Tomb of the Golden Bird (7 page)

is that?" I had seldom seen his countenance so unguarded. It was not a pretty sight; anger tightened his mouth and lit sparks in the strange pale eyes that could be brown or green or gray. I had obviously struck, not one nerve, but a bundle of them. "Well, we will leave that for a future time," I said, rising. "Have a good breakfast." I cannot say that I enjoyed mine. Maaman's food was as good as always, but watching Kareem stumble in and out, dropping boiled eggs and spilling coffee, tried nerves already on edge. I hadn't realized relations between Sethos and his child had become so strained. It was primarily his fault, of course. He had made some attempt to look after the girl, but her mother, his former mistress, hated Sethos as much as he detested her, and after Bertha's death Maryam blamed her father and lefthim to join the group of criminals Bertha had founded. The birth of Maryam's son and her subsequent reformation had reconciled father and daughter. Now Sethos had made a mess of that too. It was just like him. I added another item to my mental list of Things to Do. "Fatima is with her beggar," Kareem announced. "I know," I said. "She has a good heart." "Is he a holy man?" Kareem inquired. Nefret took the coffeepot from him. "Very holy," she said. "He wishes to be left alone in order to meditate and recover." We paid Sethos the courtesy of waiting until he had had time to breakfast and tidy up before we returned to his room, though in the opinion of several of us it was a courtesy he did not deserve. We found him sitting up in bed, pillows plumped and blankets smoothed, holding a coffee cup. Fatima and his breakfast tray had discreetly vanished. As I might have expected, he went on the offensive before any of us could speak. "I feel naked without some sort of disguise," he grumbled. "Ramses, can you oblige?" It was not an unreasonable request. Though unshaven and hollow-cheeked, without hirsute adornment he was the image of Emerson, even to the cleft in his chin. "What were you wearing when you arrived?" I asked, sitting down on the side of the bed. "A voluminous if somewhat wispy gray beard and a patchwork galabeeyah. Fatima wouldn't let me have them back." "Ah, the old beggar disguise," I said. "She has probably burned it." "There were a few insects inhabiting the beard," Sethos admitted. "Authenticity is very important in—" "Never mind. Ramses will see to it," I said. "Later. Start talking, if you please." "What about?" Ramses emitted a growling noise, as his father was wont to do when exasperated. "What have you done? Who is after your blood?" "Quite a lot of people, I expect" was the cheerful reply. He caught Nefret's eyes and looked a trifle shamefaced. "It's rather a long story . . ." "We have all morning," I replied, settling myself in the overstuffed chair with a pad of paper on my knee and a pencil in my hand. "You all know. . ." Sethos began. Then he stopped speaking and eyed me askance. "Amelia, what are you doing?" "Taking notes, of course." Thanks to those notes and my excellent memory, I am able to give the Reader an accurate account of his long and rather rambling explanation. "You all know what the situation in the Middle East is like since the war. The Great Powers have carved up the parts of the Ottoman Empire to suit themselves. France won't give up her interests in Syria, Britain has a mandate over Palestine, and Gertie Bell and her crowd have cobbled together a new kingdom of Iraq from an unholy mixture of warring factions, with a king none of them wanted on the throne and a British commissioner in actual charge. The Kurds were promised independence, but Gertie won't let them have it, since Iraq without Mosul and its oil can't stand. That old fox Ibn Saud is arguing about borders and hoping for control over Syria. If that weren't bad enough, Britain, under pressure from the Zionists, has come out in favor of a Jewish homeland in Palestine. The Arabs are afraid the Zionists will take their land, the Jews are divided between Zionists and those who oppose a temporal state, the Arab League demands the independence Lawrence promised them, and Fuad of Egypt is playing backstairs politics in the old Ottoman style. "There have been rumors about. . ." The hesitation was so brief, only one who knew Sethos well would have noticed it. "About a shadowy group that is bent on stirring up mischief, for reasons that remain obscure. Not a difficult task, given the situation. I was sent to Baghdad and Damascus to see what I could find out. By the way," he added with genuine feeling, "the archaeological sites are being torn to pieces. There's no control over illicit digging and some marvelous pieces are being sold to collectors." Ramses's black eyebrows drew together. "So you decided to 'rescue' some of them? And you are being hunted by competitors?" "If I had done, it would have been an act of rescue," Sethos retorted. "But as it happens, the—er—object I made