The Mummy or Ramses the Damned

10

HE HOUSE was in an uproar. Rita had all but lost her mind at the idea that she was going to Egypt. Oscar, remaining to keep the house, had been helping the cabbies get the trunks down the stairs.

Randolph and Alex were arguing furiously with Julie that she must not make this trip.

And the enigmatic Mr. Reginald Ramsey sat at the wicker table in the conservatory devouring an enormous meal, with glass after glass to wash it down. All the while he read the newspapers, two of them at a time, if Elliott was not mistaken. And now and then he lifted a book from the pile on the floor, and rushed through the pages as if searching for some dreadfully important item, and once finding it, dropped the book with a careless thud.

Elliott sat in Lawrence's chair in the Egyptian room watching all of this silently; glancing now and then to Julie in the drawing room; and then to Mr. Ramsey, who surely knew that he was being observed but did not seem to care.

The other silent and solitary watcher was Samir Ibrahaim, who stood to the very back of the conservatory, somewhat lost in the remarkable profusion of spring foliage, staring past the indifferent Mr. Ramsey into the shadowy front rooms.

Julie's call to Elliott had come over three hours ago. He had gone into action immediately. And he knew more or less what was going to happen now, as the little drama in the drawing room played itself out.

' 'But you simply cannot go off to Egypt with a man you know nothing about," Randolph said, trying to keep his voice down. "You can't take such a trip without a proper chaperon."

"Julie, I won't have it," Alex said, pale with exasperation. "I won't have you do this alone."

"Now, stop, both of you," Julie responded. "I'm a grown woman. I'm going. And I can take care of myself. Besides, I'll have Rita with me all the time. And Samir, Father's closest friend. I couldn't have a better protector than Samir."

' 'Julie, neither of them is a proper companion and you know this. This is nothing short of scandalous."

"Uncle Randolph, the boat leaves at four o'clock. We must be leaving here now. Let's get to the business at hand, shall we? I Ve had a power of attorney prepared, so that you can run Stratford Shipping with a free hand."

Silence. So at last we get to the heart of the matter, Elliott thought coolly. He could hear Randolph slowly clearing his throat.

"Well, I suppose mat's necessary, my dear," he answered weakly.

Alex tried to interrupt, but Julie overrode him politely. Were there any other papers Randolph wanted her to sign? He could send them on to Alexandria immediately. She'd sign them and send them home from there.

Satisfied that Julie would be leaving on schedule, Elliott rose and walked casually out into the conservatory.

Ramsey went on eating superhuman amounts of food, quite undeterred. He now took one of three different lighted cigars and drew on it, then went back to his pudding, and his roast beef, and his buttered bread. It was a history of modern Egypt that lay open before him, the chapter entitled "The Mamluke Massacre." The man appeared to be scanning, so rapidly did his finger move down the page.

Suddenly Elliott realized he was surrounded by foliage. He was almost startled by the size of the fern beside him, and the immense heavy bougainvillea brushing his shoulder, as it partially blocked the door. Good Lord, what had happened here? Lilies everywhere he looked, and the daisies exploding out of their pots, and the ivy gone wild over the entire roof.

Concealing his shock, though from whom he wasn't certain, since neither Ramsey nor Samir took official note of him, he tore off one of the blue-and- white morning glories blooming just over his head.

He stared at the perfect trumpet-shaped blossom. What sweetness. Then slowly he looked up to meet Ramsey's gaze.

Samir roused himself suddenly from his apparent state of meditation.

"Lord Rutherford, allow me . . .*' Then he stopped as if at a complete loss for words.

Ramsey rose to his feet, wiping his fingers carefully on his linen napkin.

Absently the Earl slipped the morning glory in his pocket, and then extended his hand.

"Reginald Ramsey," he said, "a great pleasure. I'm an old friend of the Stratford family. Something of an Egyptologist myself. It is my son, Alex, who is engaged to be married to Julie. Perhaps you know."

The man hadn't known. Or he didn't understand. A faint flush came to his cheeks.

"Married to Julie?" he said in a half whisper. And then, with forced gaiety: "He is a fortunate man, your son."

The Earl eyed the table laden with food, because he couldn't stop himself, and the blossoms all but crowding out the sun above. He looked placidly at the man before him, who was certainly one of the handsomest creatures he'd ever seen. Downright beautiful, when you thought of it. The sort of large compassionate blue eyes that drive women mad. Add the ready smile and one has a near-fatal combination.

But the silence was becoming uncomfortable.

"Ah, the diary," Elliott said. He reached into his coat. Samir recognized it immediately, that was plain.

