grudgingly.
‘No doubt. I suppose we ought to call on him. Or we might have one of your little archaeological dinner parties, Peabody. The Quibells, and Daressy, and anyone else you can
collect.’
My dinner parties, celebrating our return to Egypt, had been very popular. For the past few years I had been loath to hold them; it was too painful to see the diminished company and reflect on
the fates of those who were no longer with us: our German and Austrian colleagues departed, the ranks of the French and English Egyptologists depleted by death or military service. However, I had
already been in receipt of friendly messages from those who were still in Cairo – the news of our arrival had, of course, immediately become known. Emerson’s proposal solved the
difficulty of how I was to respond to these greetings and invitations, and astonished me not a little, for he was never inclined towards social engagements, and he had been insistent on leaving
Cairo as soon as was possible.
A brief period of reflection explained his change of heart. The letter from Cyrus and the discovery of the artifacts at Aslimi’s had whetted his curiosity; Cyrus’s mention of Howard
Carter being in some manner involved aroused an understandable desire to question that individual. There was another reason for his willingness to stay on in Cairo; he was hoping for a further
communication from his brother. He had made a point of looking through the messages every day and his disappointment at finding nothing of the sort was evident to me at least. I confess I was also
somewhat exasperated with Sethos. What had been the point of that brief encounter?
Unfortunately I was unable to locate the archaeologist whom Emerson had hoped to interrogate. Howard Carter was not in Cairo. No one knew where he was. However, when the sadly diminished group
met next evening, he was the chief topic of conversation. Owing to the short notice, the Quibells were the only ones who had been able to accept my invitation.
‘You just missed him,’ Annie Quibell said. ‘He got back from Luxor a few days ago, and went off again without any of us seeing him. James was furious.’
She smiled at her husband, whose equable temper was well known, and who said calmly, ‘I presume his duties for the War Office called him away, but I had hoped to hear more about his recent
work in Luxor.’
‘And his dealings with Mohassib?’ Emerson inquired, motioning the waiter to refill James’s wineglass.
‘Who told you that?’
‘Cyrus Vandergelt,’ I replied. ‘Is it true?’
James shrugged. ‘I’ve heard the rumour too, but I doubt Carter would admit it to me, even if it were true. He spent several months out in the southwest wadis, where the
princesses’ tomb was found; when he was in Cairo for a few days early in December, he gave me a brief report. Did you hear about his finding another tomb of Hatshepsut’s? This one was
made for her when she was queen, before she assumed kingly titles. It was empty except for a sarcophagus.’ He picked up his glass and sipped his wine appreciatively.
‘Where?’ Emerson asked.
‘High in a cleft in the cliffs, in one of the western wadis,’ Annie said. She and her husband were not great admirers of Howard; after his falling-out with the Service, he had begun
dealing in antiquities, and this did not make him popular with his professional colleagues. She added, with a distinct and amusing touch of malice, ‘He didn’t find Hatshepsut’s
tomb, James. Some of the Gurnawis did. He only followed them.’
‘Bah,’ said Emerson vehemently. ‘I wonder what else he did?’
‘So do I,’ said James.
Having failed to locate Howard, Emerson was ready to leave for Luxor at once. However, it was not to be. We were finishing breakfast en famille in our sitting room when a
messenger arrived with a letter for Emerson. It was a delightful little domestic scene, with Sennia badgering Ramses to give her a lesson in
‘No doubt. I suppose we ought to call on him. Or we might have one of your little archaeological dinner parties, Peabody. The Quibells, and Daressy, and anyone else you can
collect.’
My dinner parties, celebrating our return to Egypt, had been very popular. For the past few years I had been loath to hold them; it was too painful to see the diminished company and reflect on
the fates of those who were no longer with us: our German and Austrian colleagues departed, the ranks of the French and English Egyptologists depleted by death or military service. However, I had
already been in receipt of friendly messages from those who were still in Cairo – the news of our arrival had, of course, immediately become known. Emerson’s proposal solved the
difficulty of how I was to respond to these greetings and invitations, and astonished me not a little, for he was never inclined towards social engagements, and he had been insistent on leaving
Cairo as soon as was possible.
A brief period of reflection explained his change of heart. The letter from Cyrus and the discovery of the artifacts at Aslimi’s had whetted his curiosity; Cyrus’s mention of Howard
Carter being in some manner involved aroused an understandable desire to question that individual. There was another reason for his willingness to stay on in Cairo; he was hoping for a further
communication from his brother. He had made a point of looking through the messages every day and his disappointment at finding nothing of the sort was evident to me at least. I confess I was also
somewhat exasperated with Sethos. What had been the point of that brief encounter?
Unfortunately I was unable to locate the archaeologist whom Emerson had hoped to interrogate. Howard Carter was not in Cairo. No one knew where he was. However, when the sadly diminished group
met next evening, he was the chief topic of conversation. Owing to the short notice, the Quibells were the only ones who had been able to accept my invitation.
‘You just missed him,’ Annie Quibell said. ‘He got back from Luxor a few days ago, and went off again without any of us seeing him. James was furious.’
She smiled at her husband, whose equable temper was well known, and who said calmly, ‘I presume his duties for the War Office called him away, but I had hoped to hear more about his recent
work in Luxor.’
‘And his dealings with Mohassib?’ Emerson inquired, motioning the waiter to refill James’s wineglass.
‘Who told you that?’
‘Cyrus Vandergelt,’ I replied. ‘Is it true?’
James shrugged. ‘I’ve heard the rumour too, but I doubt Carter would admit it to me, even if it were true. He spent several months out in the southwest wadis, where the
princesses’ tomb was found; when he was in Cairo for a few days early in December, he gave me a brief report. Did you hear about his finding another tomb of Hatshepsut’s? This one was
made for her when she was queen, before she assumed kingly titles. It was empty except for a sarcophagus.’ He picked up his glass and sipped his wine appreciatively.
‘Where?’ Emerson asked.
‘High in a cleft in the cliffs, in one of the western wadis,’ Annie said. She and her husband were not great admirers of Howard; after his falling-out with the Service, he had begun
dealing in antiquities, and this did not make him popular with his professional colleagues. She added, with a distinct and amusing touch of malice, ‘He didn’t find Hatshepsut’s
tomb, James. Some of the Gurnawis did. He only followed them.’
‘Bah,’ said Emerson vehemently. ‘I wonder what else he did?’
‘So do I,’ said James.
Having failed to locate Howard, Emerson was ready to leave for Luxor at once. However, it was not to be. We were finishing breakfast en famille in our sitting room when a
messenger arrived with a letter for Emerson. It was a delightful little domestic scene, with Sennia badgering Ramses to give her a lesson in
Similar Books
