Phantoms of the Pharaoh Page 13

  "Not as good as some. For all the expense of this trip it really could be a lot tastier."

  Frances and Florence didn't say anything to that. Mahulda seemed to be enjoying it. They ate in silence. At the next table Samuel and Maurice were talking.

  "Did you find what you needed?" asked Maurice.

  "No, I didn't," said Samuel, looking at his pie and taking a bite from it. "What about you?"

  "No, I'm afraid not."

  "What were you gentleman looking for?" asked Abigail.

  "Not your concern," said Maurice, resting his fork and knife on his plate and looking at her. Samuel looked up at them with a bland expression on his face.

  "Mind your business, miss," said Samuel.

  "Listen, lads," said Albert, "she was just trying to be helpful."

  "Yes, well, we didn't ask for help, did we?" asked Maurice.

  "You insolent, ill-mannered man," said Albert. "We'll be sure to sit elsewhere," he said, looking at his sister.

  "That would be greatly appreciated," said Maurice, sarcastically.

  The table went silent for a while before Maurice looked over at Samuel and spoke again.

  "I think it might be closer at hand."

  Samuel didn't look up from eating his pie.

  "It appears so. That meddling woman should really mind her manners."

  Samuel finished up his pie and speared a single pea on his fork. He ate it, and then placed his fork and knife down on the plate and pushed his plate forward. He took his napkin from his lap and wiped his mouth.

  Ten

  It was dark at nine that evening, though far from pitch black, on the topside of the boat. The western horizon was still a navy blue, and all along the Nile embankments dotted yellow lights burned like small fires. Everyone was on the top deck, where a group of four musicians played traditional music with the singer singing in Arabic.

  Florence and Frances sat on a divan under a large canopy. The music was soft on the ears and lulling in its melody. Dinner had been very satisfying and everyone was enjoying the fresh, humid air. Lamps were posted like pharaonic statues intermittently along the sides of the boat. It was enough light to read by, and Samuel was reading yesterday's copy of The Times.

  As they all sat quietly in little groups, it seemed contrary to the facts, that they had just come out of the largest global war just a little over two years ago. It was if that was just a foggy dream that they were slowly burning away with the waking sun.

  Frances realized how important this vacation was, not only for her, but perhaps for all of them, to get away from it all. To leave the cares and the rebuilding of England alone for even just a few weeks. It was like a breath of fresh air to a drowning man.

  Maurice stood off to one side, smoking a cigarette and looking out across the western Nile. Nigel was reading a recent copy of Life magazine, haphazardly turning the pages until he found something that caught his eye where he read for a moment. He had a snifter of brandy in front of him, half finished.

  Mahulda was off at the far side, sitting with Simon. It had appeared he had found the courage to talk to her. And who had once been a plain girl, had now transformed into someone with much light and intelligence to her eyes. Frances watched the two of them for some time. All she had needed was a bit of time away from her grandmother and some interest from a decent young man.

  Orpha was closest to them. She was crocheting but every so often, she looked up with a scowl in their direction. But her gaze was never returned.

  Albert and Abigail were sitting close to Frances and Florence, at the other corner of the divan which went out towards the inner canopy.

  "Did you get them to get my warm milk ready?" asked Abigail.

  Albert nodded.

  "I asked for it to be left for nine thirty."

  Abigail nodded.

  Lady Pompress and Captain Wainscott were sitting on another divan at the other end from Frances and Florence. Timothy was smoking a Cuban cigar and enjoying a snifter of brandy. Lady Pompress was drinking a small glass of digestif which looked like it was sherry. She was leaning away from Timothy, having seated herself on the far end of their divan.

  "Do you have to smoke that bloody thing?" she asked, looking at it as if it were a hideous snake that was about to bite her head off.

  "It's one of my small pleasures, darling. I'll go and stand over there by Maurice if that's all right."

  "I'd rather you did," she said.

  Captain Wainscott got up and walked over to where Maurice was standing, finishing his cigarette.

