Daughter of the God-King(76)

The government compound was home to the local authorities who monitored and protected the historic sites as well as enforced the laws. The compound was located near the ruins of the huge Hypostyle Hall, which had served the same purpose forty centuries earlier. By contrast, the visitors’ building was foursquare and simple, with large archways that opened on to a veranda so as to access the river breeze. Several Egyptian officials processed paperwork behind ancient wooden desks while a number of civilians sat along the benches in the shade of the building, most of them elderly men passing the time by observing any visitors and conversing with each other in a desultory manner. As the stone walls made the interior relatively cool, it was with some relief that Hattie waited within for the gentlemen in her party to conduct their business. Hafez was treated with the deference due to his position, and Hattie could see Berry’s point; it seemed likely that more doors would be opened to the native minister in their quest for information.

Unable to resist, Bing wandered over to one of the open-air arched doorways to gaze upon the famous ruins next door, and Hattie strolled toward the west side of the building so as to feel the breeze from the river. In doing so, she passed by several of the old men seated on the benches.

“Halima,” cried one in surprise as she walked past. He then added an unintelligible sentence in Arabic, addressing her with some excitement.

I am definitely too brown, Hattie thought in amusement, and faced him to smile and spread her hands so as to indicate he had mistaken the matter.

The old man regarded her, the emotion in the rheumy eyes fading. “Your pardon,” he said in halting English, shaking his head. “There are times I forget how the years have passed.”

“No matter,” she said with a smile, and made as if to move on.

Bing appeared in an archway to ascertain her whereabouts and then indicated with a gesture, “I shall be just over here, Hathor,” before she ducked outside again.

“Hathor?” asked the old man in surprise. “Can it be that you are little Hathor?”

“My name is Hathor,” Hattie disclosed, thinking to humor him. She had little experience with the elderly, but she understood that sometimes their minds drifted.

Scrutinizing her, his grizzled face broke into a delighted grin that revealed yellow and broken teeth. With some satisfaction he nodded. “It is indeed you—the Blackhouse girl.”

Hattie stared. “I beg your pardon?”

Pleased with his role as the bearer of information, the old man continued, “You stayed here—with Halima and the soldiers. It was when I worked here—oh, many years ago. You would not remember; you were very small—hardly walking.” He indicated with his hand.

Hattie blinked, completely at sea. “Truly? I never knew I had been in Egypt; my parents never mentioned it.”

“You stayed here, with Halima. And the soldiers, who guarded you.” He paused, and nodded. “Yes; many soldiers.”

Enrapt, Hattie stepped toward him. “Who is Halima? Did she care for me?”

Enjoying her attention, the man displayed his broken teeth again. “Yes, she was your nursemaid, your amah—a beautiful girl. While you learned to walk she would hold both your hands over your head.” He demonstrated with a gesture, rocking back and forth, smiling in remembrance. “She delighted in you.”

Hattie smiled in delight herself, fascinated by this glimpse into her childhood. “How extraordinary—how long was I here?”

The old man tried to remember, raising his eyes upward in calculation. “A month—perhaps longer.”

“That long.” Hattie was amazed; her parents must have left her behind with this Egyptian girl while they went on an excavation—the surprising fact was that they had taken her to Egypt at all, especially as an infant.

“Yes—it was a sad day for many of us when your parents came to claim you. Halima wept for days, but she was set to wed one of the soldiers. We told her she would soon have children of her own to make her smile again.” He beamed, misty-eyed. “Little Hathor—how wonderful that you have returned to us for a visit.” Shaking his head in apology, he confessed, “I was confused—I thought you were Halima.”

But Hattie’s smile had faded, and she could hear her heartbeat in her ears. This man had mistaken her for her former Egyptian nursemaid and Hattie could not be said to resemble either of her fair-skinned, thoroughly English parents. Had her father fathered an illegitimate child?

She was dimly aware that Berry touched her arm. “Hattie? Come away, now.”

But Hattie was staring out the archway, unseeing. Her parents had been married from the first—they had been married years before she was born. This visit to Egypt would have been around the time of—she closed her eyes with the effort to remember—their dig at Rashid.