An Egyptian Affair (The Regent Mysteries Book 4)

by Cheryl Bolen

  Rosemary stepped out from behind Maxwell’s protection. The trembling in her voice had subsided. “So that single granite box is the only object left in Khufu’s tomb? It’s not even decorated!”

  Nothing could have been plainer. In this dim light, the rectangular gray sarcophagus looked as if it had been fashioned from mortar.

  “True, my lady,” Maxwell said. “All the contents were likely stolen in antiquity—thousands of years ago. When the Caliph arrived here in 870 AD, this is how he found it. Even the missing chunk of stone was reported then—nearly a millennium ago.”

  “Would someone have switched out a more ornate sarcophagus for this plain thing?” Rosemary asked.

  “I don’t believe so,” Maxwell replied. “I have a theory. Since Khufu’s body and his entire funeral procession of several boats had to be carried a great distance down the Nile for the burial, it’s possible the original highly ornamented sarcophagus might have sunk, and they were compelled to fashion a new one in a hurry for the entombment.”

  “What brings you to such a conclusion?” Rosemary asked.

  “The fact that I’ve never seen a plain sarcophagus before. The condition of the stone—though I’m no expert—tells me it dates to the same time as the construction of the pyramid. Also, there’s the fact that since the Great Pyramid and its surrounding satellite pyramids are grander than anything that came before or since, I have to believe the furnishings that were fashioned to go inside would also have warranted opulence.”

  “I think your theory’s brilliant, Mr. Maxwell,” Rosemary said. “Such a pity the mummy was stolen long ago. I wonder whatever became of it?”

  “From the beginning of recorded history, man has been fascinated with death. Mummies were highly prized throughout the ancient world and could—and still do—fetch a great deal of money.”

  “As intriguing as mummies are,” Daphne said, “I’m happy the Regent had not commissioned Prince Singh to bring him back a mummy for Carlton House. I don't know how anyone could sleep in the same house as a mummy.”

  “I can understand why the Regent might not wish to sleep in a house with a mummy,” Jack said.

  “I most certainly understand,” Maxwell said with a chuckle. “When I was a wee lad my father brought home a mummy to study, and I had the devil of a time going to sleep. I was so terrified, my mother insisted he remove the thing from our house.”

  It seemed odd to Jack to imagine this capable resident scholar as a frightened lad.

  “Mummies are fascinating—in a macabre sort of way,” Rosemary said. "I shouldn't wish to have one in my house. Nor would I wish to spend a night in this chamber—as vastly curious as I am to see them."

  “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m ready to get out of this place,” Jack said.

  To his surprise, none of the others were inclined to dwell in this oppressive place any longer. He'd hoped getting out would be quicker than getting in, but that was not the case. At least this time, they all knew what to expect.

  Once they were back beneath the harsh sun, the four of them contrived to act as if they were on a jolly outing.

  "The first thing one does after emerging from a pyramid," Mr. Maxwell said, "is to take a long drink of strong liquor. It's said to keep away the pleurisy which can form in the lungs after the lungs have been so starved for air." He withdrew a flask from his trousers and began to pass it around. Each of them took a swig.

  “I suppose you gentlemen will be wanting to climb to the top of the pyramids?” Rosemary eyed each of the men.

  “Nothing could stop me,” Jack said, "but I beg a moment in my tent to tidy myself a bit before I don my own breeches.”

  Rosemary could hardly contain her glee. "After I clean up, I’ll go fetch my sketchbook and come to draw you men acting like monkeys.”

  “I do hope you’ll get some good likenesses of the pyramids,” Daphne said.

  “Oh, I will.”

  “Rosemary!” Daphne exclaimed.

  “What?”

  “Can I implore you to draw a picture of me on top of my dromedary?”

  “What a good idea! Papa would love to have that.”

  “I don’t want it for our dear father. I want it for me.”

  * * *

  That night they enjoyed their first completely Egyptian meal in front of a fire. Two of the servants had spent two hours preparing the dinner. The fresh bread and fruits of every possible colour were eagerly eaten, but the main course—boiled onions, not so much. Daphne noticed that Mr. Arbuthnot snatched up a plump onion and began to bite into it whole. She endeavored to do the same, but did not like it. She took more bread.

