By Victoria Holt
For hundreds of years the tombs of the Pharaos have been haunted by means of a dangerous curse. And while eminent archaeologists have died mysteriously, Judith Osmond was once yes that it used to be the curse at paintings. Then, in a single day, her existence replaced. there has been an unforeseen inheritance. Then Tybalt, a tender archaeologist and the guy she cherished, requested her to marry him. yet Tybalt deliberate a honeymoon amid the tombs of the Pharoahs, and unexpectedly it seemed as though the curse of the kings had come to hang-out Judith . . .
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Extra info for Curse of the Kings
I used to be afraid to pass it after dark because I imagined that at night Lavinia stepped out of it and walked about the house. I used to think that one day I would pass it and find the frame empty because she had failed to get back into it in time. I was such a fanciful child, said Dorcas, who was very practical herself and could not understand my strange imaginings. “Every mortal man has sins,” declared Mr. Pegger. ” “Not Lavinia,” I said. He leaned on his spade and scratched his white mane of hair.
I found it during the hot July afternoon. The house was quiet for neither Dorcas, Alison, nor the cook and the two maids were anywhere to be seen. ” and pretending to himself—as there was no one else to pretend to—that he had been working on his sermon all the time. I was wrong, at least about Dorcas and Alison; they were most certainly in one of their bedrooms discussing how best they could tell the child—myself—for now that she was fourteen years old they believed she should no longer be kept in the dark.
Well, you wouldn’t need the same size for little Mrs. ” This was a plot of mine to bring Sir Ralph into the conversation. The sins of his neighbors was, I think, Mr. Pegger’s favorite subject, and since everything about Sir Ralph was bigger than that belonging to anyone else, so were his sins. I found Sir Ralph, our Squire, fascinating. I was excited when he passed on the road either in his carriage or on one of his thoroughbreds. I would bob a little curtsy—as taught by Dorcas—and he would nod and raise a hand in a quick imperious kind of gesture and for a moment those heavy lidded eyes would be on me.