“Once you’re in the market, stick to tea or coffee, or water you can be sure has been boiled. The water sellers tend to pull their wares directly from the Nile. If you become overly hot or tired, find a shady place and rest. Sunstroke is a real risk in this climate.”
He addressed his remarks to Jenny, but she felt fairly certain they were intended for Stephen. That young man, accustomed to England’s milder sun, had already been told to put on a wide-brimmed straw boater rather than his usual heavy bowler.
As the trap rattled through the streets, Jenny soaked in every little detail of their surroundings, peppering Uncle Neville with questions. Whether he thought she was entering fully into her role as newly arrived tourist, or thought her enthusiasm genuine, didn’t matter. She doubted that he would guess that beneath her honest interest lay a desire to acquire enough knowledge of the city that, if necessary, she could find her way back to Papa Antonio’s if she went out alone.
At the edge of the bazaar, Uncle Neville paid off the driver.
“We walk from here. The stalls are arranged too haphazardly to make anything else practical.”
He was not exaggerating. The bazaar merchants only grudgingly allowed for paths between their stalls, and the amount of foot traffic made these avenues seem even narrower than they were. This didn’t stop some shoppers however, and frequently even foot traffic was halted when cart or donkey met with horse or carriage or camel. Someone, usually the person of lower social rank, was forced to give way. Jenny wondered aloud if some of those donkeys didn’t travel as great a distance backward as they ever did forward.
As some sort of compensation for the immediate chaos, the bazaar district they had entered had different quarters for different trades. If there were signs telling which area was which, or whether one needed to rely on a trained guide, Jenny never learned. What was clear was that the places themselves advertised what was being sold. Here were slippers of every type piled up in heaps. These, Uncle Neville explained, were an essential part of daily life, for no one entered a mosque except barefoot or in slippers reserved for that use—the wearing of other footwear on holy ground being considered as sacrilegious.
Then, just when one was thinking there was nothing in all the world but slippers, a turn of an alley, perhaps passage through an ancient stone arch, and everywhere were saddles: camel saddles, horse saddles, donkey saddles. Intricately worked saddles in leather, embossed and polished. Plain, workaday saddles. Used saddles, newly refurbished. Camel saddles, bright with tassels.
Then another twist and a few turns and they were in a world of carpets. This bazaar was huge. Jenny was enchanted by the shimmer of silk and the solid beauty of dyed wool, captivated by the patterns woven into the fabric—each, or so she was assured, containing one little flaw deliberately made, for only Allah is perfect.
After the carpet bazaar, they went to the coppersmith’s bazaar. Here Sir Neville bought Jenny a jewelry set made of copper adorned with polished stones cut like scarabs for her to wear when her mourning had ended. Stephen had already indulged himself in a little sack of fake scarabs, though he refused a “real” mummy’s arm offered to him by a man passing in the street.
“It’s someone’s arm,” he admitted after inspecting it, “but I for one don’t think it would be disarming to any but the chappie who lost it.”
Once their initial curiosity was satisfied, Uncle Neville took them to a sidewalk cafe. They drank coffee and ate very sticky clumps of honeyed almonds while watching the polyglot crowd push and shove about its business. The mixture of peoples was amazing, even to Jenny who had the western American’s familiarity with people in black and pink and various shades of brown, of people who spoke English and Spanish, or any of a wide variety of Red Indian languages.
Here the differences were so great that the American mixture might well be one people. Skins shown black, brown, olive, sunburned red, and parasol pale. Eyes were dark and light, round and slanting, sometimes in the oddest combinations. Hair was brown and woolly, or shining black and oily, or the odd russet tinge that spoke of mixed blood. It was curly or straight or set in braids or left loose like pictures of prophets depicted in the family Bible. Heads were left bare or adorned with beads or caps or hats or veils.
