The Buried Pyramid (7 page)

“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Benet,” Lady Cheshire said, apparently unaware of the undercurrents her words had stirred. “Or do you prefer ‘Jenny’? Americans are so much more relaxed than we stuffy English.”

Jenny gave an exquisitely noncommittal smile. “Whichever pleases you, Lady Cheshire.”

Lady Cheshire raised one elegant eyebrow the slightest amount before turning to indicate the two people who waited politely in her wake. “May I introduce my own companions?” Lady Cheshire said. “Sir Neville, I believe you know Mrs. Syms. Miss Benet, Sarah Syms. Sarah, Miss Benet.”

Sarah Syms had the horsey features so common in the English upper class. She was grey-haired and rather plain, with a wiry figure that suggested she kept herself active. This impression was borne out by how her pale blue eyes darted with lively interest between Neville and his niece.

“And Captain Robert Brentworth,” Lady Cheshire continued.

Robert Brentworth was a well-built, muscular man who towered over everyone present. His skin was darkly tanned, making his deep blue eyes seem more vivid by contrast. Although his brown hair and mustache were a trifle too coarse to be fashionable, and his features were too regular to be striking, he radiated a vitality that made him undeniably attractive.

Jenny seemed to think so, for her gaze lingered on him for a moment before she glanced over to Lady Cheshire as if attempting to assess the pair’s relationship.

Neville wasn’t about to explain. Audrey Cheshire was the widow of Lord Ambrose Cheshire, a noted Egyptologist. Husband had been easily thirty years senior to wife, and so no one had been terribly surprised when he had predeceased her. Audrey had nursed her husband most devotedly during his final illness, but as soon as etiquette permitted her to put aside her widow’s weeds, she had apparently put aside all memory of her husband as well.

Robert Brentworth had been an associate of Lord Cheshire’s, but it was rumored that his devotion to his friend’s widow had more to do with her copious personal charms—and possibly the fortune Ambrose had left her—than with any loyalty to Lord Cheshire’s memory.

Though Neville had dared hope that Jenny’s presence would stop Lady Cheshire’s prying, he was disappointed.

“So when do you leave?” she asked archly.

“Within the week,” he replied.

“That’s very wise,” she said. “Dear Ambrose always said that the weather was the greatest opponent for a venture such as you intend. I always found it difficult to believe how cold and snowy England was when we were abroad.”

Neville managed a polite enough reply, but could feel his jaw hardening around the things he wanted to say. Perhaps Lady Cheshire detected his irritation, but perhaps she was only aware that she had forced her company on them as long as was polite.

“I must let you drink your tea before it cools,” she said, as Captain Brentworth stepped forward to escort her on her way. “I was simply so surprised to still see you in England.”

She turned to Jenny.

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Benet.”

“The pleasure was entirely mine, Lady Cheshire,” Jenny replied, and Neville was quite certain there was an ironical gleam in those violet eyes. “Mrs. Syms. Captain Brentworth.”

They parted company with appropriate insincerities, and Neville managed a swallow of tea while Jenny settled her cumbersome skirts.

“Well, Uncle? You are going abroad?”

“I was about to tell you,” he said rather stiffly.

She raised her rose-painted tea cup and sipped, neither helping nor hindering his explanation.

Neville found himself saying rather more than he had intended. “Your parents’ deaths, that was the start. I had long meant to visit Alice in her new home, to see with my own eyes the life she described so vividly in her letters. As you know, I never made the journey. First, there were my responsibilities to the army. Then other things intervened. My parents had need of me; the weather was unfavorable; the political situation . . .”

He couldn’t bring himself to mention his own recuperation from the injuries that had been inflicted upon him on that dark night, the events of which still haunted his nightmares. He told himself that Jenny had experienced enough suffering without his inflicting his own upon her vicariously, but he knew the truth was that he didn’t want to dwell on those memories. The time when the doctors had nearly amputated his leg had perhaps been the worst, but there had been too many others nearly as bad.

Jenny’s expression remained neutral. She refilled his cup, then her own, took an iced cake from the plate between them and waited.

“I resolved,” Neville went on, “that I should not make the same mistake again, live to regret a promise unfulfilled. I began making arrangements for my return to Egypt.”

“Egypt!” Jenny’s exclamation held delight and surprise. “Oh, Uncle! When do we leave?”

Neville had not expected this. Indignation that he would leave her so soon after her arrival, anxiety for her own place in his absence, these he had considered, but not that a young lady ending one voyage would relish the prospect of another—and there was no doubt that Jenny relished the prospect of this one.

“I had not intended to take you with me,” he began, cut to the quick when he saw the disappointment dim the deep violet of her eyes. “Jenny, I shall not remain in the cities. I know that Cairo has quite a well-established European community, but I would not be able to squire you about—even if I still knew anyone. It has been many years since I lived in Egypt.”

“Cities?” Jenny replied. “I would like to see them. Cairo is Arab, of course, the Mother of Cities they call her, though I would rather see the pyramids and the sphinx. Alexandria has a more European pedigree than Cairo, and should be quite sophisticated. Yet Luxor that was Thebes of the ancient Egyptians, perhaps Abu Simbel, Karnak, Kom Ombo . . . Those are the places I yearn to see with my own eyes.”

Neville blinked, and Jenny laughed, her momentary disappointment forgotten.

