“There it is, Jane,” Laurence said, pointing to the familiar brown bag on a handsome walnut pedestal desk by the window. “You stand guard in case anyone comes.”

Jane pouted. “No. I want to see as well.” Although younger than her brother, Jane was his equal in obstinacy. She followed him to the desk and they both looked at the bag for a moment before opening it.

They peered inside, staring in wonder at the objects within. They had intended only to look, but a ray of sunshine suddenly escaped from the covering of cloud and shone through the window. It fell upon a figurine partially encased in a soft chamois cloth. It was decorated in tiny specks of coloured glass and lit up in front of them, dazzling them with its beauty, sparkling like a treasure from the cave of Ali Baba, their favourite nursery story of the moment.

Laurence picked it up, for once taking the utmost caution, and they both examined the figurine. It was a wooden statue of a slim, lovely young woman with a heart-shaped face and eyes that were elongated in the classic Egyptian fashion with kohl. The top was a carved headdress that appeared to be in the shape of a snake.

“It’s beautiful,” whispered Jane in awe.

She reached out to touch a necklace of sea green around the throat of the woman. The stones were cool to the touch and her little fingers explored the rest of the statuette eagerly.

“Let me see,” Laurence demanded, grabbing the head.

“No!” Jane hissed, her usually sweet face flushed an unbecoming red. They might have continued to fight had not a voice at the door interrupted them.

“Papa forbade you to touch Cousin Edward’s bag.”

Both children turned in surprise. They had been so engrossed in the figurine that they had failed to hear any noise from the hall.

Margaret stood in the doorway, watching her brother and sister struggle for ownership of the statuette.

“We’re not doing anything,” Laurence said defensively and also mendaciously.

“Yes you are. You’re fighting over Cousin Edward’s doll.”

The word “doll” had a startling effect on Laurence. He stopped trying to wrest the little figure from his sister, nearly causing her to drop it.

“I’m not interested in any stupid doll,” he said, suddenly aware of his dignity as a nine-year-old boy. “In fact there’s nothing very interesting in here at all. I’m going to go down to the pond and see if the frogs are out yet.”

He ran out of the door and Jane followed automatically. Then she hesitated a second and looked back at the figurine in puzzlement, before shrugging her shoulders and following her brother. With a noisy clattering down the stairs, they were gone.

Margaret stayed where she was. For a moment she examined the little figurine from a distance; then slowly, almost dreamily, she entered the room and reached up to take the object in her hands. She smiled at the doll and then, humming a little song, picked up the chamois cloth and began to polish its jewels.

***

It was some half an hour later when Darcy held out a brandy glass to Edward. The children had all disappeared and Elizabeth had gone to speak to the housekeeper, leaving the gentlemen in possession of the drawing room.

“Your good health, Cousin. And now that you’ve admired my phaeton, expressed delight over Elizabeth’s garden, and enchanted my children, perhaps you should tell me more about your reason for being in London,” Darcy said.

“I am afraid you will disapprove,” said Edward with a rueful shake of the head.

“Does it have anything to do with Sir Matthew Rosen?” asked Darcy, as he took a seat and stretched his long legs out in front of him. He took a sip of brandy. “Sir Matthew has written some very interesting articles for The Times recently, and I hear he is trying to find more patrons for his Egyptian dig. In fact, I believe he is even willing to allow some enthusiasts to join his party—for a consideration, of course.”

Edward took a drink of brandy.

“I knew you would not approve,” he said.

“Perhaps not understand is closer to the mark. If you want to go then I cannot stop you, but think carefully before you commit yourself. Egypt is a long way from home if you change your mind.”

He was fond of Edward. More than fifteen years Edward’s senior, he felt like more of an uncle toward the young man than a cousin and he remembered Edward’s many boyhood enthusiasms with affection. They had come and gone like the will-o-the-wisp, full of movement and colour, but with the same ephemeral lifespan.

With the one exception of Egypt. Ever since he was five, when he had first heard his father talking about his trip to Egypt with Darcy’s father, Edward had been enthralled by the very mention of the place, and this was despite the fact that both men had returned from their ill-fated adventure being poorer and also worryingly ill with strange diseases.

Elizabeth was right, thought Darcy; enthral is a good word. It is as though they are bewitched by the place. Edward has never even been, and yet his eyes light up at the thought of it.

“Luncheon will be ready shortly,” Elizabeth announced, walking into the room.

“I was just asking Edward what his plans are while he is in London,” Darcy said as he got up and poured her a glass of ratafia.

“Tell us all about it,” Elizabeth said, spreading the skirt of her white lawn empire dress on the chaise longue. She took the drink and savoured it. “I take it you will be visiting the Egyptian exhibition at the British Museum? I do hope so. I have wanted to go there for some time. We could all go together; it would be good for the children. Darcy is always worrying about the children’s education,” she said teasingly.

Darcy took the teasing in good part, having become accustomed to it in the years of his marriage.

“By all means,” he replied. “It would be interesting. The children have never seen the Egyptian exhibits and I think the older children in particular will be interested to see the Rosetta Stone. Did you not acquire some prints of the Stone, Edward? I seem to remember you thinking you might be able to decipher the hieroglyphs.”

Edward laughed.

