Pride and Pyramids

by Amanda Grange

  But never had they been anywhere as entrancing as Egypt.

  And yet, for all the strangeness of the landscape, Elizabeth felt something of the same sensations, for she was once more exploring an alien world with her husband, and only with her husband.

  She put up her hand to stroke his cheek, revelling in the sensation of being alone with him. He took it and held it, kissing the back of it and then turning it over and kissing the palm. She leaned back against him and his arm went around her.

  “I have missed this,” she said to him. “At home, our lives are full of other people.”

  “Yes, they are,” he agreed.

  “It is not that I am not grateful. I know we could not run Pemberley without such a large staff or maintain the grounds without an army of gardeners, and I know how lucky we are to have such a large circle of friends and family, but…”

  “But sometimes it seems as though we are caught up in a swirl of people from whom we cannot escape?” he asked.

  “That is it exactly.”

  She thought of all their duties and responsibilities at home, most of which fell upon Darcy’s shoulders, but many of which fell upon her own. She was the first lady of the neighbourhood, and scarcely a day went by without an appeal of some kind: someone asking her to speak to her husband about preferment for their son or nephew or brother or a woman in the village who needed her help. Always someone and something, so that sometimes she did not see Darcy from morning ’til night, at least not without a whole host of other people present.

  But now here they were, alone, save for the guards who kept a distance so discreet as to be invisible.

  The camel began to walk more quickly and Elizabeth sat up, the better to keep her balance. Up ahead, the unbroken sand dunes gave way to the blues and greens of the oasis, which shone like a sapphire nestling in its golden setting. It was surrounded by tall palms, whose branches swayed and rustled in the breeze. Beneath them was a surprising carpet of ferns and wild flowers, and the whole glowing scene was reflected in the water.

  The camel came to a halt beneath one of the palm trees. Darcy dismounted as the animal knelt, and then helped Elizabeth down, before tethering the animal nearby.

  Darcy took Elizabeth’s hand and they walked to the far side of the pool, taking the picnic hamper with him and setting it down beside a luscious fern.

  Elizabeth breathed in deeply. Away from the camel the air was sweet, far sweeter than it was at the dig, and the coolness of the water and the whisper of the palms was reviving.

  Elizabeth sat down beneath one of the palm trees and Darcy sat beside her. They sat in the shade and remembered anew why they had fallen in love with one another, thinking how lucky they had been to find each other, for although Darcy was not always the easiest of husbands, Elizabeth knew he was the only man she could ever have married. She loved to see him like this, away from the cares of Pemberley and away from the responsibilities of his life in London—away from his young cousin, too, and away from the children, for much as she loved them, there were times when Elizabeth wanted Darcy to herself.

  He sat with one knee up, in an attitude he would never adopt at home, with one arm resting negligently across it. His cravat had been discarded and his shirt was open at the neck. His dark hair was disordered by the breeze and his face was tanned by the sun, making his teeth show white against it. She put her hand up to his cheek, stroking her finger across his finely chiselled cheekbone and then leaned toward him and kissed him.

  He took her chin in his hand and they kissed for long minutes. Time stood still. They lived for the moment and the pleasure of being together. At last their lips parted and they talked of their love for each other as Darcy stroked Elizabeth’s hair and she rested her hand on his thigh, feeling the strong muscle beneath the fabric, and then they kissed again.

  Beside them, the picnic hamper laid untouched and ignored.

  But by and by, as the day progressed and the light began to fade, they found themselves growing hungry. At last they turned their attention to the selection of food they had brought with them. Elizabeth took a ripe fig from the hamper and shared it with Darcy, the succulent flesh tasting exotic against her tongue. Then they shared some little cakes, feeding each other with the delicacies, which were rich with the sweet taste of honey and pungent with the aroma of nuts.

