I said: "Mustapha . . . Absalam, is anything wrong?"
There was a brief silence. The one by the window nodded to the other and said: "Absalam, you say."
I turned and faced Absalam.
"My lady," he said, "we are your most humble slaves."
"You mustn't say that, Absalam. We don't have slaves here."
They bowed their heads.
Mustapha spoke then. "We serve you well, my lady."
"But of course," I replied lightly.
I saw that the door was shut. I looked at that which led into our bedroom. It was half closed. But I knew Tybalt would not be there at this hour of the day.
"We have tried to tell you many times."
"Please tell me now then," I said.
"It must not be," said Mustapha shaking his head gravely.
Absalam began to shake his.
"What?" I asked.
"Stay here, my lady. You tell Sir Tybalt. You tell. He must not go."
I began to grasp their meaning. They were afraid to go back to Egypt, the scene of the tragedy which had overtaken their master.
"I'm afraid that's impossible," I said. "Plans are going ahead. They couldn't be altered now."
"Must be," said Mustapha.
"I am sure Sir Tybalt would not agree with you."
"It is death, there. There is a curse . . ."
Of course, I thought, they would be very superstitious.
I said: "Have you spoken to Sir Tybalt?"
They shook their heads in unison. "No use. No use to speak to his great father. No use. So he die. The Curse comes to him and it will come to others."
"It's a legend," I said, "nothing more. All will be well. Sir Tybalt will make sure of that."
Absalam came to me and stood before me. The palms of his hands were together, his eyes raised. "My lady, must speak. My lady is the new wife. A husband listens to his beloved."
"It would be impossible," I said.
"It is death . . . death."
"It is good of you to be so concerned," I said, "but there is nothing I can do."
They looked at me with great sorrowing eyes and shook their heads mournfully.
I slipped through to the bedroom. Naturally, I told myself again, they would be superstitious.
That night as we lay in bed I said to Tybalt: "The Egyptians spoke to me today. They are very frightened."
"Frightened of what?"
"What they call the Curse. They believe that if we go to Egypt there will be disaster."
"If they feel that they must stay behind."
"They asked me to speak to you. They said a husband loves his beloved and would listen."
He laughed.
"I told them it was futile."
"They are very superstitious."
"Sometimes I'm a little frightened."
"You, Judith?"
I clung to him.
"Only because of you," I assured him. "What if what happened to your father should happen to you?"
"Why should it?"
"What if there is something in this Curse?"
"My dear Judith you don't believe that."
"If anyone else was leading this expedition I would laugh the idea to scorn. But this is you."
He laughed in the darkness.
"My dear Judith," he said.
And that was all.
I was longing for the days to pass. What dark ones they were before Christmas. There was a great deal of rain and the fir trees glistened and dripped; the soft-scented southwest wind blew through the trees and moaned outside the windows. Whenever I saw the Egyptians their eyes seemed to be fixed on me, half sorrowfully, half hopefully. I saw Nanny Tester but only in the presence of Tabitha for she kept mainly to her own apartments and only rarely emerged.
Theodosia and Evan came to stay at Keverall Court for Christmas, and Tybalt and I and Sabina and Oliver were invited for Christmas Eve. Hadrian was there too; he was going to stay until we left for Egypt.
It had long been a custom to sing carols in the Keverall Court ballroom on Christmas Eve and many of the people from the neighborhood joined the company. Oliver officiated as the Reverend James Osmond used to and it was a very impressive occasion for there was a torchlight procession from the church to Keverall.
After the singing Lady Bodrean's chosen guests went to the hall where we had a supper consisting of the various pies which had been popular for centuries—squab, mutton, beef; and, of course, hot Cornish pasties. These were all eaten with mead and a beverage known as Keverall punch which was made in an enormous pewter bowl—the recipe, known only to the steward of Keverall, had been handed down through the last four hundred years. It was rather potent.
I was amused by Lady Bodrean's attitude towards me. When she did not think herself observed she regarded me with a sort of suspicious wonder, but she was all charm when we stood face to face.
"It is a pleasure to see you, Lady Travers," she said. I felt myself giggling inwardly as I graciously acknowledged her greeting.
After we had partaken of the pies and punch we went to the church for the midnight service and strolled home in the early hours of Christmas Day. It was all as we had done it many times before; and I felt it was good that all the friends of my childhood were gathered together at such a time.
Christmas Day at the rectory was pleasant too. It was amusing to see Sabina presiding at the table where once Alison had sat. There was the turkey with the chestnut stuffing and brandy butter which I remembered used to cause Dorcas and Alison such concern. Sabina showed no such anxiety. She chattered away making us all laugh as we teased her. The plum pudding was ceremoniously carried in with its flaming brandy jacket and followed by mince pies shining with their coating of castor sugar.
Theodosia and Evan with Hadrian were not with us, of course, they being at Keverall Court; so the conversation for once was not of the coming expedition; for this I was grateful because I was sure that Dorcas and Alison would not have enjoyed it.
Afterwards we played charades, miming scenes and childish guessing games at which I excelled and Tybalt did not. Dorcas and Alison looked on and applauded my success, which exasperated while it touched me.
In the early hours of the morning as Tabitha, Tybalt, and I walked the short distance from the rectory to Giza House, I found myself wondering whether there would always be the three of us together. I was fond of Tabitha, but there were times when the old saying seemed very apt: Two's company; three's a crowd. Was it because when Tabitha was with us Tybalt's attitude towards me seemed to change? Sometimes he seemed almost formal as though he were afraid to betray to her that affection which more and more he was beginning to show when we were alone.
January was with us. There was a cold snap, and the hoar frost glistening on the shrubbery trees gave them a look of fairyland.
Tybalt at the breakfast table going through the mail, frowned and made an exclamation of disgust.
"These lawyers!" he complained.
"What's happened?"
"Sir Ralph's will is taking a long while to settle. It's a clear example of procrastination. It seems as though it's going to be months before everything is clear."
"Does it matter so much?" I asked.
"You know he has left this trust. We were relying on it. It will make a great deal of difference to the expedition. We shall be less restricted for funds with this additional income. You'll discover, Judith, how money is swallowed up in expeditions like this. We have to employ possibly a hundred workmen. Then of course there are all the other workers. They have to be paid; they have to have living quarters. That's why one cannot begin such an undertaking until all these tiresome financial matters are taken care of. We're almost always frustrated by a question of expense."
"And you can't touch this money or the interest, or whatever it is, until the will is proved?"
"Oh, it will be all right. With such a sum made over to us we shall be able to anticipate. But there will be formalities. I daresay I shall have to go to London. I should have to in any case, but later."