Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (123 page)

The word was repeated, just as distinctly, by the same lips. The closed eyes snapped open. The irises were a bright, fiery blue – not the deep sapphire of Emerson’s eyes, but the identical shade of the turquoise used so often in ancient Egyptian jewellery.

I sat back on my heels. ‘Nonsense,’ I said. ‘You will find high cheekbones and blue eyes among the Berber tribesmen to the north. A splendid race of men, true sons of the desert; it is a pity to find one of them in such a state of degradation–’

‘But it would be an even greater pity, would it not, to find a member of the superior British race in that condition?’ The words, couched in the purest English, came from the fallen man. His lips writhed in a sardonic smile, and he went on, ‘I regret to disappoint you, madam. I thank you for your attentions. And I beg you will allow me to return to my gutter in peace.’

He attempted to rise, but sank back, swooning. I took advantage of his helpless state to pluck the filthy turban and the underlying brown felt
libdeh
(cap) from his head. No wonder he had resisted my attempts to remove them! I had known Berbers with blue or grey eyes, but never one with hair of that peculiar red-gold that is the hallmark of the northern peoples. Strands of silver intertwined with the gold. Yet as I examined the sun-browned countenance, further darkened (as Ramses had said) by a layer of grime, I realized it was that of a young man. What terrible tragedy had rendered him prematurely grey? Or was it the result of dissipation and drugs?

My cogitations were rudely interrupted by Emerson, who had concluded his discussion with Abu and appeared in excellent spirits. This is often the case with Emerson after he has scolded someone.

‘So Ramses’ hero is an Englishman? A Scot, rather, I think. He would not thank you for the error, Ramses.’ He bent over the young man. ‘You had better return with us to the hotel, my friend.’

The gentleman – for such he must be, from his educated accent – glared malevolently and impartially upon us all. ‘If you wish to repay me for any fancied service, you can do so by leaving me at liberty to do as I like.’

‘I am in complete sympathy with your desire for privacy and independence,’ Emerson said. ‘I do not wish to reward you; I wish to offer you a position.’

‘What?’ Astonishment smoothed the scowl from the young man’s brow and gave his countenance an ingenuous look that made me yearn to assist him. What he needed was a woman’s firm and compassionate care, and I was about to say so when Emerson nudged me with such force I was caught off balance – squatting being a position I never assume with ease – and toppled gently onto my side. While I was endeavouring to reassume an upright position, Emerson continued.

‘I have been searching for a muscular and dependable person to take charge of my son. My name is Emerson, and this lady–’

‘I know who you are, sir.’

‘Then you may also know that Mrs Emerson is my professional associate as well as my wife. (Do get up, Amelia, you look very unprofessional squirming on the ground like an overturned beetle.) She has not the time to give Ramses the attention he requires–’

‘I would say that Master Ramses requires a good deal of attention, if the events of this evening are typical.’ A faint smile accompanied this comment.

‘This evening’s events are not …’ Emerson stopped. ‘Er – be that as it may, we are leaving tomorrow morning for Dahshoor, in order to begin our excavations. You would do us a favour if you would consent to take the position, for which you have already proved yourself so admirably qualified.’

I fancy the young man’s surprise at this offer was scarcely less than my own. His response was a sardonic laugh. ‘You are out of your head, Professor. Would you entrust your son to a renegade, a beggar, a smoker of opium, a hashish-eater?’

‘As to that,’ I began, but did not finish the sentence because I saw Emerson’s elbow jut out, and my balance was still precarious.

‘So long as you refrain from indulging in drugs while on duty, your habits are not my concern,’ said Emerson.

‘Well … Why not? It would be a new experience, at any rate.’

‘Then let us return to the hotel,’ I said, rising.

‘I will not go with you,’ said the young man firmly.

‘In heaven’s name, why not?’

‘Because … I choose not to,’ was the sullen reply.

‘You may choose to go to Shepheard’s or to the devil,’ snapped Emerson, whose patience was at an end. ‘Do I understand that you have refused my offer, Mr –’

‘Call me Nemo.’

Emerson raised his eyebrows. Before he could comment, the young man continued, ‘I do not refuse. But I have certain personal matters to attend to before I leave Cairo. I will be at the hotel tomorrow – at what hour?’