Ethnic differences were accentuated by the varied styles of native dress—for these seemed to persist whether or not they were particularly suitable for the climate. Certainly the shirts and fitted trousers of the Europeans—even when topped with a broad-brimmed palm-leaf hat as a concession to the brilliance of the sun—seemed far less appropriate than the flowing robes of the Arabs or the loose cotton shirts worn by the Egyptian fellahin. However, even when the European in question belonged to a community—such as the Greek—who had dwelt in Cairo for generations, a style of dress derived from their land of origin persisted.
Jenny was just debating whether she wanted to continue exploring or to go back to Papa Antonio’s, where she could dispense with the restrictive weight of bustle and petticoats in favor of a loose house dress, when she noted Uncle Neville gazing with fixed intensity toward the nearest edge of the bazaar.
She followed the direction of his gaze, and saw Lady Cheshire, of all people, bending gracefully to inspect a brilliant piece of woven silk the merchant was holding up for her inspection. Captain Brentworth stood protectively close. Mrs. Syms and Rashid waited a few paces away, their arms filled with packages.
At that moment, almost as if aware of the intensity of the gazes resting on her, Lady Cheshire turned and looked their way. Her face lit with such pleasure that Jenny was not at all surprised to note that Uncle Neville was beaming back rather stupidly. Captain Brentworth’s expression became stormy, before he schooled his features into rigid neutrality.
There was nothing to be done but to motion for the Cheshire party to join their own, and these did so with alacrity, leaving the silk merchant to look after them, his bearded features almost comic in the broad lines of his disappointment.
“Sir Neville, dear Miss Benet,” Lady Cheshire gushed, extending a slender hand gloved in lace. “Mr. Holmboe. How delightful to see you all.”
Jenny tried not to feel self-conscious as she extended her own, ungloved, hand. She’d taken advantage of the men’s ignorance of fashion to slip off the ones Emily had supplied for her that morning, but now her informality seemed glaringly obvious.
She need not have worried. Uncle Neville had no eyes for anyone but Lady Cheshire, and Stephen, quite oddly, had no eyes for anyone but Uncle Neville. The younger man’s normally open, cheerful features were stern, but what Jenny read there wasn’t envy, but concern.
The coffee shop owner was only too happy to let them draw several tables together, especially when Lady Cheshire ordered not only coffee and sweets, but a pastry tray. Rashid was permitted his own cup of coffee and a share of the goodies—not, Jenny suspected, so much out of anyone’s awareness of the youth’s obvious weariness, but because it kept him conveniently near to guard the packages.
Jenny smiled at Rashid and was rewarded with a slow smile before his expression settled into its usual dullness. She wished they could sit and, well, “talk” wasn’t exactly the right word, since Rashid had no words, but play with Mischief as they had that afternoon in Alexandria when everyone but themselves and Mrs. Syms had retired to nap.
That worthy woman was holding up to the heat here as easily as she had in Alexandria, her leathery skin smooth and dry as some exotic lizard’s. She was wearing a walking dress in a vibrant red watered silk, and when Jenny complimented her on it, she immediately turned to Rashid.
“Hand me the silk I just bought, Rashid,” she said. “There’s a dear boy.”
She rewarded him for his service with a flaky pastry topped with thin slivers of toasted almond, almost as if he were Mischief, but Jenny thought her kindness no less genuine for that.
“Look at this,” Mrs. Syms said, unrolling a length of golden tissue. “Audrey tells me such strong colors are going out of fash
ion, but I could not resist.”
As Jenny expressed her genuine admiration for the fabric—while reserving her opinion as to how it would look on the older woman—she couldn’t help overhear the conversation at the other side of the table.
“We came up to Cairo rather earlier than planned,” Lady Cheshire was saying. “Captain Brentworth heard from an old friend that the museum library might be interested in buying some of my late husband’s papers. I have some reservations about parting with them, but certainly it would be better for them to be available to scholars here than moldering away in his files in England.”
Sir Neville commented, “The museum director is interested in making Egypt’s collection the first in the world—as it should be, given that Egypt is the source of the artifacts. Still, not all English scholars would thank you. The Egyptian Museum is more French than otherwise in its affiliation, and that is deeply resented.”
