The Mystery of Queen Nefertiti

by C T Cassana

  Lisa breathed a sigh of relief at this moment. She hadn’t come all this way to expand her knowledge of art technique, but to find out what had happened to the papyrus scroll this man had taken with him when he had left Cairo nine years earlier. She listened to him patiently, waiting for the right moment to ask her questions without raising suspicions. But when Monsieur Denon announced that the visit was over and that they would now return to his office, she became extremely nervous.

  Fortunately, after he had told her of his adventures in wondrous places like Dendera, Esna, Aswan, Edfu and the Island of Philae, he came at last to the city of Thebes. Lisa calmed down when she heard the city’s name, because it was there that Monsieur Denon had bought the papyrus scrolls and statuettes. The moment had come for her to extract as much information as she could from him and to do it fast, before they reached his office.

  “I was in Thebes three times,” he explained, “but only on my last visit was I able to see the Valley of the Kings and to enter the tombs there.”

  “You entered the tombs?” asked Lisa, with exaggerated admiration.

  “Yes, but unfortunately it was a very short visit,” replied Denon.

  “They say that the objects in the tombs have magical powers. Is it true? Did you ever have one in your hands?”

  “I was lucky enough to be able to acquire some statuettes and papyrus scrolls from one tomb, although they never seemed to me to have much value beyond the fact of their belonging to such a fascinating chapter of history.”

  Lisa felt her heart skip a beat. He was clearly referring to Nefertiti’s scrolls, and to the statuettes he had bought with them. She had to be sure she was right and to find out where they were.

  “Oh, monsieur! How I would love to be able to see those papyrus scrolls!” she exclaimed, seizing him by the hand and stopping him to gain a little time. “Tell me, could you show them to me now?”

  But rather than slowing him down, this pause gave Monsieur Denon the opportunity to check his pocket watch, and although he said nothing, his face reflected his impatience when he saw the time it showed him.

  “I am afraid I no longer have them, mademoiselle,” he replied, releasing her hand and walking on once more. “Regrettably, the British troops confiscated one of them in Cairo.”

  Clearly, he was referring to the scroll that her mother had found in the British Museum. But she had to find out what had happened to the other one, the one she was looking for.

  “One of them? And what happened to the others? Because there was more than one, was there not?” she asked eagerly.

  But Monsieur Denon was no longer listening. He had allowed himself to be distracted by the radiance and charm of this young woman for too long, and now it was really very late. He had to bring this meeting to an end and get back to his obligations.

  “Excuse me, my dear mademoiselle,” he said when they were just a few yards from the door to his office, “but the Intendant is waiting for me.”

  “Perhaps then you could tell me the end of your story later,” suggested the girl, trying to turn on the charm once more. But Monsieur Denon seemed to have become quite immune to it now.

  “Perhaps,” he replied disinterestedly, as he opened the door.

  . . .

  Vivant Denon greeted his secretary with a nod and rushed into his office, only to find that it was totally empty.

  “Where is Costaz?” he asked his assistant rather curtly. “Has he not arrived?”

  Lisa froze when she heard the name.

  “Costaz?” she stammered, looking at the secretary.

  “Louis Costaz, the Intendant of Crown Buildings,” replied the secretary with an amiable smile, using her interruption to evade his boss’ question.

  “The same Louis Costaz who was Secretary of the Institut d’Égypte in Cairo?” asked Lisa, silently praying that the answer would be “no”.

  “The very same, mademoiselle,” replied the young man, impressed by the young lady’s knowledge, which was clearly equal to her beauty. “He was recently appointed Intendant of Crown Buildings.”

  “And so?” demanded Monsieur Denon, who was clearly annoyed by the situation. “Will nobody answer me?”

  “He arrived a few minutes after you left, so I sent him into your office,” explained the secretary. “He waited for some time in there, and had a lively conversation with young Monsieur D’Artagnan about cheeses, musketeers and other such matters; but as your Excellency did not return, they left for the palace to see the Emperor.”

