He came to me at once and for a few moments we embraced. I was laughing softly. "I know what you're thinking. Yes, there are more exciting things. But I imagine the tombs of the Pharaohs win by a head."
"Oh, Judith," he said, "this is wonderful to be together. I want to have you there with me when we leave."
"Of course. It was for that reason you married me."
"That and others," he said.
"Well, we have discussed that . . . now let us consider the others."
I amused him. My frank enjoyment of our love was something which I am sure would have completely shocked Dorcas and Alison. But then so many people would have considered me bold and brazen.
I wondered if Tybalt did. I asked him. "You see," I explained, "it has always been almost impossible for me to pretend."
He said: "I don't deserve you, Judith."
I laughed, completely happy. "You can always try to be worthy," I suggested.
And I was happy. So was he. As happy as he was on his mosaic pavement or with his broken plaque or ruins of his amphitheatre? Was he? I wondered.
It was foolish of me to have these niggling doubts. I wished that I could forget the Cassandra-like faces of Dorcas and Alison, the hints and innuendos, the fanatical eyes of old Pegger in the porch. I wished that Sir Ralph had not left me a fortune; then I could indeed have been sure that I had been married for myself.
But these matters could be forgotten . . . temporarily. And I promised myself that in time I would banish them altogether.
Then we returned to Giza House.
It was the first week of November when we arrived in the late afternoon, and a dark and gloomy one. The October gales had stripped the trees of most of their leaves; but as the carriage brought us from the station the countryside seemed unusually silent for the wind had then dropped. It was typical Cornish November weather—warm and damp. As we pulled up at the wrought-iron gates of Giza and descended from the carriage, Tabitha came out to greet us.
"Not a very pleasant day," she said. "You must be chilled. Come in quickly and we'll have tea at once."
She was looking at us searchingly, as though she suspected the honeymoon had not been a success. Why did I get the impression that everyone seemed to have come to the conclusion that Tybalt and I were unsuited?
Imagination! I told myself. I looked up at the house. Haunted! I thought; and remembered teasing Theodosia and frightening her by making her run up the path. I thought of Nanny Tester probably peering out from a top window.
"Giza House always intrigued me," I said as I stepped into the hall.
"It's your home now," Tabitha reminded me.
"When we get back from Egypt, Judith may want to make some changes in the house," said Tybalt slipping his arm through mine. He smiled at me. "For the time being we must concentrate on our plans."
Tabitha showed us our room. It was on the first floor next to that room in which I had seen the sarcophagus. Tabitha had had it redecorated while we were away.
"You're very good," said Tybalt.
In the shadows I saw Mustapha and Absalam. I noticed their dark eyes fixed intently on me. They would be remembering me of course as the rowdy child and afterwards the "companion" from Keverall Court who came to borrow books. Now I was the new mistress. Or did Tabitha retain that title?
How I wished people had not sown these misgivings in my mind with their sly allusions.
Tabitha conducted me first to our room and left me there to freshen up while she returned to the drawing room with Tybalt. One of the maids brought hot water and when I had washed I went to the window and looked out. The garden had always been chock-a-block with shrubs and the trees made it dark. I could see the spiders' webs on the bushes, glistening where the light caught the globules of moisture as so often I had seen them before at this time of year. The curtains were deep blue edged with gold braid in a Greek key pattern. The bed was large, a fourposter canopied and curtained. The carpet was thick. Bookshelves lined one side of the wall. I looked at these. Some of them I had borrowed and read. They all referred to one subject. It occurred to me that this had been Sir Edward's bedroom before he had left for that fatal journey, and it seemed then that the past was enveloping me. I wished that a different room had been chosen for us. Then I remembered that I was the mistress of the house and if I did not like a room I could say so.
I changed my traveling clothes and went down to the drawing room. Tybalt and Tabitha were sitting side by side on the sofa examining some plans.
As soon as I entered Tabitha jumped up. "Tea will arrive immediately," she said. "I daresay you are ready for it. Traveling is so tiring."
Ellen wheeled the tea wagon in and stood by while Tabitha poured.
Tabitha wanted to know how we had enjoyed the honeymoon and then Tybalt began a long explanation of the Roman site.
"You must have had a very interesting time, Tybalt," said Tabitha smiling. "I trust Judith found it equally so."
She looked at me slightly apprehensively and I assured her that I had enjoyed our stay in Dorset very much.
"And now," said Tybalt, "we must begin to work out our plans in earnest. It's astonishing how the time flies when there is so much to do. I want to leave in February."
So we talked of the trip and it was pleasant sitting there in the firelight while the dark afternoon faded into twilight. I could not help thinking of those occasions when I had dreamed of sharing Tybalt's Life.
"I'm happy," I assured myself. "I've achieved my dream."
My first night in Giza House! One of the maids had lighted a fire in the bedroom and the flickering flames threw their shadows over the walls. How different from those of the Dartmoor cottage; these seemed like sinister shapes which would assume life at any moment. How silent the house was! There was a door behind a blue velvet curtain. I opened this and saw that it led into the room where the sarcophagus had been.
