The Mummy Case Read online

"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."

  Having made this pronouncement, he vanished into the corridor that led to the library.

  "Ha," I exclaimed. "Now you know, Evelyn—"

  "I know." Her arm stole round my waist. "I will never forget the day you restored me to life when I fainted in the Roman Forum. Your husband cannot spare you to nurse me, Amelia, and I assure you, there is no need. I am past the point where ... That is, the dangerous period has..."

  Evelyn is absurdly modest about these things. Since I consider motherhood a natural and interesting event, I see no reason for reticence. I said briskly, "Yes, the first three months were, for you, the period of risk. I conclude then that you will bear the child in December or January. Speaking of children..."

  "Yes, of course. You will be eager to see Ramses."

  She spoke in a hesitating manner, avoiding my eyes. I said coolly, "Has something h
appened to him?"

  "No, no, of course not. At least... The truth is, he is missing."

  Before I could pursue my inquiries, Emerson came bursting into the hallway where we stood. "Missing!" he bellowed. "Pea-body—Ramses has disappeared! He has not been seen since breakfast. Curse it, why are you standing there? We must search for him immediately."

  I caught hold of a marble pillar and managed to resist Emerson's efforts to drag me toward the door.

  "Calm yourself, Emerson. I have no doubt a search is underway. You can do nothing that is not already being done. In fact, you would probably lose your way, and then everyone would have to look for you. It is not unheard of for Ramses to take himself off for long periods of time; he will return when he is ready."

  The last part of this calm and reasonable speech was lost on Emerson. Finding himself unable to budge me, he released his hold and rushed out the door, leaving it open.

  "There is no cause for concern," Evelyn assured me. "As you said, Ramses has done this before."

  "Ra-a-amses!" Emerson's voice is notable for its carrying quality. "Papa is here, Ramses—where are you? Ram-ses..."

  I said to Evelyn, "I believe I could fancy a cup of tea."

  Tea is regarded, in these islands and elsewhere, as a restorative. It was in this light that Evelyn offered it, as she continued to reassure me as to Ramses' safety. I was glad of the tea, for the long train ride had made me thirsty. If I had wanted a restorative, I would have asked for whiskey and soda.

  As I could have predicted, it was only a few minutes later that Emerson returned, with Ramses cradled in his arms. I studied the touching tableau with disfavor. Ramses was, as usual, incredibly dirty, and Emerson's suit had just been sponged and pressed.

  Trotting behind them came the large brindled cat we had brought from Egypt on our last expedition but one. She was Ramses' constant companion, but unfortunately few of the admirable habits of the feline species had rubbed off onto her young owner. She threw herself down on the carpet and began cleaning herself. Ramses freed himself from his father's hold and rushed at me without so much as wiping his feet.

  His small and sticky person was redolent of dog, chocolate, straw (used straw, from the stables) and stagnant water. Having embraced me, and left liberal traces of his presence on the skirt of my frock, he stood back and smiled. "Good afternoon, Mama."

  Ramses has a rather prepossessing smile. He is not otherwise a handsome child. His features are too large for his juvenile countenance, especially his nose, which promises to be as commanding as that of his ancient Egyptian namesake. His chin, which is almost as oversized in proportion to the rest of his face, has the same cleft as his father's. I must confess that Ramses' chin softens me. I returned his smile. "Where have you been, you naughty boy?"

  "Letting de animals out of de traps," Ramses replied. "I t'ought your train was not coming till later."

  "What is this?" I frowned. "You are lisping again, Ramses. I told you—"

  "It is not a lisp, Amelia." Evelyn hastened to defend the miscreant, who had turned to the tea table and was devouring sandwiches. "He pronounced his s's perfectly."

  "Some other speech defect, then," I replied. "He does it deliberately. He knows how it annoys me."

  Leaning against his father's knee, Ramses stuffed an entire watercress sandwich into his mouth and regarded me enigmatically. I would have continued the lecture but for the arrival of Walter, breathless and perspiring. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw the boy.

  "So there you are, you young rascal. How could you wander off when you knew your mama and papa would be here?"

  "I t'ought..." Ramses glanced at me. Slowly and deliberately he repeated, "I t'ought de train would be later dan was de case. You must swear out a warrant against Will Baker, Uncle Walter. He is setting traps again. It was necessary for me to free de unfortunate captives dis afternoon."

