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The Curse of Pharaohs. A novel
The general conversation at the table did not go well. If it were not for the occasional requests to pass the salt, one would think that deaf-mutes had gathered here.
“What is it about Egyptology that interests you so much, Mr. Gregson?” Colonel Watson suddenly broke the general silence, pushing his plate away.
Gregson noted that he did not hear an American accent and smiled in response: “The same as the rest of the public: secrets!”
“It’s dangerous to dig into someone else’s secrets. Lord Carnarvon, who died the other day, is an example of this. He shouldn’t have opened the Pharaoh’s tomb.”
Gregson answered: “But the public loves other people’s secrets and is even willing to pay to find them out. That’s how journalists and newspapermen make living. As well as writers do.”
“And spies.” The secretary suddenly remarked, casting an appraising glance at Gregson. The colonel casually glanced sideways at his secretary and lightly patted his hand. Then, looking directly at Gregson, he remarked. “Yes, people are curious like monkeys and many enjoy sticking the nose in someone else’s business.”
The poet suddenly joined the conversation: “The curse of the pharaohs will befall them for this, and punishment will not be slow to fall on their impudent heads! Why do ignorant people, like moths on fire, meddle in something they cannot understand?!”
Mademoiselle Saad declared loudly. “There is no such a thing as curse of the pharaohs. It’s all superstition and nonsense.” She spoke English with a strong French accent.
The reverend said mockingly. “Are you an atheist? I did not expect this from a Muslim woman. I thought they should know their proper place.”
Mademoiselle Saad looked at him with contempt: “I am a modern educated woman, brought up on Arabic and French world culture. And your ridiculous preachings are outdated for several centuries, if not millennia. And I doubt very much that the Sudanese Negroes really need them.”
The clergyman blushed, stretched out his hand over the table in the direction of Mademoiselle Saad and angrily intoned: “The foolish woman is clamorous; she is stupid, and knoweth nothing. And she sitteth at the entry of her house, on a seat in the high places of the city, to call passers-by who go right on their ways: Whoso is simple, let him turn in hither. And to him that is void of understanding she saith!”
The reverend’s wife broke into a smile and croaked in a raspy voice: “The Book of Proverbs of Solomon, Chapter 9, Verses 13 to 16.”
She and her husband exchanged glances, pleased with their victory.
“Only the noble reveres women and only the scoundrel humiliates them!” Gregson remarked and caught the surprised and grateful look of Mademoiselle Saad. Then he smiled back and added, already addressing her: “If you are God-fearing, then do not show tenderness in your speeches, so that someone whose heart is afflicted with an illness does not desire you.”
“The Book of the Prophet, Surah al-Ahzab.” Mademoiselle Saad announced and surprisingly clapped her hands cheerfully.
The clergyman’s already red face was even more bloodshot. Gregson thought he was going to have a stroke. The prolonged ominous silence was interrupted by the colonel’s laughter: “It seems to me that you, Reverend, do not need to go to preach to the distant Sudanese Negroes: You have a lot of work here among the lost souls.”
“In Montaigne’s opinion, women are not to blame for sometimes refusing to obey the rules of behavior established for them by society, because these rules were composed by men, and moreover without any participation of women.” The archaeologist said it in French and immediately translated this phrase for the rest.
The Reverend and his wife exchanged glances, silently got up, noisily pushed back their chairs and, wishing the others a pleasant appetite, stepped out of the table and left the dining room. Without those two, the tension at the table eased and the conversation went on more cheerfully: everyone told a little about themselves and about the purposes of their journey.
It turned out that Mademoiselle Saad studied medicine in Paris. She said that she was going to work as a gynecologist, obstetrician or pediatrician in her homeland. Regardless of her fascination by Boulmiche and love to French literature, now she urgently needs to return home for family business.
Archaeologist Gaston Lepont said he was going on a short business trip to study ancient inscriptions on Egyptian monuments on the spot in order to prepare his dissertation.
