Daughter of the God-King(60)

“Murder,” Hattie added succinctly.

“Murder,” he concurred. “Only three knew of the secret chamber at the tomb—your parents knew and Monsieur Auguste knew, also. There had to be a map as a precaution, and the map had to be stored at a distant place—to avoid the illness or other catastrophe that would have taken their own lives.”

“And implausibly, they were all struck down—it is enough to make you believe in the curse.”

He glanced at her. “Your parents’ death was a means to ensure they did not negotiate with the British by offering to reveal what they knew of the secret chamber.”

“And Monsieur Auguste?”

With a shrug, he conceded, “I have investigated and as far as I can tell, his death was a coincidence—he was indeed killed by brigands. It must have been a terrible blow to those who frantically seek the secret cache.”

“So instead, they frantically seek me.” Small wonder every stray spy was visiting Cornwall—Hattie hoped they hadn’t alarmed the neighbors.

“Yes.” He bent his head, thinking. “I must have this translated.”

“Mr. Hafez?” suggested Hattie.

“No,” he said immediately, meeting her gaze in all seriousness. “He is not to know of this, Hattie.”

“Is he an enemy?” Hattie thought of poor Bing.

But as always, he would allow no insights into what was apparently a complicated maze of allegiances. “I cannot say—trust no one.”

“We can trust Bing—she may know the translation.”

He leapt upon this idea. “Excellent—let us ask her.”

“Now?” Hattie asked doubtfully.

“We sail tomorrow,” he pointed out as he rose to his feet. “There may not be another opportunity.”

So it came to pass that Hattie stood beside Bing’s bedside, holding up her robe and gently shaking her awake. “Bing, Monsieur Berry is here and requires your assistance.”

Sleepy, Bing sat up. “Certainly,” she said, and pushed her arms through the robe. If Hattie wondered what explanation Berry would offer for his strange request, she hadn’t long to wait.

“Mademoiselle Bing,” he began with respectful deference. “I’m afraid there are those who would take Mademoiselle Blackhouse’s inheritance from her.” As he produced the senet board Hattie could hear Bing’s reverent intake of breath. “I believe this board contains a map which her parents created to show where it was hidden, but I am unable to translate the markings on the playing pieces.”

“Interesting.” Bing lifted a disk between her thin fingers, examining it closely. “Normally these are players—rather like chess pieces.”

“These are easier to engrave,” Berry suggested.

“Undoubtedly.” Bing moved to hold the piece next to the bedside lamp, her brow furrowed with concentration. “This one reveals a measurement—Egyptians measured in cubits of approximately 15 inches.” She lifted another. “This one also—only it contains a different measurement.”

Watching her, Hattie asked, “If it forms a map, how do we learn the manner in which the measurements are applied and in what order?”

“I imagine the board is instrumental in that respect.” Berry indicated the surface of the board, which contained a grid of small squares.

Bing carefully examined the board, and then examined the disks. “I believe there is a correlation to the squares engraved on each disk, but I’m afraid it will take me some time to puzzle it out.”

Berry thought about it, turning over a disk in his hand. “Shall we copy the engravings onto paper so as to allow you an opportunity to translate? Only do not arouse suspicion and do not describe the senet board.” He added with some emphasis, “To anyone.”

“I wouldn’t think of it,” said Bing, unable to refrain from running her fingers gently along the smooth wood of the board. “Only imagine what this board has seen.”

“Have you a hiding place for it? It may be best if you keep it, rather than Mademoiselle Blackhouse.”

Bing thought for a moment. “My hat box; I shall place it under my sun bonnet.”

“Excellent.” Berry stood and bowed. “I must leave, but I thank you for your assistance.”

Nodding her head, Bing was as dignified as though she was in a drawing room and not abed in her robe with her hair plaited down her back. “You are most welcome.”

They watched as he let himself out, off—Hattie surmised—to conduct a search at the British consulate.

“Here’s an interesting turn of events.” Bing gave her a shrewd glance as she looked about for paper and pen.