Sekhemkhet's Promise Pt. 03

At once, Anabeth took a liking to the woman.

"Ah, my dearest Baroness," Peter made a grand gesture of bowing, raising his voice as though he needed people to hear that he was associated with people of importance. Of course, no one turned to look. Everyone here is important, Anabeth thought, supressing a giggle. "You know Lord and Lady Darnley, I am sure, however permit me to introduce to you Anabeth Brightbury, the daughter of Edward Brightbury, the founder of this magnificent exhibit."

The Baroness smiled at Anabeth. "And here I heard that this bright young woman was the founder," she commented. Anabeth noted the slightest German accent, though it was soft it still added a beautiful lilt to her voice.

Peter coughed. It seemed he was unable to correct someone so important, and yet he lacked the ability to stay quiet altogether. "Anabeth, this is the Baroness Sophia of Luxembourg."

Beth dipped into a curtsey, unsure of the proper etiquette when meeting German nobility, but simply hoping that it would be looked over. The smile on Peter's face told her that she had done well. He must have been secretly delighted, after all he had schooled her on etiquette the entire previous day.

"Please, call me Sophia," The Baroness offered Beth her hand, which Beth took and held for a moment, smiling. "We have much to discuss. I find you fascinating."

Baroness Sophia excused herself and Anabeth from her entourage and took Beth's arm, leading them to the side of the grand hall to stroll a few laps at a leisurely pace.

"I am a friend of Lady Darnley," Sophia began.

"Well then I am afraid that you will not like me very much," Anabeth began, but the Baroness stopped her.

"I use the term 'friend' very loosely. We have had several conversations, though none of them particularly pleasant," Sophia winked conspiratorially at Beth, earning herself a small grin. She had the countenance of a favoured aunt and Beth couldn't help but feel herself warming to Sophia already. "She is a nasty piece of work. I am not quite certain what you have done to gain her malice to such an extent."

"I had so hoped that you could provide me with some insight," Anabeth replied. "She seems to despise me, though I have behaved as well as I could."

"I believe it is the attention you have gained. All of Europe is talking of the young female archaeologist."

Anabeth's eyes grew wide. "Please don't jest with me, Baroness."

Sophia laughed. "It is true. Do not look so alarmed, it is a good thing. People are intrigued by you, rather than outraged."

"My father will be beside himself." Anabeth was beginning to understand the ramifications of staying in Egypt. Perhaps she had been too hasty in her answer. Perhaps it was better for her to return home. But what would her father prefer? Would he want the exhibit more than his claim to it, or was the British Museum's interest more important to him than the fame?

"Do not panic, child. You are here and he is not. What harm can he do to you when you are so far away?" This did little to assure Anabeth. It was not her present that she was concerned with. The question was of her life after this phase -- what sort of life would she return to if her father despised her? It was not as though this short bout of fame would become a career or gain her a husband. Her future was so uncertain now. "Besides, there are much more interesting things happening here. The Egyptian Prince has taken quite the liking to you, I have heard."

Anabeth turned her head to the front of the room. There was Sekhemkhet, still not taking notice of her, instead passing pleasantries with his important guests. The beautiful woman still clung to his side, scanning the room with a shrewd awareness. She seemed almost violently possessive of the man she held on to, stirring the beginnings of a fierce jealousy in Anabeth. If Sekhemkhet was truly interested in Anabeth, he had a strange way of showing it.

"I can assure you that it is not me he is interested in," Anabeth struggled to keep the notes of bitterness from her voice. The Baroness was still a stranger, no matter how kind. "It's the exhibit. It's always the exhibit. The men are obsessed with it. In the meetings that I saw they fought over it like two rival prides of lions fighting over a fresh carcass. Although, now that I think about it, with less manners."

The Baroness laughed, squeezing Beth's arm. "You're a charming girl. If I should have been blessed with children, I would have wanted them to be like you."

Beth's forehead creased in sympathy. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"No, no," Sophia waved away Beth's concerns. "It has been a long time since it has bothered me. My husband, God rest his soul, was more than enough of a child to look after."