Maurice Verte could not clearly explain what he needed in Egypt, but only vaguely hinted at something unknown and mysterious beyond the understanding of laymen.
Gregson noticed that only Colonel Watson had not yet said anything about the purpose of his trip to Egypt and asked him a direct question.
The colonel smiled into his magnificent moustache. “As one of my friends said, ‘I went to this land of lotuses for a month to think in silence while indulging in idleness’…” Then he immediately changed the subject of conversation, turning to the only lady at the table. “Mademoiselle Saad, did you say you do not believe in the curse of the pharaohs?”
“I don’t believe it at all!” The girl said decisively.
“In that case, how do you explain the strange death of Lord Carnarvon?”
She shrugged her shoulders indifferently in Gallic manner: “No way. To explain his death, you need to look at his medical history, perform an autopsy and then make a final diagnosis. Then we won’t find any reason for miracles.”
“But the strange circumstances of illness and quick death! The newspapers say he was bitten by some kind of poisonous insect sleeping in the tomb for several thousand years.”
Mademoiselle Saad shrugged her shoulders contemptuously again. “The usual tabloid crap! Everyone knows that insects do not live for several thousand years. I have been to Luxor myself and, as far as I know, there are no particularly poisonous insects there at all.”
Gregson said at random. “Maybe a common malaria mosquito?”
“In those places, as I remember, there are not even malaria mosquitoes. In addition, malaria usually does not kill in one month.”
Lepont intervened in the conversation: “Of course, the story of the insect is a crap. I read that Lord Carnarvon just accidentally cut himself while shaving and died of blood poisoning.”
“As we can see, the cause of death is quite natural!” Mademoiselle Saad smiled.
Verte, who was silent until now, broke into the conversation: “We can’t see anything! We do not see the true causes, those that lead to the visible ones. What caused the infection or what brought poison on the razor blade? What drove the hand of Lord Carnarvon to slash his own flesh with the poisoned steel? Invisible threads of curse entwined the wicked, who touched the mystery without due reverence and pulled this hand like a puppet’s hand!”
Lepont replied thoughtfully. “In that case, it could have been the hand of an envious person, an archaeologist, for example, who worked without result all his life, envious to the unjust success of an amateur who made the discovery of the century.”
The colonel smiled: “You must be judging by yourself, Monsieur Lepont.”
Verte proclaimed loudly: “At the moment when Lord Carnarvon departed, the electric lights suddenly went out all over Cairo and the city submerged into Egyptian darkness! What do you think it was? A coincidence? No, this was an obvious Sign, revealed to us from the Other Side!”
“I suppose it’s a common concoction of reporters.” Atkinson said. “They had to embellish the scene somehow to entertain and intrigue the readers. Then everyone began to rewrite each other’s successful fiction, so that there are no ends to be found now.”
Lepont laughed. “The Russians call it kluqua, that is, cranberry, a fictional beautiful implausible detail, a piquant berry grown into a lush palm tree of the Arab traditional exaggeration.”
“What if the true cause of the lord’s death was Love?” Verte interjected again.
“Lord Carnarvon was already 57 years old.” Atkinson casually remarked. “The rumors say he had so much fun in his youth that should have calmed down long time ago.”
Verte explained: “I read in the newspaper that Lord Carnarvon opposed his daughter Lady Evelyn in her affection to Mr. Howard Carter, the archaeologist who unearthed the tomb of Tutankhamun. This disagreement escalated into a quarrel of the count with his daughter and Carter.”
Atkinson snorted: “Then, we have a rare case of gerontophilia: Mr. Carter himself is about fifty now and the Earl’s daughter is not quite of age yet. And why should there be such African passions between them?”
“Why not? The presence of a young woman and the old age might drive old men crazy, is it right, Mr. Gregson?” Mademoiselle Saad looked at Gregson slyly.
“Why are you asking me about old men?” replied Gregson.
“I just wanted to know if you agree with Figaro, whose words I just quoted? I love The Barber of Seville very much! And The Marriage of Figaro too! Do you like Beaumarchais?”