  Then she noticed Mr. Arbuthnot was soaking his bread in juices from the onion. She endeavored to do the same, but liked it no better than she liked the plain onion.

  "Is it not remarkable," she said, "that we are not being devoured by mosquitoes?"

  "Why is that, Mr. Arbuthnot?" Rosemary asked.

  "It's the Nile that breeds the mosquitoes. You will find some in the desert but not like in Cairo."

  "One would think the light from the fire would attract them," Jack said.

  "It would most certainly—if they were here," Mr. Arbuthnot said.

  "It's fortuitous that none of us carried the pests with us," Mr. Maxwell said.

  "The Consul asked that I bring port for us as well as the soldiers. Good English soldiers, all."

  Jack got up. "I'll help you with that."

  While Jack and Mr. Arbuthnot fetched several bottles of port from the latter's saddlebags, Lord Beddington and his French archaeologist Charles Mailet strolled into their camp, and there were greetings all around.

  "If you don't mind," Arbuthnot said to Jack, "I'll have you serve our little party whilst I serve the soldiers."

  Except for a lone soldier who was always on watch, musket in hand and saber at his side, the soldiers sat around another campfire some thirty feet away from the British subjects they were sworn to protect. They happily welcomed the two bottles of port that Mr. Arbuthnot delivered.

  After Arbuthnot returned to their campfire and took his seat, Lord Beddington, in French, introduced his scholar to everyone, and Mr. Mailet's eyes widened when he learned that he was to meet Stanton Maxwell. "You are so much younger than I'd have thought."

  "You may have me mixed up with my father."

  Mr. Mailet shook his head emphatically. "No, I am most familiar with his works, also, but the son has handily exceeded the father's accomplishments."

  Mr. Maxwell peered into his lap. "You're very kind. But I should like to ask you about your work at Pompeii."

  Rosemary got up and walked to where Mr. Mailet sat, and she plopped herself between the two scholars. "I shall absorb everything you two brilliant men say."

  The three of them chatted away to the exclusion of the others.

  Jack sat beside Daphne, his own port in hand, and addressed Mr. Arbuthnot, bringing up a subject that had been very much on Daphne's mind. It was really too uncanny how they tapped into each other's thoughts with such acuity. "I've been thinking about the women's aversion to snakes—as well as to all things that crawl in the sand—and I've determined that I shall ask the soldiers to swap tents with us for this one night. The women will feel more secure in a good old English tent."

  As much as Daphne disliked the idea of slithering things on the floor of her tent, she disliked even more the notion of her poor sister all alone in a tent with no Jack to protect her.

  "Splendid idea," Arbuthnot said.

  "Thank you, Captain," Rosemary said. "I was not looking forward to sleeping in that Bedouin-style tent."

  "If you're truly frightened," Daphne offered, "You are welcome to come into our tent." Even though Daphne had dreamed of spending a romantic night in a tent with her husband, she would happily forgo the romantic night to alleviate her sister's fears.

  "No, I'll be more comfortable by myself."

  "Then I will re-pitch my tent next to you
rs, Lady Rosemary," Mr. Maxwell pledged.

  Mr. Maxwell's devotion to Rosemary was so noble. A pity he wasn't a nobleman.

  "And we'll be on the other side," Jack pointed out.

  "I shall feel perfectly safe." She bestowed a sweet smile on her bespectacled admirer.

  Lord Beddington addressed Daphne. "Did you father ever sire a son?"

  "No, my lord. The poor man is father to six daughters, but he treats my husband rather like a son."

  "And another of his sons-in-law," Mr. Arbuthnot pointed out with delight, "is the Duke of Lankersham. You will remember he's a cousin of the Regent."

  "Is your father close to the duke?"

  Even his wife wasn't close to the cold duke, Daphne thought. "They get along very well."

  "Speaking of the Regent," Jack said, "he said something to my wife about looking up his old friend Prince Singh. Do you know him?"

  Lord Beddington did not answer for a moment. "He's a delightful man. Perfect command of English—and he's possessed of a remarkable eye for quality antiquities. I've purchased many things from him."

