Paul frowned. Wickham. The name of the third man. But Edward had never mentioned that he knew the identity of the third man.
Now why would he keep it a secret? Paul wondered.
But the lure of the empty paper was too strong, and telling himself that it was impertinent of him to interest himself in Edward’s honesty—or lack of it—he set about capturing the memories in his head and setting them down on paper.
Chapter 14
Sir Matthew did not appear at breakfast the next morning. Edward was at first impatient and then annoyed, for he was longing to be off.
“Patience,” said Darcy as he drank his coffee. “I am sure he will join us before long.”
But when, sometime later, Sir Matthew had still not appeared, Elizabeth said, “He did not look well last night. I think perhaps someone had better go to his tent and make sure he is all right.”
“Let me,” said Edward, jumping to his feet and moving off toward Sir Matthew’s tent with restless energy.
He returned a few minutes later looking annoyed and said, “You were right, Elizabeth; he is not very well. He seems to have a fever. He is tossing and turning in his bed and he feels very hot. The physician should be arriving later today, but…”
Elizabeth was on her feet at once.
“I will take a look at him,” she said. “It might be some hours before the physician arrives.”
She made her way to Sir Matthew’s tent, calling her maid as she did so. The two women went into his tent and discovered that he was delirious.
“Bring me my medicine box,” said Elizabeth, as she silently thanked Lady Potheroe for advice on which medicines to bring.
The maid departed and returned quickly, whereupon Elizabeth prepared a tincture for Sir Matthew and managed to get him to take it. Then, leaving Sir Matthew in the capable hands of his manservant, with instructions for Sir Matthew’s care, she left his tent and walked back across the camp.
The air was punctuated by frightened murmurs coming from the fellahs, and there was a good deal of wailing as well. She spoke little Egyptian, but the sight of charms being prepared left her in no doubt as to the cause of their fear: Sir Matthew had opened the tomb, and Sir Matthew had immediately been taken ill; therefore, the tomb had been cursed.
Shaking her head, she returned gladly to Darcy and to common sense.
“I am afraid Sir Matthew will not be coming with us today,” she said as she reached the breakfast tent. “He is far from well. He will be in bed for a few days at least.”
“This is the worst thing that could possibly happen,” said Edward, looking glum.
“It is not so bad,” she reassured him. “I am sure he will be up and about again before long, but not before the fellahs have decided his illness is a result of a curse.”
He saw her face and said, “So, it has started. They have already decided. At best, it will cost me a pretty penny to persuade them to return to the tomb, and at worst they will refuse to go anywhere near it.”
“I will speak with the men and find out what they are thinking,” said Saeed.
He returned ten minutes later and said, “It is not good. The men are saying that the magician is angry and that he has struck Sir Matthew down for his meddling. They are saying that Sir Matthew will be dead before nightfall.”
“But that is absurd,” said Elizabeth. “It is a fever, nothing more. You must tell the men, Saeed.”
“It will do no good. I have already tried to reason with them but they are convinced it is the work of a magician. And that is not all. They are now saying that a djinn was in the camp last night. One of the servants has been saying that she thought there was a rat in your workbasket last night, but that when the basket was opened there was nothing there. So they are now convinced that the rocking of the basket must have been the work of an evil spirit, one of the guardians of the tomb who is intent on revenge.”
“We must put a stop to this at once. If not, the men will run away and we will be alone in the camp. Even worse, they could spread their panic among the sailors and persuade them to leave, taking the boats back to Cairo,” said Darcy. “The best way to halt their flight is to show them that we are not afraid. If we cannot persuade them to come with us, then we must go ourselves to the tomb, just as if nothing had happened. When they see us setting out in good spirits and then, more importantly, see us return this evening, they will soon calm down—particularly when Sir Matthew shows signs of recovery. I suggest we start as soon as we are ready. Saeed, you had better stay here to make sure that Sir Matthew is given every care and to contain the panic.”
Edward lost no time in ordering the donkeys to be made ready and laden with everything they would need, as well as giving instructions for the planks of wood they would need to cross the moat to be carried between the donkeys. Their intentions were soon plain, and a pitiable wailing went up in the camp.
“Do not go, I beg of you, effendi,” said one of the fellahs, clutching at Edward most pitifully. “The magician will strike you down.”
“Nonsense,” said Edward, his eyes strangely bright. “There is no such thing as magic. If any man here is brave enough to come with me, I will give him double wages. If not, you must all stay here and wail like women.”
But neither the gold nor the jibe could sway the men, and at last Edward mounted his donkey with only Elizabeth, Darcy, Sophie, and Paul for company and a selection of guards for safety.
Saeed made one last attempt to shame the fellahs into picking up their spades, saying, “See, Mrs Darcy and Miss Lucas are brave enough to visit the tomb. Will you allow yourselves to be shamed by women?” But it did no good, for although the fellahs shuffled their feet and looked at the ground, they would not move.
“I’ll come!” said Laurence, who had been trying to persuade his parents to agree to his company all morning.
“See, even a child is not afraid!” said Saeed.
But although the men shuffled even more, they would not brave the tomb.
“Laurence, you can come with us another day, when we have made it safe,” said Elizabeth, “but today you must stay here. Be a good boy and do what Saeed and Grandmama tell you.”
“Never mind,” said Edward, seeing Laurence’s face. “We will soon make it safe and then you will have your fill of excavations, I promise. I would rather have one of you than ten of these milksops,” he finished, looking at the fellahs in disgust.
Then, without further ado, they set out for the tomb.
***
George Wickham stood at the front of the boat with the wind rippling his hair. He was still a handsome man, and still very charming, still attractive to women. But underneath his superficial good humour, he was soured by his failure as a young man to marry an heiress. He had at last been forced into marriage with Lydia Bennet, having run away with her to London and compromised her beyond all hope of reclaim, and still bore a grudge against Darcy, who had forced the marriage.
It was Darcy who was to blame for every ill that had befallen him since then, for if he had not been forced to marry Lydia, he could have continued his quest to find an heiress and been living a life befitting his hopes and dreams, instead of one fitting his just deserts. And if Darcy’s father had not behaved so shabbily to his own father, then he would have been wealthy from birth and a gentleman of equal standing with Darcy.