“No one is debating that, Lawrence,” Uncle Aubrey said, his tone impatient. He was clearly desirous of steering the conversation in another direction. “Isn’t the more important question: Who should own the artifacts discovered? And who should oversee the excavations of the tombs?”
Papa sputtered, a reaction which prompted a half smile from Uncle Aubrey. He loved to get a reaction from his big brother.
The ghost of a smile disappeared quickly, as Uncle Aubrey said, “I know you don’t like to discuss these questions, Porchey, but they are inevitable. With independence looming, the new Egyptian government will naturally want to oversee their own history and their own artifacts. The primacy of ancient Egypt may play a role in their new nationalistic pride. They may not want to engage in the traditional system of partage. Why on earth would the new government want to split ownership of archaeological discoveries in half, as the government under the protectorate has always agreed to do? You should consider this if you proceed with your concession in the Valley of the Kings.”
Papa shook his head at Uncle Aubrey’s proclamation. “I don’t think most Egyptians care about archaeology beyond the extent to which it provides income for the country. Whether in licenses or sales, which they already undertake.”
I glanced over at Mr. Carter to see his reaction. His craggy face bore a pained expression, and I wondered if Uncle Aubrey was causing his discomfort or it stemmed from his gallbladder operation earlier this summer. I began to get worried that Uncle Aubrey’s statements were true. That, if Egypt successfully achieved independence, archaeology, as I’d come to understand it, would become difficult, perhaps even impossible. A heaviness settled upon my chest at the thought of my dream slipping away.
“What do you think, Mr. Carter?” I asked, as the other men engaged in a spirited debate about whether Zaghloul would really show up at Highclere Castle. “Are the winds of change about to blow across the Valley of the Kings?”
Mr. Carter and I had never discussed the role Egyptian nationalism could play in his work and archaeology generally, other than its impact on safety. I knew that he cared about the Egyptian people: when he served as an antiquities official before he met Papa, he protected his Egyptian workers against abuse wreaked upon them by French tourists at Saqqara at the expense of his position. And I’d seen his rapport with the men on his excavations. But if Egyptian independence affected his archaeology, would any sympathy and support he harbored disappear?
“Lady Evelyn, the change has already happened,” he answered softly, almost sadly.
I found his answer curious; after all, independence hovered but was not a given. “Whatever do you mean, Mr. Carter?”
“Whether or not the Egyptian government achieves autonomy, and whether or not nationalist fervor affects archaeology, excavation as we know it is almost over. For the past several years, so-called experts from museums and universities have gobbled up all the available sites, leaving nothing for patrons like your father. Lord Carnarvon’s concession in the Valley of the Kings is our last chance.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
JULY 3, 1920
HAMPSHIRE,ENGLAND
Mama and I stand on the gravel approach in front of Highclere Castle’s tall black walnut doors, each displaying a wolf’s head holding the foot of a deer. The staff stands behind us, ready to assist our esteemed guests with their bags and guide them to their rooms. Papa, who had arranged for a private train to shuttle the guests from London to the nearby station, had greeted them with a fleet of his finest vehicles, which he personally led to our estate in his chauffeur-driven Bugatti. This particular gathering is unlike any other we’ve hosted—because Saad Zaghloul is indeed coming to Highclere Castle.
The automobiles arrive precisely at noon. The servants race to the doors of several Rolls-Royces, and I watch the Egyptian contingent emerge from the first two vehicles. A phalanx of Egyptian leaders and their guards walk toward us, including Mohamed Mahmoud, Adly Yeken, and Ahmed Lufti el-Sayed. They are followed by the great man himself, Mr. Zaghloul, wearing his ubiquitous red fez.
We were flabbergasted when Mr. Zaghloul accepted the invitation that Papa extended before he left Egypt. The two men had indeed been friendly over the years, bonding over their shared love of horse racing and smoking, but whether he came to Highclere depended on his negotiations with Lord Milner. The estate was no stranger to hosting luminaries. King George V—when he was still the Prince of Wales, mind—had been a weekend guest when my parents first married. But it had been overwhelming to think that Mr. Zaghloul would stop here while in England to confer about Egypt’s independence.
As the Egyptians approach, Mama and I straighten the dark-hued, modest silk dresses we’d chosen out of respect for the occasion. The first man, Ahmed Lutfi el-Sayed, who’s the director of the National Library in Cairo, seems surprised when we greet him in French, the language of the Egyptian upper class. But of course, Mama and I are both fluent in the native tongue of her mother.
Mama also welcomes Mr. Zaghloul in French. “My daughter, Lady Evelyn Herbert, and I are pleased to receive you in our home, Mr. Zaghloul.” Papa made us practice the pronunciation of Mr. Zaghloul’s name last evening, along with those of the rest of the Egyptian party members.
The black tassel of Mr. Zaghloul’s fez bobs as he gives us a courteous bow. “Your hospitality is legendary, Lady Carnarvon, and I am most honored to be the recipient of it this weekend.”
We receive the remainder of the guests, a select group of English military men, governmental officials, and a few of their wives, including Sir William Garstin; General Sir John Maxwell; Alfred Duff Cooper and his wife, Lady Diana Cooper; Sir Alexander Mountbatten, Marquess of Carisbrooke, and his wife, Lady Irene; Lords Massereene and Ferrard; as well as the Honorable Harry Lygon. Mr. Carter brings up the rear with Papa, but there’s no need to specially greet him. He spends so much time at Highclere Castle he’s almost like family.
Ushering the guests into the Great Hall, we announce that luncheon will be served in an hour, and leave them to be led to their rooms. Mama and I assume we will have that time alone to ensure the meal preparations are well underway. It had been no easy feat to arrange the seating. Many Egyptian men are unaccustomed to dining with women who aren’t family members, or so we understand. And so we had to create a special plan.
But before we remove to the Dining Room, we hear a voice. “Lady Carnarvon, Lady Evelyn? Might I trouble you for a moment?”
We turn to see Mr. Lufti, a graying gentleman with a dark mustache; soulful, close-set, eyes; and small round glasses on the tip of his nose. Papa had warned us that, while Mr. Lufti’s role as director of the national library might suggest that he’s a passive intellectual, he is actually one of the most formidable foes of colonialism and a majororganizer of nationalism in all of Egypt. Looking at this kindly older man, it seems positively incongruous.
“Yes, sir. How might we be of assistance?” Mama asks in that solicitous voice she used to great effect in her nursing days.
“I hope it wouldn’t be too much of an imposition, but I have heard tales of Lord Carnarvon’s Library. Might you indulge a librarian and show him the collection? We have an ambitious schedule of dining and touring the Highclere Stud and Newbury racetrack while we are here, and I don’t think there will be another opportunity.”
“We would be honored,” Mama replies.
He claps in delight. “How marvelous! Never mind the political roles I’ve played over the years, my first love is literature. In fact, I’m currently translating Aristotle into Egyptian Arabic from the French versions.”
“Did I hear there was going to be a trip through the Library?” I hear the voice before I see its owner. Only when I see the red fez do I realize that Mr. Zaghloul himself has asked to join the tour.
Mama and I are momentarily frozen. Of all the eventualities we prepared for, this had not been on the list. In fact, we’d assumed that the Egyptian contingent would avoid us, as the custom of certain of their countrymen calls for separation of men and women, particularly foreign women. Perhaps those rules only apply in Egypt.
I recover first, and answer, “It would be our honor to show you the Highclere Library, Mr. Zaghloul and Mr. Lufti.”
