Posie felt slightly sad for Harry at points, remembering his comment back in London about ‘stepping out’ with Lady Violet and how he hadn’t been rich enough for the relationship to continue.
It was such a great shame, Posie thought to herself, that when you reached the highest ranks of the aristocracy, money seemed to count for such a great deal, and she presumed that it had been Roderick who had forbidden the match. What a good job that there were some more forward-thinking aristocrats! Her friend Rufus for example, who was marrying Dolly, a lowly Wardrobe Mistress, and even Alaric, she would bet, would forgo the old habits and requirements of his class if he met a woman of a lower class who took his fancy. If.
No mention had been made in the weeks since leaving Sicily about Lady Cosima, and Posie didn’t push the point: it was none of her business. Similarly, Alaric hadn’t asked Posie anything at all about her private life, and she had skirted around the subject of the loss of her fiancé in the Great War, and touched briefly on her activities as an ambulance driver back then. But anything more recent was left unsaid, and therefore the painful subject of Len had never cropped up.
Anyway, they were crazily busy.
Every day after breakfast Harry Redmayne marshalled together his little team of five underlings from the British Museum, including Lenny the female photographer. Together with Alaric, herself, and their watchman Didi, the group left the base camp in the half-light. They drove in a big open-backed safari wagon through the main thoroughfare of tombs, pillars and monuments which made up the centre of the ancient city of Thebes. Teams of international archaeologists started work at the crack of dawn in and among the main tombs on the thoroughfare, and Harry would shout out cheerful greetings to them as they passed.
Their drive took them ten or fifteen minutes each day, up into the Dra Abu Naga necropolis, a city of the dead, where small teams of experts were working on newly-discovered treasures. Harry’s pet project was up here; an Ancient Egyptian tomb set in amongst a vast catacomb of other tombs, and it was special in that although it didn’t contain a Pharaoh, it obviously contained someone who in both life and death had been treated as something of a God by the Pharaohs of the Eleventh Dynasty: he had come to be known as ‘Ammotep, the God of Bees and Honey’.
An underground hallway had been discovered, packed with grave goods. It was about sixty-five feet long, leading down to a huge burial chamber in which Ammotep slept his eternal sleep, which he had been doing now for over four thousand years. The underground hallway was simply stunning: covered in rich and glittering gold-leaf and painted in yellow-coloured murals and hieroglyphs. Rows and rows of bees were painted in fantastic detail, as well as paintings of ancient Egyptian workers scurrying around beehives at all points of the bee-keeping year.
The mummy of Ammotep himself was encased within several special amber-encrusted coffins which were each shaped like a bee, peeling back like a series of never-ending Russian dolls. As Harry and his team unwrapped Ammotep, layer by layer, they found all sorts of precious objects to do with bees and honey within, most made of purest gold.
Alaric was in his element. He was helping the small team to interpret what the objects might have been used for, or what they symbolised. Harry, who also kept bees back at home in the Cambridgeshire fenlands, would argue good-naturedly with Alaric about much of the bee-keeping paraphernalia which they found, but Posie noticed how he would usually bow to Alaric’s greater experience in the end. Harry had also turned out to be a remarkably good draftsman and painter, and he spent a couple of hours every day copying the hieroglyphics and murals which he uncovered.
At first Posie had been scared to enter the tomb of Ammotep, but now it seemed entirely normal, and she came to the tomb every day, wandering in and out at she fancied, but mainly sitting outside under a parasol, carefully sorting and labelling the small finds.
When there were no new finds she helped Harry to prepare his notes for a big talk on Ammotep which he was giving to all the archaeologists on the dig at the end of the week, on the Friday. It had been planned for a while, and a sign announcing Harry’s name and professional rank and declaring ‘Ammotep, the God of Bees and Honey! First Insights from the British Museum!’ had been chalked up by the dining marquee for ages. The talk was timely, as Friday marked the day that the mummy of Ammotep and all of his coffins were to be transported out of the tomb. The dig was coming to an end, the tomb was being closed up and it had been agreed with the Egyptian authorities that Ammotep and some of his treasures would be spending the rest of eternity sleeping in the British Museum in London.