“I know.” Lady Cheshire paused. “Perhaps you would permit me to consult you further on this matter. You are on the fringes of the archeological community, and therefore might advise me more wisely than those involved in its intrigues.”
“I would do what I could to assist you,” Sir Neville said, and Jenny thought that he sounded disproportionately pleased.
“Where are you staying?” Lady Cheshire asked. “We inquired after you at Shepheard’s, but you were not there, nor were you at the other better hotels. I was going to send a note around to dear Teresa Travers and ask if she knew where we might find you, but then we had the good fortune to encounter you ourselves.”
Jenny found herself wondering just how much luck had to do with their encounter. The bazaar was so large that even a planned meeting might go awry. However, it did seem unfair to accuse the woman of subterfuge.
“We are staying with an old friend of mine,” Sir Neville responded easily. “Antonio Donati. He runs a small rooming house in another section of the city. It is really quite nice, though without many social amenities. I lived there when I was a soldier, and wanted some relief from military life.”
Lady Cheshire leaned over to Mrs. Syms.
“Make a note of their address, would you, Sarah? It is a pity you aren’t staying at Shepheard’s, but I can understand you would not wish to overwhelm poor Miss Benet with Shepheard’s social whirl. It is so nice to be able to stay with friends. We could entertain you at Shepheard’s there if you are staying in Cairo long. That way Jenny could at least say she’s been to Shepheard’s when she returns to England.”
“We will be here some time, yet,” Sir Neville said. “We have hardly begun to show Jenny the sights. Eventually, Stephen and I may take a short jaunt or two, but we will never be away for long.”
He led the conversation away from their plans for the future with such determination that Jenny felt almost guilty at her relief. It made her feel very peculiar to see a man of Uncle Neville’s years—he was over forty, after all—acting like a besotted cowhand. If he could continue to mislead Lady Cheshire, then all hope was not lost.
They visited with the Cheshire party for some time more, then Sir Neville made their excuses.
“I know that our host has special plans for dinner, and I promised to do some shopping for him on our way back. I would not wish to disappoint him.”
This white lie surprised Jenny a great deal, but any hope that she had that it indicated Uncle Neville was immune to Lady Cheshire’s charm evaporated as soon as they relaxed in the trap that carried them back to Casa Donati.
“I would very much have liked to visit with our friends longer,” he said, his tones those of one who thinks aloud. “However, Captain Brentworth was clearly growing impatient. I cannot see how Lady Cheshire has tolerated his service for so long. He is quite a tyrant.”
“Probably,” Stephen said with a dryness that was not usual for him, “she tolerates him because the captain worships the very dirt Lady Cheshire treads on. Such dirt-termined devotion is not easy to find here on earth.”
He chuckled a bit at his pun, but Jenny thought Stephen intended a genuine warning. Sir Neville shook his head.
“Lady Cheshire should not permit it. The captain is not worthy of her. Doubtless he is interested only in her fortune.”
Stephen’s gaze met Jenny’s and she favored him with a shrug.
“None are so blind as those who will not see,” Stephen said, and Jenny was certain that he meant someone other than Lady Cheshire.
9
Anubis
Eddie bryce arrived in time to join them for dinner, an excellent meal built around wild duck served on a bed of rice and ornamented with apricots.
After dinner, they retired to their favored table in the courtyard, the one where the noise of the fountain neatly covered their conversation. This evening the precaution hardly seemed necessary. One of Papa Antonio’s regular tenants, a dealer in textiles, had returned from a buying trip, and a steady line of laborers moved antlike to carry his purchases into a ground floor storeroom. They were not precisely noisy, but clearly saw no reason not to liven their labors with jokes and song.
Sighing slightly, Neville drew out his pipe and began stuffing in tobacco he had bought that afternoon in the bazaar. It was a Turkish variety of which he had fond memories.
“I’ve worked out transportation,” Eddie began, accepting a cup of syrupy black coffee from Papa Antonio with the air of a man who accepts not simply refreshment but necessary support. “It’s a compromise between caution and speed. If we wanted to involve as few people as possible, we could take a dahabeeyah from here all the way upriver.”
