He looked closely at Frances; recognition dawned and I saw him make a lightning-quick calculation. ‘Miss Winlock, I presume?’ He smiled broadly, edged closer, tipped his hat. ‘Didn’t I see you here with your father the other week? How’s the clearance work going? Encounter anything interesting down there in the tomb, young ladies?’
We made no reply. Escaping fast, we ran to the tomb of Seti II, now used as the conservation laboratory. It proved to be deep, facing north and refreshingly cool. The only daylight came from the entrance, and it was dark in its furthest recesses – so dark that Miss Mack and Callender, who were examining antika there, were using flashlights. It was set up with an array of benches, tools, ranked bottles, burners, tiny bellows for removing dust, and porcelain crucibles. It smelled strongly, chokingly, of chemicals.
‘Acetone. Ether. Pure alcohol.’ Mace ran his hand along the bottles. ‘Formalin and collodion – we’re using celluloids and formaldehyde too. None of them nice. Horrible stink. I have to go outside for a breather, but Lucas seems immune, don’t you, old chap?’
Lucas, his fellow conservationist, then came forward: a tall, thin man, a good ten years older than Mace, he was also English, and had worked for years as a government chemist in Cairo. Both men were somewhat donnish, I thought; Lucas was wearing a three-piece suit and brogues, whereas Mace, as usual, wore shabby, crumpled work clothes; Minnie Burton liked to say he dressed like an under-gardener.
Lucas shook hands and regarded us in a dry way. Glancing back to Mace, he winked at him and said to us: ‘So how was the tomb? Been admiring Callender’s carpentry work?’
‘Just following orders,’ Callender interjected mildly, from the recesses of the lab. ‘As per instructions, I’d point out. When he removes the wall, Carter wants a platform.’
‘I’ll bet he does,’ Lucas replied. ‘Don’t we all?’ And with that enigmatic remark, he and Mace began to explain their work, to show us their triumphs and recount their disasters.
The single most difficult task they’d faced, they said, was the chariots. Only two had ever been discovered in Egypt before; in the Antechamber, there were four. They had been too large to be manoeuvred whole into the tomb when it was originally stocked, so their axles had been sawn in two and their parts dismantled. They had been piled together in a corner, and there, over the millennia, their leather fittings had disintegrated, forming a black sticky resin, glueing all four chariots together. They had had to be disentangled, piece by delicate piece. It had taken weeks of work in the tomb before they could safely be removed from it. Their six-spoked wooden wheels had been bound with thin tyres of rawhide, fragments of which had survived: Mace and Lucas had experimented with seven different chemical solutions until they found one that kept these scraps intact.
Frances and I bent to examine the gold relief work – and there the boy king was before our eyes, mounted in the chariot’s basket, bow aimed, his arrow about to fly, plumed horses at full stretch, a hound racing beside: galloping to a hunt one glorious morning three thousand two hundred years ago.
Mace and Lucas showed us the records of this work – and it was then I began to understand for the first time how prodigious a task this was, and how minutely Carter had organised it. Every object was numbered and mapped by the Met’s draughtsmen Hauser and Hall and its position in the Antechamber recorded. Each object, small or large, was then photographed in situ by Harry Burton. Carter himself drew them and recorded their measurements, their materials, their smallest details. Once restored to a state in which they could be safely transported, they were recorded again; finally they were packed – padded with wadding, wrapped in linen bandages and shrouds, laid into special boxes made to fit their contours.
‘The most precious things ever found by any archaeologist,’ Lucas said, ‘and we have the job of saving them. We’re trying to do it, God help us, under the noses of these pestilential journalists and tourists––’
‘In one-hundred-degree heat,’ Mace put in.
‘While being pickled in chemicals––’
‘While being constantly interrupted by visitors with special access. Carnarvon’s friends, Egyptian officials. Two US Senators and four Pashas yesterday––’
‘One earl, two Honourables, a viscount, three ladies and a bishop the day before––’
‘But we stay calm and even-tempered at all times. No matter the provocation––’
‘No matter how fatuous the questions. Even when Carter shouts and rages––’
‘Which he does. On occasion. Very, very rarely of course––’
‘A mere five times today, for example.’