They continued to stroll in a companionable silence, Anabeth now considering if children would be in her future. She had never really experienced that essential maternal instinct that seemed to be ingrained in all other women. It was not something that she cared to admit to -- many women who did were treated as though they were mentally ill. However, it was difficult to accept that the choice may be taken away from her without her say.

"I hope I have not taken up too much of your time," the Baroness commented as they drew near to where they had begun, continuing before Beth could tell her not to be silly. "It is my hope that we will become dear friends."

Sophia smiled so warmly at Anabeth that Beth felt a yearning for her mother. Beth had not realised just how long she had been without real company -- who had she been able to talk with for these past three weeks? Peter, Mr Banks and the Lord and Lady of the house. Sekhemkhet, briefly. When had she last been able to relax and speak her mind?

"I would very much like that," Beth replied, smiling just as warmly and taking Baroness Sophia's hands into her own. It was the closest thing that Beth had experienced to friendship in quite a while.

The Baroness left to join her own party, leaving Beth to wander the crowds in search of Peter. It was a sea of faces, jewels, and rich material. Many took no notice of Beth, but some seemed to sneer at her. Lady Darnley's friends, she imagined.

Anabeth was close to panic when a hand grabbed her arm and pulled her to one side. "There you are," a voice hissed in her ear. It was Peter, come to save her, she hoped. "They're about to make speeches and open the exhibit in the rest of the museum."

This isn't it? Beth wondered incredulously. There was plenty on display in this room. How big had the tomb been?

Peter guided her to the stairs at the head of the room. The sweeping staircase had groups of candles on each step, along with a shimmering gold material woven through the banister. It reminded Beth of her dreams; when the walls shimmered with gold and she could no longer tell dream from reality. Perhaps this decoration was on purpose.

Or perhaps you've become paranoid.

Beth took her place on the centre of the stage towards the back. She could feel sweat beading on her hands and worried that someone would notice how nervous she was. To her right was Peter, who looked very much like the cat who got the cream, and to her left was a group of men she did not recognise. Where she could catch glimpses through the gaps of the bodies in front of her she saw nothing but a sea of faces: Africans and Europeans mingled together.

"Welcome!" A booming voice echoed around the room, silencing the guests who looked up in wonder. "Ladies and Gentlemen, to the grand opening of the Pharaoh Sekhemkhet Exhibition!"

The crowd murmured excitedly but clapped their hands demurely, turning to each other. Anabeth could not see who was introducing the exhibition, but she could see small glimpses of gold, which she assumed was the woman that Sekhemkhet had been beside. Beth wanted to judge the girl for her choice of dress but knew she had no right. Had she not done the very same thing in her choice?

"It is my great pleasure to introduce to you the heir and owner of this exhibit, who has so kindly lent it to us before it tours Europe: Akhenaten!"

The crowd once again began to clap and murmur, and Beth felt herself clapping alongside them. She could see little pieces of faces as Sekhemkhet took to the front of the stage. She could see the awe and surprise and, quite frankly, lust in people's eyes. And once again Beth felt the ugly creep of jealousy and possessiveness in her stomach. She wanted nothing more than to stand beside him and take his arm.

And yet, Beth knew it was irrational. Why should she feel this for a man who had completely ignored her for the past several weeks? She had been all but abandoned in this foreign country after he had called her his own. Sense was creeping up on Beth and she wasn't sure she liked the feelings it was eliciting.

"Good evening," Sekhemkhet began, his voice low and seductive, drawing his audience in as it had done with Anabeth. "Thank you for coming tonight. It is a great honour to see these artefacts being exhibited in their rightful place; in their home country. I hope you will feel as much joy looking upon the pieces, as I did when I learned that they had been found.

Mr Banks caught Anabeth's eye, standing forward in the crowd. He smiled at her reassuringly and she tried to smile back. How strange it was that the man had come here as a sort of prison guard and had ended up being her only source of support. He was a friend and yet she couldn't recall his first name.

"I must thank the museum for allowing us this elaborate party," Sekhemkhet continued. "And the Women's Auxiliary Board of Egypt for arranging the details. They have done a splendid job. Finally, I would like to thank the founder of the artefacts for their hard work and dedication. Unfortunately, he could not be here tonight, but in his stead, he sent his daughter."