  “My brother went with him?” asked Lisa in astonishment.

  “He went to see the Emperor without waiting for me?” bellowed Denon, visibly angered.

  “That’s right,” replied the secretary with a shrug. “Costaz took such a liking to the boy that he decided to take him along. He said they would wait for you there.”

  . . .

  Vivant Denon marched swiftly out of his office. He was too discreet and well-mannered a man to betray his feelings in public, but the length and frequency of his strides clearly revealed that he was not in a good mood. He rushed through hallways and down stairs until he reached the main doors. Once there, he hailed a carriage to cross the immense square that separated the museum from the Tuileries Palace, the imperial residence.

  Lisa struggled to keep up with him, trying her best not to trip over her own dress, and not to collapse completely from the anxiety that had besieged her. The whole situation had turned into an absolute nightmare. Just when she was about to find out where the second papyrus scroll was, Monsieur Denon had flown into such a rage that she didn’t dare bring up the question again. And to make matters worse, her brother had taken off with the same man who had accused them of being British spies, had chased them through the streets of Cairo and had seen them put on a black cape and vanish into thin air in the sweltering heat of the city. And worse still, they had gone together to the palace to see the Emperor, Napoleon Bonaparte himself.

  “For God’s sake, Charlie! What on earth were you thinking?” she whispered mournfully as she watched the horse and carriage pull up in front of them.

  “What was that, mademoiselle?” asked Monsieur Denon, while he opened the door for her to step inside.

  “Nothing, monsieur. Only that I am truly sorry to be causing you so much trouble,” she replied, trying to calm down.

  But it was Denon who calmed down when he heard her. This charming young lady was not to blame for any of this. He sat down opposite her, and while he watched the facade of the museum pull away from them, he felt compelled to apologize for having treated her so curtly.

  “You have not caused me any trouble, dear mademoiselle,” he said, resuming the amiable and chivalrous tone he had used with her all afternoon. “Quite the contrary. I have enjoyed your visit a great deal.”

  Lisa sighed and made an effort to control her distress. As soon as they reached the palace, she had to find Charlie and get out of there as quickly as possible. Despite the fact that her brother’s appearance had not changed since the last time Costaz had seen him, it seemed he had not recognized the boy, no doubt because they were now in Paris, nine years later and in very different circumstances from those in which they had met in Cairo. But if he saw the two of them together, he might remember. And if he accused them of being spies again, this time in the imperial palace, they could end up in serious trouble.

  Lisa tried to forget her fears and focus on keeping up her conversation with Monsieur Denon, certain that she wouldn’t get another chance before she left.

  “Well then, perhaps you could tell me how your story ends,” she said, offering him her sweetest smile.

  “What story?” asked Denon, not knowing exactly what she was referring to.

  At that moment the carriage stopped and the coachman opened the door to help out its two occupants, who were immediately welcomed by the palace butlers.

  “Your Excellency,” said one of them, bowing before Monsieur Denon.

  “The Emperor is expec
ting me,” he replied.

  The butler nodded and led them through the palace, passing through beautiful galleries and luxuriously decorated halls. Lisa tried once again to pick up the conversation where they had left off.

  “In the museum you told me that you had acquired some objects from a tomb, but that you no longer had any of them. What became of them?” she asked.

  “When I returned to Paris, I brought two of them with me,” replied Monsieur Denon. “They were nothing special, a few trifles compared to the wonders I had seen; but in some small way they showed my gratitude for having been able to take part in what without doubt was the greatest adventure of my life.”

  Lisa felt that the tension was making her blush. His words were almost identical to those spoken by Monsieur Costaz in Cairo, when he had told her that Denon had taken some objects with him to France. It seemed curious that now, nine years later, Vivant Denon himself should express himself almost exactly the same way. It could not be a mere coincidence.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  At that moment, the butler opened a door and they entered a large hall filled with courtiers.