I had entered in advance of Tybalt; and the room in firelight with only two candles burning in their tall candlesticks on the dressing table seemed alive with shadows.
I started to wonder about Sir Edward and his wife who had never lived in this house, for she had died before they came here. And in the attic apartments of this house was Nanny Tester, who would be aware that Tybalt and I had returned from our honeymoon. I wondered what she was doing now and why Tybalt was so long. Was he talking to Tabitha, telling her things which he did not want me to know? What an idea! I must not be jealous of the time he spent with Tabitha.
It's the house, I said to myself. There's something about this house. Something . . . evil. I felt it right from the first before they came here when I used to frighten Theodosia.
Tybalt came into the room, and the sinister shadows receded; the firelight was comforting; the candlelight, I remembered, was becoming.
"What," he asked, "are you doing in that room?"
"I found this door. It's the room where the sarcophagus was."
He laughed. "You weren't thinking of dressing up as a mummy were you ... to frighten me?"
"You . . . frightened of a mummy! I know you love them dearly."
"Not," he replied, "as dearly as I love you."
On the rare occasions when Tybalt said things like that, my happiness was complete.
"Do you like the room I had prepared for you?" asked Tabitha next morning. Tybalt had gone to his study; he had a great deal of correspondence to deal with concerning the expedition.
"It's a bit ghostly," I said.
Tabitha laughed. "My dear Judith, what do you mean?"
"I always thought there was something rather haunted about Giza House."
"It's all those trees and shrubs in the garden, I daresay. That room is the best in the house. That's why I had it made ready for you. It used to be Sir Edward's."
"I guessed it. And the room which leads from it is where the sarcophagus used to be."
"He always used that room for whatever he was working on. He often worked late at night when the fancy
took him. Would you like to change the room?"
"No, I don't think so."
"Judith, anything you want you must do, you know. You're mistress of the house now."
"I can't get used to being the mistress of anything."
"You will in time. You're happy, aren't you?"
"I have what I've always wanted."
"Not many of us can say that," she replied with a sigh.
"And you, Tabitha?"
I wished that she would confide in me. I was sure there were secrets in her life. She was youngish—a widow I supposed. Life was by no means over for her and yet there was about her a resignation, a subtle secrecy which was perhaps one of the reasons why she was so attractive.
She said: "I have had my moments. Perhaps one should not ask for more than that."
Yes, there was something decidedly mysterious about Tabitha.
Christmas was not far off. Sabina said we must celebrate Christmas Day at the rectory, and she would insist on my aunts joining us.
I fancied Dorcas and Alison were a little reproachful. They were so conventional. I think they believed I should have gone to them at Rainbow Cottage or they come to me at Giza House.
I swept all that away by pointing out the convenience of Sabina's suggestion and what fun it would be to be back in the old drawing room where so many of our Christmases had been celebrated.
The days were passing swiftly. There was Christmas to think of and always, of course, the expedition. Tabitha and I decorated the house with holly and mistletoe.
"It was something we never did before," said Tabitha.
The maids were delighted. Ellen told me that it was more like a house since I'd come home. That was a compliment indeed.
They liked me, those maids; they seemed to take a pleasure in addressing me as "my lady." It invariably startled me, and sometimes I had to assure myself: Yes, it's true. You're not dreaming this time. This is the greatest dream of all come true.
It was at the beginning of December when the first uneasy situation occurred.
I had never quite understood Mustapha and Absalam. In fact they made me uncomfortable. I would be in a room and suddenly find them standing close behind me—for they seemed to move about together—having been completely unaware of their approach. I often looked up suddenly to find their dark eyes fixed upon me. Sometimes I would think they were about to speak to me; but then they seemed to change their minds. I was never quite sure which one was which and I believe I often addressed them wrongly. Tabitha could easily tell the difference but then she had known them for a very long time.
It was afternoon—that hour when dusk was beginning to fall. I had gone to our bedroom and on my way saw that the door which led from the corridor into that room which I called the Sarcophagus Room was ajar. I thought perhaps Tybalt was there, so I looked in. Mustapha, or was it Absalam, was standing silhouetted against the window.
I went in and as I did so, the other Egyptian was standing behind me . . . between me and the door.
I felt the goosepimples rise on my skin. I was unsure why.
I said: "Mustapha . . . Absalam, is anything wrong?"
There was a brief silence. The one by the window nodded to the other and said: "Absalam, you say."
I turned and faced Absalam.
"My lady," he said, "we are your most humble slaves."
"You mustn't say that, Absalam. We don't have slaves here."
They bowed their heads.
Mustapha spoke then. "We serve you well, my lady."
"But of course," I replied lightly.
I saw that the door was shut. I looked at that which led into our bedroom. It was half closed. But I knew Tybalt would not be there at this hour of the day.
"We have tried to tell you many times."
"Please tell me now then," I said.
"It must not be," said Mustapha shaking his head gravely.
Absalam began to shake his.
"What?" I asked.
"Stay here, my lady. You tell Sir Tybalt. You tell. He must not go."
I began to grasp their meaning. They were afraid to go back to Egypt, the scene of the tragedy which had overtaken their master.