  The evening passed in lazy delight, with no one to please but themselves, as they kissed and ate and relaxed, happy in each other’s company—now talking, now silent; now looking at the stars that began to appear in the darkening sky; now having eyes only for each other, refreshing their spirits with the beauty of the oasis, which provided a calm haven for them in the everyday bustle of their lives.

  Elizabeth felt her eyelids drooping at last as the evening turned to night and she lay back against her husband, falling asleep against his chest. He smiled and kissed her hair, reaching out toward the hamper carefully so that he would not wake her and pulling out a blanket which he laid gently over her. Then his head, too, drooped, and he fell asleep, his head resting on hers and his arms around her, holding her safe.

  ***

  Darkness had fallen back at the camp, too, and Edward sat alone by the dinner table listening to the night sounds. He had just bidden Sir Matthew good night and was considering retiring himself when he saw a figure make its way toward him by the dim light of a candle.

  “I think I may have left my shawl here,” said Sophie. “It is becoming cooler at night.”

  “Here let me help you look for it,” Edward replied, springing up. They both searched around the table and chairs and eventually found it lying on the sand.

  “Thank you,” said Sophie. She hesitated. “It seemed strange not to have Elizabeth and Darcy with us tonight.”

  “Yes, it did. I especially missed Elizabeth. She has a way of dealing with Mrs Bennet… well, let us just say that Mrs Bennet is better when Elizabeth is here.”

  Edward was out of humour with Mrs Bennet, for she had spent the time since dinner making arch comments about Sophie and Paul, who had returned to the camp arm-in-arm, oblivious to the obvious discomfort of the parties concerned and oblivious to Edward’s irritation. Worse still, Mrs Bennet had let drop that Paul had told her he had been approached by a wealthy patron in Cairo. She had said it as a means of self-aggrandisement, to show how important he was and therefore how important his portrait of her was, but it had affected Edward in a different way, for he knew that if Paul acquired a wealthy patron, one who intended to sponsor him for years, he would be in a position to take a wife. That thought had made Edward morose.

  What does she really think of him? thought Edward, glancing at Sophie and trying to read the answer in her face. Does she prefer him to me?

  Sophie blushed. “Mrs Bennet means well.”

  “No doubt,” he said shortly.

  Sophie turned to leave and he felt ashamed of his bad temper. He asked her forgiveness, saying, “I have not been very good company this evening, I fear.”

  Sophie hesitated. “I think something is troubling you. If you have a problem I hope that you feel you can speak to me—as a friend,” she hastily added.

  “As a friend,” he said in a hollow tone. Then he rallied and said, “Very well, then, as a friend. Since you ask, the past few days have not gone as well for me as I had hoped. I sometimes wonder if Darcy is right and if my obsession is becoming unhealthy. I feel as if something has taken hold of me, something outside myself, something that is driving me on. I almost wonder…”

  He stopped himself just before saying something ridiculous: that he almost wondered if the strange doll he had found in the attic had something to do with it. He had known a little of her story before leaving England, but a souk seller in Cairo had told him more: that Aahotep had been apprehended soon after her wicked deed by a powerful magician named Ptah, who had been hired by
the family of the murdered lovers. Ptah had trapped her spirit on the mortal plane and doomed it to walk the earth, “where it will remain until she can find a way of making amends.” Edward had smiled at the notion and asked, “And how is Aahotep to make amends for her crimes?” To which the souk seller had said, “In the usual way, of course; she must find some innocent to transport her to the tomb so that she can beg the forgiveness of the two lovers she so cruelly murdered, and then she will be allowed to rest.”

  It was nonsense, of course, but even so, Edward could not shake an uneasy feeling that Aahotep was indeed returning to the tomb of the murdered lovers and that both he and the innocent Margaret were helping her.

  Shaking aside his strange thoughts, he said, “Darcy is not pleased with me.”

  “Are you surprised?” she asked, and Edward found himself forced to shake his head in agreement.

  “No. No, I am not. I should have told him about the map. But I did not because I knew how he would view it. He would have told me that the map led my father astray and it would do the same to me.”