  “Excuse me, I’ll finish the story after I’ve greeted a dear friend,” replied Denon, smiling politely.

  He then crossed to the other side of the room, where a lady was laughing riotously while watching a little dog playing with a scrawny boy with tousled hair and a black cape. It was Charlie, although fortunately Costaz was no longer with him. As for the woman, Lisa wasn’t sure who it could be, although her opulent clothes and jewelry suggested that she was somebody important.

  Charlie made a remark that Lisa couldn’t hear and the lady burst out laughing again. Then she lifted her gaze and rose to greet them.

  “My dear Baron Denon!” she said, while Monsieur Denon bowed to kiss her hand.

  “Your Majesty, you are as radiant as ever,” he said. “Allow me to introduce Mademoiselle Isabelle D’Artagnan.”

  Lisa was stunned. This woman with the elegant manner and beautiful voice was none other than Empress Joséphine. The girl bowed her head and managed a reasonably decent curtsy.

  “It is an honor, your Majesty,” she said, in a voice so quiet that the others there barely heard more than a murmur.

  “Then you are...” began the Empress.

  Just at that moment, Charlie turned to her, knowing that his sister generally behaved rather awkwardly in these kinds of situations. Poor Lisa always tried to treat people with the distance and formality she felt were expected, without considering that they were just people.

  “This is my sister, Isabelle, your Majesty,” explained the boy with brazen forwardness.

  “You didn’t tell me you had such a pretty sister, Charlot,” replied the Empress.

  “Excuse me, your Majesty,” said Denon. “I believe the Emperor is waiting for me.”

  “I’m afraid Costaz has beat you to the punch, my dear Baron,” remarked Joséphine wryly. “You’re late, which is of course understandable when one is in such fine company.”

  Lisa blushed again, this time turning as red as a tomato. The flattery and praise that Monsieur Denon had been showering her with all afternoon had hardly affected her; her flirtatious behavior had merely been a weapon to extract information from him about the papyrus scroll. But this remark from the Empress had made her feel uncomfortable in front of the people gathered there.

  At that moment, two men entered from the other end of the room and walked toward them. The courtiers interrupted their respective conversations to bow their heads as they passed. When she saw them, Lisa recognized them at once. The first was Napoleon Bonaparte, unmistakable despite the fact that this was the first time she had ever seen him in person. The other man was Louis Costaz, the man she had met in Cairo, now several years older and several pounds heavier.

  Lisa watched them approach and tried to keep calm, repeating over and over in her head that there was practically no chance that he would recognize them. In Cairo, she and Charlie had been dressed in Egyptian attire and most of her face had been covered. Besides, nine years had passed, even if her and her brother’s appearance had not changed at all. Only a madman would imagine they could be the same people.

  “Well now, it doesn’t seem to smell so much of cheese anymore, although now the smell of licorice is almost unbearable,” joked Napoleon when he reached the group.

  All those present laughed loudly, even though many of them didn’t know what the Emperor meant by his remark.

  “Would you like a little more, young D’Artagnan?” Bonaparte asked Charlie.

  “Yes, sir,” replied the boy, as if he were a little soldier. “It really is very delicious.”

  Napoleon searched his pockets and took out a little more licorice for the boy.

  “I’m afraid you’ve finished off my reserves,” he said.

  He raised his gaze and caught sight of Lisa.

  “My sister, Isabelle,” said Charlie, by way of introduction.

  Lisa bowed again, trying to repeat the same curtsy she had done for Joséphine moments before a little more skillfully.

  “You have a great strategist in the family,” said Napoleon, pointing to Charlie. “If you’d give me your permission, I would replace one of my generals with your brother Charlot in a second. Just look at him; apart from being as sharp as a whip, he can even get animals to obey him,” he explained, indicating the little dog who refused to leave the boy’s side.

  “It’s just because he still smells the cheese, your Majesty,” said Charlie, visibly amused. “Or the licorice.”

