“Not fellahs,” said Paul, whose light shone farthest across the void, remarking in surprise, “An Englishman.”

“An Englishman?” asked Darcy.

“Yes, an Englishman,” came a familiar voice, which echoed and reechoed round the cavernous space.

“I must be hearing things,” said Darcy.

“If you are, then I am too,” said Elizabeth.

“Good afternoon, dear sister,” said Wickham, coming to the edge of the moat so that the light of their flambeaux fell upon him. “What a coincidence, meeting you here.”

“Sister?” asked Paul, surprised. “I had no idea you were related to Mrs Darcy. Why did you not say so when I met you in Cairo?”

“Do you two know each other?” asked Edward.

“Yes. Or, at least, we have met,” said Paul. “This is Sir Mark Bellingham, the gentleman who offered me employment when I finished my work for Mr Darcy. He understood that I would be travelling down the Nile to Sir Matthew’s dig but he said he would be prepared to wait. He said…”

“That talent like yours does not come along very often? That you are a genius?” asked Wickham, amused.

Paul was bewildered at the contemptuous tone in his voice.

“Then you are not a patron of the arts?” he asked as he tried to make sense of it.

“He is nothing of the kind,” said Darcy grimly. “He is a liar. His name is not Sir Mark Bellingham.”

“Then what is it?” asked Paul.

“Wickham,” ground out Darcy.

“Wickham!” said Paul in surprise. “The man whose father joined your fathers on their ill-fated expedition?”

“What?” exclaimed Darcy.

“The third man. See, here, it is written in Lord Fitzwilliam’s diary.” He found the page and read, “…there was a landslide in the tomb, and as we had foolishly entered without guides we thought we were doomed. But luckily Wickham had remained behind as he was feeling a trifle unwell, and becoming alarmed at our absence he set out in search of us. Thank God he did! He worked tirelessly to free us, bloodying his hands raw and breaking a couple of bones tearing the stones away to leave an airway for us before going for help.”

“And what did my father get for his pains?” spat Wickham. “A position as a steward! What a fine reward for risking his life to rescue two wealthy men who could have made his fortune without noticing the loss to their own pockets. And nothing has changed. Your fathers robbed my father of his rightful reward, just as you have attempted to rob me of my share of the treasure. The map was split into three, but you did not let that trouble you. You planned your trip to Egypt and said not a word to me.”

“We did not know the identity of the third man,” said Darcy. “Or, at least, I did not know.”

He looked hard at Edward, and Edward had the grace to look ashamed.

“I knew how you felt about Wickham,” he said. “If I mentioned that his father was the third man on the expedition, I felt you would not lend me your support. I was planning to share the treasure with him, if any was found.”

“And so you tricked me into it?” said Darcy. “This was a bad day’s work.”

“Not for me,” said Wickham. “For me it has been a very good day’s work. Perhaps it is cynical of me to doubt that you ever intended to share these riches, but I prefer things as they are. It was kind of you to leave the sacks of treasure all neatly stacked on this side of the moat for me and equally kind of you to leave a collection of donkeys to transport it for me.”

“You will not get far,” said Darcy. “You have no camp nearby—”

“But I do have a boat,” said Wickham, “and soon all these treasures will be travelling with me to Cairo, where I mean to sell them to collectors and set myself up for life—something you should have done years ago, Darcy, for taking that brat of a Bennet off your hands.”

“That is no way to talk of your wife,” said Darcy.

“No? Well, perhaps when I have a fine house and enough money to buy myself time away from her I will not speak of her that way. Perhaps, the next time we meet, I will say she is the most charming woman on earth. Until then, I will bid you adieu.”

And with that he turned on his heel and walked away, out of the flickering red light and into the blackness beyond.

“You cannot leave us here!” called Paul after him. “We cannot stay here all night; we have women with us! Return the planks at least, so that we might cross the moat.”

But there was no reply.

Chapter 15




The sound of Wickham’s footsteps faded down the tunnel, leaving the five adventurers in stunned silence. The light from their torches was growing gradually dimmer.

“How could you not have told me?” Darcy said with too-quiet calm to Edward, who was still staring at the tunnel mouth sullenly.