  Sophie sat down at the table again.

  “And in a way I cannot fault him because he is right,” he said. “Even so, I hoped… but yesterday was a disaster.”

  “Was it?”

  “We spent all day in the desert, following the map and searching for the tomb in the missing portion of the map. I was so sure we would find it. But we found nothing,” he said in a dejected voice.

  Sophie reached out to him impulsively, but before she could touch him they were both distracted by a noise coming from the tents behind them. There was a white blur and Sophie let out a cry, then she laughed a little shamefacedly.

  “Oh dear, I thought it was a ghost! But it is only Margaret. I believe she is sleepwalking again. Quietly, Edward; we must not disturb her in this condition.”

  They reached Margaret, whose eyes were wide open but clearly seeing nothing. She held the doll cuddled up to her face and seemed to be murmuring to it, and although her words seemed like nonsense, she moved with a purpose that belied her sleeping state. Edward and Sophie followed her a little way behind so they could catch her if she came in the way of any harm, but she walked round objects as though she were awake. It was only the blankness in her eyes that refuted this.

  She moved away from the camp, out of the comforting circle of light cast by the lamps, and both Edward and Sophie began to grow concerned as they followed her deeper into the desert.

  “Are you sure we should not wake her?” Edward asked. “She moves as though she means to walk all night.”

  “I am not sure,” Sophie confessed.

  “I do not think we should let her go much farther, Miss Lucas,” Edward said uncertainly as Margaret ascended a sand dune and proceeded to slip down the other side. “Even if it means picking her up. I shall be as gentle as I can, but—”

  Suddenly he realised Margaret had stopped and was now sitting cross-legged on the sand, her doll pressed close against her cheek—her wooden doll, which she had somehow managed to reclaim. Then she began to draw a wide circle around herself, all the while muttering something under her breath. Edward was close enough now to touch her and so he heard her words, softly spoken and almost immediately lost on the night breeze: “Ammon, Husn, Ammon, Husn.”

  She whispered them several times before sighing and closing her eyes. Then she dropped gently to the ground, fast asleep.

  “Edward!” Sophie cried in alarm. “Is she all right?”

  “There is nothing to be alarmed about; she is just sleeping,” Edward replied, picking the little girl up in his arms and carrying her back over the dune. “She is exhausted no doubt by her midnight ramble.”

  He was nevertheless relieved when Sophie ran over to him and examined Margaret carefully.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “It is as you say,” said Sophie, for Margaret was soundly sleeping, her breathing even and regular, her cheeks barely flushed with her exertions.

  “Let us get her back to bed,” Sophie said, taking the sleeping child and cradling her against her shoulder.

  Edward nodded and then, on a sudden impulse, and with the memory of Margaret’s whispered words in his ears, he took out his pocket watch and dropped it unobtrusively to mark the spot. Then he followed Sophie back to the camp, where she tucked Margaret once more into her little bed.

  Sophie sat down beside her, and Edward’s heart lurched at the tender sight.

  “I do not think she has come to any harm,” he said reassuringly.

  “I will stay with her anyway,” she said. “But thank you for helping me.”

  “I will always help you, whenever you need it. Sophie…”

  “Yes, Edward?”

  He hesitated, and in the silence a great deal passed between them. But he could not say the words he wanted to say and so at last he said, “Good night.”

  “Good night, Edward,” Sophie said, but he was gone before the words left her mouth.

  He walked about outside for some time, wondering how much it would cost to set up an establishment and if he could afford to offer a life to Sophie even if he never found any treasure. She did not need a great deal to live on, he was sure, but the thought of condemning her to a life of penury did not satisfy him, and that was what it would be, for his father would not approve the marriage and would not help him. So unless by some miracle he found the tomb…

  He thought of his pocket watch, marking the spot at which Margaret had whispered, Ammon, Husn, and seized by an irresistible compulsion, he knew he had to go back straightaway and begin digging. With a determined air, he took a large shovel from the pile of tools in the tool store and walked out into the night.