"This diary," Elliott said, "it belonged to Lawrence. It has valuable information on Ramses' tomb. Notes on a papyrus left by the man, it seems. I picked it up the other night. I must put it back."

There was a sudden coldness in Ramsey's face.

Elliott turned, leaning on his cane, and took a few painful steps toward Lawrence's desk.

Ramsey came along with him.

"The pain in your joints," Ramsey asked, "have you a modern ... a medicine for it? There was an old Egyptian remedy. The willow bark. One had to boil it."

'' Yes,'' Elliott answered, looking up again into those distracting blue eyes. "In this day and age we call it aspirin, don't we?" He smiled. This was going infinitely better than he had ever anticipated. He hoped the color wasn't dancing in his face as it was in Ramsey's. "Where have you been all these years that you haven't heard of aspirin, my dear man? We produce it synthetically, and of course you are familiar with that word.''

Ramsey's composure was unbroken, though he narrowed his eyes just a little as if he wanted the Earl to realize he was being appraised.

"I'm not a scientific man, Lord Rutherford," he answered. "I'm more an observer, a philosopher. So you call it aspirin. I am pleased to know it. Maybe I have spent too much of my time in distant lands." He raised his eyebrows almost playfully.

"Of course the ancient Egyptians had more potent medicines than willow bark, didn't they?" Elliott pushed it. He looked at the row of alabaster jars on the table across the room. "Potent medicines-elixirs, so to speak-which could cure more potent ailments than the pain I suffer in my bones."

' 'Potent medicines have their price,'' Ramses replied calmly. "Or shall I say, their dangers. But what an unusual man you are, Lord Rutherford. Surely you don't believe what you read in the notebook of your friend Lawrence.''

"Oh, but I do believe it. Because, you see, I am not a scientific man either. Perhaps, we are both philosophers, you and I. And I fancy myself something of a poet, because so much of my wandering has been in my dreams alone."

The two men looked at each other in silence for a moment.

"A poet," Ramsey repeated, eyes moving over Elliott almost rudely to take his measure. "I understand you. But you do say most unusual things."

Elliott tried to hold steady. He could feel the sweat breaking out under his shirt. The man's face was so unexpectedly open, and almost inviting.

"I should like to know you," Elliott confessed suddenly. "I. . . I should like to ... learn from you." He hesitated. The blue eyes fixed him in silence again. "Perhaps in Cairo or Alexandria we should have some time to talk to one another. Perhaps even on shipboard, we might become acquainted."

"You are going to Egypt?" Ramsey asked, cocking his head.

"Yes." Politely he moved past Ramsey, and into the drawing room. He stood beside Julie, who had just signed another bank draft for her uncle, which she placed now in his hands.

"Yes," Elliott said, turning back to Ramsey and speaking loudly enough for the others to hear him. "Alex and I are both going. I booked passage on the same ship, as soon as Julie called. We wouldn't dream of letting her go alone, would we, Alex?"

"Elliott, I told you no," Julie said.

"Father, I didn't realize ..."

"Yes, my dear," Elliott said to Julie, "but I couldn't take no for an answer. Besides, this may be the last time I see Egypt. And Alex has never been there. Surely you won't deny us the pleasure. Is there any reason why we should not all go?"

"Yes, I suppose I should see it," Alex said, by this time thoroughly confused.

"Well, your trunk's packed and on its way," Elliott said. "Come on, now, or we're all going to miss the boat, so to speak."

Julie was staring at him in a silent fury.

Ramsey gave a soft laugh behind him.

"So we all go to Egypt," he said. "I find this most interesting. We shall talk on board, Lord Rutherford, as you have said."

Randolph looked up after tucking the power of attorney into his coat.

"Well, that solves everything, doesn't it? Have a pleasant journey, my darling." He kissed his niece tenderly on the cheek.

* * *

The dream again, but he couldn't wake up. He turned over in Daisy's bed, into the scratchy lace pillow with its cloying perfume. "Just a dream," he murmured, "have to stop it." But he saw the mummy coming towards him, the long strips of darkened linen trailing from its shuffling feet. He felt the fingers lock on his throat.

He tried to scream, but he couldn't. He was suffocated, the smell of the filthy cerements choking him.

He turned over, thrashing at the bedcovers and suddenly striking out with his fist, only to feel fingers locked on it tightly.

When he opened his eyes, he saw his father's face.

"Oh, God," he whispered. He fell back on the pillow. The dream locked around him again for an instant, but he shuddered and stared again at his father standing over the bed.

"Father," he moaned. "What are you doing here?"

"I might ask you that question. Get out of that bed and get dressed. Your trunk's waiting downstairs, along with a cab to take you to the P and O docks. You're going to Egypt."

