Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (147 page)

‘You did hear me say that,’ I acknowledged, wondering what had ever possessed me to say it in his hearing.

‘I am ready to be informed,’ said Ramses, his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands, and his great eyes fixed on me.

‘I cannot deny the justice of the request,’ I said. ‘Emerson–’

‘What?’ Emerson started violently. ‘Now, Peabody–’

‘Surely this is a matter more suitable for a father than a mother.’

‘Yes, but–’

‘I will leave you to it, then.’ I rose.

‘Just a moment, Papa,’ Ramses said eagerly. ‘Allow me to get out paper and pencil. I would like to take a few notes.’

As I strolled toward the kitchen I heard Emerson begin speaking. His voice was too low to enable me to make out the words, but I thought he said something about amoebae.

The kitchen was only a cooking fire in a ring of stones, with the cook’s pots and pans and jars set here and there in seeming confusion; but Hamid knew where everything was. He was a cousin of Abdullah’s, and I must say his appearance would not have inspired confidence in a prospective employer, for he was cadaverously thin, with sad, dropping moustaches. In this case the prospective employer would have been misled, for Hamid’s cooking was first-rate. He looked up from the pot he was stirring and told me dinner was ready. I persuaded him to put it off for a while; if Emerson was beginning with one-celled life forms, it would probably take him quite some time to work up to the hominids. Delighted at my visit, the men gathered around and we had a refreshing gossip.

Before long, however, Hamid’s moustaches drooped even more visibly and his comments became brusque and sullen. I gathered that, like all great chefs, even those who wear turbans instead of tall white hats, he would do something unpleasant to the food if it were not served on time. I therefore told him we would dine, and went to collect the diners.

Emerson had vanished. Ramses was scribbling busily by the light of a candle.

‘Is the lecture over?’ I inquired.

Ramses nodded. ‘For the moment, yes. I had not finished asking questions, but Papa informed me he had no more to say on the subject.’

‘Do you consider that you have been properly educated?’

‘I confess,’ said Ramses, ‘that I find myself unable to visualize certain of the procedures. They sound, if not physically impossible, very tiring. I asked Papa if he could draw a diagram or two, but he said no, he could not. Perhaps you–’

‘No,’ I said.

‘Papa did mention that the subject was to be avoided in conversation and that our particular cultural mores view it as taboo. I find this rather curious, since to the best of my knowledge other societies do not share this attitude. Relative cultural values–’

‘Ramses,’ I said. ‘The topic of relative cultural values must be regarded at this time as a digression. Can you not turn your attention to more immediate questions?’

‘For example, Mama?’

‘For example, dinner. Hamid is fetching it now and he will be seriously displeased if we let the food get cold. Fetch Mr Fraser and Miss Debenham, if you please, and I will call your papa.’

I found Emerson on the roof, brooding silently in the starlight like a life-sized sphinx. I congratulated him on his efficient handling of a complex subject, to which he replied, ‘I beg you will not mention it again, Amelia. Ill-natured persons might view any comment whatever as tantamount to rubbing it in.’

Dinner was not a social success. Ramses kept glancing at his notes and occasionally adding a word or two, a process that made Emerson extremely nervous. Enid ignored Donald, addressing most of her remarks to Ramses. The
káwurmeh
was excellent, though a trifle overseasoned.

I asked Donald why he had not made his presence known to his brother. ‘For surely,’ I added, ‘you must have heard his voice.’

‘I heard him,’ Donald answered softly.

‘How could you resist such an affectionate appeal?’

‘You can hardly suppose I would expend so much effort in avoiding him and then change my mind.’

Enid said, ostentatiously directing her comment to Ramses, ‘Cowardice, you know, is not always of the physical variety. Refusal to confront the truth is a form of moral cowardice, which to me is even worse.’

Statements of this nature were not designed to improve the mood of the gathering.

Nor was Emerson any help. As a rule, after a successful day of excavation he is full of cheerful talk about his accomplishments and his plans for the future. I attributed his silence to resentment – unreasonable and unfair in the extreme, since it was Ramses who introduced the subject in the first place, and I only acted as any mother would have done. My attempts to woo Emerson from his bad humour by questioning him about the temple ruins won no response.

As might have been expected, Ramses was quite ready to talk, and I must say his conversation was a curious blend of his normal Egyptological interests and his new infatuation. He kept inviting Enid to come to his room so he could show her his Egyptian grammar.

At the end of the meal Emerson announced abruptly that he intended to go to Cairo next day. ‘It is the day of rest for the men, so I won’t be losing any more time than I would in any case. I count on you, Mr Fraser, to watch over Ramses and the ladies–’

‘The ladies!’ I exclaimed. ‘I hope you don’t include
me
in that category, Emerson. Naturally I intend to accompany you.’

‘I phrased it badly, Peabody. Pray excuse me. I had hoped you would also remain here, on guard. You are worth a thousand men, you know.’

This flagrant attempt at flattery was so unlike Emerson, I could only stare in silent astonishment. Donald said, ‘As to that, Professor, you may be sure I will do my duty with or without Mrs Emerson’s assistance. Even a moral coward may be willing to die in defence of the weak and helpless.’

This statement infuriated both Enid and Ramses. Enid suggested that they retire, to inspect the grammar, and they went off together. Bastet followed them, but not before she had indicated her loyalty to her young master by biting Donald on the leg.

It was agreed that we should spend the night at the house, in order to be ready to catch the early train. Emerson applied himself to writing up his professional journal, while I labelled and sorted the artifacts that had been found. Sometimes, though, when I looked up from my work, I saw him sitting with idle hands staring at the paper in front of him, as if his mind had wandered far from his work. I went to bed early. Emerson did not come up with me, nor did he rouse me, as he usually did, when he joined me later.

