“I’ll leave you to it then,” Mr. Carter says, placing the vase in a wooden box with protective wrapping and instructing the men to cover the site for the day.
“No, no, you can’t return to Castle Carter,” Papa protests.
“I’ve got to be at the site very early tomorrow, and Castle Carter is closer.”
“No, Howard, you must stay with us and celebrate at the Winter Palace,” Mama insists, and people rarely refuse her.
“After all, Mr. Carter,” I say, with a wide smile, “this is just the beginning.”
Chapter Nineteen
MARCH 4, 1920
LUXOR,EGYPT
By the time I step off the ferry that took us across the Nile from the Valley of the Kings to the hotel, I am dirty and starving. Between the dig itself and the dusty donkey ride from the site to the dock, I’m longing for a soak in the hotel tub before our celebratory toast on the Nile Terrace. But before our group reaches the White Palace entrance, a man practically launches himself at us, nearly sending Papa—whose limp makes him unsteady on his feet—sprawling.
Mama screeches, and Mr. Carter grabs the man by his shoulder, pulling him away and keeping him at arm’s length. “Here, here, what’s this all about?” he demands.
The man seems innocuous enough in his well-cut, European-style suit, but he has a certain fervor around the eyes. I understand Mr. Carter’s reaction. Where are the security guards? Even though we are not in the hotel proper, the White Palace is known for its excellent safety precautions, even on the grounds. It shouldn’t be left to Mr. Carter to defend us.
Papa pushes himself to standing and steps forward. “I appreciate the show of chivalry, Carter, but I know this man. Peacock, apologies for the less-than-hearty welcome. But in Carter’s defense, you gave us quite a start.”
“My apologies, Lord Carnarvon. I think the urgency of my message got the better of my manners.”
“All is forgiven, old chap,” Papa says, and pats the man on theshoulder. “Do tell us what this is all about?” he asks, starting toward the hotel again.
Mama and I start strolling again as well, but the man doesn’t move. I notice that Mr. Carter lingers too.
“You don’t understand the gravity of what I’m about to tell you, Lord Carnarvon,” the man says, his voice very serious. Papa hasn’t bothered to introduce him.
I pause and watch as Papa turns back. “Whatever it is, surely you can share it over a Pimm’s on the terrace. We’ve had a long day excavating.”
“I don’t know if it will be safe for the ladies to have a Pimm’s on the terrace,” Mr. Peacock remarks.
“I don’t even like Pimm’s,” Mama adds, as if we were taking her drinks order. Sometimes she can be shockingly self-focused.
But the man now has Papa’s full attention. “Spit it out, man. What do you mean?”
“Zaghloul’s followers have staged another uprising.” Mr. Peacock’s voice is small, almost apologetic. As if he’s to blame that the Egyptian nationalist has fomented civil unrest.
“Here? In Luxor? Or in Cairo?” Mama asks, suddenly interested in this conversation beyond what we’d be drinking.
“It’s beginning in Cairo, but could well spread to Luxor, Lady Carnarvon,” Mr. Peacock answers.
“I thought Zaghloul had been exiled to Malta,” Mama remarks, confused. “How can he be stirring up the people from there?”
“Our friend Allenby has released him from exile. No idea where Zaghloul is now, or whether he’s been allowed back into Egypt. His followers don’t seem to need his prompting to riot,” Papa explains, then adds, “Well, this is unfortunate.”
“Yes, Lord Carnarvon. It is indeed.” Mr. Peacock concurs with Papa’s magnificent understatement.
We all stand stock-still, staring at one another. Me and Mr. Carter, dusty and rumpled in our work clothes; my parents, their bespoke, khaki archaeologist attire still pristine and looking more like a costume than work gear; Mr. Peacock, his pin-striped worsted wool suit as perfectly pressed as if he sat in a Lombard Street office.
“Bloody good of you to come and inform me.” Papa breaks the momentary silence and shock, and claps Mr. Peacock on the back again.
“I’ll never forget how you helped me get settled in Luxor when I first arrived. When I heard about the trouble, I raced to the Winter Palace to tell you.”
“Has the word got out about the looming unrest?”