“I really don’t know what to tell you.” Gregson shrugged his shoulders in bewilderment.
Verte announced pompously: “Love arises at any age, in the most unexpected circumstances and in a variety of people! People often die because of tragic and mainly because of forbidden love! Could it be that someone’s forbidden love caused the death of the Earl of Carnarvon?”
Gregson caught another tempting glance of Mademoiselle Saad and looked away in embarrassment.
Here the archaeologist rose up from the table and announced: “Lady and gentlemen, thank you for your pleasant company. Shouldn’t we continue our enjoyable conversation on deck?”
Information for Reflection: “The Carnarvon Case’”
BARTHOLO, READS A PARCHMENT. Whereas upon true and faithful Report, made unto us—
COUNT KNOCKS IT OUT OF HIS HAND. What need have I for all this Gibberish?
Beaumarchais. The Barber of Seville.ROSINA. Yes, aloud I say it, my Hand, my Heart shall be for him who frees me from this detested prison, where my Person and my Fortune are detain’d against all Laws both human and divine.
Ibid.BARTHOLO [To the Count]: It is Francinette in the Song; but to render it more agreeable and suitable to my present Circumstances, I chang’d it for Rosinetta’s. [laughs] Ha! Ha! Ha! – An’t I right – Isn’t it the Tune?
Ibid.After breakfast, Gregson decided to delve into the case file regarding the demise of Lord Carnarvon: apparently, for now everyone around knew more about this matter than the brand-new investigator. He returned to his quarters, retrieved a substantial folder from his bag and commenced a meticulous examination of the papers, keeping in mind that the major would not include anything in the file without a reason. Many of the materials were not the documents in the traditional sense, but rather excerpts from documents and the authenticity of those had to be taken for faith. Certain names and dates have been omitted and replaced with ellipses.
Numerous newspaper articles detailing the discovery of Tutankhamun’s tomb and the subsequent demise of Lord Carnarvon. Gregson had previously read some of these articles, but now he was struck by the variety and diversity of interpretations. Most of them focused on the mysterious insect from the Pharaoh’s tomb and hinted at mystical elements. Nonsense! However, there were also versions suggesting a wound by a dirty, infected razor. Where the English lord might get a dirty infected razor?
Here are copies of the official telegrams. An excerpt from the medical report written by Lord Carnarvon’s personal physician, Frank McClanahan. According to it, the cause of death was pneumonia. At first glance, the cause of death appears to be quite natural… Was the practical and materialistic Mademoiselle Saad right? The image of the mocking Arabian girl suddenly appeared in his mind, and Gregson had to force it away.
So, what else is there? The personal opinion of a certain physician regarding the discrepancy between the symptoms and the nature of the disease and the diagnosis. The common cold, which typically leads to pneumonia, is not possible in the dry and warm Egyptian climate. And most importantly, the sudden outbreak of a high fever, followed by an equally sudden improvement in condition, and then a sudden recurrence of the fever. This pattern has persisted for twelve days. These symptoms are very different from those of either typical pneumonia or blood poisoning. This led to the suspicion of an unknown infection, possibly contracted in an ancient tomb. Of course, this is only a hypothesis – about the tomb, but the peculiar course of the illness is, perhaps, a fact! This has to be sorted out!
And here is the Politics that caused Saed-midjar to be so alarmed! A cablegram containing information about the appeal of Mr. Howard Carter to the Office of the High Commissioner Lord Allenby with a request to provide additional security measures for His Lordship Lord Carnarvon during his stay in Egypt due to anonymous threats to His Lordship’s life from nationalist and religious fanatics. Justification: His Lordship’s acute conflict with the Egyptian Ministry of Antiquities. A note from the Office of the High Commissioner said: “no follow-up required”. Negligence or…?
