A deep, expectant silence descended on the small bar. Carter stood rigidly in the centre of the room. He quickly realised he was being observed intently by nearly every person in the lounge. For a moment he felt an extreme sense of embarrassment. But then he thought about all the dignitaries he had dealt with in the past – the meetings, the dinners, the society parties, the tours. Dealing with the general public had been a chore, but it had become second nature. He spoke up. “I am new to these parts. Came to look for Colonel… er… Mr Shaw. Believe he lives near here. Any of you know him?”
The recognition in the faces about him signalled immediately that he was in the right place. But there was something else. The publican came out from behind the bar and approached him. “Mr Carter, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Thought as much. Stayin’ upstairs, right?”
“Yes.”
Carter sat back down in his chair.
“Owner told me.”
He leaned over to look Carter in the eyes. “You knew Colonel Lawrence, then?”
“Er… Yes.” Carter was unsure whether he should admit knowing the name but it was too late now.
“And where would that be, sir?”
“Egypt.”
“Egypt? Egypt!” The man looked about at everyone in the bar. There were murmurings from the crowd about him. He looked back at Carter. Like an expectant policeman at an interrogation, he wiped his hand across his lips. “By any chance, sir… are you… could you be that Mr Carter, sir?”
Carter was flattered with the recognition – and in such a parochial place.
“Well, I don’t know about ‘that Mr Carter,’ but I am Howard Carter, yes.” The room went into an uproar of shouting. All at once the door to the public bar was flung open and a multitude of people came forward en masse, each eager and intent on grasping him by the hand and, after gripping it firmly with strong farmers’ muscles, shaking it vigorously. Carter found himself at a loss for words, and in considerable pain.
In some discomfort he might have been, but his new-found acquaintances, in their gratitude for having someone of such notoriety within their midst, embraced him enthusiastically. They drew the line at offering him a drink, however. Welcome he was, but this did not mandate accompanying generosity. Rather, they were expecting the famous visitor to declare the bar open for their pleasure. To their forthcoming disappointment, Carter did nothing of the kind.
A red-faced stranger recently arrived from the other bar looked closely into his eyes, at the same time pushing an empty beer mug suggestively across the table before him. There was a moment’s silence before the man spoke. “Tell me, sir. How did y’ stop the curse from getting to yer?”
Carter did not show his irritation at the question. In his response he was quite matter of fact. “There was no curse…” Then he resumed his line of enquiry. “…Tell me, my good man, where may I find Colonel Lawrence?”
Carter’s correspondent of the moment was set back on his heels. “Lawrence? Who?”
“T. E. Lawrence. Colonel Lawrence. Do you know of him? Where I can find him? It is of the utmost importance.”
“Ah.”
There was some indication of understanding in this expletive, Carter thought.
“Ah?”
The man rattled his empty beer mug on the table but there was no reaction from the visitor. Silence descended on the room once more.
The publican spoke up. “Colonel Lawrence. Otherwise known in these parts as ‘Mr Shaw’, right?”
“Yes.” Carter lit up. “Yes… Shaw. I believe he has assumed that name.” The beer mug began to chatter on the table again. Carter was close on the brink of one of his patience precipices. He took a deep breath. “Where may I find him?”
“Well, sir. Don’t rightly know how to say this, you ’avin’ come all this way to see ’im an’, an’ all…” The publican began to stammer.
“Well? Well? Come on, man. What’s troubling you?”
The publican waved to the onlookers to disperse. He took a seat opposite. “Well… It’s like this, sir… ’E’s dead, sir… Fell off ’is motorcycle – accident some say, some say not – about two weeks ago… Died in ’ospital… Funeral was Tuesday before last, at Saint Nick’s, very near ’is ’ouse. ’Twas in all the papers. Thought you’d ’ve seen it.”
Carter was stunned. “I… I was travelling.”
“Sorry, sir.”
“You are sure we are talking about the same man?”
“Oh yes, sir. ’Fraid so, sir. Colonel Lawrence. Late of the Arab Bureau… and the ‘Raf ’.”
There was no doubt. Carter felt crestfallen. He had had such hopes for his grand solution. He had identified able help and embarked on securing the assistance he required. It would have been absolutely the right chemistry. All for nought.
An excerpt from Tutankhamun Uncovered, by Michael J. Marfleet.
Copyright 2009-2010 Michael J. Marfleet. All rights reserved.
Published by Apex Publishing Ltd.