"The hell I am!" What was this, another stage of the nightmare?

His father removed his hat and took the bedside chair. When Henry reached for his cigar and matches, his father knocked them out of his hand.

"Damn you," Henry whispered.

"Now you listen to me. I have things in hand again and I intend to keep it that way. Your cousin Julie and her mysterious Egyptian friend are setting out for Alexandria this afternoon, and Elliott and Alex are going with them. Now you will be on that ship, too, do you understand? You are Julie's cousin, and therefore the only proper companion. And you will see that things remain seemly, that nothing intervenes to prevent Julie's eventual marriage to Alex Savarell. And you will see . . . you will see that this man, whoever he is, does not hurt my brother's only child."

"That man! You're mad if you think I'll-"

"And you are disinherited and penniless if you don't!" Randolph lowered his voice as he leaned forward. "I mean this, Henry. All your life I Ve given you everything you ever wanted. But if you don't toe the line now, and see this thing to the bloody end, I shall remove you from the board of Stratford Shipping. I shall terminate your salary and your personal income. Now you will be on that ship. And you will keep an eye on your cousin and see she doesn't elope with that revoltingly handsome Egyptian! And you will keep me posted as to everything that is going on."

Randolph removed a slim white envelope from his breast pocket. He laid it on the bedside table. There was a thick wad of money in the envelope. Henry could see that. His father rose to go.

"And don't wire me from Cairo that you're broke. Stay away from the gaming tables and the belly dancers. I shall expect a letter or a telegram within a week's time."

Hancock was beside himself.

"Left for Egypt!" he sputtered into the telephone. "But the whole collection is still there in that house! How could she do this!"

He motioned for silence to the clerk who meant to disturb him. Then he slammed down the black receiver in its hook. "Sir, the newspapermen are here again, about the mummy." "Oh, damn the mummy. That woman's gone off and left that treasure locked up in her living room, as if it were a collection of dolls!"

* * *

Elliott stood beside Julie and Ramsey watching from the high railing as Alex kissed his mother at the foot of the gangplank far below.

"But I'm not here to cluck over you like a mother hen," Elliott said to Julie. Alex embraced his mother again and then hurried to board. "I only want to be close at hand if you need me. Please don't be so distressed."

Lord, he meant it. It hurt him to see the look on her face.

"But Henry, why on earth has Henry come along? I don't want Henry with us."

Henry had boarded only moments before without a civil word to anyone, looking as pale and overwrought and generally miserable as he had looked the day before.

"Yes, I know." Elliott sighed. "But my dear, he's your next of kin and-"

"Give me space to breathe, Elliott. You know I love Alex, I always have. But a marriage to me may not be the best thing for him. And I've been perfectly honest about it all along."

"I know, Julie, believe me, I know. I always have. But your friend-'' He gestured to the distant figure of Ramsey, who was watching all the goings-on of the harbor with obvious excitement. "How are we not to worry? What are we to do?"

She could not resist him. That had always been the case. One night several months back, when she'd had too much champagne and there'd been entirely too much dancing, she'd told Elliott she was more in love with him than she'd been with Alex. If he'd been free and asking for her hand, it would have been a fait accompli. Of course Alex had thought she was joking. But there had been a strange secret look in her eye that flattered Elliott immensely. And he saw a pale flicker of that same look now. And what a liar he was. What a liar he was being just now.

"All right, Elliott," she said. She kissed him on the cheek, and he loved it. "I don't want to hurt Alex," she whispered.

"Yes, darling," he said. "Of course."

There was a violent blast from the steam whistle. The last call for boarding passengers. Parties had broken up in the staterooms, and a steady stream of guests was going ashore.

Suddenly Ramsey came pounding towards them. He spun Julie around as if he didn't realize his own strength. She stared blankly.

"Feel it, Julie, the vibrations. I must see these engines."

Her face softened at once. It was as if his excitement were contagious.

"Of course you must. Elliott, excuse me. I have to take Ramse ... I mean Mr. Ramsey ... to the engine room, if it can possibly be arranged."

"Allow me," Elliott said agreeably, motioning for a young officer in a crisp white uniform who had just come out on deck.

* * *

Alex was unpacking already when Elliott entered the little drawing room between their staterooms. Two steamer trunks stood open. Walter moved to and fro with armfuls of clothes.

"Well, this is pleasant, isn't it?" Elliott said, surveying the little couch and chairs, the tiny portal. There had not been much time to arrange for proper accommodations, but Edith had stepped in finally and seen to everything herself.

"You look tired, Father. Let me order you some tea."