Here is a report from a secret informant: immediately after Lord Carnarvon’s death, the original letter from Carter in the office of the High Commissioner was withdrawn from the case and presumably destroyed. Sabotage? Highly unlikely! Most likely someone just wanted to cover his butt retroactively.
And what is this? An excerpt from the report of another unknown informant: “In a private confidential conversation with me, Henry Herbert Carnarvon accused his mother, Lady Almina Carnarvon, of indecent behavior and attempts to assassinate his father, Lord Carnarvon.” Oh my God, is everyone being watched like that? Or just a cream of society? But perhaps it is worth taking a closer look at the family of the deceased. If the death was homicidal, then the search for the murderer should be based on the principle of qui prodest, and all members of the count’s family might gain from the death of the count. Although the will is supposed to be revealed only after the funeral, no surprises are expected. The main beneficiaries of the property are the widow Lady Almina Carnarvon and the son Henry Herbert. The daughter Evelyn also should receive her share of the property after officially coming of age in just a few months. Moreover, Henry immediately receives the title of the Sixth Earl of Carnarvon. Maybe someone wanted to speed up the receipt of an inheritance or a title?
And what exactly is the property? How big is the jackpot?
Gregson plunged into the study of the prudently prepared reports on the Carnarvon family affairs and suddenly recalled how at breakfast Mademoiselle Saad asked if he liked The Barber of Seville? Suddenly it seemed to him that the Carnarvon’s family history would have something subtly in common with the characters of the play should the plot had turned a little differently.
Firstly, the count married the money at the time. That is, he was forced. Lady Almina married the title and not a love. So, she was forced too. Suppose that the precaution would not have been in vain and Figaro would not have arrived in time and Dr. Bartolo would have successfully realized his intention to marry the money of his ward Rosina. What would have happened next? Rosina is quiet and compliant, but she was always able to insist on her own decisions. The doctor could very well accidentally get poisoned with arsenic from his own first-aid kit and the inconsolable young widow would have rightfully regained her fortune and significantly increased it.
In the silence of the cabin, the steamship’s running engines were tapping softly:
“Rosina Almina, Almina Rosina,Almina Rosina, Rosina Almina.”Gregson shook off the intrusive phrase with difficulty.
The Carnarvons did not consider each other attractive partners. Consequently, there could not be a particularly warm relationship between them. Most likely, on the contrary, dislike has been maturing for a long time. A motive for murder? You never know!
Secondly, let’s assume that our hypothetical married Bartolo and Rosina have a heir. Then, in all likelihood, Count Almaviva would have become his real father anyway, and the story would have partially turned back on the common track. And again, an obvious analogy manifested itself: for a long time it was believed that the son of the Earl of Carnarvon was extramarital child of Lady Almina. After the marriage, the Countess should have immediately presented the family with an heir, but she could not. Who is to blame for this? In all likelihood, it was the Count himself, suffering from the consequences of shameful diseases caught in the brothels around the world. However, two and a half years after the wedding, Almina became pregnant safely. The real culprit of this joyful event in society was Victor Duleep Singh, a friend of the earl since his days at Eton. He often visited the count’s estate and brightened up the Countess’s loneliness there. The flirting of the son of the last Rajah of Lahore and the beloved adopted son of Queen Victoria with the young Countess of Carnarvon was quickly noticed and the high society enjoyed airing dirty linen of the Carnarvon family. When the son of the current Earl Henry Carnarvon was born, the opinion of society was split on the subject of the real father of the boy: the Count or the Rajah? The Count “covered up the sin” of his wife and officially recognized the son as his own. It is possible, however, that the son really was from him, but within the family the scars from such public scandals never heal and maintain mutual hostility between the spouses. Is it a motive? Yes, it is!
Now the sound of the ship’s engines was repeating:
“Rosina Almina, Almina Almaviva,Rosina Almina, Almina Almaviva.”Damn it, such a stupid sticky thing! However, perhaps the restless Figaro himself could become a father of the heir…
Finally, thirdly, who started this vaudeville? Who and why organized the strange alliance of the Carnarvons marriage? Who is that behind-the-scenes Figaro arranging the plot intrigue? It is easy to guess that in the case of the Carnarvons, the Rothschild family was behind the scenes. This marriage was the result of more than half a century of very tender and reverent relations between the Carnarvons and the Rothschilds, the product of the merging of Jewish capital and the hereditary English land aristocracy.
