But Edward was obstinate, saying, “This is Aahotep’s tomb; I know it.”

“If the stories are correct—and I will admit there is no reason why they should be—but if they are, then the tomb you are searching for is not the tomb of Aahotep but the tomb of the lovers she murdered,” Sir Matthew corrected him.

One of the men murmured and Saeed translated, “A tomb protected by a mighty magician, hired by the lovers’ families to guard them in death. Its desecration will bring down the wrath of the magician on our heads.”

“We are not going to desecrate it,” said Edward. “We are going to give Aahotep a chance to make amends.”

They looked at him in surprise, and Edward looked surprised himself, then said, “By showing us the treasures, of course!”

“And what, might I ask, do you intend to do with the treasures?” Sir Matthew asked.

“Display them, so that the world at large might see them,” said Edward.

“The world at large, or private collectors who are willing to pay handsomely for them?” enquired Sir Matthew.

But Edward was not listening. He was examining the hieroglyphs on the doors, brushing off the clinging sand with his fingers and revealing the intensity of the bright blues and reds and yellows. The beautiful and exotic markings were so brilliantly coloured that they might have been painted the previous day, not thousands of years before.

“Look!” he said. “The lovers are here! Their names are in the cartouches.”

Elizabeth saw that Sir Matthew was not convinced, despite the presence of the names. Nevertheless, he waved Edward aside and set about making a small hole in the top corner of the door.

“Is it not easier to break the seal?” asked Darcy.

“I want to discover if the passage beyond is blocked. It will help me decide how we should open the door,” Sir Matthew explained.

He gave a last chip with the chisel and broke a small hole in the plaster.

A murmur went up from the fellahs, who stumbled back as if expecting a djinn to appear through the hole and whirl them away on a cyclone or burn them in a geyser of flame. But when nothing happened they took courage and pressed forward again.

Sir Matthew lit a flambeau and by its light he peered through the hole.

“Well?” demanded Edward.

“The passage behind the door is not blocked,” said Sir Matthew.

“Then we will soon be inside,” said Edward.

“You misunderstand,” said Sir Matthew.

But Edward was not listening. He was already moving his hands toward the seal. Sir Matthew intervened, breaking it with care, and before long they were through. The stale air emanating from the gaping maw was enough to convince them that the door had not been opened recently, and indeed it smelled as if it had been there since the tomb was built.

Sir Matthew put a hand on Edward’s arm and advised caution, saying, “The supposedly magical plagues which affect archaeologists are often no more than natural illnesses brought about by the foul air inside these places. I suggest we withdraw to a convenient distance and take some food while the fellahs make the entrance safe, then rest over the heat of the day and return when the air grows cooler. We will post a guard to see that nothing is disturbed.”

“And will you trust your guard?” asked Elizabeth curiously.

“I will trust my own eyes, for I will not be so far away that I cannot see what goes on,” said Sir Matthew.

This plan was agreed upon. Edward could hardly eat for excitement and three times suggested that the time had come for them to return, only giving way to the opinion of others with the greatest reluctance. He paced about, full of restless energy, while the others rested.

“You do not seem very excited,” said Elizabeth to Sir Matthew, who ate without haste and with an air of calm. “Do you not think we have discovered the tomb?”

“No. As I tried to explain to your young cousin, the corridor behind the door is empty. If the tomb was of any importance then I would have expected it to be blocked with stones and rubble, in an effort to keep intruders out. I think what we have here is a false tomb, a small underground chamber designed to confuse grave robbers and make them give up in disgust.”

“Edward will be very disappointed,” said Elizabeth.

“Disappointment is the most common feeling when searching for buried treasure,” said Sir Matthew philosophically.

When the sun had passed its zenith and the air began to cool, Sir Matthew said they should proceed. Edward was greatly excited and sprang to the steps, descending them eagerly. On reaching the bottom, he covered his face with his handkerchief, for although the air was far sweeter than it had been, still it was not pleasant. Taking up a flambeau, he disappeared from view.

“Are you sure you want to go inside?” said Darcy to Elizabeth.