‘Seven
A.M
.’

‘Seven,’ Nemo repeated. ‘Until then, Professor.’

Disdaining my offer of a supporting hand, he rose and walked away without a backward glance.

We returned to our waiting carriage. Several other equipages were also waiting; the one Kalenischeff had driven was among them. When our vehicle was underway, Emerson said, ‘Well, Peabody?’

‘Well, Emerson?’

‘I am awaiting your remarks concerning our new servant. I am surprised you have not expressed your opinion before this.’

‘Why, really, Emerson, I consider this an excellent idea. I would have suggested it myself had you not anticipated me.’

‘Oh, indeed,’ said Emerson.

‘We have an obligation,’ I continued, ‘to assist unfortunate fellow creatures, particularly those of our own nation. I don’t doubt that the young man has met some crushing disappointment – in love, most probably – which has reduced him to his present plight. I hope you will not think me boastful if I assert that my advice and experience have often proved beneficial in such cases.’

‘Bah,’ said Emerson. ‘My motives are less altruistic, Amelia; I simply want someone to watch over Ramses while we are – while we are otherwise occupied. I know full well the futility of asking you not to attempt to reform the young man’s habits, but I beg you will not irritate him to such an extent that he quits our service. That is all I have to say on the subject, and there is no need for you to comment. Well, Ramses, you are unusually silent; what do you think?’

Ramses cleared his throat. ‘Thank you, Papa. I was waiting for someone to ask my opinion, for after all I am the one most immediately concerned. Aside from the fact that I do not feel myself in need of a nursemaid of either sex–’

‘You were certainly in need of someone or something tonight,’ I said critically. ‘How could you be so careless as to allow yourself to be abducted practically under our noses?’

Ramses opened his mouth to reply; Emerson, who knew his son’s tendency toward unnecessary loquacity as well as I did, replied for him. ‘From what I have been able to ascertain, from Ramses himself and from Abu, the thing was rather neatly done. It was not the guides originally assigned to Ramses who carried him off. Abu questioned these fellows after I reported that Ramses was missing, and they told him they had been dismissed by an American gentleman who said he was a member of our party. An extravagant amount of baksheesh removed any doubts they may have had, nor would they be inclined to question the command of an effendi.’

‘But that is an astonishing development, Emerson,’ I exclaimed. ‘I had assumed this was a simple, vulgar attempt at extracting money, or possibly a trick of Kalenischeff’s, to render us impotent while he carries out the nefarious scheme in which he is presently engaged – whatever that may be.’

‘Neither is likely, Peabody. Kalenischeff knows better than to interfere with
me
.’

His white teeth closed on the last word as if he were biting into Kalenischeff’s jugular, and I was forced to admit that his reasoning was convincing.

‘Then who could it have been? Who would have designs on Ramses, or on … Good Gad, Emerson!’

Emerson raised his hand. ‘Please, Peabody. Don’t say it.’

‘Who else could it have been?’ I cried. ‘Who else but that genius of crime, the Master Criminal?’

I see no sense in repeating the conversation that ensued. Emerson’s remarks were incoherent in the extreme, and he never allowed me to complete a sentence. I presume Ramses attempted to interject his opinions, since he usually did, but he made no headway. Emerson was still fuming when the carriage drew up before the hotel, and I abandoned the discussion, since it would have been vulgar to go on shouting at one another as we passed through the lobby.

The safragi on duty in the corridor outside our rooms informed us that a number of parcels had been delivered during our absence. Emerson nodded and flipped the fellow a coin. ‘It will be the merchandise I ordered this afternoon,’ he said. ‘At least one thing has gone right today.’

The parcels were stacked in a corner. Atop the pile sat the cat Bastet, straight and alert, as if on guard. In fact, she was useful to us in that capacity, since the hotel servants were decidedly in awe of her. Her resemblance to the hunting cats depicted in ancient tomb paintings and her doglike devotion to her young master had convinced the superstitious fellows that she was not an ordinary feline.

She and Ramses greeted one another affectionately, but when he offered her the scraps of chicken he had brought, she refused the treat, politely but decidedly.

‘Curious,’ said Ramses. ‘Very curious.’