  He did not speak of Prince Singh in the past tense. Did that mean he thought he was still alive?

  "Did he ever offer you the Amun-re mask?" Daphne asked.

  "He did. At the same time I had the opportunity to buy a heavily gilded sarcophagus in almost perfect condition. Both were extremely expensive. I chose the sarcophagus. And I've not regretted it. It's the jewel of my interiors collection."

  "His lordship's exterior collection is an amazing assortment of statuary from antiquity for his English gardens," Mr. Arbuthnot pointed out.

  "One of these days I'll get home to see it. I've had an Etruscan garden, a Turkish garden, and an Egyptian garden fashioned around the statuary I've obtained in my travels throughout the Orient."

  She needed to steer the conversation back to Prince Singh. "Did Prince Singh help you with any of those purchases?"

  He nodded. "With one for my Egyptian garden."

  "Do you know we've not been able to locate Prince Singh. His servants say he disappeared last fall."

  His brows lowered. "He's still not returned?"

  Daphne sadly shook her head.

  "Then you knew he was missing before you went to Thebes?"

  "I had forgotten all about it until you mentioned it a moment ago, but yes, I had heard that he was missing. Surely someone knows where he's gone."

  Daphne shook her head. "I was hoping you might have seen him in Thebes."

  "My secretaries and I were the only foreigners in Thebes."

  The port was a mellow, fitting ending to so exotic a day. Daphne snuggled closer to her husband and allowed her lashes to slowly drop. Her thoughts kept going back to the fallen rocks that could have killed her sister.

  Though she found Lord Beddington perfectly amiable, she had to consider him a suspect. Could he have had spies in Cairo who knew they'd be coming here today? Could one of his servants be responsible for rigging the potential death trap in the Great Pyramid?

  How she longed to discuss the trap with the others, but they'd made a pact to tell no one else. Not even kindly (though arrogant) Mr. Arbuth-knows-it-all.

  A howling sound caused all of them to jump.

  "That was a jackal," the attaché informed them.

  "Are they dangerous?" Daphne asked.

  "They could become aggressive when confronted by a single individual, but they normally stay away from humans."

  "I hate that we have to return to Cairo tomorrow," Rosemary said. "There's so much more to explore here in Gizeh. I should love to have the opportunity to examine some of the mestabas."

  "What are those mestabas used for?" Daphne asked.

  "They, too, are burial chambers for lesser personages of high rank. How many do you think there are?" Rosemary asked Mr. Maxwell.

  He shrugged. "Several hundred."

  "Surely we can look in one before we must leave in the morning," Rosemary said.

  "I don't see why we can't manage that," Mr. Maxwell said.

  "I'd always assumed they'd be small," Rosemary said.

  "Because they look so small when compared with the nearby pyramids," Mr. Maxwell said.

  Rosemary nodded. "I was surprised that they rise to at least thirty feet."

  "It does seem rather tall, given that the burial chambers are subterranean," the scholar said. "Entering them is not as easy as one might think. Like the pyramids, these were constructed with hidden doors, and even when one finds the doors, they don't lead to the burial chamber."

  "That sounds odd," Daphne said.

  "It's because the actual doors were so that priests and family members could bring offerings for the dead person's soul," Mr. Mailet said. "The room they came to led to nowhere."

  "So, let me get this right," Daphne said, perplexed. "There will actually be two entrances: one for the offerings and another for the burial chamber?"

  "Not really, my lady," Mr. Maxwell answered. "The burial chamber was initially accessed from the center of the mestaba, then sealed off."

  Daphne turned up her nose. "It all sounds frightfully terrifying."

  "I suppose it would be if one were buried alive," Mr. Maxwell said with a little chuckle.

  "Now I will not be satisfied until I can see one for myself," Daphne said.

  "Then we shall have to oblige the lady in the morning," Mr. Arbuthnot said.

  Lord Beddington finished his port, rose and said his farewells. "If I don't see you in the morning, I will make it a point to have you come to the villa for an English meal. Soon."

  "That would be very agreeable," Jack said, rising and shaking the man's hand.