‘I think that’s everything now, Harry,’ Posie said on the Thursday afternoon at lunchtime, the day before Harry’s talk. She passed Harry the small buff-coloured folder she had been working on, complete with Lenny’s immaculate photographs and several of Harry’s beautiful paintings.
Harry took the folder nervously, flicking through the pages absently with a worried look in his eyes.
‘Would you like to practice on me tonight?’ Posie asked. She could tell that Harry was very nervous about both the upcoming talk and the transportation of Ammotep back to England.
‘I can pretend to be your audience if you like?’
Harry nodded and then made light of his nerves, offering cheerfully to drive his team into modern-day Luxor for a spot of shopping or to make telephone calls, or simply to enjoy a drink on the terrace of the Old Winter Palace Hotel for an hour or so.
Thursday afternoon was usually a time for recreation for the archaeologists and workers, but Alaric, excited by the quantity and quality of finds at Ammotep’s tomb, had decided to stay behind, working on, with Didi the watchman alongside him for protection. The rest of the team piled into the back of Harry’s safari wagon and made the short ten minute journey down the road to Luxor town, passing truckloads of tourists going in the opposite direction.
In Luxor Posie put through two telephone calls from the Post Office. The first call to Prudence proved unexciting, save for the news that Len had reappeared at the Grape Street Bureau and had taken over his office and resumed his workload with diligence and enthusiasm. Posie didn’t know whether to be delighted or downhearted, but at least someone would be getting paid for something back at the London office, she supposed.
‘When do you think you’ll be back, Miss, from wherever you are?’ asked Prudence, not unreasonably. Posie was surprised at how little she was looking forwards to going home.
‘Not sure, sorry. But soon. It could be two days, but it could equally be two weeks. Ask Len to pay your salary and whatever invoices come in. I’ll settle up with him when I’m back. Are we very busy?’
‘We’re always busy these days,’ Prudence had said darkly, before ringing off.
The second call to Inspector Lovelace had proved more satisfactory. He still hadn’t managed to track down the various inhabitants of Boynton Hall, but there was real excitement in his voice.
‘News!’ he had begun. ‘Do you remember me telling you about the fire at Bernie Sharp’s literary agency in Covent Garden?’
‘How could I forget?’
‘Well, we have a witness here who has now come forwards and described seeing a man who exactly matches Codlington’s description, acting suspiciously on the day in question. Apparently the witness saw Codlington emerge from Covent Garden Tube with cans of petrol. Thinking it was mighty suspicious, the witness followed him and saw him enter Bernie Sharp’s building! The witness has been on holiday for the last three weeks and has only just got back and read about the fire! He came straight to us today to tell us!’
‘But have you found Codlington? I thought he’d gone into hiding?’
‘Yes, we’re still looking for him, that much is true,’ the Inspector sounded a little more flat. ‘But we’ve upped the search. We’re looking all through the East End and I’m interviewing several of his old buddies there, and his chum the bookmaker, too. Chances are one of them has seen Codlington recently, and one of them will blab.’
‘Good,’ said Posie certainly. ‘But you know what this means? It means Codlington wasn’t the man following me around Ortigia in the mask and carnival outfit.’
‘Mnn. I realise that. Perhaps it’s time to simply revert to our original suspect, Lord Roderick. He’s still unaccountable. And missing.’
‘Any news on Lady Cosima?’ Posie asked hopefully.
‘Not a dicky bird. Gone to ground. Same as the others. Oh, some more exciting news!’
‘Yes?’
‘You remember Mr Maguire thought Ianthe’s typewriter ribbon might yield some clues, recreate the missing last page? Well, the expert has been on bally holiday too! But he’s back now, in fact I just saw him enter the building. We should have something within the day. I’ll telegram you, shall I?’
‘Yes please!’
There was just time to join Harry for a quick pink gin on the terrace of the Old Winter Palace Hotel before meeting the rest of the team in the car park to head back to the dig. Everyone was sitting waiting patiently in the back as Harry turned the key in the ignition of the safari wagon, but it failed to spring to life. He tried again. And again.
