Chapter Fifty-Five
HAMPSHIRE, ENGLAND
“There’s a telegram from Mr. Carter, Lady Evelyn,” Streatfield announces to the otherwise empty Library.
I have retreated to the peace of the roaring fire and F.
H. Brooksbank’s recent book, Legends of Ancient Egypt, away from Mama’s complaints about a tooth ailment and Papa’s anger that his horse Franklin just lost at the Newbury Racecourse.
I’ve been nursing my parents’ spirits for the better part of the afternoon, and I’d counted on a quiet, restorative hour so I could face them with equanimity over dinner.
I need to muster my strength to fend off Mama’s questions about Brograve and what it means that he’s going to join us for part of the dig.
Everyone assumes that an engagement is pending—even me, at some point in the future—but I wish I didn’t have to deal with her relentless inquiries about when.
In fact, given her recent near-obsession with Porchey and Catherine, I thought she’d given me up as lost to Papa, but I now see that’s not true.
Worse than dealing with Mama right now, however, is addressing Howard.
He left Highclere Castle nearly three weeks ago for Egypt on less-than-pleasant terms with me.
We’d had several arguments about the site he’d identified in that crucial conversation with Papa about our future in the Valley of the Kings.
Papa had latched on to the idea of this undisturbed area around Ramses’s tomb and its tie to Tutankhamun.
Howard knew as well as I did that the site offered no connection to Hatshepsut, and I was furious with him that he’d waste our final excavation on the pursuit of Tutankhamun rather than Hatshepsut—even though I knew I was being unreasonable.
Please understand, he’d implored me, we need results, and if we can get them from Tutankhamun’s site, then we’ll have the wherewithal to pursue Hatshepsut next season.
But I worry that there may be no “wherewithal.”
“Is the telegram specifically for me?” I ask Streatfield. Papa would not be pleased if I opened up a telegram from Mr. Carter addressed only to him. He’d be every bit as furious as if I opened his mail.
“Either for you or your father, Lady Evelyn,” he answers.
This is unusual. Typically, Howard’s telegrams are for one or the other of us.
Placing down the Legends of Ancient Egypt, which tells the story of Hatshepsut in a glossy, sugarcoated sort of way, I leap up from my chair.
I extend my hand. Streatfield places an envelope stamped with the Imperial Wireless logo upon it.
“Thank you, Streatfield,” I say.
“May I turn on some additional lighting in the room, Your Ladyship? The Library seems awfully dark for the intense reading that you do. I wouldn’t like you to strain your eyes,” he says.
Streatfield cannot help but look out for me. “You are too kind, Streatfield. But I am fine. Don’t fret about me.”
“Only if you insist, Lady Evelyn.”
“I do,” I reply with a smile that he returns, in the subtle uplifting of one side of his mouth. I do appreciate him, but I’d rather read Howard’s telegram without his fussing. No matter how well-intentioned.
What could Howard possibly be telegraphing at this early juncture in his excavating?
I muse on this as I walk over to Papa’s Napoleonic desk in the small library.
Howard only arrived in Luxor on October 28, and much of his time since would have been spent meeting with the reis, hiring the men, mapping out the area they’ll be digging, and securing supplies.
I doubt that anything significant could have transpired in those few days.
Lifting the heavy brass letter opener from its surface, I slice the envelope open and slide out the telegram. Spreading it on the desk to better read the thin, almost transparent paper, I read:
“At last have made wonderful discovery in Valley a magnificent tomb with seals intact recovered same for your arrival congratulations.”
I shake my head as if I’ve been dreaming, and I need to awaken. Did Howard’s telegram say what I think it said? Surely, I’d gotten it wrong. I reread it and realize I’d gotten it right. The words indeed say “a magnificent tomb with seals intact.”
Practically shrieking in delight, I wonder whose tomb he has discovered. The telegram doesn’t say. Does he not yet know? If the seal is intact, then Howard hasn’t yet been inside. Perhaps the identity of the tomb’s inhabitant is still unknown.
Most likely the tomb belongs to Tutankhamun, but what if it’s Hatshepsut’s?
I could have been wrong about the site and its potential link to her.
I suddenly feel terrible about all the disagreements we had before he left.
Howard had only been trying to secure success for us—this season or next—and I’d fought his efforts for reasons of my own.
Flinging open the Library door, I race down the hallway into the two-story Saloon. Here, sound resonates throughout the rest of the house. Then, in my loudest voice, I yell, “Papa! I have news!”