off with was not an antiquity. I found it in the private files of a certain official in Baghdad—" "Don't be coy," Ramses said. "Who?" "The name would mean nothing to you. He stays out of the public eye, and not many people know that he is a kind of deus ex machina, a player behind the scenes. I had to take the damned thing rather than copy it, because it was in code and my time was limited." "If it was in code, how did you know it was worth stealing?" "Because it was in code," Sethos said with exaggerated patience. "And in a locked file that required all my talents to open. One doesn't go to all that trouble with linen lists." "Go on," Ramses said between his teeth. "I knew its absence would be noted. In fact," Sethos admitted, "my departure from the scene was not without incident. So I wasn't surprised when I ran into a spot of trouble at the railway station the following day. What did surprise me was that I recognized the drunken coffee seller who tried to push me under the train. He works for the department that used to be headed by your old friend Cartwright." "British intelligence!" Ramses exclaimed. "Why would they try to kill you?" "Precisely what I asked myself. I had, like a loyal little spy, intended to take the damned thing back to Cairo and hand it over. That incident put a damper on my zeal. It was obvious I had been under surveillance the whole time, or they wouldn't have been able to get on my trail so quickly." "That's a standard technique," Ramses said, his lip curling. "They don't trust anybody." "I am well aware of that. Still, their assumption that I might put the confounded thing up for sale rather than turn it in struck me as a trifle unkind. Instead of taking the Cairo train, I slipped out and returned later, in time to catch a train to Damascus. It was there that the second attack occurred, and I barely got away from three ugly fellows with long knives, who were almost certainly not hired by our lot." "You might have been followed from Baghdad," I suggested. "Not by our chap." Sethos's smile was not pretty. "I left him under the train." Nefret put her hand to her mouth. Sethos's smile vanished. "I didn't set out to kill him, Nefret. He'd have pitched me onto the track if I hadn't slipped out of his grasp. It put him off balance, and . . . well. To make a long story short, after several further incidents I was forced to the conclusion that I had become an object of interest to a number of different groups. I made it to Egypt, but I didn't dare go near headquarters. They might be after me too; or there might be a traitor in the organization. I thought I'd got everyone off my trail by the time I reached Luxor, and then I heard of Ramses and Emerson's encounter at the greengrocer's. So I went off again, as far as Aswan, and wandered conspicuously round town until I attracted attention. That's when I got this." He touched his arm. "Since then I've been moving rapidly, doubling back on my trail and keeping a wary eye out. For the past few days I've been holed up in the cellar of a ruined shack in Sebu al Karim; felt this coming on last night, and decided to come here." "That's very touching," Ramses said. "That you should seek out your loved ones." Nefret frowned at him. Sethos said coolly, "I had a more practical reason. I can't make plans, I can't trust anyone, until I know what's in that document. You're good at codes and ciphers." Ramses remained silent. Watching him, Sethos went on, "I hadn't intended to come to the house. That's the truth, whether you believe it or not. I was about to communicate with you indirectly and ask for a meeting in a neutral spot when I fell ill. I don't believe I was followed here, but. . . well, the damage is done. Whatever this document contains, some people want it very badly—badly enough to come after you again if they can't find me." I cleared my throat. "If you will forgive me for saying so, that is the most preposterous story I have ever heard." Sethos's haggard face broadened in a grin. "I take that as a compliment, Amelia. You have heard a good many preposterous stories over the years." "But really," I exclaimed. "This one is straight out of sensational fiction. Secret societies, shadowy organizations, a mysterious document obtained from an individual you can't or won't name . . . You'll have to do better than that, my friend, if you want our cooperation." Still smiling, Sethos looked from me to Ramses. "Whether he meant to or not," the latter said slowly, "he has us over a barrel. Where is the damned document?" "In the cellar I mentioned, hidden under a dead dog." Nefret winced, and Sethos said, "It was already conveniently dead, Nefret." "I'd better go after it then, before someone else does." Ramses rose. Offhand Ramses couldn't think of a reasonable excuse for visiting the poor little village, much less the ruined house. He was furious with his uncle, and Selim's delight at participating in the venture annoyed him even more. Was everyone