The Buried Pyramid (34 page)

“The hieroglyphs on the table were not in our correspondent’s hand,” he said. “That isn’t conclusive, since there is no reason to believe the lady seer did her own decorating. However, it rules one clue out.”

“Anything else, M. Dupin?” Jenny asked with affected lightness.

Stephen ran a hand through his side-whiskers.

“There was something odd,” he admitted. “Did she say anything to you about a Hand or an Eye?”

Jenny nodded, aware that her heart was suddenly beating far too quickly.

“She did. Does it mean anything to you?”

Stephen shook his head.

“No. I wish it did. I even asked her if this had anything to do with the grinning lady.”

Jenny caught her breath.

“And?”

“And she looked at me with extraordinary blankness, then her eyes rolled up in her head and she toppled forward onto the table.”

Stephen walked a few more steps, then stopped.

“The odd thing is,” he concluded, “is that I could have sworn she was dead to the world, but sound came from her lips nonetheless. She gave the most horrid gurgling laugh and then said quite distinctly, ‘No. Far better for you if they did.’ ”

12

Mozelle

The servant boy rolled down the crimson silk curtains after Stephen’s departure from the Sphinx’s pavilion, nor did they rise again. When Eddie, impeccably Arab, went to inquire, he was informed that the lady had been overwhelmed by the strength of the communications that had passed through her. There would be no further seances today.

Privately, Neville was relieved. Despite the glowering presence of Captain Brentworth, he had been much enjoying his quiet conversation with Lady Cheshire and had no desire to interrupt it in order to lurk within some incense scented bower with a woman not half as comely. If anything was to be learned from the fortuneteller about their mysterious correspondent, the two young people would ferret it out. In any case, he thought he had already worked out the solution.

Who better than Stephen Holmboe himself as the source of the mysterious messages? His earlier denial meant nothing. Of course he would deny being the Sphinx. Why ruin his game before it had hardly begun?

Stephen was fluent in Egyptian hieroglyphs, and admittedly loved tales involving ciphers and puzzles. He also was well-known for his rather low sense of humor. If Stephen Holmboe was the Sphinx it would also explain why the warnings were so vague regarding the “good king,” but so singularly and annoyingly pointed when making reference to Neville’s interest in Lady Cheshire.

Those comments might be only mischief on the younger man’s part, but Neville was willing to bet that there was a degree of jealousy involved as well. That was why, once he had decided who the Sphinx must be, he had written to Lady Cheshire. The note had merely been an apology for his not calling yet, explaining how busy they were, and how busy they were likely to be. If he had made mention of their plans to go see the pyramids at Gizeh the following day and the likely time they would be there, he wasn’t precisely inviting the lady . . .

But he had been delighted when she had arrived. He had kept general his conversation regarding their plans for the immediate future, and had been all too aware that she was probing. But then what woman worth her salt wasn’t curious? They were always dropping little hints, and creating mysteries. It was part of their charm. Jenny’s blunt directness was almost masculine, and completely unsettling to an old-fashioned man like himself. He preferred the artistry involved in gentle flirtation.

So it was when Eddie reported that the Sphinx was done reading fortunes for the day, and Jenny and Stephen had returned dusty and dirt-smeared from touring the interior of the Great Pyramid, that Neville made his suggestion.

“You hosted us in Alexandria, Lady Cheshire,” he said. “Why not let me return the favor? We will make our leisurely return to Cairo, freshen up, and then meet again at Shepheard’s for dinner.”

His suggestion was accepted with alacrity. They rode back to Cairo in company, their camels proving not unduly offensive to the jaded nag that drew the carriage within which Lady Cheshire and her friends had arrived. When their roads parted, Neville scribbled a note and entrusted it to Mrs. Syms.

“Give this to whoever is in charge of the front desk, and they will make arrangements. Until tonight, then.”

“Until tonight, Sir Neville,” Mrs. Syms said happily, obviously anticipating a treat. Lady Cheshire merely looked demure and mysterious, and Neville’s heart sang within him.

Jenny’s silence said more than any words would have done regarding her disapproval of her uncle’s dalliance, especially in that she remained quiet after they had returned to Papa Antonio’s and there was no longer the excuse that she needed to mind her camel. Stephen would not have said anything in any case. He had a nice sensitivity regarding his place, both as a younger man and as a subordinate.

Of course, if Stephen is the Sphinx,
Neville thought,
then he has said enough already, though in cipher.

They went their separate ways. As he let Bert draw him a bath, Neville began to fume.

It’s not like I need to have an unmarried chit manage my affairs,
he thought, his temper steaming like the bath water.
I wonder that it bothers me at all. I wonder if it’s because she reminds me of Alice. Family can always get under your skin like no one else. Well, Jenny is a mere niece. Moreover, she is less than half my age—and too impressionable by half—to be so swayed by a handful of anonymous letters when anyone can see that Lady Cheshire is a fascinating and intelligent woman.

He snorted aloud, startling Bert, who was pressing Neville’s evening dress.

Bert poked his head around the carved wooden screen that provided a semblance of privacy.

“I’m sorry, Sir Neville,” he said when he saw his master still in the bath. “I thought I heard you call.”

“No, Bert. I can handle getting out of the bath by myself.”

“Very good, sir.”