“Didn’t you know that Mama used your letters to make me take an interest in geography? Your accounts of your travels, the trinkets you sent, the picture postcards, all made those places real and alive. I read tons about wherever you were. I was so sorry when you left the Egypt and returned to England.”

So was I,
Neville thought, but said nothing.

“I mean,” Jenny went on, faltering slightly as if she had read his thoughts. “I mean, England was still exotic and Scotland sounded wonderful, but they weren’t Egypt or India or Greece or wherever else.”

Neville found his tongue.

“Alice did mention that she shared my letters with you,” he said, “but I don’t think I ever realized to what use she turned them—or what an avid student she had created.”

“Now doesn’t that beat all,” Jenny said. “And here I am thinking that you know you’re my greatest hero, right up there with Mr. Lincoln, who I do admire highly for what courage he had freeing the slaves and preserving the Union at such a terrible cost to himself. Mother must never have told you. She could be so very English, you know.”

Neville realized that he’d been completely in error to ever equate his sister and her daughter. Alice would never have spoken this freely to a man she had just met—even an uncle whose letters she’d read for years. Indeed, Alice probably would have gotten all tongue-tied at the prospect of meeting one of her heroes. That was one of the reasons her romance with Pierre had caught everyone off guard, and why Father had thought that simply forbidding Alice to see Pierre would be enough. Neville had a feeling that forbidding Jenny to do something she desired would be about as useful as telling the sun not to shine.

“But, Jenny,” he said as gently as he could, rather overwhelmed by his newly acquired status as hero, “I do not intend to stay in any of those cities. Doubtless I will pass through some of them, but I am not touring. I have . . . business to undertake.”

“In the desert?” Jenny asked, and the glow in her eyes diminished not a whit. “I should like to see the Egyptian desert—camels, jackals, ruins of ancient temples. I think the Egyptian desert would be far more interesting than our American versions.”

Neville was determined to nip this romanticism in the bud. “Camels are foul creatures—bad tempered and smelly. Jackals are not nearly as romantic as timber wolves, nasty scavengers that they are, and ruins are not at all what you might expect from the picture postcards.”

Jenny dismissed this with a wave of her hand.

“Camels can’t be worse than jack mules, and scavengers aren’t nasty. They’re useful. As for ruins, well, I’ve seen some that the old-time Indians left back home, and most of that’s mud bricks, bits of stone tools, and busted pots. I liked that just fine, so I don’t figure Egypt could disappoint.”

Neville thought furiously, hunting for any way out other than bald refusal, a thing he already had reason to believe this pert American miss would find offensive.

“Jenny, my expedition is entirely male. It would not be proper for you to travel in such company.”

Jenny shrugged. “I’m sure that where it will matter there will be some woman about, and I’ll just attach myself to her if needed. If there’s no one around to care, well, then, who will care?”

There was a certain logic to her argument, but Neville refused to be seduced.

“Currently, my expedition is very small—myself and two other men. Only one of those men is married, and so could be expected to understand a woman’s needs and temperament. You ask a great deal of two bachelors.”

Jenny didn’t press the point, but Neville didn’t think this was because she had resigned herself to remaining behind.

He had been planning on leaving Jenny because he had assumed she would want to remain in London. After all, there were the autumn and winter social seasons yet to come. She would be novelty enough to be invited to numerous balls and fetes—she might even land a good husband.

Still, if Jenny really wanted to accompany him, perhaps he could hire some army wife to assume the role of chaperon once he went into the field. Neville did feel rather bad about abandoning the girl so soon after her arrival, and this would ease his conscience and let him settle her where she could at least tour the museums and local ruins. A compromise might be best.

“Woolgathering, Uncle Neville?” Jenny asked, her tone amused. “I’ve asked three times. Who are the other members of your expedition?”

Neville could think of no reason not to answer.

“The only one traveling with me from England is Stephen David Holmboe, a linguist whose specialization is the ancient Egyptian language. In Egypt we will be met by Edward Bryce, a soldier with whom I once served. He has local contacts, and will be quartermaster for our group.”

And military support,
Neville thought.
No need to tell Jenny that, though, nor explain Eddie’s peculiar lifestyle over there.

“Linguist and specialist in the ancient Egyptian language,” Jenny mused aloud. “And a quartermaster. And going away from the cities. That sounds like you’re going treasure hunting.”

“Not precisely,” Neville replied frostily.

“I’m sorry,” Jenny apologized quickly. “I’ve rubbed you raw. I forgot. Treasure hunting’s not good form any more, is it? People don’t hunt for treasure. They search for antiquities that will reveal to us knowledge about lost civilizations. Seems to me the thrill would be about the same.”

Neville shook his head in mock chagrin.

“You’re not responding like a proper young miss,” he said. “Where are all the cries about snakes and spiders? Where are the warnings about the risks we shall be taking? Where the desire for iced drinks and the newest fashions?”

“Drowned at sea,” Jenny answered promptly. “I heard enough chatter about fashion to make me ill. Half the women on board were fretting about whether their gowns were too provincial. The other half were already sure that their gowns were and were gloating over plans to visit the best shops as soon as they were ashore. I could tell you enough about bustles and the new debate over appropriate colors to make your head ache.”

“No doubt,” Neville agreed.

He noted that despite her efforts at self-control, Jenny had been forced to pat back a yawn.

“Come along, my dear,” he said, helping her to rise. “We can talk more later. I can’t have you falling asleep into your tea.”

Jenny smiled sheepishly.

“Thought I could hold it back,” she admitted, “but I’m bushed.”