except his father and him under Sethos's spell? The village was one of several that bordered the cultivation south of the temple of Seti I. As they rode toward it Selim said, "We are looking for tombs, yes?" "There aren't any in that area." "Who can say?" Daoud inquired. He was riding Emerson's gelding, the only horse in the stable that was up to his weight. "He speaks the truth," Selim said. "We heard a rumor, eh? That is not hard to believe. There are always rumors of tombs." "I suppose so," Ramses said grudgingly. He ought to have thought of that excuse himself. It was Sethos's fault, for getting him too angry to think straight. But it was unfair of him to take out his ill humor on Selim. "While we look for tombs, Daoud will go into the house and find the paper," Selim said. "You'd leave the dead dog to him?" Ramses asked with a smile. "I do not mind," Daoud said placidly. "What does it look like, this paper? Their arrival brought the villagers out in full force. Most of the men were working in the fields, so their audience consisted of women, small children, and the usual livestock, plus a few doddering old men. When Ramses asked about new tombs, they were deluged with information from everybody except the livestock. Ramses knew he was the chief attraction; this sad little place was seldom visited by foreigners, and the visit of a member of the family of the Father of Curses was an event that would be talked about for days. He and Selim made their way through a tumble of toddlers and barking dogs, led by the old gentleman who had appointed himself guide, and trailed by the rest of the local citizens. The noise level was high. There were a few tombs in the rocky surroundings, all small and empty except for thick layers of trash. They spent more time examining them than the wretched places merited, and then started back. Daoud was waiting with the horses. His large amiable face wore a smile and his hand was in the breast of his robe. Not until they were well away from the village did Ramses ask, "You found it?" "Yes." Handing over a small packet sealed all round with heavy tape, he added, "It was buried deep. The dog was a joke, I think. There were only bones." "Typical," Ramses muttered. "Open it," Selim urged. Ramses was curious too. Drawing his knife, he slit the tape and pulled back the rubberized fabric. Inside, between pieces of pasteboard, were two sheets of folded paper. "There are no words on the paper," Selim said, leaning closer. "What does it mean? Is it what you wanted?" "Want? Hell, no, I don't want the damned thing. But I guess I'm stuck with it." The symbols were numbers, dozens of them. The only codes and ciphers with which he was familiar used letters of the alphabet. "Bloody hell," Ramses said. On the Wednesday we were in receipt of a telegram from Emerson announcing his arrival the following morning. That was all it said. I would have appreciated a trifle more information—something along the lines of "Have hired new staff" or "Have not hired new staff"—but I was only too familiar with Emerson's disinclination to spend good money on telegrams. Sethos's condition had improved; according to Nefret, he would be out of the woods in another day or two. Ramses had supplied him with a rather raggedy grizzled beard and enough putty to sculpt a new nose. Sethos seemed to enjoy playing with the latter; over the course of the day the contours of his nose changed from retrousse to hooked to concave. I hadn't realized how drastically the shape of a nasal appendage can alter one's appearance. My own experiments with the putty were not successful. The cursed stuff wouldn't stick. I decided there must be some trick to it, and determined to ask Ramses at a later time. I was unable to extract any additional information out of Sethos, even when I showed him the little list I had made. "You have absolutely no idea who is involved in this shadowy organization of yours?" Smiling his irritating smile, he read the list aloud. "The French, the Zionists, the anti-Zionists, Ibn Saud, Feisal of Iraq, the British Secret Service, Sharif Hussein, Gertrude . . . Gertrude Bell? Come now, Amelia! I know you and she don't get on, but—" "I do not approve of women who claim the privileges of men for themselves but deny them to other women. She is a confirmed antifeminist with a monumental ego. She fancies herself a king-maker. Such people consider that the end justifies the means." "It could be any of them, or all of them, or none of them," Sethos said, tacitly accepting my judgment of Miss Bell. "Not a very comforting conclusion, I must say." "Did you discuss your list with Ramses?" "I am thoroughly conversant with the present political situation," I replied. I never lie unless it is absolutely necessary. "It is even more volatile than your initial summary suggested. Since Ibn Saud defeated his chief rival, the Rashid, at Hayil—" "I know, I know," Sethos said somewhat abstractedly. "Hayil is where you and Margaret first met, isn't it? Where is