  After he and his companion were gone, Mr. Arbuthnot said, "Now, Captain, you must tell me how your inquiries go."

  "I have nothing to tell."

  "Surely you don't think the murder of that courtesan could be related to your quest," Mr. Arbuthnot said.

  "I strongly suspect that it is," Jack said.

  She was proud of her husband's terse responses. He never liked discussing his inquiries with anyone other than his life's partner. And now Rosemary and Maxwell.

  "Oh, dear," the attaché said. "A pity you've brought the ladies with you—if, indeed, you're dealing with the kind of person who would murder a lady—not that that woman could precisely be labeled a lady."

  "Her life was of value," Daphne snapped. "No one deserves to die in such a manner—except perhaps the duc d'Arblier, who's tried many times to murder my husband, as well as our Regent."

  Mr. Arbuthnot's brows raised. "A Frenchman?"

  Jack shrugged. "It does not signify." He set down his empty glass and stood. "It's time we see about switching tents."

  The soldiers readily agreed to Jack's request. Then he asked who was to be on night watch.

  "I am, sir."

  Jack ran his eye along the young man's long, sturdy limbs. Thankfully, this soldier was the strongest looking. That, at least, inspired confidence. "I should like you to pay particular attention to this tent." Jack pointed to the tent where Rosemary would sleep. "Lady Rosemary will be alone. You're to protect her."

  "You can depend upon it, sir."

  * * *

  When Jack awakened the following morning, dawn had not yet broken. Their tent was still in darkness, but it was a darkness diffused by the slowly rising sun. As had been his custom for so many years of clandestine activities, he was on instant alert. He whirled to Daphne, to assure himself first that nothing had happened to her. He could barely see her beloved features in the darkness but was reassured by her steady breathing.

  He softened as he recalled their tender lovemaking of the night before. He had not previously understood his wife's compulsion to make love in a tent in the Egyptian desert. Until they did.

  It was a night he'd never forget. Even through their pallet, they felt the cool billowing sand beneath them. It was such a comforting feeling to be lying within the shelter of their well-constructed British t
ent as the winds whipped along the desert planes, sprinkling their tent with sand. It would have taken no effort to imagine he and Daphne were the only two beings in this land so far away from all they had known. The only sound to be heard was a distant jackal.

  Now, even though dawn had not broken, he heard servants awakening and beginning to build a fire for the morning meal. The noise awakened his wife.

  She pulled up her linen to cover her bosom and smiled at him. "Good morning, my love."

  He leaned to her for a petal-soft kiss. "We ought to get started before the intense heat."

  He helped her dress—once again in native dress of flowing robes, and she assisted him with his boots. He had chosen to wear his own clothing. He had not enjoyed the wearing of robes.

  "Your sister may need your help," he said.

  "But it's still dark. She's likely still asleep."

  "Because of the heat, it will behoove us to rise early. Especially if she wants to see the mestabas."

  She left the tent, and a moment later he heard his wife's horrified wail.

  Chapter 11

  Jack bolted from their tent. "What's happened?"

  "Rosemary's gone!" Daphne stood just inside her sister's tent, her hand still lifting the entry flap. "Someone's taken her!"

  Shirtless and barefoot, Maxwell came rushing from his tent on the other side. "This cannot be! I never heard a word . . . I swore I would protect her," he said, his voice forlorn.

  The rear of Rosemary's tent had been slashed through. Jack whirled around to chastise the soldier he'd asked to guard Rosemary.

  The fellow was sitting in the sand directly in front of Rosemary's tent, his head bent, chin on chest, eyes closed, hugging his musket to him as if it were a cherished woman. He was sound asleep.

  Jack mumbled an oath as he began to shake the soldier. He did not readily awaken. Then Jack smelled it. Laudanum. "The guard's been drugged with laudanum!"

  "We need to determine if anyone else is missing," Maxwell said, his voice commanding.

  Jack's eyes narrowed. "It wouldn't surprise me to discover that one of our recently hired servants is responsible for Rosemary's abduction." His gaze returned to Rosemary's tent. "Daf, can you see if anything of your sister's is missing?"