Both men laughed. Drawing Frances and me deeper into the tomb, they began to show us some of the objects that had been restored but not yet boxed for transport: a gold stick adorned with a tiny statue of the king as a child; an exquisite fan made of ostrich feathers – feathers that had survived three thousand years. We were standing in a small area, hemmed in on all sides by packing cases. ‘Where is all this treasure going?’ Frances asked; she’d been counting the containers and had given up at two hundred.
‘Ah. Tricky question, that,’ Mace replied. He and Lucas exchanged glances. ‘Some of it will be destined for the Egyptian Museum in Cairo, Frances… but there’s the question of Carnarvon’s share. That issue – well, it’s not resolved yet. Negotiations continue.’
‘I understand,’ Miss Mack said, seizing her chance, ‘I understand that under the terms of his permit, Lord Carnarvon is entitled to half of everything found. Strictly speaking, and aside from the pièces capitales, of course. Is that correct?’
‘Well – up to a point, Miss Mackenzie,’ Lucas replied. ‘But every object here is exceptionally fine. You could argue they all come into that category. You could also argue that a find such as this, unprecedented, of such beauty and historical importance, should not be broken up under any circumstances. I make no comment either way––’
‘And it’s not as simple as that anyway,’ Mace put in. ‘Had the tomb been completely intact, had there been no break-ins in antiquity, then everything would be destined for the Egyptian Museum. No argument. The permit stipulates that. But there were break-ins.’
‘Minor break-ins,’ Lucas interjected.
‘So it’s all bally well up in the air at the moment,’ Callender muttered.
‘And likely to stay there for some considerable time,’ Lucas added.
Miss Mack digested this information and the manner in which it was imparted. She gave all three men a barbed look. ‘I imagine Lord Carnarvon could renounce his claims? That might be a wise solution, perhaps, in the circumstances?’
None of the men seemed keen to express a view on that possibility. She pressed on. ‘What is Mr Carter’s view on the matter? Does he not feel these wonderful things should be kept together and should remain in Egypt? I myself feel very strongly that to split them up, to divide them like – like the spoils of war is nothing short of––’
Miss Mack never completed this crusading sentence. At that moment, deep in the tomb, hemmed in by those packing cases, we were interrupted. We heard a woman’s voice, calling from the Valley. ‘Howard, where are you?’ it called. ‘Where have you got to, dear?’ I recognised the voice as Eve’s a second before she entered the laboratory.
She came to an abrupt halt in its entrance, peering into its depths, catching the gleam of our flashlights, but unable to see us clearly in the shadows. As we came forward to greet her, I saw she was wearing a new and very pretty pink dress; she was clutching her hat and was bare-headed, her hair freshly washed and waved. She must have come straight from the Winter Palace and the skilled ministrations of her maid Marcelle, I thought – but I was wrong.
‘Oh where has Howard gone?’ she cried, on a shrill note of anxiousness, as we emerged into the daylight and she realised that Carter was not among us. ‘I’ve been searching for him high and low – I’ve been to the Castle and the American House. I’ve been up and down the Valley twice. T
here’s no sign of him anywhere.’
The three men looked at her awkwardly, and then at each other. They consulted. Where, indeed, was Carter? He’d been with them at lunch… Callender had spoken to him at around two o’clock. Mace might have glimpsed him after that, but wasn’t sure. Lucas said he had definitely been in the Valley at three – they’d had a brief word, Carter complaining at Weigall’s presence. No sightings since. There was a silence.
‘What time is your father arriving from Cairo, Lady Evelyn?’ Mace asked, in a neutral tone. ‘Might Carter have gone to Luxor to meet him?’
‘Pups won’t be here for hours yet. His train gets in late. I need to see Howard before he arrives. Why would he just disappear? He promised me that––’
‘I expect he’ll be in Luxor,’ Lucas said. ‘Some administration matter… some last-minute problem about the opening, Lady Evelyn? It wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened.’
‘That’s true.’ Eve’s face brightened, then instantly clouded. ‘But why didn’t he send word? I could have stayed at the hotel and met him there. I’m sure he can’t have gone to Luxor – he’d have told me.’