I was forced to agree. Ordinarily the cat Bastet was passionately fond of chicken. ‘Could there be something wrong with the food?’ I asked uneasily. ‘Poisoned, or drugged?’

‘If there had been anything wrong with it, we would all be writhing in agony or comatose by now,’ snarled Emerson. ‘I have had enough melodrama tonight; I can endure no more. Ramses, go to bed. Amelia–’

‘Yes, Ramses should retire at once, since we must make an early departure. In view of what happened this evening, Ramses, you had better leave your door open.’

Emerson turned a reproachful look on me. ‘My dear Peabody,’ he began.

‘I see no help for it, Emerson.’

‘Bah,’ said Emerson. ‘Yes, very well. You should sleep soundly tonight, Ramses, after your adventures. Very soundly. If you should waken and hear – er – hear anything at all, pay no attention.’

‘Anything, Papa?’

‘Anything, my boy. Er – Papa will attend to it, whatever it is.’

‘Yes, Papa. But if I were to hear you or Mama cry out for help –’

This innocent question made Emerson blush like a schoolboy. I was amused but not inclined to intervene; as the Scripture so eloquently puts it, he had dug a pit into the midst whereof he had fallen; and it was up to him to climb out of it.

‘Papa will explain,’ I said. ‘I must just step out for a moment. There is a matter I must attend to.’

The flush on Emerson’s bronzed cheeks turned from the scarlet of embarrassment to the crimson of rising suspicion. ‘What matter?’ he demanded.

‘I will be back shortly.’

‘Peabody, I absolutely forbid …’ My expression warned Emerson of the error of this approach. ‘I
request
that you refrain from interfering in matters that are none of your concern. The hour is late. You cannot wake people up in the middle of the night to lecture them about their personal affairs.’

‘I had intended to speak to Miss Debenham on the morrow, Emerson. It was your decision to leave Cairo at once – made, I might add, without the courtesy of consulting me – that forced this expedient upon me.’

I slipped out before he could reply.

‘The safragi outside Miss Debenham’s suite informed me that she had not yet returned, so I went downstairs to search for her in the lobby and on the terrace. It was not so late as I had supposed; our evening had been so fraught with interesting incidents that it seemed to have lasted longer than was actually the case. The terrace was crowded with guests sipping refreshments and watching the jugglers and snake charmers performing on the street, but Miss Debenham was not among them. I thought I saw a flutter of saffron cloth among the entertainers, but when I looked over the rail, there was no sign of the renegade Englishman. I concluded that my eyes had deceived me. Saffron turbans, though uncommon, were not unique to that individual.

It was with a sense of deep frustration that I finally decided to abandon my quest for the time being. There was no way of knowing when the pair would return, or if indeed they would return that night. Kalenischeff had once told me in the course of that rude encounter I mentioned earlier, that he had a pied-à-terre in Cairo. He might have taken the girl there.

This thought made me all the more determined to warn Miss Debenham of the moral and spiritual dangers that threatened her. I was equally determined to have a quiet talk with Kalenischeff. I felt certain that the proper mixture of persuasion and intimidation would convince him to confide in me, and the events of the evening made it imperative that I learn all I could about the mysterious individual who was Kalenischeff’s employer. I had left Egypt the previous year with the firm determination of bringing this miscreant to justice. His attempt to abduct Ramses proved beyond a doubt that he was equally determined to revenge himself on me and my family. It was no longer only a question of justice; it was a question of self-defence. Why Emerson failed to see this I could not imagine.

I proceeded to the writing room, where I inscribed two letters. The first, to Kalenischeff, was brief. I merely requested the pleasure of an interview at the earliest possible moment, adding that it would be useless for him to deny my request since I was determined to see him. The letter to Miss Debenham took longer, since I had to identify myself and list my qualifications for presuming to address her. I added a brief account of Kalenischeff’s unsavoury history, assured Miss Debenham of my (and Emerson’s) willingness to assist her, and ended with a powerful and moving appeal to reconsider her actions and halt her downward progress on the path that could only lead to shame and sorrow.

After leaving the letters with the safragis, I sought my own room with a satisfying sense of duty done. I had accomplished all I could; I could accomplish no more. Not at the moment, at any rate.