“ Dahabeeyah? ” Jenny asked.
She had asked to join them, promising to keep out of the way. Though strictly speaking she had no need to take part in their conference, Neville had taken pity on her. She had brought her lesson books with her, but thus far they had remained closed.
“It’s an Egyptian river boat, a sailing vessel,” Eddie explained. “The best dahabeeyah are quite luxuriously appointed, and many vessels of all classes are available for hire. However, compared to a steamer they travel very slowly. Since Neville wants to have as much of the cooler months as he can for his desert exploration, a dahabeeyah would not serve for the entire journey.”
Jenny nodded her understanding, but Neville thought she looked a bit disappointed.
“A dahabeeyah does fit into my plan,” Eddie continued, “but not until after we arrive in Luxor. From Cairo to Luxor, we will travel like any other party of well-to-do tourists. I will act as your servant—easy enough to do, since Bert is remaining behind.”
Neville frowned. He had noted how tired Eddie looked, and had anticipated giving him a rest from the grueling life he had inflicted on himself with his marriage to Miriam.
“I had intended to have you travel as comfortably as any of our number,” he said.
“And I thank you for your thoughtfulness,” Eddie replied, something flowery and Arabian in the manner with which he delivered this simple reply. “However, given the circumstances, I would rather travel as a servant. I may hear things you would not and thus ensure the safety of us all.”
“You have a point,” Neville said.
He longed to omit all these precautions, to go back to the simple enthusiasm with which he and Alphonse Liebermann had planned their first venture to the Valley of Dust. However, Neville’s experiences when he had attempted the second expedition could not be denied. Indeed, Neville suspected that part of the reason he chaffed and fretted at the elaborate care Eddie was taking was because he would like to forget just how dangerous this undertaking might become.
“When does our tourist steamer leave?” Stephen asked, interrupting Neville’s inner debate.
“Not for several days yet,” Eddie assured him. “The Lotus Blossom has just returned to port from her first run upriver. They ran into a snag or two, so she needs to make some minor repairs and reequip. You have time yet to see Cairo.”
“That’s jolly fine,” Stephen said happ
ily. “I do so want to see the Great Pyramids from other than a distance.”
“I will arrange a reliable escort,” Eddie promised. “It is a matter of honor for me to see that you are not subjected to the indignities usually inflicted upon tourists.”
The conversation returned to arrangements for their journey. The trick was to clarify which items were necessities, which were things practical and useful, and which were luxuries. They had a great deal of difficulty explaining to Stephen that the library of books he had hauled over from England did not need to go into the desert with him.
“Then I don’t understand why you didn’t have me leave them at home!” the young man said, for once genuinely irritated.
“Had I known you had carried them with you,” Neville replied, “I would have done so. I had assumed that your trunks were filled with clothing, and perhaps a few books for tutoring Jenny.”
“Clothing?” Stephen said, amazed. “Who would need three trunks filled with clothing? I brought my books, notes, some instruments for measurement, a drawing set…”
Eddie held up his hand.
“The books, except for a few basic texts, must stay. They weigh too much and are too fragile. However, your measuring instruments may save me a great deal of all too conspicuous shopping for similar items.”
So peace was restored. Jenny looked on and made a few helpful suggestions, but otherwise contented herself with studying her hieroglyphs. Indeed, she remained so meek—not once pleading to be included, even when Eddie began itemizing the various stops the Lotus Blossom would make between Cairo and Luxor, so that the passengers could enjoy touring various archeological sites—that Neville became suspicious.
Yawning, in spite of all the coffee he had consumed, Eddie left as soon as they had settled on a list of items to be purchased. He promised to send along a runner midmorning with arrangements for their proposed trip to the Pyramids at Gizeh.
“You’ll want to leave early,” he replied when Neville commented that Eddie had better plan some time for sleep. “I’ll go home and rest, and speak with one of my nephews about serving as your tour guide. He can arrange for the donkeys and such.”
The Buried Pyramid Page 17