Nefret’s jaw was set at an angle I was more accustomed to see from Emerson. “Are you actually suggesting I purchase a husband for her? I cannot believe you mean it.”
“It is the only thing you can do for her,” I said sadly but firmly, “and probably the thing she would choose for herself. Don’t let your kind heart and romantic notions overcome your common sense. You cannot snatch her away from her home and her people and try to turn her into someone other than who she is. In time, let us hope, her daughter or granddaughter or great-granddaughter will have other choices.”
“Let us hope.” Nefret turned her head away for a moment. “It is such a sweet baby.”
“A very sweet baby.”
“I will interview the candidates personally.”
“You might give Ghada a voice in the decision too,” I suggested.
Nefret gave me a watery smile and a hearty hug. “You are always right, Aunt Amelia.”
I DID NOT NEED to make a new list of “Things to Be Done.” All the pressing issues on the original list had been dealt with, except for two. I decided to confront the least difficult first.
I had determined that Frau von Eine was staying at the Grand Hotel, the best in Jerusalem. The effrontery of the woman was amazing! Her plot had been thwarted, her influence ended. It must be pure arrogance that kept her here. In fact, we would have had a difficult time proving she was guilty of a crime. The Turkish authorities would never have arrested a prominent citizen of a nation whose influence with the Sublime Porte was so high.
I sent up my card and received an immediate response. A veiled servant opened the door and was dismissed with a wave of Frau von Eine’s hand.
“Please sit down, Mrs. Emerson. I will order tea.”
“No, thank you, I prefer to stand. I will not keep you long.”
“Have you come to revel in your triumph?”
In fact, I had, but it was an unworthy motive, one I preferred not to admit. “Only to settle a few details,” I said.
“It is only a temporary triumph, you know. This particular strategy failed, but I have laid the groundwork for a movement that will win in the end.” Her chin lifted proudly and her pale eyes glittered. “I work for my country, Mrs. Emerson, as you do for yours. The Ottoman Empire will crumble, it is rotten to the core. And when it does it will be replaced by a firm yet benevolent government that will give these poor people the security they deserve.”
“They don’t want it, not from another occupying power,” I said in some exasperation. “They want independence and the right to make their own mistakes instead of suffering from the mistakes of others. Good Gad, you are as bad as the British imperialists like Mr. Hogarth.”
“We will never agree on that, Mrs. Emerson.”
“No. I did not expect my reasonable arguments to prevail, but I felt obliged to make them. Good day, Frau von Eine.”
“Give my regards to your son. Making his acquaintance has been an interesting experience.”
I did not linger. As I made my way to the lift I pondered her last speech and the faint enigmatic smile that had accompanied it. Was it possible that Ramses…No, I told myself. I decided, however, that I would not pass on her regards.
EMERSON AND I WERE first at the breakfast table next morning. In fact, Emerson had been first, which was unusual enough to get me out of bed and dressed when I discovered he was absent. He greeted me with a nod and then retired behind a book. I was accustomed to that version of rudeness; taking a few papers from my coat pocket, I spread them out on the table.
Emerson’s eyes appeared over the top of the book. “One of your little lists, Peabody?”
I did not like the look of those blue eyes. They had a sparkle that seldom appeared at that hour of the morning.
“Yes,” I said.
“Surely,” said Emerson, still behind the book except for his eyes, “you have by now ticked off all the items on that particular list. You have been even more efficient than usual, my dear.”
I had already begun to suspect he was up to something. His present behavior confirmed the suspicion. “As you know perfectly well, Emerson, there is one major item that has not been dealt with: the reason we came to Palestine in the first place. Major Morley is still working.”
Emerson chuckled. “Very good, my dear. Major item indeed.”
Now I knew he was up to something. “We must make one more attempt to confront him, Emerson.”
“That won’t be necessary,” said Emerson, continuing to chuckle in a particularly annoying manner. “Major Morley has been dealt with.”
I snatched the book from his hands. His smug smile showed almost all his teeth.
“By you,” I said.
“By me.” Emerson reached for the coffee jug and poured into both our cups. “Now don’t be a dog in the manger, Peabody. You have taken care of everything and everybody else. Allow me one small triumph.”
“Well…” He was quite right, and I did not even blame him for teasing me a little. “Tell me about it, Emerson.”
“It was rather clever, if I do say it as shouldn’t. More along your line than mine, Peabody. It occurred to me, you see, that Morley must be getting rather frantic. His pits and tunnels have been flooded, he hasn’t found a cursed thing. He would, I reasoned, be susceptible to any idea, no matter how chancy or illegal, if it gave him one final chance of success. So Ali Bey and I put our heads together. To make a long story short, Ali Bey got word to Morley that with the proper bribe he could gain admittance to the Noble Sanctuary itself and excavate under the floor.”