  "Indeed? I will see to it at once," said Walter.

  "Good Gad," I exclaimed loudly. Walter had once spanked Ramses (for tearing pages out of his dictionary), and now he too had succumbed to the imperious dictates of the miniature tyrant.

  "Language, Amelia, language," Emerson exclaimed. "Remember that young, innocent, impressionable ears are listening."

  At my suggestion Ramses retired to bathe and change. When he returned after a short interval he was accompanied by his cousins. It would have been difficult to deduce the relationship. Ramses' cheeks of tan and mop of curly black hair resembled the coloring of residents of the eastern Mediterranean regions, while his cousins had inherited their mother's fair hair and the sweet regularity of countenance of both parents. They are handsome children, especially Emerson's namesake, young Radcliffe. Raddie, as we called him, was then nine years of age, but looked older. (A few months of Ramses' companionship has that effect on sensitive individuals.) The twins, Johnny and Willy, appeared to have suffered less, perhaps because there were two of them to share the tempestuous effect of Ramses' personality. They greeted us with identical gap-toothed smiles and shook hands like little gentlemen. Then Ramses came forward with the fourth and (as yet) youngest of Evelyn's children—a dear little cherub of four, with golden curls and wide blue eyes. The curls were somewhat disheveled and the eyes were bulging, since Ramses had her firmly about the neck. Thrusting her at me, he announced, "Here is 'Melia, Mama."

  I freed the unoffending infant from his stranglehold. "I know my namesake well, Ramses. Give Aunt Amelia, a kiss, my dear."

  The child obeyed with the grace all Evelyn's offspring possess, but when I suggested she sit beside me she shook her head shyly. "T'ank you, Auntie, but if I may I will sit wit' Ramses."

  I sighed as I beheld the look she turned on my son. I have seen the same expression on the face of a mouse about to be devoured by a cobra.

  Evelyn fussed over the children, stuffing them with cakes and encouraging them to chatter about their activities; but I joined in the discussion between the men, which had to do with our plans for the autumn campaign.

  "You won't be returning to Thebes, then?" Walter asked.

  This was news to me, and I was about to say so when Emerson exclaimed in exasperation, "Curse you, Walter, it was to be a surprise for Amelia."

  "I don't like surprises," I replied. "Not in matters concerning our work, at any rate."

  "You will like this one, my dear Peabody. Guess where we are to excavate this winter."

  The beloved name halted the reproof hovering on my lips. Its use goes back to the early days of our acquaintance, when Emerson used my surname in an attempt to annoy me. Now hallowed by tender memories, it is a symbol of our uniquely satisfying relationship. Emerson prefers me to use his last name for the same touching reason.

  So I said, humoring him, "I cannot possibly guess, my dear Emerson. There are dozens of sites in Egypt I am dying to dig up."

  "But what do you yearn for most? What is your Egyptological passion, hitherto unsatisfied? What is it you crave?"

  "Oh, Emerson!" I clasped my hands. In my enthusiasm I overlooked the fact that I was holding a tomato sandwich. Wiping the fragments from my hands, I went on in mounting rapture, "Pyramids! Have you found us a pyramid?"

  "Not one, but five," Emerson replied, his sapphire orbs reflecting my delight. "Dahshoor, Peabody—the pyramid field of Dahshoor—that is where I mean to dig. I intended it as a treat for you, my dear."

  "You mean to dig," I repeated, my first enthusiasm fading. "Do you have the firman for Dahshoor?"

  "You know I never apply to the Department of Antiquities beforehand, my love. If certain other archaeologists learned where I wanted to excavate they would also apply, out of pure spite. I don't mention names, but you know whom I mean."

  I waved this unwarranted slur upon Mr. Petrie aside. "But, Emerson, M. de Morgan dug at Dahshoor last spring. As head of the Department of Antiquities he has first choice; what makes you suppose he will yield the site to you?"

  "I understand that M. de Morgan is more reasonable than his predecessor," said Walter, the peacemaker. "Grebaut was an unfortunate choice for the position."

  "Grebaut was an idiot," Emerson agreed. "But he never interfered with ME."

  "He was terrified of you," I exclaimed. "I recall at least one occasion upon which you threatened to murder him. De Morgan may not be so timid."