shenow?" Sethos started. "You do have an unnerving habit of jumping from one subject to another," he complained. "I don't know where she is. What would you do with the address if you had it? You surely didn't intend to inform her I was with you, or issue an urgent summons to Luxor. You might as well stand in the suk and shout the news aloud." "Would she not wish to be by your side when danger threatened?" I asked. "My dear Amelia, you are such a romantic. I'll tell you what will fetch her, though. If that tomb of Carter's turns out to be big news, she'll be first on the spot." He was playing the same trick on me, but I decided not to challenge the change of subject. "Who told you about the tomb? Ramses?" "Ramses is avoiding me these days. Hadn't you noticed? No, it was Selim. He and Daoud believe the omens are propitious." "The golden bird," I said with a sniff. "It is only Howard's canary." "That was Daoud. Selim isn't superstitious. From his description I'd say Carter may have come upon something . . . interesting." He moved restlessly. "I'd love to have a look for myself. When can I get up?" "Not until Emerson arrives." "You aren't afraid I'll bolt, are you?" "You aren't fool enough to try that. We must find a new identity for you and work out some explanation for your presence. The dying beggar won't serve much longer." "I have a few ideas," Sethos said pensively. "I'm sure you do. Try to control your extravagant imagination. Emerson will be here tomorrow and then we will have a council of war." "I am afire with anticipation at the prospect." Emerson had hired the two new staff members, and what is more, he had brought them with him. We were all at home that morning; Nefret had patients and Ramses was still struggling with Sethos's mystery document. I sent Fatima to summon Ramses, and greeted the newcomers. "As I told you, Peabody, they suit our requirements admirably," said Emerson. "I trust their rooms are ready?" "As / told you, Emerson, they will be staying with Cyrus," I replied. My temper was firmly under control. I did not even mention the fact that Emerson had neglected to tell me they were coming with him. "I will notify Katherine at once that they are here. If you would like to freshen up, Mademoiselle Malraux, Fatima will show you to the guest room and supply anything you need." "Oh, please, Mrs. Emerson, do not be so formal." The girl's eyes widened alarmingly, but I decided she was only attempting to indicate goodwill. "I hope you—all of you—will call me Suzanne." A murmur from Mr. Farid included a pair of syllables that sounded like a name. "Suzanne and Nadji, then," I said with a smile. Having dealt with the immediate problems caused by Emerson's lack of consideration, I invited the young people to join us for luncheon, it being almost time for that meal. My motives were part hospitality, part cowardice. I had given some consideration as to how to break the news of his brother's presence to Emerson and had come to the conclusion that there really was no way of doing it tactfully. This enabled me to delay the revelation a little longer. The young lady bubbled with Gallic enthusiasm about the house and its arrangements. "I had glimpses of a beautiful garden, Mrs. Emerson. May I hope for a stroll later? I am exceedingly fond of flowers." "You will have ample time to enjoy the garden in the weeks to come," I replied. "I am sorry we were unable to ask you to stay with us, but we are constantly in and out of one another's houses, and Mr. Vandergelt'shome is much more elegant than ours." "What is the news from Cairo?" Ramses asked, knowing Emerson was about to tell us anyhow. "Carter is there, and Carnarvon is on his way," said Emerson. As far as he was concerned, there was only one matter of interest in Cairo. "By chance I happened to run into Carter— What did you say, Peabody?" "Nothing, my dear. Do go on." "That's all," Emerson said grumpily. "Except that Carter has been calling on all his friends, dropping veiled hints and looking mysterious when they ask questions. Fine way to keep his discovery secret." "Why should he?" I asked. "The wire he sent Lord Carnarvon was known to all of Luxor, and I expect his lordship has confided in a number of his friends, who have confided in their friends. There is no keeping such things secret." "The archaeological community is abuzz with rumors," Suzanne said. "Is it true, Mrs. Emerson? That Mr. Carter has found a new unrobbed tomb? The Professor wouldn't tell us anything." "Said I wouldn't," Emerson grunted, attacking his food with vigor. "I keep to my word." Nadji, who had spoken very little, looked up. His English was excellent, with only the slightest trace of an Egyptian accent. "The word had got round before your arrival, sir. You have nothing with which to reproach yourself." "But you have actually seen the tomb," Suzanne exclaimed, her eyes popping. "Please tell us. It can't be kept secret for long, can it?" "I only hope