Bert began to withdraw, then poked his head around again.

Really!
Neville thought.
He’s still more footman than valet. I must arrange for him to have some coaching. Perhaps someone at Shepheard’s would undertake it while we are away.

“Sir Neville,” Bert said. “I forgot to mention, but a letter was slid under the door a few moments ago.”

“Thank you, Bert. Put it on the secretary and I’ll have a look at it when I’m dry.”

“Very good, sir.”

Stephen’s working quickly,
Neville thought, amused, rising from the water and beginning to towel off.
I wonder if he had his newest cipher worked out in advance. I must be particularly dense in assisting to solve this one.

But the missive was neither from Stephen, nor from the mysterious Sphinx. It was from Eddie Bryce.

I received word that the Lotus Blossom is ready to depart as of tomorrow morning. Apparently, earlier notification was mislaid in the confusion at my house. I hope you and your companions will be prepared to depart on time, as with the tourist season beginning in force, it will be more difficult to book appropriate accommodations and we may lose a week or more.

Eddie went on to set a time they should be ready to depart, noting that he would arrange for both carriage and luggage wagon. He reminded them that secrecy was of the essence, and said that he and Papa Antonio had worked out some appropriate misdirection. The letter concluded rather surprisingly.

I would like to advise you to bring Miss Benet with you. We know that we have enemies here in Cairo. For ourselves to escape them while leaving a lady vulnerable would be less than proper. I have made arrangements for my family’s safety. I would hope that you would do no less for the only surviving member of your own bloodline.

Neville read over this last paragraph repeatedly, then folded the letter and set it aside. Eddie did have a point, and he knew he would worry about Jenny were he to leave her, even if he had her move to the comparative safety of another household—say, with the Travers family. The Anubis-mask-wearing assassins could slip in under any number of guises: porter, household servant, messenger.

He made up his mind, and before dressing for dinner donned a dressing gown and crossed to rap on his two charges’ doors. Both answered promptly, Stephen already clad in his out-dated formal wear, a book in his hand, and Jenny in a long robe. Something about her hair suggested that Emily had been dressing it.

Neville showed them both the envelope.

“The Sphinx?” Stephen said, with what Neville thought—knowing what he did—was admirable promptness.

Jenny, clearly still annoyed with her uncle, said nothing, just stood quietly. Her posture reminded Neville of a junior officer who did not dare speak out against a superior, but was determined not to offer anything that could be construed as support. For a moment, Neville considered not taking Eddie’s advice and leaving her aggravating presence behind.

But weren’t you just telling yourself that she’s the child and you the adult?
he chided himself.
Would you ever forgive yourself if something happened to her because you answered childishness with the same?

The answer was so obvious that Neville didn’t even bother to answer, not even to himself.

“No, not the Sphinx,” he said. “From Eddie. He says our steamer is ready to depart tomorrow morning. Apparently, an earlier notification was mislaid. Give any orders you have for your baggage to Emily and Bert before we depart for Shepheard’s. Have them leave out what you’ll need in the morning, but pack the rest away. Apparently, Eddie has some dodge in mind, and I wouldn’t be surprised if our luggage is gone before we return.”

“We?” Jenny asked, for he had clearly been addressing them both. “Our?”

“That’s right,” Neville said. “Eddie has convinced me that the safest place for you may be outside of Cairo, where we can keep an eye on you.”

Jenny was too pleased to be offended by this indication that her uncle thought she needed looking after. The annoyance that had been coloring her manner since she had realized that Sir Neville intended to continue associating with Lady Cheshire slid away.

“I can be ready,” she promised. “Thank you, Uncle Neville!”

She bounced to her toes, kissed him on one cheek, and hurried back into her room, doubtless to tend the dual chores of readying for departure and finishing her preparations for the evening.

Stephen smiled at her exuberance, then looked more seriously at Neville.

“Are you certain this is a good idea, sir?”

“I do,” Neville replied with more confidence than he felt. “Jenny seems to have inherited a rebellious spirit from her mother. I dread what mischief she would get into without us to mind her.”

“We won’t have a lady’s maid for her,” Stephen reminded him, “not unless you intend to bring Emily and Bert after all.”

“I think Jenny can do without,” Neville replied. “Indeed, I suspect she has done more without than with in the course of her life. There will be ample female company aboard the steamer to safeguard her honor, and when we leave . . .”

Stephen shrugged, and finished the sentence with a poor attempt at lightness, “We’ll need to safeguard far more than mere honor.”

Their dinner that night at Shepheard’s was quite elegant, and very tasty, though Neville was perhaps more absentminded than his guests might have expected, judging by the pleasant sociability with which he had visited earlier that day. Catching himself musing over whether Eddie would have laid in all the necessary supplies Neville excused himself with a laugh.

“I must have worn myself out riding that camel,” he said. “Takes more out of one than you’d imagine. I expect Jenny and Stephen will feel it in the morning.”

“I feel it now,” Jenny said, her slight shifting in her chair inviting laughter. “My body still seems to be swaying back and forth.”

When the dessert course was being served, Lady Cheshire presented them each with little gifts. Stephen and Jenny received detailed figurines depicting camels in all their caparisoned glory “to commemorate your first ride.” To Neville she presented a fine calfskin-bound volume of the works of the poet Algernon Swinburne.