leave, and she hadn’t spied Hugh Carmichael, whom she was expecting to meet, as yet.
The distinctive whirr of an airplane engine overhead caused everyone to look up. Silhouetted against the sky was Hugh’s Blériot monoplane, circling as it descended to land. Despite the presence of Whittaker and his companions, Ursula felt a surge of adrenaline as she saw the airplane dip across the sky.
“An exciting but rather dangerous pastime, don’t you think?” Ambrose Whittaker commented. “You heard, of course, about Mr. Carmichael’s copilot.”
“Yes, I did.” Ursula’s eyes narrowed as she regarded Whittaker closely. “Hugh told me. An accident in Palestine. Tragic. I believe the other plane was totally destroyed.”
“Luckily Mr. Carmichael’s still rich enough to own not one but two of the world’s finest airplanes.”
“I guess so.”
Hugh had brought both airplanes to Egypt in preparation for a series of test flights across the Libyan Desert. His plan, he told Ursula, was to enter next year’s air race from Egypt to England. “Assuming,” he had noted dryly, “that both I and my business are still living.” Carmichael Shipyards in Newcastle had been plagued by recent industrial problems, and Ursula had heard rumors that Hugh’s earlier, riskier forays into petroleum were faltering. The loss of his copilot had hit him hard, and Ursula had even heard him speak of abandoning flying altogether.
“Ever thought about going up in one?” Whittaker asked.
“Yes,” Ursula replied candidly. She thought the idea of flying quite exciting.
“Really, Miss Marlow, that would hardly be seemly!” Mrs. Lawrence interjected, perspiration trickling down her ruddy face.
The donkeys, bored by the wait, shuffled in the sand. Miss Violet Norton and Miss Emerence Stanley, the Methodist missionaries, exchanged glances but remained mute.
Ursula turned west toward the Djoser complex. “Well, that’s where I’m headed, so I’d better be off,” she started to say, but Whittaker, immune as always to the snub, beamed. “Excellent, just where we were headed! Come along, Milly, mustn’t dawdle, we have a great deal to accomplish today.”
“Right-oh, Whittaker. Lead on!”
Ursula was forced to trudge through the sand beside the donkeys conveying Whittaker and Mrs. Lawrence. The missionary ladies followed in silence.
Shards of pottery dotted the sand, tiny remnants of ancient Egypt that only hinted at the riches that lay beneath in tombs and shafts. There was such feverish anticipation associated with every archaeological dig that Ursula couldn’t help but feel the lure of the past with every footfall. She only wished she could stay in Egypt longer, unhurried by business concerns, and learn more about the digs that seemed to set up daily among the ancient ruins. Instead, as they reached the entrance wall to the complex, Ursula focused once more on the questions surrounding Katya’s death and turned to Whittaker.
“Have you seen Mr. Vilensky?” she queried. She hadn’t seen him since the days that followed Katya’s death.
“I met with him yesterday about donating some of his private collection to the museum. I believe he is in the process of finalizing his plans to return to London,” Whittaker responded.
“I thought he may have gone back to Palestine,” Ursula ventured.
Whittaker cast her a sideways glance. “He was lucky we could even make the arrangements for Mrs. Vilensky in time. If he wasn’t such an important fellow, I doubt we could have managed it. It’s their custom, you know, to arrange the burial within twenty-four hours. We had to get a dispensation from a local rabbi to delay the matter by just a few days to transport the body. I had to really pull strings to arrange it all.”
“I’m sure Mr. Vilensky is exceedingly grateful,” Ursula replied evenly. “I must confess, though, I was surprised by the speed with which everything happened. I thought the Egyptian authorities or local
The distinctive whirr of an airplane engine overhead caused everyone to look up. Silhouetted against the sky was Hugh’s Blériot monoplane, circling as it descended to land. Despite the presence of Whittaker and his companions, Ursula felt a surge of adrenaline as she saw the airplane dip across the sky.
“An exciting but rather dangerous pastime, don’t you think?” Ambrose Whittaker commented. “You heard, of course, about Mr. Carmichael’s copilot.”
“Yes, I did.” Ursula’s eyes narrowed as she regarded Whittaker closely. “Hugh told me. An accident in Palestine. Tragic. I believe the other plane was totally destroyed.”
“Luckily Mr. Carmichael’s still rich enough to own not one but two of the world’s finest airplanes.”
“I guess so.”
Hugh had brought both airplanes to Egypt in preparation for a series of test flights across the Libyan Desert. His plan, he told Ursula, was to enter next year’s air race from Egypt to England. “Assuming,” he had noted dryly, “that both I and my business are still living.” Carmichael Shipyards in Newcastle had been plagued by recent industrial problems, and Ursula had heard rumors that Hugh’s earlier, riskier forays into petroleum were faltering. The loss of his copilot had hit him hard, and Ursula had even heard him speak of abandoning flying altogether.
“Ever thought about going up in one?” Whittaker asked.
“Yes,” Ursula replied candidly. She thought the idea of flying quite exciting.
“Really, Miss Marlow, that would hardly be seemly!” Mrs. Lawrence interjected, perspiration trickling down her ruddy face.
The donkeys, bored by the wait, shuffled in the sand. Miss Violet Norton and Miss Emerence Stanley, the Methodist missionaries, exchanged glances but remained mute.
Ursula turned west toward the Djoser complex. “Well, that’s where I’m headed, so I’d better be off,” she started to say, but Whittaker, immune as always to the snub, beamed. “Excellent, just where we were headed! Come along, Milly, mustn’t dawdle, we have a great deal to accomplish today.”
“Right-oh, Whittaker. Lead on!”
Ursula was forced to trudge through the sand beside the donkeys conveying Whittaker and Mrs. Lawrence. The missionary ladies followed in silence.
Shards of pottery dotted the sand, tiny remnants of ancient Egypt that only hinted at the riches that lay beneath in tombs and shafts. There was such feverish anticipation associated with every archaeological dig that Ursula couldn’t help but feel the lure of the past with every footfall. She only wished she could stay in Egypt longer, unhurried by business concerns, and learn more about the digs that seemed to set up daily among the ancient ruins. Instead, as they reached the entrance wall to the complex, Ursula focused once more on the questions surrounding Katya’s death and turned to Whittaker.
“Have you seen Mr. Vilensky?” she queried. She hadn’t seen him since the days that followed Katya’s death.
“I met with him yesterday about donating some of his private collection to the museum. I believe he is in the process of finalizing his plans to return to London,” Whittaker responded.
“I thought he may have gone back to Palestine,” Ursula ventured.
Whittaker cast her a sideways glance. “He was lucky we could even make the arrangements for Mrs. Vilensky in time. If he wasn’t such an important fellow, I doubt we could have managed it. It’s their custom, you know, to arrange the burial within twenty-four hours. We had to get a dispensation from a local rabbi to delay the matter by just a few days to transport the body. I had to really pull strings to arrange it all.”
“I’m sure Mr. Vilensky is exceedingly grateful,” Ursula replied evenly. “I must confess, though, I was surprised by the speed with which everything happened. I thought the Egyptian authorities or local
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