The Buried Pyramid

by Jane Lindskold

  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.”

  Neville settled with the shop, then handed Jenny into a cab. She fell asleep almost before the cab had rattled into traffic, her head drooping trustingly onto his shoulder as her mother’s had twenty years before. The jet beads trimming the crown of her hat trembled with the motion of the cab, tickling Neville’s cheek a little like tears.

  2

  Sir Neville’s Secret

  Jenny Benet awoke and didn’t know where she was. The bed in which she lay was canopied, and the sheets smelled of lavender, not the strong soap favored by the housekeeping staff at her boarding school. The carpets on the floor were richly-hued and of Persian design, the curtains heavy damask that shone sapphire in the pale sunlight. The furnishings were simple, but obviously of the best quality.

  Then motion and a sense of something familiar caught her eye. Her trunks were ranked neatly along one wall, their lids open, and a plump woman whose name hovered at the edge of her memory was bending over the largest, unfolding items of clothing and putting them into an ornately carved wardrobe.

  Jenny sat up and scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, then glanced down and saw that she was wearing one of her own night dresses. With the sight, memory crystallized.

  “Emily, isn’t it?” she said.

  The woman started, glancing around wildly, her hand fluttering in the vicinity of her ample bosom. Then her gaze rested on Jenny and she visibly relaxed. A warm smile lit her pleasant features, making them something far more interesting than pretty.

  “You startled me, Miss, that you did! I’m sorry if I woke you, but I thought I could work without disturbing you.”

  Jenny looked at the amount of clothing hanging neatly in the wardrobe, and smiled.

  “I’d say you did a good job, Emily. What time is it?”

  Emily tilted her head to one side.

  “Well, I’d guess around eight in the morning. Your uncle has had his breakfast and gone to call on some business associates. He said to tell you he’d be back for luncheon.”

  Jenny slid from beneath the covers and stretched, her feet buried in the comfortable plush of the carpet.

  “I can’t think when I’ve slept so late! Madame back in Boston would be lecturing me on sloth right enough.”

  “Now, I think you just might have needed the rest,” Emily said comfortably. “That’s what I think.”

  She looked Jenny up and down, tapping the dimple in her rounded chin with her forefinger.

  “You’ll be wanting a wash, if I mind you right. Would you like me to have a breakfast tray sent up for you along with the hot water?”

  Jenny nodded. “That would be lovely.”

  “And your uncle asked if I’d stand as your lady’s maid.” Emily looked uncomfortable. “I said I’d try, but only if I could tell you that by rights I’m just a maid of all work.”

  Jenny laughed.

  “Well, that’s fine by me. I’ve never had a lady’s maid. At school we laced each other up as needed. I figure I won’t need much more here.”

  Emily relaxed visibly.

  “Well, I can manage that much, I’m sure. Let me run down to the kitchen and ask Cook for a tray. I’ll bring back the hot water with me.”

  Privacy had not been much available for Jenny either at boarding school or at home, so she found Emily’s chattering company very welcome. In short time, she had learned that Hawthorne House maintained a relatively small staff: housekeeper, butler, cook, footman, Emily herself, and a boy to do the boots and other such chores.

  This seemed like a rather large number of people to tend to the comfort of one man, but Emily rapidly made clear there could have been more. Sir Neville did without a valet. He didn’t keep a driver or groom because his horses were stabled at a reliable livery establishment nearby, and he didn’t keep a coach. Between them the housekeeper and cook handled the shopping, and the butler minded the wine cellar. The butler was also in charge of household accounts.

  “The staff will even be smaller when Sir Neville goes abroad,” Emily continued, returning to Jenny’s unpacking. “The house is going to be closed, but for the butler and housekeeper to take care of immediate needs. Sir Neville has found places for everyone else, and now he’s taking me and my man along with him.”

  Jenny recalled that the footman, Albert, or Bert as Emily preferred to call him, was Emily’s husband of two years. They had no children, but Emily wasn’t distressed.

  “We’re putting by for that day,” she said, “and don’t mind having a bit of time to do so, not that Sir Neville would dismiss me, but there’s no escaping that a child gets in the way of doing one’s job.”

  Jenny wondered how old Emily might be, and finally decided on somewhere past twenty, but not yet twenty-five. Bert, as she reca
lled him from their brief meeting the night before, was probably five years older. Young enough, then, to relish an adventure, but mature enough that they could be left to their own devices when Uncle Neville went off wherever it was he was going.

  She thought about what he’d said the night before concerning the make-up of that expedition. Three men only, and Bert hadn’t been one of them. She didn’t think Uncle Neville was such a snob as not to mention a servant in his count, but then she didn’t know. There was so much she didn’t know, including the most important thing—how to convince Uncle Neville to let her go with him to Egypt.

  “Did Uncle Neville tell you where he was going?”

  Emily looked puzzled.

  “Why, to Egypt, Miss. Kay-ro or so such heathen place. At least that’s where Bert and I will be stopping. Sir Neville said he might need to go elsewhere, but that he’d make certain we had a respectable place to stay while we’re waiting for him.”

  “I’m sure,” Jenny said.

  She would have asked more, but she noticed that Emily had lifted a smaller box from inside one of the trunks and was shaking out a ring of keys, clearly looking for the one that would fit the lock.

  “No need to unpack that one, Emily,” Jenny interjected with enough haste that Emily gave her a rather quizzical look. “I mean, I don’t think it’s anything I’ll need for a while.”

  Emily set it back inside the trunk, though not without a questioning glance. Jenny, thinking of that ring of keys—keys she could certainly reclaim, since they were her own property, but which Emily in turn could easily reacquire for long enough to open the box—made a decision.

  “Go ahead and open it,” she said, “but take care with the contents.”

  Curiosity and apprehension warred for a moment on Emily’s face, but curiosity won—a thing Jenny wholly appreciated. Turning away to brush her hair, her hand never staying in its rhythmic stroke, she continued to watch through the mirror.