  Everybody laughed once more and Lisa calmed down a little... but only for a moment. Although she had been evading his gaze, she noticed that Monsieur Costaz had only just turned his eyes away from her, and when he did so it was to fix his stare on Charlie and the black cape he was wearing. She tried to act naturally, but her instinct told her they were in danger.

  “I think we should be going, Charlot,” she said softly.

  Charlie nodded and stepped aside for a moment to pick up the cloth bag he had brought.

  “You’re leaving without hearing the end of my story?” Monsieur Denon asked Lisa.

  “What story?” inquired Joséphine, clearly intrigued.

  “I was telling her about my expedition through Upper Egypt,” replied Denon.

  Lisa knew at once that this remark would stoke any suspicions that Costaz might already have; they had to leave at once.

  “Perhaps some other time, monsieur. We leave Paris tomorrow and it is getting rather late. But perhaps I shall return one day to hear it,” she replied with a smile, trying to leave open the possibility of another visit.

  “Are you interested in Egypt?” asked Costaz with a serious expression.

  “More in Egyptian art,” interjected Denon, answering on her behalf.

  “Tell me, mademoiselle,” Costaz asked, his eyes fixed on her, “have you ever been to Cairo?”

  “No, monsieur, but I would have loved to see it,” replied Lisa very slowly, unable to evade his gaze. “Now if you will excuse us...”

  The girl curtsied and Charlie, who was also aware of what was going on, bowed politely. Then they turned around and made directly for the door.

  Costaz watched them leave, still feeling unsettled. Those matchless green eyes; the cloth bag and black velvet cape; the boy and the girl together, just like in Cairo. It all seemed to fit, but it was simply impossible.

  “What did she want to know about Egypt?” he asked, turning back to Vivant Denon.

  “She was very interested to know what became of the papyrus scroll and statue I brought with me,” he replied.

  Costaz looked back toward the door, no longer caring that it made no sense at all. But the boy and the girl were gone. And although they’d left the room only seconds ago, he knew for certain that if he went after them he wouldn’t be able to find them.

  . . .

  Miss Rotherwick walked back home with the last words of Dr. Ha
rris resounding in her head. She had known what was going to happen for some time and she had prepared for it; her affairs were all in order, and she felt neither pain nor anger. However, in the last few months two events had changed her life unexpectedly.

  One of them was the Queen Nefertiti exhibition and the problems that had hampered the preparations for it. All signs suggested that it would be an absolute disaster, the bitterest of farewells after dedicating her whole life to the museum. But then came the discovery of the first papyrus scroll, and with it the hope of finding something big, a historic moment in which the institution she loved so dearly was the protagonist. And how she wished with all her heart that this little miracle would happen and that she would be there to see it.

  On the other hand, the relationship she had developed with Maggie’s children had become very important to her, bringing brush-strokes of light and color to her gray and dull life. She really enjoyed their company, and the days that Charlie had stayed at her home had been the happiest and most enjoyable days she had known in ten years.

  The truth was that she adored that sweet little flatterer, so extraordinarily clever, amusingly likable, maddeningly stubborn, and absolutely charming. She would have liked to spend a little more time with him and regretted that the end was so near.

  As soon as she got home she put on The Magic Flute and let the music transport her to that wonderful evening in Vienna, when she had been able to see her beloved Mozart conducting the orchestra. Charlie, that cheeky little devil, had given her the best gift of her life, and now she wanted to give something back.

  Furthermore, there was the promise she had made and was not about to break under any circumstances. But her body continued to alert her, to send her signals urging her to prepare for what was going to happen, and to do it as responsibly and sensibly as possible.

  She sat down and wrote a letter, which she left folded in front of her. Then she took another blank sheet of paper and began a second one. The words flowed from her pen one after another, without her having to stop to think of them. She had meditated a great deal on all she should say and how to say it to ensure the desired effect. When she finished, she folded the paper carefully, put it in an envelope and wrote on the front: “For Charlie Wilford”.