Secret of the Scarab by Isabella Bassett

Author:Isabella Bassett [Bassett, Isabella]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-07-11T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

I awoke the next morning to a magical mist hanging over camp. The mist made its way up from the Nile and through the gateway between the two hills guarding the site. The vaporous tendrils crawled along the sand, clinging to each object, sliding over the tents, and leaving a trail of fine droplets in their wake.

As the sun rose above the hills, its rays hit the mist, and it evaporated in an instant in a puff of smoke, like the trick of a magician.

A silence blanketed the still sleeping camp, and I wondered when the workers would start their daily excavation. Somewhere in the distance, I could hear work resuming at other tombs in the valley, and for a moment I wondered if Mr. Hargrave’s laborers had delayed their tasks, and the accompanying clatter and yells, for our benefit.

Then I remembered the mummy. The local men were already anxious about working on the site due to the purported curse. What would they make of the mummy’s appearance at the camp in the middle of the night once their brethren had told them about it? Would they refuse to return to their duties on account of it?

As other guests woke up, they seemed reluctant to disturb the peace of the camp. The mood was quite subdued, perhaps troubled by thoughts of the midnight mummy, and Lord Chatfield’s death.

Matters were not improved by the arrival of the foreman during breakfast, informing Mr. Hargrave—quite apologetically—that the workers, having learned of the wandering mummy, were asking for higher pay, and were not going to return to work until demands were met.

“That just confirms my opinion,” Mrs. Babcock said, sipping her tea. “Indolent and greedy. One wishes one didn’t have to rely on the locals for this excavation work.”

Mrs. Gladstone nodded in agreement.

“One has to make allowances, Mrs. Babcock,” Mr. Hargrave submitted. “It is not the easiest of jobs.”

Soon, however, the melancholy of the camp was broken by a tumult of an unexpected kind—braying donkeys and barking dogs. We took to our binoculars to locate the source of the commotion. It was the members of the Royal Society making their way to the dig. The Lords, unfettered by the events of the previous night, had apparently decided to arrive bright and early at the dig.

The procession was a cacophony of Egyptian handlers badgering the emaciated animals carrying the Lords on their backs, accompanied by cries from the Lords themselves, who first spurred the animals on, only to plead for them to slow down when the animals picked up speed. Stray dogs circled the caravan, snapping at the dangling ankles of the Lords. Behind them came the secretaries and valets, carrying excavating apparatus in a dignified manner.

“One presumes that the donkeys would not be so slow to proceed if their path was not impeded by sellers of water, trinkets, and fruits, and by beggars.” Mrs. Babcock said. She had joined me to observe the cavalcade.

I studied Mrs. Babcock more closely. Her face was calm

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