  "Do you mind if I join you?" he asked.

  Maurice shook his head, and kept staring out at the far banks.

  "It's hard to imagine that this place was once the richest cradle of civilization," said Maurice.

  "Yes, I suppose it was majestic at one point," agreed Timothy. "Though it's still not too bad."

  "Yes, well, the spoils of this place have long been stolen, and those that have them don't seem to appreciate it."

  "What do you mean?" asked Timothy, looking over at Maurice with a frown on his face.

  Maurice turned to look at him.

  "There are enough ancient artifacts, jewels, gold, and that sort of thing to make hundreds, probably thousands of men around the world rich beyond their wildest dreams, and some of them don't appreciate that."

  "I see," said Timothy. "You know where some of them are then?"

  Maurice smiled at him and shook his head.

  "If I did, I wouldn't be here. I'd likely be retired on some estate in the English countryside."

  "I suppose you would," said Timothy, "you don't happen to know how much the spoils were worth that were stolen from Menkaure's secret chamber do you? I found that ever so fascinating that story Perry told us."

  Frances noticed Samuel look up and cock his head towards Timothy and Maurice. It looked to her as if he were eavesdropping. He saw Frances looking at him. She smiled sweetly. He ignored her and pulled the paper up to cover his face from her.

  "Most likely several million pounds worth, and what's more," said Maurice, "most of it has not been found."

  "You don't say," said Timothy.

  Maurice nodded.

  "If you'll excuse me," said Maurice, "I think the drink has made my tongue a bit loose. I'll be off to bed then."

  He walked round the large central canopy to the stairs which he took quite carefully. Captain Wainscott watched after him, curiously, smoking his cigar, holding his snifter in his one hand at navel level. Maurice didn't say goodnight to anyone else.

  Samuel folded up the paper, and stood up. He tipped his fedora.

  "It is getting late, I think. If you'll excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I'll be on my way."

  Samuel nodded and looked around the room, as he received farewells from those remaining. He too went straight to the stairs and exited the top deck. Frances took a small sip of her sherry.

  "This is the good life, Flo, is it not? Sitting under God's canopy without needing a heavy coat or blanket."

  Florence looked at her, and chinked her tulip shaped sherry glass with Frances'.

  "I'll second that, Fran. This trip has started off marvelously."

  Albert and Abigail who were sitting in the corner next to Frances and Florence grinned at them. Albert was sipping from a brandy snifter and Abigail had a small glass of sherry.

  "It's wonderful to be resting under the night sky after a vigorous day of sightseeing," said Albert.

  Frances smiled at them.

  "Captain Wainscott tells me that you're a renowned sleuth," he said tentatively.

  Frances looked over at him and smiled.

  "I think the good captain exaggerates," she said.

  "If I could be so bold," said Albert, "I wonder if I could ask you a question regarding that."

  "Certainly."

  "Do you think they'll ever find the remaining treasures of Menkaure?"

  Abigail gave him a look of shock. Frances looked across the deck and
out over the water.

  "Unlikely," she said. "Though it all depends on the thieves I suppose. I imagine they're both dead by now, and if they were smart which I believe they were, then the spoils have likely been well hidden or dispersed. But in fairness, I'm sure some will keep cropping up for some time and many of them will be pinched by the police."

  Frances looked at him.

  "Why do you ask?"

  "I'm just curious that's all. I found the tale of the burglary of Menkaure's pyramid utterly fascinating."

  "I see."

  "You said 'both' when you spoke of the thieves. So you think there is more than one?"

  "I believe there were two of them."

  "How do you know that?"

  "I have spent some time looking at it as sort of a hobby, ever since this one chap tried to sell my husband and I a small golden statue that we bought and returned to the British Museum. They confirmed it was likely from the Pyramid of Menkaure."

  "And what if these thieves wanted to return the spoils? What if they had a change of heart?"