“Good Gad,” I exclaimed. “That is outrageous, Emerson.”
“That’s where every archaeologist who comes here wants to dig, Peabody. The majority, I daresay, would have better sense or better principles than to respond to such a proposition, but not Morley. He was getting desperate and he believes money will buy anything.”
Emerson paused and took out his pipe.
“Go on,” I urged. “You have me on pins and needles.”
“Really?” Emerson beamed. “Well, up to the Mount he went last night, after midnight, with one companion. The custodian was not there. Believing that the fellow had been bribed to stay away, Morley began work. Before he had struck more than a single blow, a horrible cry burst out, and there was the custodian, wringing his hands and screaming. He picked up a mattock Morley had brought, and went after Morley, leaving the latter in no doubt that his plan had misfired. He fled, leaving his tools—all the evidence any court would need as to his intentions. By the time he reached the foot of the Mount, a small mob was on his heels. It soon became a huge mob. Ali Bey, who had been watching the entire performance from hiding, distracted the infuriated worshippers long enough for Morley to get away. He didn’t want a mob tearing a foreigner to bits, whatever the offense. A splendid fellow, Ali Bey.”
“Yes, indeed. Where is Morley now?”
Emerson gestured. “In hiding, in Kamir’s donkey shed. I met him, as planned, and took him there. Kamir has agreed to smuggle him out of Jerusalem and set him on his way to Jaffa in exchange for most of Morley’s remaining funds. He will reach England impoverished—and, as soon as word of this affair reaches the English press, disgraced.”
“Emerson,” I said sincerely, “I did not think it possible, but you have excelled yourself. How did you persuade Kamir to overcome his religious scruples to assist a heretic?”
Emerson snorted. “Kamir has no scruples, religious or otherwise. How is Ramses this morning?”
“Sleeping soundly. He seems fully recovered. However—”
“I know, I know.” The incessant drumbeat of rain on the roof never stopped. Emerson sighed. “You are going to tell me he should not be working in this weather.”
“No one can work under these conditions, Emerson. Everyone shuts down his excavation during the rainy season. I know what a blow it is to you, my dear, to admit defeat, but it is already too late to salvage anything. What the rain has not swept away the local thiev
es have found. Let us go home.”
“Back to England?” His heavy black brows drew together. “Now?”
“No, my dear. Home. To Egypt.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Once again I am indebted to Dennis Forbes, editor of KMT: A Modern Journal of Ancient Egypt, for reading the entire manuscript and catching several errors. Thanks as well to Dr. Donald P. Ryan for the material on Samaria, a subject on which I was less well informed than he. (And still am, despite his best endeavors.) As always I owe effusive thanks to my friend and assistant Kristen Whitbread, who made me work when I didn’t want to and encouraged me with snacks and cups of coffee.
About the Author
ELIZABETH PETERS earned her Ph.D. in Egyptology from the University of Chicago’s famed Oriental Institute. She was named Grand Master at the inaugural Anthony Awards in 1986 and Grand Master by the Mystery Writers of America in 1998. In 2003, she received the Lifetime Achievement Award at the Malice Domestic Convention. She lives in a historic farmhouse in western Maryland.
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ALSO BY ELIZABETH PETERS
THE VICKY BLISS SERIES
The Laughter of Dead Kings ♦ Borrower of the Night ♦ Street of the Five Moons
Silhouette in Scarlet ♦ Trojan Gold ♦ Night Train to Memphis
THE AMELIA PEABODY SERIES
Crocodile on the Sandbank ♦ The Curse of the Pharaohs
The Mummy Case ♦ Lion in the Valley
The Deeds of the Disturber ♦ The Last Camel Died at Noon
The Snake, the Crocodile and the Dog ♦ The Hippopotamus Pool
Seeing a Large Cat ♦ The Ape Who Guards the Balance
The Falcon at the Portal ♦ He Shall Thunder in the Sky
Lord of the Silent ♦ The Golden One
Children of the Storm ♦ Guardian of the Horizon
The Serpent on the Crown ♦ Tomb of the Golden Bird
and
Amelia Peabody’s Egypt (edited with Kristen Whitbread)
THE JACQUELINE KIRBY SERIES
The Seventh Sinner ♦ The Murders of Richard III
Die for Love ♦ Naked Once More
AND
The Jackal’s Head ♦ The Camelot Caper
The Dead Sea Cipher ♦ The Night of Four Hundred Rabbits
Legend in Green Velvet ♦ Devil-May-Care
Summer of the Dragon ♦ The Love Talker
The Copenhagen Connection
Credits
Jacket design by Richard Aquan
Jacket illustration by Phill Singer
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A RIVER IN THE SKY. Copyright © 2010 by MPM Manor, Inc. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.
EPub Edition © February 2010 ISBN: 978-0-06-198796-0
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