‘Bother!’ he exclaimed at last and got out. He flung the bonnet up and looked in quiet desperation at the engine, rubbing streaks of grease onto his face and his white tunic. Posie got out and came and stood next to him.
‘Know anything about engines?’ Harry asked pleadingly, his eyes full of hope. ‘I’m terrible at stuff like this! I think Alaric said you had been in the Ambulance Brigade in the Great War?’
Posie shook her head uselessly. ‘I only drove the things, I’m afraid. I never had to fix them. They should make it part of the compulsory training.’
Harry smiled a regretful, mournful smile. ‘Oh how I wish Alaric had come out today!’ he said. ‘He could have fixed this in the blink of an eye. And so could Cuckoo. Handy talent that, runs in the family…’
Posie remembered Violet and her knack of breathing life back into the engine of her two-seater on the day Ianthe had died. She saw suddenly how Violet and her accomplishments had reached almost mythical proportions in poor Harry’s mind. He tinkered nervously with the engine, but it was obvious to everyone he had no clue as to what he was doing.
‘Let’s get a taxi from the hotel back to the dig,’ Posie suggested after what seemed like an age. ‘I’m sure the Old Winter Palace Hotel will be only too obliging at getting this fixed up overnight. Their mechanic can bring it back in time for us to use again in the morning.’
So they did just that. In the softly-settling twilight Harry’s team bundled into two open-topped taxis and headed back to the camp. Posie was feeling happy and looking forwards to going through Harry’s talk with him later and it was just sheer chance that she happened to look up as their taxi swung around a curve in the road, narrowly avoiding a collision with an open-backed tourist bus which was travelling back to Luxor.
She gasped and tried to crane her head backwards to check on what she had just seen.
She was almost certain of it! A blurry figure dressed all in white had been sitting at the back of the tourist bus, her long flame-red hair blowing wildly in the wind like a beacon through the darkness.
Cosima! Again.
****
Eighteen
Friday morning dawned clear and starry, and Posie wandered over to the marquee feeling shattered and unrefreshed after a bad night’s sleep. Even the comfort of her nice little sleeping-bag had not managed to insulate her from the chill she couldn’t shake off during the night.
Harry seemed quieter than usual at breakfast, his nerves betraying him as he spilled his coffee all over the white tablecloth and left his toast and marmalade untouched.
‘It’s only a talk!’ Alaric said in a carefree manner, chomping on a madeleine cake, taking in Harry’s woeful face. ‘Is that what’s wrong with you, old chum?’
Harry nodded. Alaric smiled sympathetically.
‘Don’t worry. If you really can’t face it I’ll step in and do the talk for you this evening. But you’ll see, you’ll be fine!’
The Old Winter Palace Hotel’s mechanic had come up trumps, and, as expected, they travelled up to the tomb of Ammotep in the newly-repaired safari wagon without any further problems and the morning started as usual. The archaeologists were focused on removing the carefully-wrapped bee-shaped coffins piece by piece into a waiting van. The temperature had soared by lunchtime and the team had just finished loading up the van, with Ammotep’s mummified body leaving last. All thoughts were on returning to base camp and a congratulatory lunch, followed by a well-deserved siesta.
The team were all sitting in the safari wagon, just waiting for Alaric, who along with Didi was the last person in the tomb.
But just then a shout went up from the empty burial chamber. It was Alaric!
Harry jumped out of the driver’s seat in a panic and grabbed up a torch. Everyone else followed, bearing torches, running through the dark entrance hallway.
‘What is it?’ called out Posie nervously, entering the burial chamber itself. Lenny was lurching alongside her, weighed down by her precious and heavy camera equipment. She was mumbling to herself, and Posie heard the words ‘Tutankhamun’ and ‘curses’ muttered fearfully.
‘What are you talking about?’ Posie snapped, sharper than she had intended.
‘Danger!’ hissed Lenny in a whisper. ‘You’ll see! We’ve removed the body of Ammotep, and now his spirit is angry. Something bad has happened, or will happen here! You mark my words!’