  "That's unlikely. Men of that sort, don't often go to such extreme measures to burglarize only to be moved by a twinge of remorse later. In any event, I doubt it would do them any good, they'd still be charged with the crime."

  "I see," said Albert, looking down dejectedly. Abigail looked at him, but he didn't look back. He was lost in his brandy.

  Orpha packed up her crocheting into her bag and went over to Mahulda and Simon.

  "I think it's time for bed, Mahulda," she said in her sternest tone. "It's getting late, and Perry said we're up for an eight a.m. breakfast."

  "Just a few minutes, please," she said.

  Orpha stood there looking at the two of them for a while. Then she looked down at her watch.

  "Very well, but don't make me come up here after ten," she said.

  "Thank you, nana," said Mahulda.

  Orpha put her bag in the crook of her arm, and walked diagonally through the canopy towards the stairs.

  "Good night," is all she said, as she walked by.

  Nigel closed his magazine, took the last mouthful of brandy from his glass and stood up. He smiled warmly at everyone.

  "Seems I might as well follow everyone's lead and head off to bed myself. Been quite a vigorous day I should think.'

  He nodded and walked off towards the stair and what he hoped was a comfortable bed. Lady Pompress finished off her sherry and set it down. Captain Wainscott walked over and took his seat next to her. He still had half his cigar to finish. She waved the smoke away from her face with her hand, only there wasn't any smoke in her vicinity. It was more for effect than anything else.

  "Could you put that odious thing away so we can go to bed?" she said.

  "I still have some brandy left. I won't be long, darling, just a few moments more if you don't mind."

  "I do," said Lady Pompress, standing, "enjoy that damned weed by yourself. I'm off to bed, and don't disturb me when you come in. You know how my sleeping aid doesn't always work well."

  "I'll be quiet," he said.

  Lady Pompress stormed off without a lot of commotion and did not bother to say goodnight to the remaining guests. Captain Wainscott walked off to the far edge of the boat and looked out over the black, inky water of the ancient Nile. He thought about how the ancient Egyptians might have traveled upon her surface.

  "I feel for that young man," said Abigail.

  "Who?" asked Albert.

  "Captain Wainscott, Timothy."

  "Why?"

  "He seems to have become involved with a very demanding woman," she said.

  "That's one way of putting it."

  "All relationships have their demands," said Frances, looking away from Timothy's back and meeting Abigail's eyes.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well," she said. "In Captain Wainscott's case, the demands are extreme upon his patience, but in return he will have access to Lady Pompress' wealth. Those who marry for love, might have the demands of hard labor and earning their keep. Each relationship has its demands and its gifts."

  "So Lady Pompress is quite rich, is she?" asked Abigail, her face showing the eager anticipation of the gossip.

  "It depends who you're comparing her to," said Frances, "but by most accounts I'd say she's quite comfortable. Captain Wainscott however, paid a small fortune I'm sure, to bring her out here. On top of what is likely to be an especially expensive wedding if I know the likes of Lady Pompress. And the likes of her I am well acquainted with."

  "Poor man," said Albert, "I hope he finds it worth the effort. Personally, I find the whole idea of demeaning oneself for money to be quite pointless."

  Albert was looking off at Timothy who blew smoke out across the water which only came back in to curl around his neck like a loose noose.

  "You've never been married then, I take it?" asked Frances.

  Albert shook his head.

  "Never found the right woman," he said.

  "You too?" she asked, looking at Abigail.

  Abigail nodded her head.

  "Though in my case, it wasn't so much not finding the right woman as it was finding the right man. Though I quite fancy Captain Wainscott if he weren't taken."

  They all shared a light chuckle.

  "Do you know anything about the spoils of the secret chambers of Menkaure?" asked Frances, abruptly changing the subject and looking directly at Albert.

  Albert coughed, or spluttered would be more accurate, and then he finished his brandy.

  "Sorry, dry throat," he said. "I don't know much about the spoils that were once in the Pyramid of Menkaure, other than what Perry told us earlier. Quite fascinating. Why do you ask?"

