The cursed earring continued to elude me, but I endeavored, as is my habit, to look on the bright side. Emerson’s kin were exemplary human beings: his brother Walter, a true scholar and gentle man; Walter’s wife, my close friend Evelyn; and their fine brood of children, in which category I must include the husband of their daughter Lia. David, a talented artist and trained Egyptologist, and Ramses’s best friend, was the grandson of our dear departed reis Abdullah. We had missed him terribly the year before, in both his professional and personal capacities.

However, there was Emerson’s other brother.

The door burst open and Emerson staggered in. Observing my position, he let out a bellow of alarm, seized me round the waist, and lifted me to my feet – and off them. “Did you fall, sweetheart? The cursed boat is bouncing like a rubber ball. Speak to me, Peabody.”

I was touched by his use of my maiden name, which he employs as a term of approbation and endearment, and by his tender concern, but discomfort compelled me to utter a mild complaint. “I cannot breathe, Emerson, you are squeezing me too tightly.”

“Oh.” Emerson removed one arm and caught hold of the doorframe.

“I dropped an earring,” I explained, after drawing a long breath. “Pray put me down, my dear. I don’t want to lose it, it was one of the pair you gave me last Christmas.”

“I will find it.” Emerson deposited me on the bed and began crawling round the floor. “Stay still or you will brain yourself. Ah – here you are, my love.”

The gem winked and sparkled in his big brown hand. As a general rule I do not care for diamonds – an antique scarab or a string of mummy beads is much more to my taste – but Emerson had selected the stones and designed the settings. Having observed that other women seemed to like diamonds – it had only taken him thirty years to notice this – he had decided I should have some, too.