Howard has not raised Lord Carnarvon's expectations too high," I replied. Then, seeing no reason to remain discreet when Howard and Carnarvon had not done so, I went on. "Thus far he has found a sealed doorway, with what appears to be a blocked passage behind it. The signs are hopeful, but one never knows, does one? I expect we won't have to wait long, though. Carnarvon will surely wish to press on to Luxor as soon as possible." Ramses said to his father, "Callender is here." "Pecky Callender? What the devil for? He's no Egyptologist." "But he is a trusted friend of Carter's. I believe he has been instructed to prepare for Carnarvon's arrival." Emerson scowled darkly. I knew what he was thinking; I always do. He had offered his services, which had not been accepted. It was a snub, and I felt for him. All the more since he was due for an even more painful shock. We had just finished luncheon when the reply to my note to Katherine came, expressing her pleasure at receiving the two new members of our staff, and inviting us to dine that evening. She had sent the Vandergelts' carriage for them and their luggage. "We will see you tonight at dinner," I said. "No, Emerson, there is no need for you to accompany them, they will want to have a little rest this afternoon." "I thought we might go on to the Valley," said Emerson, trying to detach my grip on his arm. "They will want to see—" "Not this afternoon, Emerson." Hearing something in my tone, Emerson objected no further. After the carriage had driven off, he turned to me. "You have all been behaving very oddly," he said, looking from one of us to the other. "What has happened?" "Sit down, Father," Nefret said. "Good Gad!" Emerson cried in anguished tones. "Not one of the kiddies!" "Now stop that, Emerson," I said severely. "Do you suppose we would all be so calm if something had happened to one of the children? No. Guess again." Emerson dropped into a chair. "The tomb has been robbed," he said in a hollow voice. "Pecky Callender is no more use than—" "At least you put the children before the tomb," I snapped. "Allow me to remind you once again that it is not your tomb. Guess again." Emerson's noble brow furrowed. "Give me a hint." "Confound you, Emerson," I began. "How can you have forgotten—" "Not so loud, Mother." Nefret, who had been struggling with laughter, sat on the arm of Emerson's chair and put a finger to his lips. "We have a guest, Father. The— Oh, dear, how can I put this? The person who inspired your adventure at the shop. The fire. The bag of salt. The—" As comprehension gradually dawned, her dainty finger proved inadequate to the task. "Hell and damnation!" Emerson shouted. "Has that bas— Has he had the effrontery to come here?" "He was ill," Nefret said. "Please, Father, don't fly off the handle." "And keep your voice down," I added. "How successful we have been in concealing his presence I cannot say, but there is nothing to be gained by shouting it from the rooftops." Emerson could not get up without dislodging Nefret. He squirmed a bit, but she stayed firmly in place. "Oh, bah," he said in a strangled voice. "Ramses, would you care to explain how this came about? No, Peabody, not you; you are inclined to digress, and I want a succinct, informative account, without commentary." He got it. In my opinion Ramses might have elaborated a trifle more; however, my attempts to add color to the narrative were ignored by all parties. When Ramses had finished, Emerson sat in silence for a time, stroking his prominent chin. "That is the most preposterous story I have ever heard," he said at last. "That was my initial reaction," I admitted. "And I feel sure Sethos hasn't told us all he knows. However, this is a preposterous world, Emerson, and some persons will stick at nothing to gain their ends." Emerson could not deny this. We had encountered a number of such persons, and history had preserved the names of many others. "This mysterious paper," he said. "Have you succeeded in deciphering it?" Ramses shook his head. "It's really not my field of expertise, Father." "You need not apologize, my boy. Very well. You can get up now, Nefret; my temper is firmly under control. I want to see him. Now." Naturally I went with Emerson. He appeared to be in a reasonable state of mind, but there was no telling how long it would last if his brother provoked him—which he was almost certain to do. Sethos was sitting up in bed, reading. He greeted Emerson effusively, but without surprise. "I heard you were back," he explained. "Who are the two people who came with you?" His attempt at insouciance did not deceive Emerson, for the beard and the silly nose failed to conceal the hollowness of his cheeks and his sickly complexion. "Fatima told you, I suppose," Emerson said gruffly. "The two newcomers are members of our staff. Egyptologists, well known to me. Er—how are you feeling?" "Much better. It is good of you to ask." "Hmph," said Emerson. "What the devil are we to do