  "I was just wondering why the two of you went off secretly this afternoon?"

  Frances kept a steady eye on both of them.

  "Well, frankly, we've had enough of the rudeness of Samuel and Abigail, Lady Pompress, we wanted some time alone to see what we wanted to see."

  "I see," said Frances, looking off at Simon and Mahulda who were getting up and walking towards them. Simon and Mahulda stopped a few feet from the group.

  "I think I'll escort Mahulda to her room. I don't want her to get into trouble with her grandmother. It's almost ten. Good night."

  They exchanged good nights and Florence looked at her watch. It was just past nine forty five.

  "I saw a picture once," said Lady Marmalade, "of Arthur Vipond."

  She stopped and looked back at Albert and then Abigail. They held her gaze briefly before looking away.

  "And who is that?" asked Albert, not very convincingly.

  Frances smiled at him.

  "He was believed to be one of the two thieves who stole most of the valuables from the Pyramid of Menkaure. Him, along with an accomplice of his named Howard Trenglove."

  "Interesting," said Albert.

  "Well," continued Frances, "what's really interesting is that you look very much like him, only quite a bit heavier."

  "I see," said Albert. "Well, I can assure you that I am no relation."

  He said that last bit with a bit too much enthusiasm.

  "Was he ever caught?" asked Albert, as Abigail looked down at her lap, trying to avoid the conversation altogether.

  "No. He was brought in for questioning on one occasion, but they never found any of the valuables in either his or Trenglove's possession or apartments."

  "Then perhaps they didn't do it," suggested Albert.

  "Perhaps," said Frances, looking at him and smiling. "Or maybe they hid them better or dispersed them amongst family members."

  "That sounds rather trusting for a pair of thieves," said Albert.

  "Yes, I can see how it might."

  "In any event, without amnesty, I can't see why the thieves or their family would ever return the items stolen."

  "The thieves are dead," said Frances.

  "Right, that even bolsters my point. Why would a cousin or brother risk jail to return items they
never stole?"

  "There could be a variety of reasons," said Frances, "for instance, the power of mythology is very powerful. Some have suggested that over six deaths have been directly attributable to disturbing Tutankhamen’s tomb."

  "Yes, well those of small minds will believe in witchcraft if given the chance," said Albert.

  "I find it quite compelling," said Abigail, "I too hope that those in possession of the spoils will find a way to return them. It could be done honestly."

  "And how might they do that?" asked Frances.

  "Well, I suppose they could leave them by the museum or put them back in the burial chamber where they were stolen from. Perhaps while no one was looking."

  Timothy turned around from the deck railing and extinguished his cigar in the closest ashtray on the closest table. He took the last swig of his brandy and placed the snifter down.

  "Good night all," he said. "I'll see you in the morning."

  He nodded at them all in turn as they said their good nights. Abigail smiled shyly at him.

  "It would be dangerous to leave any valuables at the tombs," said Frances, looking at Abigail. "One couldn't be certain that they would be found by the proper authorities."

  "Yes, I suppose so," said Abigail. "I'm just thinking that there might be ways of doing it if they didn't want to get caught."

  "This is all speculation, of course," said Albert.

  "Of course," replied Frances.

  "I don't see anyone in their right mind giving up valuables like that. Not at times like these."

  "What do you mean by 'times like these'?" asked Frances.

  "Well," said Albert, "these are austere times. We're just recently out of the war, and things are difficult. If I had any sort of new found wealth I might be inclined to hang onto it. Whether that wealth was from a theft I wasn't involved in or not."

  "But surely you couldn't do anything with it," said Florence, "after all, Scotland Yard and ICPC are on the look out for these sorts of trinkets."

  "ICPC?"

  "The International Criminal Police Commission," said Florence.

  "Right. Well, as I said, I'm not a criminal so I don't know how one would go about fencing anything of the sort, I'm just saying I'd likely hang onto things of that sort."