Posie felt a flicker of fear rise into her throat but then she saw that everyone had stopped up ahead, at the very back of the burial chamber. All heads were bowed, all torches were raised, and Posie saw that Harry and Alaric were on their hands and knees, scrabbling at what looked like a small black hole in the far wall. It was a hidden door, only about three feet high and cleverly concealed among the murals. Inside the black hole all was dark, but nevertheless, a strange golden flickering seemed to be emanating outwards from the gloom.
‘What is it?’ someone yelled.
Harry turned in great excitement. ‘The discovery of a lifetime!’ he whispered in a rapture. ‘Alaric found it! A hidden room!’
****
While the rest of the team returned to lunch at the base camp amid great excitement, Harry and Alaric worked on, aided by torchlight in the hidden room, guarded by Didi.
It turned out that the hidden room was a low barrel-roofed chamber, and it contained the best grave goods so far. There were chests filled with precious coins and nuggets of gold, and as far as the eye could see, large urns stood three foot tall, fashioned out of pure gold and as high as a man’s waist, each and every one of them shaped like a bee. There must have been at least two hundred of the things, placed in rows like a small army.
When one of the bee urns was carried out into the light of day in the late afternoon, the whole team stood around holding their breath, watching as Harry unscrewed the pure gold disc of the lid with his Swiss army knife. Lenny stood poised, ready with her camera.
At last the lid was off. Harry stared anxiously down into the depths of the urn.
‘Gold coins?’ shouted one of the junior archaeologists hopefully. ‘What is it? Money?’
But Harry seemed lost in a trance and dipped his finger into the urn, and stared at it in disbelief. He shook his head, before laughing aloud.
‘No! It’s better than that!’ he declared. ‘It’s honey! Four-thousand-year-old honey! Intact! As fresh as the day it was placed here!’
****
It was with a start of surprise that the team realised long shadows were drawing in and that it was high time for dinner back at base camp.
Harry suddenly looked mortified at the thought of heading back. ‘I can’t do that talk tonight!’ he practically wailed. ‘I want to stay on here! How can I possibly return to base camp when there is so much to document here! The dig is finished! I leave tomorrow! I simply don’t have t
ime to record all these new finds!’
‘But you can’t pull out of the talk now!’ said Lenny, rather unfeelingly in Posie’s opinion, and with an obvious eye to her own self-interest. ‘The talk has been advertised for weeks! Think of everyone you’ll be letting down, Harry! Think of all the work which went into preparing that talk! My photographic slides!’
Harry looked at Alaric pleadingly. ‘You said you’d do it for me! Swap with me, Alaric! Be a sport! You’re a natural when it comes to public speaking. You often do it! I’m just terrible. Awful! I’m a field archaeologist through and through, not an orator! Do it! All you’ll need to do is read out my notes! They’re here, in my satchel. Take them! Say you’ll do it? Please? I need to stay up here and work on…’
‘All right,’ Alaric said with a shrug, unfazed. ‘But keep Didi up here with you, he can keep a look-out. It could be dangerous working on alone up here in the dark!’
‘When will you be finished?’ asked Posie worriedly to Harry as the team piled into the back of the safari wagon and Alaric swung up into the driver’s seat. ‘We’ll need to collect you!’
‘Oh, who knows!’ Harry declared, breezily, lighting another torch and adjusting his white turban. ‘Later! Come back when the bally talk is over!’
****
Dinner passed without incident, and Alaric took to the podium afterwards as easily as he had done before. If anyone was disappointed at not hearing Harry Redmayne of the British Museum expound on the joys of ‘Ammotep, the God of Bees and Honey!’ they were certainly keeping quiet about it. The marquee was packed to the rafters and the beautiful slides and Alaric’s gravelly, easy tones contributed to an evening of real enjoyment.
Posie sipped at a gin and tonic in the front row and nibbled on a chocolate mint. She was half-listening to Alaric and half-worrying that what he was doing tonight was not exactly staying hidden, when she became aware of a slight disturbance behind her at the back of the tent. Hammad, the serving-boy, was moving up through the centre aisle of wooden seats, looking to and fro. Hammad suddenly darted forwards in relief when he spied Posie and placed a sealed envelope in her hands.
The Tomb of the Honey Bee: A Posie Parker Mystery (The Posie Parker Mystery Series Book 2) Page 18