"I'm afraid that's impossible," I said. "Plans are going ahead. They couldn't be altered now."
"Must be," said Mustapha.
"I am sure Sir Tybalt would not agree with you."
"It is death, there. There is a curse . . ."
Of course, I thought, they would be very superstitious.
I said: "Have you spoken to Sir Tybalt?"
They shook their heads in unison. "No use. No use to speak to his great father. No use. So he die. The Curse comes to him and it will come to others."
"It's a legend," I said, "nothing more. All will be well. Sir Tybalt will make sure of that."
Absalam came to me and stood before me. The palms of his hands were together, his eyes raised. "My lady, must speak. My lady is the new wife. A husband listens to his beloved."
"It would be impossible," I said.
"It is death . . . death."
"It is good of you to be so concerned," I said, "but there is nothing I can do."
They looked at me with great sorrowing eyes and shook their heads mournfully.
I slipped through to the bedroom. Naturally, I told myself again, they would be superstitious.
That night as we lay in bed I said to Tybalt: "The Egyptians spoke to me today. They are very frightened."
"Frightened of what?"
"What they call the Curse. They believe that if we go to Egypt there will be disaster."
"If they feel that they must stay behind."
"They asked me to speak to you. They said a husband loves his beloved and would listen."
He laughed.
"I told them it was futile."
"They are very superstitious."
"Sometimes I'm a little frightened."
"You, Judith?"
I clung to him.
"Only because of you," I assured him. "What if what happened to your father should happen to you?"
"Why should it?"
"What if there is something in this Curse?"
"My dear Judith you don't believe that."
"If anyone else was leading this expedition I would laugh the idea to scorn. But this is you."
He laughed in the darkness.
"My dear Judith," he said.
And that was all.
I was longing for the days to pass. What dark ones they were before Christmas. There was a great deal of rain and the fir trees glistened and dripped; the soft-scented southwest wind blew through the trees and moaned outside the windows. Whenever I saw the Egyptians their eyes seemed to be fixed on me, half sorrowfully, half hopefully. I saw Nanny Tester but only in the presence of Tabitha for she kept mainly to her own apartments and only rarely emerged.
Theodosia and Evan came to stay at Keverall Court for Christmas, and Tybalt and I and Sabina and Oliver were invited for Christmas Eve. Hadrian was there too; he was going to stay until we left for Egypt.
It had long been a custom to sing carols in the Keverall Court ballroom on Christmas Eve and many of the people from the neighborhood joined the company. Oliver officiated as the Reverend James Osmond used to and it was a very impressive occasion for there was a torchlight procession from the church to Keverall.
After the singing Lady Bodrean's chosen guests went to the hall where we had a supper consisting of the various pies which had been popular for centuries—squab, mutton, beef; and, of course, hot Cornish pasties. These were all eaten with mead and a beverage known as Keverall punch which was made in an enormous pewter bowl—the recipe, known only to the steward of Keverall, had been handed down through the last four hundred years. It was rather potent.
I was amused by Lady Bodrean's attitude towards me. When she did not think herself observed she regarded me with a sort of suspicious wonder, but she was all charm when we stood face to face.
"It is a pleasure
to see you, Lady Travers," she said. I felt myself giggling inwardly as I graciously acknowledged her greeting.
After we had partaken of the pies and punch we went to the church for the midnight service and strolled home in the early hours of Christmas Day. It was all as we had done it many times before; and I felt it was good that all the friends of my childhood were gathered together at such a time.
Christmas Day at the rectory was pleasant too. It was amusing to see Sabina presiding at the table where once Alison had sat. There was the turkey with the chestnut stuffing and brandy butter which I remembered used to cause Dorcas and Alison such concern. Sabina showed no such anxiety. She chattered away making us all laugh as we teased her. The plum pudding was ceremoniously carried in with its flaming brandy jacket and followed by mince pies shining with their coating of castor sugar.
Theodosia and Evan with Hadrian were not with us, of course, they being at Keverall Court; so the conversation for once was not of the coming expedition; for this I was grateful because I was sure that Dorcas and Alison would not have enjoyed it.
Afterwards we played charades, miming scenes and childish guessing games at which I excelled and Tybalt did not. Dorcas and Alison looked on and applauded my success, which exasperated while it touched me.
In the early hours of the morning as Tabitha, Tybalt, and I walked the short distance from the rectory to Giza House, I found myself wondering whether there would always be the three of us together. I was fond of Tabitha, but there were times when the old saying seemed very apt: Two's company; three's a crowd. Was it because when Tabitha was with us Tybalt's attitude towards me seemed to change? Sometimes he seemed almost formal as though he were afraid to betray to her that affection which more and more he was beginning to show when we were alone.
January was with us. There was a cold snap, and the hoar frost glistening on the shrubbery trees gave them a look of fairyland.
Tybalt at the breakfast table going through the mail, frowned and made an exclamation of disgust.
"These lawyers!" he complained.
"What's happened?"
"Sir Ralph's will is taking a long while to settle. It's a clear example of procrastination. It seems as though it's going to be months before everything is clear."
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