“You are quite right,” he said. “I was so excited by news of the discovery that I set to work right away, alas to no avail. It seemed as if it would be so easy, the Stone having the same message written in three different languages, one of them being the hieroglyphic language. But even understanding the other two languages was no help. Messages written in letters are one thing; messages recorded in pictures are quite another.”

“There is no shame in having failed,” said Darcy. “Better…” He stopped suddenly.

“Better minds than mine have tried and failed?” asked Edward.

“I was not going to say that,” said Darcy.

Elizabeth and Edward both gave him a disbelieving look and he laughed. “Very well, I was. I would like to see it again,” he mused. “I have not been to the Egyptian rooms for several years. When do you intend to go?”

“Tomorrow. I would be delighted if you would all accompany me. I have made an appointment to see Sir Matthew Rosen, but it should not take long. I would enjoy showing you around.”

“I guessed as much,” said Darcy.

“Sir Matthew Rosen?” asked Elizabeth.

“An authority on Egyptian tombs and artefacts,” said Edward. “He has recently returned from an archaeological site near Cairo and I am anxious to talk to him.”

“Then it is settled; we will visit the museum tomorrow. I am already looking forward to it,” she said, her eyes sparkling.

She stood up as the gong for luncheon sounded in the hall, and the two gentlemen sprang to their feet. As they moved toward the dining room, Edward excused himself for a moment in order to retrieve a letter from his room that his father had given him for Darcy. Not wishing to delay the others, he bounded up the stairs two at a time and raced along to his room. But he stopped as he neared the door and heard a voice whispering softly. He walked slowly to the room and looked in.

Margaret was standing by the window, holding something in her hand, and talking to herself.

“Margaret? Are you quite well, my dear?” he asked. The child’s soft brown curls were sticking to her face, which was flushed with heat. She turned at the sound of his voice.

“Oh, Cousin Edward, I was talking to your doll. She’s very sparkly.”

“Yes. Where did you find her?”

“I didn’t find her. L—”

The little girl frowned and he guessed she was trying to avoid mentioning her brother’s name. Edward was well aware of the fascination his leather bag held for certain members of the Darcy clan, and he smiled.

“Well, never mind. Do you like her? Her name is Aahotep.”

“Is it? She’s not very nice, is she? But I think she’s rather sad.”

“Why do you say that?” Edward asked, startled.

He had found the doll in the attic of his family home, along with several other artefacts his father had brought home from Egypt. It was of little monetary value, although the coloured glass made it look pretty.

“Because she was mean to someone and now she can’t say sorry although she wants to. And it’s making her mean toward other people. But I feel sorry for her.”

“Well, I expect she will feel better when she has had some lunch,” Edward said gently.

Margaret gazed at him with clear grey eyes.

“She’s a doll, Uncle Edward. She doesn’t get hungry.”

Edward smiled. “Well, I do and I am sure you do too. Come, let us leave Aahotep to ponder her evil deeds and go down to lunch, shall we?”

Margaret nodded and, taking his hand, was soon busily reciting the tale of her recent visit to Kent, where she had visited her great-aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Her unusually rosy colour faded rapidly and Edward dismissed it as a peculiarity of the very young. It was not until much later on that he realised he should have paid more attention to the littlest Darcy’s pronouncements, but by then it was too late.

Chapter 2




Elizabeth woke the following morning with the feeling that something was wrong. At first she could not think what it was, but then she realised that no children were jumping on the bed or wriggling under the covers next to her.

She smiled as she remembered how horrified Darcy had been the first time the children had invaded their bedroom in the morning. He had been raised in a formal manner and he had seen his parents by appointment, usually for an hour after dinner, when he had recited whatever poem he had been learning or displayed his command of Latin. Then, having been smiled upon by his mother and inspired by his father, he had returned to the nursery, there to stay until the next appointed time. So when Beth had first toddled into the Darcys’ bedroom, having escaped her sleeping nurse, he had been torn between delight at seeing her waddling toward him and an uncomfortable feeling that she should have stayed in the nursery.

Elizabeth had not had any such difficulties, and she had given Beth a hug. Darcy had been charmed, despite the feeling that it was wrong for someone as august as Miss Elizabeth Darcy to crow with delight as her mother, the equally august Mrs Elizabeth Darcy, tickled her and teased her. But then he had been overcome with love and affection and he had succumbed entirely.

The Darcys’ room had become more and more crowded in the mornings as further children had arrived, until the older children had started to feel it was beneath their dignity to cavort in such a manner and had gradually absented themselves from the proceedings. Now Beth and William never came, John seldom, and even Laurence and Jane only whirled into the room about three mornings out of five. But Margaret always came. And yet here it was, past seven o’clock, and there was no sign of her.

Fearing that Margaret was ill, Elizabeth slipped out of bed and, throwing a wrapper round her shoulders, went along the splendid landing and into Margaret’s room. She need not have worried. The early morning sunlight, creeping in through a crack in the curtains, illuminated a peaceful scene. Margaret was sound asleep, clutching her Egyptian doll, and judging by the murmurs that came from her cherubic lips, she was dreaming.

A slight creak alerted Elizabeth to the fact that someone else was walking along the landing and a moment later Darcy entered the room and put his arm round her.

“I thought I would find you here. It is not the same without Meg climbing on the bed, is it, my love? I am glad she has not outgrown the habit. She must be worn out after yesterday’s excitement.”