I told Fatima we would take tea in the sitting room that evening. It was not a room we often used for informal family gatherings, since it was too spacious to be cozy and somewhat gloomy because of the small, high windows. However, it would spare Ramses the stairs to the roof; not much help, but the best I could do.

I made haste in bathing and changing, but the others were already there when I entered the parlor.

“Where is Mrs. Fortescue?” I asked. “Didn’t you ask her to come to tea?”

“If that inquiry is addressed to me,” said Emerson, with great emphasis, “the answer is, no, why the devil should I have done? She turned up this afternoon without warning and without an invitation, and expected me to drop what I was doing and show her every cursed pyramid at Giza . I was trying to think of a way to get rid of her when you saved me the trouble.”

“She asked where Ramses was,” Nefret said.

He had taken a chair some little distance from the sofa where she was sitting, and I observed he was now wearing a light tweed coat, which served to conceal the rather lumpy bandages. “How nice,” he murmured. “Which of her admirers was with her, the Count or the Major?”

“Neither,” Emerson said. “It was that young Pinkerton.”

“Pinckney,” Nefret corrected.

“Ah,” said Ramses. “I didn’t see him.”

“He was inside the tomb, with me. I was showing him the reliefs.”

“Hmmm,” said Ramses.

Nefret glared at him, or tried to; her prettily arched brows were incapable of looking menacing. “If you are implying—”

“I’m not implying anything,” Ramses said.

He was, of course. I had had the same thought. Mr. Pinckney might have brought the lady along as camouflage for his romantic designs on Nefret. Or she might have brought him along as camouflage for her designs on Emerson. Or…

Good Gad, I thought, this is even more complicated than our usual encounters with crime. The only thing of which I was certain was that neither Pinckney nor Mrs. Fortescue was Sethos.

Nefret subjected Ramses to another glare, and then turned to me. “The Professor assured me you were not seriously injured, Aunt Amelia, but I would like to have a look at you. What happened?”

“It was all a great fuss about nothing, my dear,” I replied, seating myself next to her on the sofa. “I took a little tumble into a tomb and twisted my arm.”

“This arm?” Before I could stop her she grasped my hand and pushed my sleeve up. “I don’t see anything. Does it hurt when I do this?”

“No,” I said truthfully.

“Or this? Hmmm. Well, it appears there is no break or sprain.”

“The greatest damage was to another portion of her anatomy,” said Ramses. “She landed on her… that is, in a sitting position.”

As he had no doubt expected, my look of chagrin put an end to Nefret’s questions.

“Never mind,” I said, with a little cough. “Have you asked Fatima to serve tea, Nefret?”

“Yes, it should be here shortly. I wanted to get an early start, since I am dining out this evening.”

“Dining out,” I repeated. “Have you told Fatima ?”

“Yes.”

“You look very nice. Is that a new frock?”

“I haven’t worn it before. Do you like it?”

“Not very much,” said Ramses, before I could reply. “Is that the latest in evening dress? You look like a lamp shade.”

She did, rather. The long overtunic had been stiffened at the bottom so that it stood out around the slim black skirt in a perfect circle. I could tell by Emerson’s expression that he was of the same opinion, but he was wise enough to remain silent.

“It’s a Poiret,” Nefret said indignantly. “Really, men have no sense of fashion, have they, Aunt Amelia?”

“A very pretty lamp shade,” Ramses amended.

“I refuse to discuss fashions,” Emerson grumbled. “ Peabody , what did you think of the situation at Zawaiet? Ramses has just informed me that the local bandits have been wreaking havoc with the place.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I said.

“Nor would I,” said Ramses. “However, I think—with your permission, Father—I will spend at least one more day there, if for no other reason than to establish the presumption that we are keeping an eye on the place. Also, the pit tomb the men uncovered today should be cleared. I doubt there’s much there, but I want to make certain nothing has been overlooked.”

Fatima came in with the tea tray and I busied myself preparing the genial beverage—lemon for Nefret, milk and three teaspoons of sugar for Emerson. Ramses declined in favor of whiskey, which he mixed himself.

Nefret’s announcement had come as a considerable relief. If she was out of the house we could retire early, to Ramses’s room. I wanted to get him back into bed and I was determined to hold that council of war. There were so many unanswered questions boiling round in my head, I felt as if it would burst. Nor were Ramses and David the only ones I intended to interrogate. My own husband, my devoted spouse, had obviously kept me in the dark about certain of his own activities.

As for Nefret, I could only hope she was not dining with Percy or some other individual of whom I would not approve. There wasn’t much I could do about it; a direct inquiry might or might not produce a truthful answer.

She had entered with seeming interest into the discussion about Zawaiet el ’Aryan. “You won’t be needing me to take photographs, then?” she asked.

“I see no reason for it,” Emerson answered. “In fact, I hope Ramses can finish at Zawaiet tomorrow or the next day. The cursed place isn’t our responsibility, after all; it is still part of Reisner’s concession.”

“Perhaps I ought to notify him of what has been going on,” Ramses suggested.

“He is in the Sudan ,” Emerson said. “It can wait.”

“Very well.” Ramses got up and went to the table, where he poured another whiskey. Nefret’s eyes followed him, but she made no comment.

“I suppose, Peabody ,” said my husband, “you will insist we leave off work Christmas and Boxing Day.”

“Now my dear, you know I never insist. However, respect for the traditions of the faith that is our common heritage—”

“Confounded religion,” said Emerson predictably.

“We haven’t even done anything about a Christmas tree,” Nefret said. “Perhaps, Aunt Amelia, you would rather not go to the trouble this year.”

“It is difficult to get in the proper frame of mind,” I admitted. “But for that very reason it is all the more important, in my opinion, that we should make an effort.”

“Whatever you say.” Nefret returned her cup to its saucer and stood up. “I’ll help you with the decorations, of course. Palm branches and poinsettias—”

“Mistletoe?” Ramses inquired softly.

She had started for the door. She stopped, but did not turn. “Not this year.”

There seemed to be a certain tension in the air, though I could not understand why—unless it was the fact that her first and last attempt to supply that unattractive vegetable had been the Christmas before her ill-fated marriage. “It doesn’t hold up well in this climate,” I said. “The last time we had it, the berries turned black and fell off onto people’s heads.”

“Yes. I must go now,” Nefret said. “I won’t be late.”

“With whom are you—”

She quickened her step and got out the door before I could finish the question.

None of us did justice to Mahmoud’s excellent dinner. I could see that Ramses had to force each bite down, and my own appetite was not at its best. After we had finished, Emerson told Fatima we would have coffee in his study, since we intended to work that evening. Taking the heavy tray from her hands—a kindness he often performed—he told her to go to bed.

We had arranged a signal with David—two soft taps, a louder knock, and three more soft taps. Of course I could have unlocked the door with my own key, but I saw no reason to let its existence be known. My harmless little subterfuge was in vain; Ramses’s first question, once we were safely inside his room, was, “How did you get in last night, Mother? I had locked the door before I left the house.”