Colour came and went in her face, and for one moment I thought she was about to cry. She must be very agitated, I realised, for her habitual good manners had, for once, deserted her: she had not greeted Miss Mack, Frances or me and seemed blind to our presence. Frances, standing next to me, gave me a small nudge – though she had no need to remind me of her earlier remarks: Eve’s distress, and the embarrassment it was causing the three men, were only too evident.
The silence lengthened; Miss Mack was looking at Eve in consternation; the men shifted from foot to foot and avoided each other’s eyes. Eve twisted her hat in her hands, and said in a low voice: ‘You’re sure he didn’t leave a message for me? If I just knew where he was, I could… Howard isn’t well,’ she went on, addressing the air, ‘he’s under so much strain and – I know it’s silly but I worry about him.’
At this, Pecky Callender slowly raised his eyes from the floor, inspected Eve with sympathy and cleared his throat. ‘Crikey, it’s just come back to me,’ he said. ‘Sorry, Lady E. Memory like a sieve. Carter took off, about four o’clock it would have been, just before you arrived, Myrtle… Said he needed a walk. Yes, that was it. Needed to be alone, I think. Hasn’t been a good day, you see. Worrying about the opening, I expect. Needed time to – go over things. Gone off to the West Valley. Headed that way, certainly.’
‘The West Valley?’ Eve glanced down at her pale silk stockings, at her pretty shoes. It was painfully obvious to everyone that she was considering following Carter there, and was realising that, in these shoes, at this time of day, in that remote, little-visited and wild part of the Valley, such a journey was unthinkable. The blood rushed up her throat and suffused her cheeks. With a pitiable attempt to preserve her dignity and recover face, she said, ‘I see. Thank you. In that case I’ll have to abandon my search. If you’d tell Howard I was looking for him, Mr Callender, I’d be grateful. I’ll go back to the hotel now.’
She turned and walked out of the tomb. The three men looked at one another guiltily. ‘For God’s sake, Callender,’ Mace muttered, ‘do you have to be that clumsy?’
‘Well, someone had to say something,’ he replied, in injured tones. ‘Fat lot of help you and Lucas were. You could see how she was. And he has gone for a walk… I think. Stalked off about four. Beyond that – don’t ask me because I don’t bally well know.’
‘Someone needs to go after her,’ Lucas said, interrupting them both and taking a hesitant step forward. ‘We can’t let her go back on her own. She’s not in a fit state.’
‘Tea. Maybe we should offer her tea?’ Mace said. The men exchanged helpless glances.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’ Miss Mack, suddenly decisive, shouldered her way between them. ‘Girls, come with me. I will talk to Eve, and I will take care of it.’
Eve had driven over in her father’s car, we discovered; she had left it parked at a dangerous angle in full sun at the mouth of the Valley. We caught up with her as she reached it – we could hear the sound of her sobbing by then. Frances and I let Miss Mack take charge. We watched her approach, take Eve’s arm, and then, as Eve began on a storm of weeping, embrace her. Patting her shoulder, she spoke to her without preamble, in a way that astonished me. ‘My dear… my dear, you are very, very young,’ she said. ‘Believe me, this will pass. One day, perhaps sooner than you think, it will vanish away – you’ll even think you imagined it. I promise you that is true. I know it to be true. Meanwhile, Eve, have your cry. It will help you.’
‘I’m such a fool,’ Eve said in a choked voice. ‘I could see they were laughing at me. I must be mad – driving up here, running around the Valley. I don’t know what’s happened to me. Oh, I’m so ashamed, Myrtle. I feel so utterly stupid.’
‘You are wrong. Strong emotion is not stupid. You should not be ashamed of it. Now, come back with me to our houseboat, and we shall have tea. That will revive you. Then, when you feel better, you can decide what to do next. Mr Carter will return from his walk in his own good time. When he does, you can see him – or not. As you decide. Now, into the car – are you able to drive? You are? Good. Girls, hurry up. Eve is joining us for tea on the Hatshepsut.’
We climbed into the scalding-hot car, and, driving erratically, Eve took us back to our houseboat. She left the car half slewed across the track; a party of goats soon came to investigate it, nibbled at its fenders and, losing interest, moved on. Eve sleepwalked her way to the upper deck and sat in the shade of its awnings. Frances and I plied her with tea, which she drank without seeming to notice she held a cup in her hand. And it was there, sitting staring at the river, with the cool north breeze from the Nile on her face, having been silent a long while, that she suddenly, and without the least prompting, began to speak.
