous collapse.”
He was laughing and she laughed too, as she looked up at him. He was standing between her and Maryam; the girl s.h.i.+fted position slightly.
”Very well,” I said. ”It will be a nice rest for you, Evelyn, being away from the little darlings for a while. The accommodations at the Castle are quite luxurious, and you will be waited upon like a queen.”
Somewhat belatedly, it occurred to me to ask Walter what he thought about the scheme. The little darlings had not bothered him, since he was deaf and blind to all distractions while he was working. Nudged by his wife, he said absently, ”Certainly, my dear, whatever you say. I will take the papyrus with me. It is proving to be most interesting.”
”I'm afraid it is my fault that you are all being put to so much trouble,” Maryam murmured.
”Not at all,” I said. ”This will work out nicely for everyone. You can move into the other house tomorrow. I expect you are tired; come along and I will show you where you are to sleep tonight.”
The schoolroom-no longer to be referred to as the day nursery-was not directly connected to Sennia's bedroom-not to be referred to as the night nursery. The doors of both rooms opened onto the courtyard behind the house. A cot had been moved in, and Fatima had made certain all was neat and tidy, but I had not realized how shabby the room looked. The calico curtains, moving gently in the night breeze, were threadbare, and the tiled floor bore certain indelible stains-ink and paint and the evidence of feline visitation.
”I am afraid it isn't very elegant,” I said apologetically. ”But it is only for one night.”
She said something under her breath-something about ”no better than I deserve.” Since I believe in striking when the iron is hot, I decided to take the bull by the horns. I motioned her to sit down. ”I have been wanting to talk to you about your mother, Maryam. She was an unfortunate woman who behaved very badly and who died violently-but not at our hands, or at those of your father.”
She gasped as sharply as if I had struck her, and looked up into my face. ”You don't believe in beating round the bush, do you?”
”There is no sense in that. I don't know what you have heard about her, but I intend to set the record straight and remind you that you are in no way accountable for any of her actions.”
”My father was not present when she . . . when she died?”
”No. Shall I tell you what really happened that day?”
She nodded, her eyes wide.
”Her-er-a.s.sociation with your father followed other-er-a.s.sociations of a similar nature,” I said. ”I am giving you the bare facts, Maryam, without attempting to explain or excuse them, though you must bear in mind that she had no chance at a better life. That is tragically true of many women, but Bertha was not the sort to submit meekly. She formed a criminal organization of women and was, in a somewhat unorthodox way, a supporter of women's rights. She came to dislike me because she believed-er-”
”That my father was in love with you.”
”In essence, that is correct,” I said with a little cough. ”Such is no longer the case, if it ever was, but jealousy drove her on several occasions to try to kill me. The final attempt occurred on the day of which I am speaking. She had taken me prisoner the previous afternoon. Thanks to your father, I was able to escape; but when I came out of the house of my friend Abdullah, where I had found refuge the night before, she was lying in wait for me. I was saved by Abdullah, who threw himself in front of me and took in his own body the bullets meant for me. Several of the men who were present-friends of ours and of Abdullah-had to wrestle her to the ground in order to get the gun away from her. I do not know-I doubt anyone knows-who actually struck the fatal blow. My full attention was on Abdullah, who lay dying in my arms. They did not set out to kill her, Maryam; they were mad with anger and grief, and she would have gone on shooting if they had not prevented her.”
”Abdullah,” she repeated. ”Little Dolly's great-grandfather? Selim's father, and the grandfather of David . . . You all loved him very much, didn't you?”
Her composure worried me. It was unnatural. ”Yes, we did.”
”They were present-Selim and David?”
”Why, yes. So were . . . See here, Maryam, if you suspect Selim or David of striking the fatal blow-”
”That was not what I meant.”
”Good Gad,” I exclaimed in horror, as her meaning dawned on me. ”Are you suggesting that one of them-one of us-blames you for your mother's actions and wants revenge? That one of them-one of us-hired an a.s.sa.s.sin to attack you? Nonsense, child. Aside from the fact that none of us would perpetrate such an act, your true ident.i.ty was unknown to us until after the event. Get it out of your head this instant.”
The curtains flapped violently. Maryam let out a little scream and I let out a m.u.f.fled swear word as a portly form climbed laboriously through the window. Once Horus had been able to leap through it. Age and weight had taken their toll; now he had to scale the wall. Poised awkwardly on the sill, he looked round the room, spat, and vanished into the night.
”He was looking for Sennia,” I explained. ”I hope you are not frightened of cats.”
”I like them very much. I never had one.”
”Don't waste your time trying to make friends with Horus. He detests all of us except Sennia and Nefret. He won't bother you again tonight. Can you sleep now?”
”Yes.” Impulsively she put her hand on mine. ”Thank you. You have cleansed my mind of some very ugly thoughts.”
It was a pretty gesture and a pretty little speech. ”You do believe me, then?” I asked. ”It is a sad story, but we must not judge others or feel guilt for their actions. Each of us has enough on our consciences without taking on the guilt of others.”
FROM Ma.n.u.sCRIPT H.
Emerson's hopes of resuming his full work schedule were doomed from the start. Only he, as his wife acerbically remarked, would have trotted blithely off to Deir el Medina when so many duties, domestic and investigative, took precedence. Immediately after breakfast she intended to help Evelyn and Walter pack for their removal to the Castle, and arrange for Maryam to move into their rooms. Lia was ordered (it was couched as a request, but no one doubted it was an order) to go through her wardrobe to see if she could find something for Maryam to wear. A long monologue, to which Ramses listened with only half an ear, explained her reasons-something about relative sizes and the absence of practical garments in the girl's wardrobe. At the last minute Nefret received an urgent summons to the clinic; the word of its opening had spread and her services were increasingly in demand.
Emerson listened openmouthed to this ruthless depletion of his work force. ”Curse it,” he exclaimed. ”The fill is piling up, Peabody. How long is it going to take you to pack a few clothes?”
”You know nothing about it, Emerson, so kindly refrain from putting your oar in.” Obviously pleased with this bit of slang, she added, in a more amiable voice, ”I will be along later, perhaps. You can have Ramses and David, if you like.”
”Good of you,” muttered Emerson. ”Let's go, boys, half the morning is gone.”
It was just after 7 a.m.
Despite Emerson's complaints they had managed to make some progress in deciphering the plans of the various shrines north of the village and the Ptolemaic temple. Some were better preserved than others, but all had been damaged by time and amateur diggers, and it required skill and experience to untangle the original plan. Bertie, the best draftsman of the group, had been faithful in his attendance. He arrived soon after they did, apologizing for his tardiness, and produced the latest of the plans he had been working on for over a week.
”Ha,” said Emerson, studying it. ”Yes, that seems to be acceptable, so far as it goes. I want to identify the deity to whom this structure was dedicated.” He took out his pipe and stabbed at the incomplete outline of what appeared to be a smallish chapel.
It was, in Ramses's opinion, a futile task. The little private shrines had not been constructed of stone but of mud brick, plastered and painted. By now the plaster had flaked off and disintegrated. They hadn't found a flake larger than a thumbnail.
He took the liberty of pointing this out to his father. ”A votive stela,” said Emerson dogmatically. ”That's all we need. Even an ostracon inscribed with a prayer. Something may yet turn up in the area we haven't finished clearing. Anyhow, the plan isn't complete. Where's the back wall? Selim!”
Selim hadn't been listening. His head thrown back, he was staring at the brightening blue of the sky with a bemused expression. Looking for another aeroplane, Ramses thought, with inner amus.e.m.e.nt. Emerson had to call him twice before he responded.