“I am,” she said, and she followed Edward through the doorway.

By the flickering light of the torch, she saw that she was in a small chamber and that the walls were covered with paintings of strangely flat-looking people whose bodies faced forward but whose heads and legs faced to the right. The men wore simple skirts, and their bronzed torsos gleamed nakedly in the red torchlight. The women wore white gowns. Their black hair reached to their shoulders and was cut square at the ends. There were hunting scenes and various depictions of gods and goddesses, among whom Elizabeth recognised a painting of the sun god Ra, with his head like that of a falcon and the disk of the sun above his head. Paul sketched them all with a quick, sure hand.

Edward did not stop to look at the marvellous paintings, however, but proceeded to the back of the room and then walked slowly around the walls until he came again to the door.

“I must have missed something,” he said.

“You have missed nothing,” said Sir Matthew. “As I suspected, this is a false tomb.”

“No!” said Edward.

“Alas, yes,” said Sir Matthew. “These discoveries are not infrequent; it does not do to be too disappointed.”

“But I was so sure,” said Edward. “I am still sure the tomb is here somewhere; I can feel it.”

“I think you are right,” said Sir Matthew. “You have missed the point entirely, young man. The existence of the false tomb shows us that we are on the right track. It was built in order to demoralise would-be grave robbers. If I do not miss my guess, the real tomb will be close by.”

Newly energised, Edward and Sir Matthew stayed in the desert with the fellahs, but the rest of the party announced their intention of returning to the camp.

“Are you going to come back with us, or are you going to stay a while longer?” Elizabeth asked Sophie.

Sophie was looking at Edward, but his back was turned to her and he took no notice of her, or of the question.

If he asked her to stay, she would, thought Elizabeth, seeing the expression on Sophie’s face. She would rather have Edward, but she is not the spiritless young woman who joined us in London and she will not allow another man to hurt her as Mr Rotherham did. Paul may win her yet.

“I have seen all I need to see,” said Sophie.

“Then might I give you my arm?” asked Paul.

As the two young people set off together, Elizabeth said in exasperation, “Edward is a young fool. He sees nothing but his tomb. It has been there for thousands of years and it will still be there tomorrow.”

“Whereas Sophie will not?” asked Darcy.

“No, she will not. And who can blame her?” asked Elizabeth. “Especially when a personable young man is doing his best to make himself agreeable to her.”

When they arrived back at the camp, the children and Mrs Bennet were still eating luncheon. Four more places were quickly set at the informal al fresco tables. The meal was simple but tasty with many of the unusual dishes they had learned to appreciate in the heat of the desert. Salads of cucumber, tomatoes, and chickpeas were a staple and the sweet stuffed peppers were quickly becoming a favourite with the children, as were melons and spiced oranges. Most of the conversation was taken up with the new discovery. Mrs Bennet at first expressed a wish to see it, but Elizabeth’s graphic descriptions of the unpleasant interior made a deep impression on her and she decided she would rather remain in the relative comfort of the camp.

After they had eaten and rested during the hottest part of the day, Paul set up his easel in the shade, but instead of painting any of the marvels he had seen, he asked Sophie to sit for him. She did so gladly, and as he painted in quick, assured strokes, they talked and smiled and laughed together and Paul was obviously enchanted.

When Elizabeth walked past the easel as afternoon turned to evening, she was not surprised to see an extraordinary portrait.

“When she sees that portrait, I fear Edward’s fate is sealed,” she said to Darcy.

“He has made his choice,” said Darcy, “although I cannot help feeling… but he had a chance to stop her leaving this afternoon, and yet he could think only of the dead.”

Elizabeth shivered.

“Cold?” he asked, shrugging out of his coat and putting it round her shoulders.

“Yes,” she said. “It is growing late.”

“Too late for a turn around the camp?” he asked, offering her his arm.

She took it willingly and they began to stroll in the pleasant cool of the evening. There was a breeze which ruffled her hair, blowing tendrils across her face, and he turned to face her, brushing the tendrils aside and looking down into her eyes with a tenderness that made her heart turn over.