The Falcon at the Portal: An Amelia Peabody Mystery by Elizabeth Peters Page B

at finding himself in the presence of Emerson he never spoke a word the entire time. There was also a young classical scholar named Lawrence, who had done a bit of excavating in Syria and was spending a month with Petrie at Kafr Ammar. The only women present were Nefret and myself, Miss Maude, and a vague little old lady, an aunt or cousin who acted as nominal chaperone to the brother and sister. The Reynoldses treated her rather like a large fragile parcel, taking her out of one place and putting her down in another, where she remained, smiling dimly, until she was moved to another location. I could not imagine that she would prevent Miss Maude from doing exactly as she pleased.
At first the young men were frightfully deferential to Emerson, which depressed him a great deal. It was Mr. Lawrence who broke the ice—or rather, who jumped into the crashing hole Emerson had broken by criticizing Mr. Petrie.
"I consider it an honor to be working with Professor Petrie this season," he said stiffly. "He speaks of you, sir, with respectful admiration."
"The devil he does," said Emerson, with the greatest good humor imaginable. "We have been friendly enemies for years, and I know precisely what he thinks of me. He can teach you a thing or two about excavation, if you don't die of ptomaine poisoning first. Why he has not long since expired is a mystery to me; he leaves half-eaten tins of food standing about until they turn green, and expects his people to finish the vile stuff. Peabody, do you remember the time Quibell staggered into our camp at Mazghuna asking for ipecacuanha?"
    I stopped him before he could elaborate—descriptions of digestive disorders are not suitable for the luncheon table—but his jovial manner had put the young men at ease, and an animated archaeological discussion ensued, dominated, of course, by Emerson. When he announced where we would be working, Jack Reynolds, on my right, exclaimed in surprise.
"Zawaiet el 'Aryan? I knew Mr. Reisner didn't intend to put in another season there, but I cannot conceive why you should be interested in the place. We found very little of interest. Isn't that right, Geoff?"
There could not have been a greater contrast between two men—Jack, hearty and red-cheeked and sturdily built, Geoffrey as fair as a washed-out watercolor and as shy as Jack was outspoken. A delicate flush of embarrassment touched his pale cheeks at finding himself the focus of Emerson's fixed regard, which has a devastating effect on persons of a sensitive nature. "I must agree," he murmured. "The site is not worthy of your talents, Professor."
"Bah," said Emerson vigorously. "You have not the proper attitude toward archaeology, Mr. Godwin." And he proceeded to tell Geoffrey what his attitude ought to be. Nefret, seated next to the young man, took pity on him and distracted Emerson with a teasing question.
Realizing we had heard almost nothing from Ramses—an unusual circumstance indeed—I found him engulfed by Miss Maude, who had placed him next to her. The manners of young American ladies are very free and easy, but it did not take me long to realize that Nefret's hints about Miss Maude's interest in my son were unfortunately correct. She had turned her back on Mr. Lawrence, who was on her other side, and was chattering nonstop, without giving Ramses a chance to speak. This, as I could have told her, was not the way to win his regard.
    After luncheon the ladies retired to the sitting room and the gentlemen went into Jack Reynolds's study. I never permitted this absurd variety of segregation in my own home, but I put up with it on this occasion because I was anxious to become better acquainted with Miss Maude. A closer examination of her person confirmed my earlier impression; she was dressed expensively and uncomfortably in the latest fashion, her dress having been made with a hobble skirt so narrow, she had to shuffle like a Chinese lady with bound feet. She appeared to be anxious to ingratiate