We had all been trying to keep a conversation going and to avoid awkward silences; we had all carefully ignored her obvious signs of distress, the nervous pleating of her dress, her deafness to everything we said, the curious blindness of her gaze, as if she watched something vivid that was to us invisible. We talked of somethings and nothings, and eventually of the visit to the Valley just made. Frances was speculating as to what the inner chamber would contain; of what glories might be found behind its concealing wall; whether there might be shrines, a sarcophagus–––
‘There are shrines,’ Eve said, gazing at the river. ‘I’ve seen them. The outermost one is gold and blue. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever – my heart stopped beating when I first saw it. I dropped my torch. That shrine has two doors and they were bolted, but their seal was broken. When we stood in front of them, Howard said, Ah, dear God. He took my hand. My father couldn’t speak, he could scarcely stand. He knelt down – we all knelt down. Was it wrong to be there? It didn’t feel wrong, not then.’
‘My dear, you don’t have to tell us this,’ Miss Mack said, reaching across and patting her hand. ‘Hush now. You must not say anything you’ll later regret.’
‘No, no, no,’ Eve replied. ‘You’re wrong, Myrtle. I hate these lies and these deceptions. They’re unbearable. They’re a horrible burden I’ve been carrying around for months. It seems so wrong to deceive people. I want to tell you… The thieves had broken through into the inner chamber as well as the Antechamber, you see. We could see where they’d got in, where that north wall had been resealed – and we couldn’t rest until we knew for certain whether Tutankhamun was there, or whether everything had been rifled. I have to know, my father said, I have to know. So – we went back to the Valley one night, I forget which night – and we re-opened the hole the thieves had made. We only made a tiny opening… ’ She turned pleadingly towards us. ‘I went through first, because I was the smallest. But I was afraid, and I – I sort of froze. So Howard widened the hole a little and came through to me. I was all right then, I always feel safe with him. Then my father joined us, and… Mr Callender was wit
h us that night, but he stayed in the Antechamber; he was too large to wriggle through, and he – he didn’t seem to mind. He was very good about it. He said it was our moment. And so it was. Everything we saw, how it felt, it’s all branded here, in my mind.’
She hesitated, and then, sometimes meeting our eyes, sometimes looking to the hills, the sunset, the river, the rising moon, she described what they had found on their secret night-time expedition to the Valley. It was evening by the time she began on her confession, and the orchestra at the Winter Palace had struck up. So we listened to her story in silence and against the drift of dance music; under Eve’s words, and across the placid surface of the Nile: the blues, then a slow waltz; blues again.
It had been agreed Frances would spend that night on the houseboat with us; but it lacked a spare cabin, so Mohammed had produced hammocks for us, slung between the masts on the upper deck. Late that night, long after Eve had left us and returned to Luxor, Frances and I lay in these hammocks, swaying back and forth in the moonlight, listening to the Winter Palace music and the chatter that carried across the water from the other houseboats. It was a full moon, and a chill night; neither of us spoke for a long time; in the cabin below Miss Mack’s Oliver No. 9 was silent. I knew Frances was not asleep; her wakefulness transmitted itself to me. I knew she was thinking of Eve, and what she had told us, as I was.
I was thinking of the space in which she, Carter and her father had eventually found themselves. Beyond that north wall of the Antechamber lay wonders: a vast cedar shrine, entirely covered in blue faience and gold, so large it almost filled the Burial Chamber. So mesmerising was this, lit in the flickering beams of their torches, that it was some while before they had realised that this was the first of two rooms, and one more lay beyond it. Remembering her words, I watched Eve touch the heavy bolt on the shrine’s two doors, and her father sink his head in his hands as he realised the seal on the bolt had been broken. I watched Carter summon his nerve and, gently at first, then exerting force, slide the bolt back. And I heard Eve’s low cry, the men’s sigh as the doors swung open. Behind them a second shrine and a second pair of gold doors was revealed: they too were closed, but they were fastened shut with rope bindings, and the rope’s clay seal was unbroken. In silence they stared, then Carter said: It’s intact. The inner shrines are intact. He must be in there, and Carnarvon slumped to his knees and said: Christ in heaven – I’ve got him.
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