The Golden One: A Novel of Suspense by Elizabeth Peters Read Free Book Online Page A

such an expedition now; your mother questioned the dealers and none of them had heard of the Master’s return. Be ready to take the train tomorrow, eh?” “That depends on Nefret. She may not want to leave so soon.” “Oh. Yes, quite. Is she still at the hospital? You arranged to fetch her home, I presume.” “No, sir, I didn’t.” Emerson’s brows drew together, but before he could comment his wife said, “Is there something unusual about that ointment jar, Ramses?” He had been holding it, turning it in his hands, running his fingers along the curved sides. He gave her a smile that acknowledged both her tactful intervention and her perceptiveness. “There’s a rough section, here on the shoulder. The rest of it is as smooth as satin.” “Let me see.” Emerson took it from him and carried it to the window, where the light was stronger. “By Gad, you’re right,” he said, in obvious chagrin. “Don’t know how I could have missed it. Something has been rubbed off. A name? An inscription?” “The space is about the right size for a cartouche,” Ramses said. “Can you see anything?” “A few vague scratches.” Direct sunlight shimmered in the depths of the pale translucent stone. “It looks as if someone has carefully removed the owner’s name.” “Not the thief, surely,” his mother said, squinting at the pot. “An inscribed piece would bring a higher price.” “True.” Emerson rubbed his chin. “Well, we’ve seen such things before. An enemy, wishing to condemn the owner to the final death that befalls the nameless, or an ancient thief, who intended to replace the name with his own and never got round to it.” Having settled the matter to his satisfaction, he was free to worry about Nefret. He didn’t criticize Ramses aloud, but he kept looking at his watch and muttering. Fortunately she returned before Emerson got too worked up. “I hope I’m not late for tea,” she said breezily. “Have I time to change?” “You had better,” Ramses said, inspecting her. Not even Nefret could pass through the streets of el-Wasa without carrying away some of its atmosphere. “How did it go?” “Just fine. I’ll tell you about it later.” She rather monopolized the conversation at tea, which they took on the terrace. Even Sennia found it difficult to get a word in.
    I could tell Ramses was perturbed about something and I suspected it had to do with the hospital; yet nothing Nefret said indicated that she was unhappy about the arrangements. Unlike my son, Nefret does not conceal her feelings. Her eyes shone and her cheeks were prettily flushed as she talked, and when Sennia said pensively, “I would like to come and help you take care of the sick ladies, Aunt Nefret,” she laughed and patted the child’s cheek. “Someday, Little Bird. When you are older.” “Tomorrow I will be older,” Sennia pointed out. “Not old enough,” Emerson said, trying to conceal his consternation. “Anyhow, we must be on our way to Luxor shortly. Nefret, when can you be ready?” “Not tomorrow, Father. Perhaps the following day.” She went on to explain that she had arranged to dine with Dr. Sophia and the new surgeon, Miss Ferguson. A flicker of emotion crossed my son’s enigmatic countenance when she indicated she would like him to be present. He nodded in mute acquiescence, but Emerson firmly declined the invitation. The idea of spending the evening with three such determined ladies, discussing loathsome diseases and gruesome injuries, did not greatly appeal to him. So we had an early dinner with Sennia, which pleased her a great deal. It did not please Horus, who had to be shut in Sennia’s room, where (as I was later informed by the sufragi) he howled like a jackal the entire time. As we left the dining saloon, we were hailed by an individual I recognized as the apple-cheeked gentleman who had been one of our fellow passengers. His wife was even more resplendent in jewels and satin. Sennia would