Anabeth's mouth hung open in shock. Had he really snubbed her? What had happened to Sekhemkhet's assurance that Beth had found the tomb?

Mr Banks caught her eye again and tilted his head quizzically. Beth looked back at him for a moment before she realised what was wrong. Sekhemkhet had been speaking Arabic. Beth shouldn't be able to understand him.

Beth looked away quickly, turning back to the front.

"So, a warm thank you to Edward Brightbury; archaeologist extraordinaire." The crowd clapped once again, only now Beth could see the confusion in some of their eyes: not understanding anything besides the words Edward Brightbury. "Without further hesitation, I welcome you and ask you to enjoy."

The other man took to the front of the stage again. "The exhibit is available to view in all areas of the museum, though areas which are sectioned by red rope are off limits, I'm afraid. We will continue with music in the main hall for those who wish to remain."

There was light clapping again before Beth was ushered off the stage. Beth didn't see Sekhemkhet.

************

Anabeth moved as quickly as she could to the furthest corner of the museum. She breathed a sigh of relief once she was alone, she needed to just be by herself for a moment to consider her position. The room she found herself in was a small one and it helped that this part of the exhibit relied on light from the hallway -- it was dimmer, and more intimate. There were few artefacts in here and they were of no real consequence anyway.

She had felt so hopeful before, albeit alone. The prospect of being free had been so enticing when she was going to have Sekhemkhet by her side. In reality she hadn't had so much as a conversation with him in over three weeks. And what else did she have in Egypt besides him? She had no friends, nothing to occupy her. She was entirely reliant on her father's money and the generosity of others.

This is as much of a prison as England was, Anabeth thought, pacing slowly towards the window. She could feel a sort of bubble of panic rise in her throat. Is this all there is? Will I just be trading one prison for another forever?

"All alone?" A female voice startled Beth.

She lifted her head to find the woman in gold standing between herself and the only exit.

"Can I help you?" Beth asked, straightening her spine and facing the woman fully. She was aware that it was a defensive stance, but that was irrelevant. Something about this woman was trouble.

The woman smirked. "I don't think you can help anyone," the woman stepped towards the colourful jug on the pedestal beside her, tracing her finger around the rim. "Not even yourself."

"Are you threatening me?" Beth asked stupidly. There was a chill up her spine -- something about this woman was off.

The woman stopped smiling. "I would not waste the effort, chelb." Anabeth understood enough Arabic to know she had just been insulted. "Besides, I'd hardly be the goddess of protection," the woman looked at Anabeth and raised an eyebrow, "if I were to go around threatening mere humans."

Could she really be a goddess? Wadjet was the goddess of protection, Beth realised, often depicted as a snake. How fitting, Beth thought, smirking to herself, perhaps she is Wadjet after all.

"What do you want?" Beth asked, relaxing her position. Her head was still held high. There was more courage in her voice now she knew she was under no threat, which annoyed her.

Wadjet thought for a moment. "To protect you."

"How can you possibly protect me?" Anabeth replied. "There is no threat here other than you."

Wadjet moved towards Beth, her full hips swaying with each step. Her silk dress shimmered as she walked, and the serpentine effect was obvious. "You are a pretty little thing I can't deny that." Wadjet had reached Beth now. She was even more beautiful up close. "But," she continued, one delicate finger tracing down the side of Beth's face. "You are no Henutsen. I could tell from the moment I saw you. Which means that this charade can only lead to devastation."

Anabeth could feel Wadjet's breath on her face as she spoke. It was oddly intoxicating. "What do you mean?"

"He thinks you are Henutsen reincarnate but you know that," Wadjet smiled. "Unfortunately for you; you're not." Wadjet leaned in, her mouth beside Beth's ear. "Once he has discovered this you will be left with nothing. If you defile yourself with him your family will turn away from you and you will have nowhere to go."

Anabeth was shocked. Could the goddess of protection lie to hurt her? Was this woman even really the goddess of protection or was she lying about that, too? He had called her Henutsen. Beth had assumed it was a form of endearment -- that he saw parts of his true queen in her. Perhaps she had been wrong, though. Perhaps he truly believed she was Henutsen reincarnated. How disappointed he will be when he discovers the truth, Beth thought.

