The Curse of the Pharaohs Read Free Page A

perceive, with surprise, that I am becoming angry all over again. How foolish, and what a waste of time! Let me say no more—except to admit that I derived an unworthy satisfaction in beholding Lady Harold's ill-concealed envy of the neatness of the room, the excellence of the food, and the smart efficiency with which butler, footman, and parlormaid served us. Rose, my parlormaid, is always efficient, but on this occasion she outdid herself. Her apron was so starched it could have stood by itself, her cap ribbons fairly snapped as she moved. I recalled having heard that Lady Harold had a hard time keeping servants because of her parsimony and vicious tongue. Rose's younger sister had been employed by her... briefly.
    Except for that minor triumph, for which I can claim no credit, the meeting was an unmitigated bore. The other ladies whom I had invited, in order to conceal my true motives, were all followers of Lady Harold; they did nothing but titter and nod at her idiotic remarks. An hour passed with stupefying slowness. It was clear that my mission was doomed to failure; Lady Harold would do nothing to accommodate me. I was beginning to wonder what would happen if I simply rose and left the room, when an interruption occurred to save me from that expedient.
    I had—I fondly believed—convinced Ramses to remain quietly in the nursery that afternoon. I had accomplished this by bribery and corruption, promising him a visit to the sweetshop in the village on the following day. Ramses could consume enormous quantities of sweets without the slightest inconvenience to his appetite or digestive apparatus. Unfortunately his desire for sweets was not as strong as his lust for learning—or mud, as the case may be. As I watched Lady Harold devour the last of the frosted cakes I heard stifled outcries from the hall. They were followed by a crash—my favorite Ming vase, as I later learned. Then the drawing-room doors burst open and a dripping, muddy, miniature scarecrow rushed in.
    It cannot be said that the child's feet left muddy prints. No; an unbroken stream of liquid filth marked his path, pouring from his person, his garments, and the unspeakable object he was flourishing. He slid to a stop before me and deposited this object in my lap. The stench that arose from it made its origin only too clear. Ramses had been rooting in the compost heap again.
    I am actually rather fond of my son. Without displaying the fatuous adoration characteristic of his father, I may say that I have a certain affection for the boy. At that moment I wanted to take the little monster by the collar and shake him until his face turned blue.
    Constrained, by the presence of the ladies, from this natural maternal impulse, I said quietly, "Ramses, take the bone from Mama's good frock and return it to the compost heap."
    Ramses put his head on one side and studied his bone with a thoughtful frown. "I fink," he said, "it is a femuw. A femuw of a winocowus."
    "There are no rhinoceroses in England," I pointed out.
    "A a-stinct winocowus," said Ramses.
    A peculiar wheezing sound from the direction of the doorway made me look in that direction in time to see Wilkins clap his hands to his mouth and turn suddenly away. Wilkins is a most dignified man, a butler among butlers, but I had once or twice observed that there were traces of a sense of humor beneath his stately exterior. On this occasion I was forced to share his amusement.
    "The word is not ill chosen," I said, pinching my nostrils together with my fingers, and wondering how I could remove the boy without further damage to my drawing room. Summoning a footman to take him away was out of the question; he was an agile child, and his coating of mud made him as slippery as a frog. In his efforts to elude pursuit he would leave tracks across the carpet, the furniture, the walls, the ladies' frocks-----
    "A splendid bone," I said, without even trying to resist the temptation. "You must wash it before you show it