“Where have you been, Jumana?”
“Only for a walk. It was hot. I could not sleep.”
“You were with a man. Don’t lie, I saw him.”
“I did nothing wrong. Please believe me!”
“So you have said before. What precisely did you do?”
“I – I promised I would not tell. I gave my word!”
Exasperation had caused me to raise my voice, and defiance, as I thought it, had caused her to raise hers. A grumble and a thrashing of bedclothes told me that we had wakened Emerson. These sounds were followed by a shout: “Peabody!” He always shouts when he reaches out and finds I am not beside him.
“Here,” I called.
Emerson stumbled to the window and looked out. “Is that… Oh, good Gad!”
Only the upper half of his body was visible, but Emerson is a modest man; he retreated, cursing, and began looking for his clothes. I knew it would take him a while, so I pushed Jumana toward her window.
“Go in. You are to remain in your room. If you leave the house without my permission, you need never come back.”
She obeyed without resistance, verbal or physical. I thought I heard a little sob. It did not soften my heart.
When I climbed back in my own window, Emerson was still searching for his trousers. “Never mind that, Emerson,” I said. “You may as well bathe and dress properly, it is almost morning. We have a serious problem on our hands. Jumana has been creeping out at night – possibly for several nights – and she was with a man. I am afraid it was Sebastian Albion.”
“Damnation,” Emerson murmured. He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, pushing it back from his face. “Are you sure?”
“Who else would it be? Unless,” I added bitterly, “she has a whole string of them. How could I have been so deceived in her character? I am sadly disappointed, Emerson.”
“Now, Peabody, don’t jump to conclusions.” He sat on the side of the bed and pulled me down next to him. “There may be an innocent explanation. Have you given her a chance to explain?”
“She refused to answer my questions. She said she had given her word. Her word! To a vile deceiver like that!”
“Give her another chance.” A horrible idea struck him. In quavering tones he asked, “You don’t want me to question her, do you?”
“No, Emerson, you are hopeless about such matters. I will give her another chance to confess, naturally. I will leave her locked in her room today and speak to her again this evening, after she has had time to repent.”
“And you have had time to cool off,” said Emerson, putting an arm round my shoulders. “My dear, I don’t blame you for being hurt and disappointed, but – er – you aren’t going to starve her, I hope?”
“Certainly not. I will take her breakfast to her myself. Later.”
I felt calmer after a nice long bath, but I was not ready to face Jumana. I would be the first to admit that my maternal instincts are not well developed – they had been stunted, I believe, by the raising of Ramses – but I had become rather attached to Jumana. I had had such high hopes for her. To find that she was a sneak and a liar and – and worse, perhaps – had left me not only disappointed, but hurt. Yes, Emerson was right about that. I had believed she had become equally attached to us.
When I went to breakfast, the Great Cat of Re was sitting on my chair, its chin on the table, its large green eyes fixed on the platter of bacon. “This is beginning to be like the house of the Three Bears,” I said. “It sits on our chairs, it sleeps on our beds, and now it is about to eat my porridge.”
Sennia found this very witty, but nobody else did, including the cat. Ramses’s keen black eyes detected the perturbation behind my attempt at normalcy; brow furrowing, he started to speak, glanced at Sennia, and remained silent. It was Sennia who asked about Jumana. I explained that she was not feeling well and would spend the day in bed. “You are not to go in her room,” I added. “She needs to rest. Do you understand?”
“Shall I take her a tray?” Fatima asked.
“I will see to that,” I replied. “Later. Thank you, Fatima. Where is Gargery? It is time Sennia left for her lessons.”
Gargery entered at that moment to announce we had guests. “Mr. Bertie and Mr. Cyrus. You didn’t tell us they were expected for breakfast, madam.”
“Stop trying to put me in the wrong, Gargery,” I said somewhat snappishly. “They were not expected.”
“But we are always glad to see them,” Fatima said, adding plates and cups and silverware to the table, and bustling out for more food.
“Sorry to disturb you folks,” Cyrus said. He did not look at all sorry. Bliss – delight – happiness… The words are too weak for the emotion that transformed his face. The only other time I had seen that glow was on the day he and Katherine were wed.
“What is it, Cyrus?” I cried, jumping to my feet.
“It’s for Bertie to make the announcement,” Cyrus replied. He was puffed with pride.
Bertie looked round the table. “Where’s Jumana? She should be here.”
“Oh my goodness,” I gasped. “You aren’t… you two aren’t engaged?”
Bertie’s boyish laugh rang out. “Better than that, Mrs. Emerson. We’ve found it, Jumana and I. Jamil’s tomb.”
Pandemonium ensued. Even Gargery, who had only the vaguest notion of what Bertie meant, clapped his hands and joined in the cries of excitement and congratulation. As the others gathered round Bertie, all talking at once, I slipped out of the room.
Jumana was sitting on her bed, her hands folded and her face smeared with dried tears. Now that I got a good look at her, I realized she was not dressed for a romantic rendezvous. Her shirt and trousers were torn and dusty, her boots were scuffed, and her hair straggled over her face.
“Bertie is here,” I said.
She jumped up. “Then it’s all right? He told you? I promised I would not, it was to be a surprise, his surprise. May I go now?” She let out a peal of laughter. “I am very hungry!”
Ah, the resilience of youth! From despair to delight in the twinkling of an eye! I could have let her go without further delay; I was tempted to do so, but justice compelled me to make what amends I could.
“First, I must apologize,” I said.
“Apologize? To me? Why?”
“For misjudging you. I was wrong, and you were right to keep your promise to Bertie. I deeply regret the injustice I did you and I hope you will forgive me.” I held out my hand. She would have fainted with sheer surprise if I had attempted to embrace her, and anyhow, she was very grubby.
“Forgive? You?” She stared wide-eyed at my offered hand.
“I did you an injustice,” I repeated. “Shake hands, if you will, and then go to the others.”
She did not shake my hand. She kissed it, fervently and damply, gave me a radiant smile, and ran out of the room.
I would not have blamed her for taking advantage of her role as heroine – misjudged, falsely accused heroine at that! Instead she insisted that all the credit belonged to Bertie. It was he and he alone who had deduced where the tomb must be.
“But where is it?” Emerson shouted, tugging at his hair. “Bertie won’t say. Jumana, where -”
“We want to show you,” Bertie explained. “You’ll never believe it otherwise.”
“They’re entitled,” Ramses said, smiling in sympathy. “Lead the way, Bertie.”
He led us to Deir el Medina.
Our men were there, waiting to begin the day’s work. Ramses called them to gather round, explaining that Bertie had an important announcement to make. The truth had begun to dawn on Emerson by then. “It can’t be,” he mumbled. “I don’t believe it. Damnation!”
“Father, if you please,” Ramses said. “Bertie, you have the floor.” He added, with a grin, “Make the most of it.”
“Oh, well,” Bertie said, blushing. “It was an accident, really, you know. I sat here for days with my foot up and nothing much to do but stare at the scenery. I got to know it pretty well. Look up there.”