"Run while you still can, child," Wadjet had pulled away from Beth now and was heading for the door. "For all of our sakes."

************

It took a long time for Beth to leave that room. It wasn't until a few of the more inquisitive guests had made their way there that Beth finally made her way back to the main hall. It had a much livelier atmosphere than before -- there was music and dancing. It was clear that more than a few of the guests were intoxicated.

"Miss Brightbury!" Anabeth turned to see Peter hurrying towards her. "Your father has asked me to introduce you to a young man," Peter told her, pulling her by the elbow through the crowds.

Now is not the best time, Anabeth wanted to say, as she felt tears of anger stinging at her eyes. If Wadjet had been lying, then all was well. But Sekhemkhet had not come to see Anabeth at all. There were too many possibilities. Had Wadjet spoken to him? Convinced him that Anabeth was wrong for him? Had he tired of her already?

"Do you see him there?" Peter spoke directly into Beth's ear, distracting her from her train of thought. "The man beside the woman with the feathered hat?"

Anabeth did see him, but she also saw something else. Peter continued to speak but Beth didn't pay him any mind.

There was another man in the same group. A square jaw, covered by a short beard, a straight nose and sad-looking clear blue eyes. The sort of eyes a begging dog would have -- the sort of eyes that a woman would be unable to say no to. Except Lady Darnley, Beth thought, she probably hates dogs.

He had light brown hair, combed back and styled neatly. He was in a group of several men and women and yet he seemed to be the centre of attention.

Beth watched as they drew nearer and it seemed, even when he wasn't speaking, all eyes were on him. Even when someone else was talking, it was as though all speech was directed at him; everyone awaited his reaction and delighted in his words.

"Excuse me, Mr Berkeley, I'm so sorry to interrupt," Peter said and the man beside the father-hatted woman turned from the group without anyone else taking notice.

"Peter Carter! It's been too long," My Berkeley replied, shaking Peter's hand firmly.

"It has indeed. I'd like to introduce you to Anabeth Brightbury, Edward's daughter. I'm somewhat her ward on her stay here in Egypt." Peter laughed, but Beth still wasn't paying much attention. "Anabeth, this is George Berkeley, he's a budding politician, you know."

There was nothing the matter with George. He wasn't bad looking, he wasn't short. He looked like a pleasant person. He took her hand and held it gently, rather than trying to kiss her. He was exactly the sort of man her parents would want her to marry.

But the other man in the group was looking at her and she was blatantly staring right back. There was something piercing about his eyes. In the simplest terms, the man was stunningly handsome.

At some point, though Beth was entirely unsure when, Peter left her and George alone and they somehow merged with his group again. She could not tear her eyes from the stranger.

"I must say, I have little appreciation for the Akhenaten fellow," one man remarked, clearly speaking to the stranger who had caught her eye. "Making the full speech in Arabic was entirely ignorant. He could tell that we didn't understand. Wouldn't you agree, William?"

The stranger turned his head at, what Beth assumed, was his name. "Ah, yes, I suppose you have a point," William replied. His accent was American. Beth smiled. Her father would despise him. "Of course, you could argue that it is ignorant of us to be in his country without the faintest understanding of his language."

"Well you know him, don't you miss Brightbury?" George entered the conversation.

All eyes immediately turned to Beth. "We have spoken, yes," Anabeth could feel her face turning bright red under the scrutiny.

"Would you say he is a proud man?" The man who initiated the conversation asked. "He seems as though he would be overly difficult."

"I cannot say, I'm afraid. We spoke rarely and I had very little indication as to his character." Beth was unwilling to provide more information than that. Afterall, whom in the group would believe her if she told them who Akhenaten really was; a thousand year old Pharaoh come back to life after engaging in intercourse with her.

"A diplomatic answer if there ever was one," William smiled at her. "William Egerton," he introduced himself, holding his hand out to her.

"Anabeth Brightbury," she took his hand, returning his smile.

His eyebrows raised. "The founder?"

She laughed. "The founder's daughter."

"That's not what aunt Sophia said," William kept holding her hand and winked at her knowingly. He crossed the circle to stand beside her. "Would you like to dance?"

Anabeth simply nodded, completely disregarding George's possible desires to speak with her further.