Here is Rosina, a girl of unknown origin, who somehow turned out to be a ‘ward’ of Dr. Bartolo. Lady Almina before her marriage was also a girl of questionable origin, who was ostentatiously patronized by Baron Alfred Rothschild. In society, Almina was considered his illegitimate daughter. Her mother Marie Wombwell allegedly hid the “secret’ of the girl’s origin in exchange for financial assistance and expensive gifts “from an unknown person.” Actually, the “secret’ besides being apparent was flaunted in every possible way. The first letters of Almina’s name matching the first letters of Alfred’s name loudly hinted slow-witted folks at the identity of the “unknown”. Baron Rothschild surreptitiously supported this legend, although officially acknowledging nothing, however not refuting it. Almina’s dowry of half a million pounds served as unofficial recognition of Alfred Rothschild’s paternity.
Indeed, everything in this story was a secret wrapped in a mystery and placed inside a puzzle. And the key to it is money interests. It’s so obvious!
Stop it! And here are some more documents… oh! As it turns out, the stake is higher than only a money. Because in fact, Lady Almina could not possibly be the real daughter of Rothschild. The documents Gregson had seen clearly disproved Rothschild’s paternity. According to those documents, should they had been officially presented to the court, even Baron Alfred Rothschild, if he was still alive, could have been imprisoned for a long time on the shameful charge of
So, Alfred Rothschild is not Lady Almina’s real father. Nevertheless, for some reason he gave her a huge dowry! Monstrously huge! The amount of the dowry of half a million pounds is amazing and therefore requires a separate explanation. Lady Almina is not Jewish by her mother, so in this case it cannot be assumed that the money remained in the “family’. That’s not how they do it. Therefore, it was an investment of capital. Into what? Is it just the reputation of the Rothschild family? But why back up the family’s already strong reputation with such an exorbitant amount? In all likelihood, it was an investment in a certain venture, and late Lord Carnarvon was appointed a nominal manager and formally received the money at his disposal. What kind of venture? Under what obligations? And what if the naive Lord Carnarvon, after the death of Alfred Rothschild, considered himself free from obligations and was punished for it? Perhaps this is also a possible motive!
And what could be such a venture in which Rothschild invested?
Gregson carefully reviewed the information about the property of the deceased. Highclere Castle and a huge manor house. Vast lands. It is expensive and beautiful, but from a financial point of view it is a liability: the estate requires permanent maintenance expenses and the land itself does not provide income. Probably, the count had shares the income from which went to the maintenance of the castle and the manor. Rothschild’s money in stocks? But who prevented Rothschild from simply investing his money in shares and entrusting the management of the package to his managers, who in any case would have handled this matter better than the count and his managers? Rothschild could have invested in the steel, oil or chemical industries himself, without an intermediary. An intermediary is needed only for the venture where the Rothschilds are not allowed yet or where the Rothschilds cannot publicize their participation. Stop! What did the Count suddenly do after his marriage? Egyptology! But what is Rothschild’s interest in Egyptology? Who needs millennial potsherds and broken pots? Or are they still needed? Pure art? Is the flow of antique valuables turning into such a cash flow that even the Rothschilds might be interested in?
There is too much speculation! It was pointless to think further without new facts. The first thing to do upon arrival at the scene is simply to find out if the death was natural or violent. If the death is natural, further questions would disappear naturally and you can return with a clear conscience and write a report. If not, then… there is no point in even thinking about it now.
Then the bell rang, inviting passengers to lunch. Gregson suddenly felt hungry again: mental exertion requires a lot of energy for the brain. He put the documents in his valise, locked the cabin and went to lunch.