“I did not think…”

“No, cousin, you certainly did not. You should have told me immediately. Quite apart from the danger you have put us in, you have brought dishonour to our family.”

“What is done is done,” Elizabeth said. “Let us begin to think practically. We cannot expect any help from our guards, who have either been tricked or bribed into leaving us, but we will be rescued eventually when the others back at the camp realise we have not returned. It will take some time and so we should think about preserving the light. I do not relish the thought of languishing here in pitch darkness. And we must see how much water we all have.”

Since they had not expected to be imprisoned in the tomb, their torches—wooden sticks with rags soaked in oil—were small and light. They were not meant to last for long. Reluctantly they agreed to extinguish all but one, and although no one said anything, they were all thinking the same thought. What would happen when the last torch was used up? The tomb, which had seemed like an exotic fairyland of sparkling jewels and priceless treasures a short while ago, was now revealed to be a sinister repository for the dead. Elizabeth felt her spirits sink. Her thin muslin dress, so practical in the heat of the desert, was no protection against the dampness of the tomb. She could almost feel the Nile waters seeping into her bones. Seated beside her, Darcy felt her trembling and removed his jacket.

“Here,” he said, placing it round her shoulders. “Help will soon arrive, my love.”

Elizabeth nodded. “What o’clock is it?” she asked, and he consulted his pocket watch.

“Nearly twelve.”

“We started early. How soon will it be before we are missed, do you suppose?”

Darcy hesitated. The days were still long and he doubted anyone would begin to concern themselves before early evening. Taking another look at the pitifully small torch, he took a deep breath.

“Very soon. Have no fear, Elizabeth. We will be outside in no time.”

Elizabeth sighed. “I am sure you are right. Only what are we to do until then?”

“We should look for another way out,” said Darcy. “Edward, you have made a study of Egyptian tombs. Do you think there might be another entrance?”

“It is possible. Sometimes the workmen created another exit, one which could be used to secretly remove the treasures after the tomb was sealed.”

“And if not, we might come across something we can use to make another bridge,” said Paul.

“A good idea,” said Darcy. “I do not relish the thought of just sitting here for hours.”

“Neither do I,” said Sophie, glancing apprehensively at the flickering shadows that danced in black corners, making the painted faces on the friezes leer and grin.

Darcy picked up the torch and led them through the main chamber, where the treasures of the tomb had been piled up but were now depleted. He moved slowly, aware that he was carrying the only light they had. He picked his way past caskets and chests toward the back of the chamber until they had reached the wall of the cave.

“One moment, if you please, Mr Darcy,” said Paul, his eyes lighting on a new frieze that had been painted onto the wall. “This is unusual. I do not think I’ve seen this style before.”

Darcy held the torch up and they looked at the drawing. Paul was right; the painting was not like the other richly coloured ceremonial pictures which described the progress of two high status Egyptians into heaven, but was altogether more businesslike. The pigments were brown and red and seemed to be concerned mainly with two characters. One figure was twice the height of the other, a man with a crook and a flail in his hands. The other figure, depicted several times, always kneeling and in thrall to the first, was a woman, her beauty still clear for all to see but now less terrible than the many other representations they had seen of her.

“Aahotep!” Elizabeth breathed.

The likeness to the first time they had come across her painting back at the British Museum was unmistakable. She even seemed similar to the little doll Margaret had carried everywhere. But now the expression on Aahotep’s face was no longer proud and vengeful. The woman in these paintings looked frightened and humbled and even a little tired.

“It seems she has been made to pay for her sins,” said Sophie.

“The artistry is fascinating,” Paul added, handing his sketchbook to Sophie so that he could trace the painting with his fingers. “She seems genuinely terrified of this character.”

They all looked at the stern features of the man leaning down over Aahotep.

“What was it Sir Matthew said?” Darcy continued. “Aahotep was doomed by the magician Ptah to walk the earth until she had learned the error of her ways and made amends. This must be Ptah.”

Edward nodded. “It makes sense. See here, he’s surrounded by the head of an ibis, representing Thoth, the god of wisdom; the feather of Ma’at, goddess of justice; and the crown of Isis, who represents magic.”