  It is nothing but a fantasy, he told himself as he walked. There is no tomb… it is not intact… Margaret’s words mean nothing…

  But it was no use. Something had taken hold of him and all he could think about was the eerie tomb awaiting him beneath the desert.

  The night was cold and he walked briskly, guided by the starlight. To begin with, the going was easy, as he trod the paths which had been made firm by prolonged use. But by and by he passed into the desert proper and his feet began to sink into the soft sand. Walking became more difficult but it did not deter him. Quite the opposite. He walked with more determination, his eyes seeking the ground for the glint of metal that would tell him he was in the right place.

  He walked for some time without seeing anything and he began to be afraid that the sands had already covered his watch, but then he caught sight of something metallic at a distance and hastened toward it. There, lying on the sand, was his watch.

  He picked it up and put it in his pocket, then began to dig. He worked feverishly, feeling the sweat break out on his back as he threw the piles of fine golden sand to one side, digging a hole which grew ever deeper. When it was knee-deep he jumped into it and began to dig from the inside, piling the sand on all sides around him until it was shoulder high. And still he dug.

  A breeze sprang up, and the fine sand began to drift, catching him in his nose and throat. He became aware of the dangers of his enterprise and wondered if he should have left word of his intentions, but it was too late for such thoughts.

  He stopped to rest, the sweat drying on his back, and he felt cold. But he could not let go of his fantasy, and soon he began to dig again. And then his spade struck something hard. He stopped and probed gently. Yes, it was definitely something hard and solid.

  Dropping to his knees, he began scrabbling at the sand with his hands, feeling his way around the obstruction as his excitement mounted. His fingers closed around a step and he sat back on his heels, laughing with joy. He had found it! The lost tomb! The tomb of Ammon and Husn! And on the breeze he caught an echo of laughter.

  He began to dig again, but as the night wore on his exci
tement waned and he began to realise how exhausted he was. The huge mounds of sand all around him bore testament to his work and a glance at his watch showed him that he had been digging for hours. Already the sky was beginning to lighten. The work was not progressing fast enough. It was time to get help.

  Taking out his compass, he took his bearings, and leaving the spade standing upright in the sand, he returned to camp as fast as his tired legs would take him.

  There were already signs of life. The fellahs were untethering the donkeys and Sir Matthew, shrugging himself into his coat, was emerging from his tent, ready for a new day.

  “I’ve found it,” said Edward, stumbling forward with the last of his strength. “Bring every man in the camp. I’ve found the tomb.”

  Chapter 12

  When Elizabeth and Darcy rode into camp after their romantic night at the oasis, they found it a mass of shouting and confusion.

  “What is it?” asked Elizabeth as she slid from the camel. “What has happened?”

  “Oh, Lizzy, is it not exciting?” asked Mrs Bennet, rushing out to meet them. “Edward has found the tomb. What riches we shall have! Bracelets and necklaces and crowns, too, I should not wonder. What a wonderful young man he is! How unfortunate that all my daughters are married, and my granddaughters not yet old enough to be betrothed, for I am sure he would make an excellent addition to the family. Mrs Long will be green with envy when we return home.”

  “Is it true?” Elizabeth asked Sir Matthew, who was standing in the centre of the chaos and giving a string of clear, calm commands in Egyptian.

  He broke off from directing affairs and said, “It is certainly true that he has found something. Exactly what remains to be seen. He was digging in the desert and his spade hit stone. Further excavation revealed that he had hit a flight of steps leading underground, which convinced him that he had found the entrance to a tomb. However, until we know more I would advise restraint. All too often, these early excitements give way to disappointment. The steps that seem to promise access to a burial chamber turn out to be an embellishment on the plinth of a statue or some such thing, and even if they do indeed prove to be something more, then all too often the tomb has been broken into by generations of grave robbers and there is nothing left inside but rubble and broken pottery.”