Elizabeth Peters: The Golden One

“Well, really!” Mrs. Albion took her husband’s arm. “Evil is in the mind of the beholder; isn’t that so, Mrs. Emerson? Let us go, Mr. Albion.”

Cyrus couldn’t resist one final dig.

“No use making arrangements with the dealers on this one, Joe. At the final division, most of the objects will go to the Cairo Museum, and the rest, supposing they are generous enough to leave us a percentage, will not be for sale.”

The Albions left, and Ramses said, “You did rather rub it in, Cyrus.”

“Enjoyed every minute of it,” Cyrus declared, stroking his goatee. “I hoped Joe would slip and make some dumb remark about how he’d already paid for his share, but he’s too smart for that. I wonder who else is going to turn up?”

The next to turn up was Howard Carter, who had to listen to a tirade from Emerson about his exploration of the western wadis. “I’ve been trying to track you down for weeks,” Emerson declared indignantly. “Where have you been? What were you doing in the Gabbanat el-Qirud? Why the devil haven’t you made your notes accessible?”

Carter was too much in awe of Emerson to protest the injustice of the complaint. “My notes are at your disposal, sir, as always,” he said meekly. “I apologize if I offended you.”

“Bah,” said Emerson. “Now see here, Carter -”

“Father, I’m sure Mr. Carter would rather hear about the new tomb,” Nefret interrupted. “Sit down, Mr. Carter, and have a cup of tea.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Carter said with a grateful look at her. “I most certainly would. I will be in Luxor for some time – my next project is to copy the procession reliefs at Luxor Temple – but naturally, if I can assist in any way at all…”

“You can come by now and then,” Emerson said grudgingly. “It will teach you how to conduct a proper clearance of a tomb.”

However, the most unexpected news came in the form of a telegram.

“Look forward to seeing you all soon. Fondest regards, Cousin Ismail.”

“I might have known the news of the tomb would fetch him,” Emerson grumbled. “He doesn’t say when he is coming. Damned inconsiderate.”

“Even more inconsiderate is that infernal signature,” I said in some vexation. “How are we to introduce him? The Vandergelts are bound to recognize him as Sethos, but we cannot call him that. What is his real name?”

“Cursed if I know,” Emerson admitted. “Never gave it much thought.”

“Well, my dear, he will turn up where and when he chooses, as he chooses, and there isn’t a thing we can do about it.”

He turned up at Deir el Medina, two days later. We had had several other visitors that morning, including the cursed Albions; they came round almost every day, though they did not have the temerity to approach us again. Emerson stormed about this, but there was no way we could keep them away from the site as long as they did nothing but sit in their carriage at a distance and look on. The scaffolding had been completed and the door ordered; since nothing more could be done until we had acquired a generator and electric lighting, Emerson had sent us back to work on our boring village. I looked up from my rubbish dump to see a man on horseback approaching.

He came straight to me and removed his hat. “Good morning, Amelia. At your rubbish again, I see.”

He looked well. I observed that first: the healthy color in his face, the upright frame and easy pose. A neatly wound turban concealed his hair, and a magnificent coal-black beard hid the lower part of his face. The tweed suit was not the one he had borrowed from Ramses; it was new and very well cut. In short, he was the picture of a distinguished Oriental gentleman, possibly an official of high rank who had, as his accent indicated, been educated at an English university. Cyrus might be able to identify him as the surly, silent individual who had been his guest the year before, but I doubted any of the others who had known him so briefly would be able to do so.

“A fondness for beards must run in the family,” I remarked.

“You could hardly expect me to appear in Luxor without one, my dear. Some sharp-eyed person might notice I bear a resemblance to a certain well-known Egyptologist.”

“How am I to introduce you?”

“Cousin Ismail, of course. I rather like the name.”

He turned and offered his hand as Emerson came hurrying toward us.

The cordial reception he received seemed to surprise him a little. Nefret gave him a kiss, and Cyrus a hearty handshake, a knowing smile, and an invitation to visit the tomb. Sethos had to hear all about its discovery first; he congratulated Bertie and Jumana, who didn’t know quite what to make of him, but who were flattered by his interest. After luncheon we all went up to the platform outside the tomb. Sethos crawled in and out of the passage, and then brushed himself off and remarked, “You’ve quite a job ahead of you, Vandergelt. I would be happy to recommend a good restorer. I suspect you may need one, some of the organic materials appear to be in a delicate condition.”

“Are you an archaeologist, sir?” Jumana asked.

“I have had a good deal of experience in the field,” said Sethos smoothly. He glanced casually at the rock face above the entrance. It was the first time I had noticed the symbol – a roughly carved circle divided by a curving line.

Ramses waited until Bertie and Jumana and Cyrus had started down the ladder before he spoke. “I hope you don’t mind, sir. I took the liberty -”

Sethos grinned. “I was about to suggest it myself. The Master’s mark may not deter every thief in Gurneh, but it still carries some weight. By the by, are you acquainted with that lot?”

From the height where we stood, the Albions’s carriage was clearly visible. It had been there for several hours.

“We know them slightly,” I said. “Do you?”

“Albion was one of my best customers. I stopped dealing with him a few years ago, after he tried to cheat me.”

“Cheat you?” Emerson repeated. “I wouldn’t have thought anyone could.”

“Dear me, Radcliffe, was that meant to be sarcastic? He didn’t succeed. Watch out for him, that’s all I’m saying.”

When we parted for the day, Cyrus apologized for not inviting “Cousin Ismail” to dinner. “Got to stand guard tonight,” he explained. “But we’re expecting the door to arrive in a day or two; once that is up and secured, we hope, sir, to see a great deal of you. I would very much enjoy a private chat.”

“Thank you,” said my brother-in-law.

I had assumed he would stay with us. He said he had made other arrangements, but would be delighted to join us for tea and an early supper. Jumana’s presence prevented conversation of a personal nature, and when we got to the house Sennia was waiting on the veranda.

“So this is Sennia,” said Sethos, offering his hand. “I have heard a great deal about you – all to your credit, and all well deserved, I see.”

He had a way with women of all ages, and Sennia was no exception. Immensely flattered at the grown-up speech and gesture, she gravely shook hands with him. “Thank you, sir. I have not heard about you, though. Are you a friend of ours?”

“A very old friend” was the smiling reply. “Isn’t that so, Radcliffe?”

“You call him Radcliffe?” Sennia spread her skirts in a ladylike manner and took the chair he held for her. “He doesn’t like to be called that, you know.”

“I had no idea,” Sethos exclaimed. “What shall I call him, then?”

“Well, I call him Professor,” Sennia explained. “Aunt Amelia calls him Emerson, or ‘my dear,’ and Nefret calls him Father, which he is, and Ramses calls him ‘sir,’ and some people call him ‘Father of Curses.’ ”