The Earl eased himself into the little gilded fauteuil. Tea did sound rather nice. What was that fragrance? Were there flowers in this room? He saw none. Only the champagne in its glistening ice bucket and the glasses ready on the silver tray.

Then he remembered. The morning glory he had crushed into his pocket. It was still giving off a latent perfume.

"Yes, tea would be fine, Alex, but there's no hurry," he murmured. Reaching into his pocket, he found the mangled little blossom and drew it out and lifted it to his nose.

A very pretty scent indeed. And then he thought of that conservatory, overgrown fantastically with leaves and blossoms. He looked at the morning glory. As he watched, it straightened, the creases in its waxy petals disappearing. It opened completely and within seconds had become again a perfect bloom.

Alex was talking, but Elliott did not hear him. He merely looked stupidly at the flower. Then he crushed it again, tightly in the palm of his hand.

Slowly he looked up to see that Alex was just putting down the telephone.

"Tea in fifteen minutes," Alex said. "What's the matter, Father? Father, you're white as a-"

"Nothing. No. It's nothing. I want to rest now. Call me when the tea comes."

He stood up, the flower clenched still in his fist.

When he had shut the door of his stateroom, he leaned against it, the sweat flooding down his back. He opened his hand. Again the blossom sprang back from a crushed and broken thing into a perfect flower, the blue-and-white petals lengthening before his eyes.

For an endless time, it seemed, he stared at it. The tiny bit of green leaf at its base curled as he watched. Then he realized he was looking at himself in the mirror. The gray-haired, partially crippled Earl of Rutherford, handsome still at fifty-five, though every step he took was an agony. He let go his walking stick, ignoring it as it fell, and with his left hand felt of his gray hair.

He could hear Alex calling him. The tea had already come. Carefully he took out his wallet. He crushed the flower again and slipped it into the leather folds. Then he bent over very slowly and picked up his cane.

* * *

In a daze, it seemed, he stared at his son, who poured the tea for him.

"You know, Father," Alex said, "I'm beginning to think it's going to work out after all. I've had a good look at Ramsey. He's quite a handsome fellow, but he's too old for her, don't you think?"

* * *

Oh, but this was too much fun, this great floating iron palace with little shops on board, and a great banquet room and a dance floor where musicians would later play!

And his quarters, why, never as a King had he had such splendid quarters aboard a seagoing vessel. He was laughing almost foolishly as the stewards finished unpacking the very last of Lawrence Stratford's clothes.

Samir closed the door after they'd gone, then turned and drew out a great deal of paper money from his coat.

"This will take care of your wants for a long time, sire, only you must not show it all at one time."

"Yes, my loyal one. That was the common wisdom when I'd slip out of the palace as a boy.'' He gave another exuberant laugh. He couldn't help himself. The ship even contained a library and a small cinema; and then all the marvels below deck. And the gentle, elegant members of the crew-all of whom had the manners of gentlemen-had told him he might move about as he wished.

"Your coin was worth a great deal more, sire, but I had little room to bargain."

"As they say in this day and age, Samir, don't give it another thought. And you are correct in your estimation of Lord Rutherford. He believes. In fact, I should say he knows."

"But it's Henry Stratford that presents the danger. Would a fall from the deck on the high seas be justice?"

"Not wise. It would destroy Julie's peace of mind. The more I learn of this age, the more I understand its complexities, its highly developed concepts of justice. They are Roman, but they are something more. We shall keep an eye on the progress of Mr. Henry Stratford. When his presence becomes more of a trial to his cousin, then perhaps his death will be the better of two evils, and you need not worry about that part of it. I shall do it alone."

"Yes, sire. But if for any reason you do not want this task, I shall be more than happy to kill this man myself."

Ramses laughed softly. How he liked this one; so shrewd, yet honest; patient, yet keenly clever as well.

"Maybe we should kill him together, Samir," he said. "But whatever the case I am ravenous. When do we take this great meal together on the pink tablecloths amid the great potted palms?"

"All too soon, sire, and please be ... careful."

"Samir, do not worry," Ramses said. He took Samir's hand. "I have my instructions already from Queen Julie. I am to eat only one item of fish, one item of fowl, one item of meat, and not all at the same time."

It was Samir's turn to laugh softly.

"Are you unhappy still?" Ramses asked.

"No, sire. I am very happy. Don't ever be disappointed in my sombre expression. I have seen more in my life, as of this moment, than I ever dreamed I would see. When Henry Stratford is dead, I shall ask for nothing more."

Ramses nodded. His secret was safe forever with this one, he knew it, though he could not fully understand this quality of wisdom and resignation. He had never known it when he was mortal. He didn't know it now.