with you, eh?" "That sounds more like you," said Sethos. "I'll be out of here as soon as Nefret gives me leave." Emerson sat down heavily on the side of the narrow bed. "Where will you go?" "I'll stay in touch." "Damned right you will!" said Emerson. "Curse it, you can't simply stroll out the front door. Your adversaries aren't all fools. If they discover you have been here they will assume we have your confounded secret message, or a copy of it." Sethos's eyes fell. "What do you suggest?" he asked meekly. Emerson studied him with suspicion. Meekness was not one of Sethos's normal traits. "You will need a new persona," he said. "The role that comes to mind is one you've played before. It is known that we are taking on additional staff." "Brilliant," Sethos exclaimed. "Who shall I be, then? Petrie? Alan Gardiner?" "Control yourself," I said firmly. "You cannot take on the identity of a well-known person. You had better be a philologist. You can spend your time with Ramses, ostensibly working on the papyri from Deir el Medina, and avoiding situations that could betray your ignorance of archaeological technique." "I'm not all that ignorant," Sethos said indignantly. "We can work out the details later," said Emerson. "The most important thing is that the elderly beggar must go." Little did we know, but he already had—into a more distant realm. From Manuscript H Cyrus was delighted with the additions to his staff. Some of the others were less enthusiastic. When they met at dinner that night, Jumana was unnaturally silent. Ramses couldn't decide which of the newcomers she resented; she was cool, verging on brusque, with both of them. Bertie flirted clumsily with Suzanne and Katherine smiled benignly upon them. She would have been delighted to see Bertie turn his attentions from Jumana to a "respectable" European girl. Bertie did have a gift for falling in love with women of whom his mother disapproved. For a while he had taken a fancy to Sethos's illegitimate daughter, whose criminal past did not recommend her as a daughter-in-law. Presumably Maryam's engagement, to a dull but respectable merchant, had put an end to that. They had all been surprised at the announcement: Bennett was middle-aged, plain, and dull; Maryam's background was not precisely respectable. However, as Ramses's mother was fond of saying, love is unpredictable. To dull Mr. Bennett Maryam must represent youth, charm, romance, and after her exotic life Maryam might look forward to a bit of boredom. "Now we can make progress," Cyrus declared, motioning his butler to refill the wineglasses. "As soon as we finish clearing the burial chamber of Ay's tomb, Mam'selle can start copying the paintings and Bertie can draw up a final plan. First thing tomorrow morning, eh? Is that all right with you, Emerson?" "What?" said Emerson, staring. His wife frowned at him. "Emerson feels, as do I, that we ought to allow our new friends a day of sightseeing before they begin work. It has been some time since they were in Luxor, I believe." "I've never been," said Suzanne. "And I would love to see the places I've read about. Deir el Bahri, the Valley of the Kings, Deir el Medina, and all the rest. If you don't mind, Mr. Vandergelt?" "Fine, fine," said Cyrus. The Sitt Hakim's word was law to him. "Good," said that lady. "Why don't you all join us for breakfast and we will decide upon an itinerary." The Emersons did not keep a carriage. It was pure perversity on Emerson's part; he clung to the hope that his wife would accept the motorcar as a substitute—which Ramses doubted she ever would. When she nagged her husband, Emerson pointed out that Cyrus's carriage was always at their disposal, as was the case that night. On the return trip no one spoke for a time. Only the distant howl of a jackal broke the stillness. Ramses put his arm round his wife; the crisp night breeze blew a strand of her hair across his face and starlight turned the landscape into patterns of iron-gray and silver. He thought of Cairo—the stench of rubbish, the fetid air, the crowded noisy streets. Shut away in their walled compounds, the foreign residents avoided these discomforts. He wouldn't, though, and neither would Nefret. The hospital she had founded was in one of the foulest parts of the city, near the infamous Red Blind District. She had walked those vile streets many times, unafraid and unmolested; but he had always hated the thought of her doing so. Nefret, half asleep against his shoulder, stirred and spoke. "I think the newcomers are going to work out well." "Hmmm," said her mother-in-law, seated across from them. "I confess to having some misgivings." "You were the one who wanted to take them on," Ramses said. "Professionally they suit admirably. But I did not consider fully the social ramifications." Nefret chuckled. "Bertie was only flirting with Suzanne to make Jumana jealous." "Jumana is jealous, but not of Bertie," Ramses said. "She's afraid she will take second place to Suzanne.