The zenith was still dark when I was awakened by a surreptitious sound below, but the faint pallor of the eastern sky showed that dawn was not far distant. Carefully I crawled to the edge of the roof and looked down. The sound I had heard was that of the door being softly opened and closed. I expected to see a diminutive form creeping out on some unimaginable errand, but the shadow that stole toward the gate was that of a man. I had no difficulty in realizing it must be Donald.

I did not waken Emerson. When roused suddenly from profound slumber he makes loud noises and strikes people. I took only a moment to slip into the garments I had laid out ready for the morning, and to seize my trusty parasol. I did not take my belt of tools, for I feared their rattling would arouse Emerson and make the surreptitious pursuit I contemplated impossible. As it was, the parasol caught my foot as I was climbing down the wall and caused me to fall rather heavily. Luckily the earthen surface muffled the thud. I reminded myself that in future, should such a descent become necessary, I had better drop the parasol down before descending myself.

Donald had left the gate slightly ajar. Slipping through it, I looked in vain for him, and feared he had escaped me. However, I had some idea where he might be going. As I dressed I had remembered a statement of his brother’s the day before. That rambling, sentimental speech had not been so pointless as I had believed; for in reminiscing about childhood days, Ronald had suggested an assignation, hoping Donald would overhear. He had obviously known Donald was among us, even as he had been aware of Enid’s presence. How he had come by this information was a matter of some concern, but I did not waste time speculating on it. With any luck, I would soon be in a position to ask him point-blank, for I felt sure Donald was going to meet his brother on the reedy bank of the canal, near the place where the latter had been shooting.

The sky lightened and the rim of the rising sun peeped over the hills. I followed the path along the dike that skirted the village, for I assumed that Donald would want to avoid being seen. Sounds of activity and the acrid smell of woodsmoke from the cooking fires were already to be discerned, for, like all primitive people, the villagers rose with the sun.

I had not gone far when I saw the young man ahead of me. A few others were abroad by then, and at first glance one might have taken him for an industrious farmer heading for the fields. It was obvious that he thought he had left the house unobserved, for he did not look back. However, I took the precaution of concealing myself behind a small donkey loaded with sugar cane, which was going in the same direction.

Finally Donald left the path and plunged into the lush green growth between the canal and the river. I had to abandon my donkey, but the reeds and coarse grass sheltered me so long as I moved with my back bent over. At last Donald stopped. I crept forward and crouched behind a clump of weeds.

Donald made no attempt to conceal himself. On the contrary, he straightened to his full height and removed his turban. The sun’s brazen orb had lifted full above the horizon and its rays edged his form with a rim of gold. His sturdy shape, the sharp outline of his profile, and above all the red-gold of his hair rendered him a prominent object.

I could not help recalling Emerson’s insistence on the red hair of the god Set. Had I been misled after all by a consummate actor simulating the role of an innocent, wronged young Englishman? Impossible! And yet – what if Sethos were not one brother, but both? His seemingly uncanny ability to accomplish more than an ordinary mortal could achieve would thus be explained.

Yet the other half of the persona (if my latest theory was indeed correct) failed to make an appearance. Donald was as puzzled by his brother’s absence as was I. He scratched his head and looked from side to side.

A violent agitation in the reeds made him turn. I was not the source of the disturbance; it came from some distance to my rear. However, it had the unhappy effect of turning his eye in my direction, and the screen of weeds proved too frail a barrier for concealment. In two long strides he had reached my hiding place and plucked me out of it. He had not expected to see me. Astonishment contorted his face, and his hand fell from my collar.

‘Mrs Emerson! What the devil are you doing here?’

‘I might ask you the same thing,’ I replied, tucking my waist back into the band of my skirt. ‘At least I might if I did not know the answer. Your brother’s message was heard and understood by me. However, it appears that he has been delayed. What was the hour of the rendezvous?’

‘Sunrise,’ Donald replied. ‘That was the hour at which we were accustomed to go to the marsh to shoot. Please go back, Mrs Emerson. If he wants to speak privately with me, he won’t make his presence known so long as you are here.’

I was about to acquiesce, or appear to – for of course I had no intention of leaving until I had heard what the brothers had to say to one another. Before I could so much as nod, a disconcerting thing happened. Something whizzed through the air a few inches over my head with an angry buzzing sound. A split second later I heard the sound of the explosion. A second and third shot followed.

With a stifled cry Donald clapped his hand to his head and collapsed. So startled was I by this untoward event that I failed to move quickly enough, and I was borne to the ground by the weight of Donald’s body.

The ground was soft, but the impact drove the breath from my lungs, and when I attempted to free myself from the dead weight upon me I was unable to move. I hoped the figure of speech was only that, and not a description of fact, but the utter inertness of his limbs aroused the direst forebodings. Nor was my apprehension relieved by the sensation of something wet and sticky trickling down my neck. I felt no pain, so I knew the blood must be Donald’s.

I was trying to turn him over when I heard the rustling of foliage. Someone was approaching! I feared it was the murderer, coming to ascertain whether his foul deed had been accomplished, and I struggled to free myself. Then the weight holding me down was removed, and I heard a voice cry out in extreme agitation.

‘Donald! My dearest – my darling – speak to me! Oh God, he is dead, he is slain!’

I raised myself to a sitting position. Enid sat on the ground, all unaware of the mud that soaked her skirt. With the strength of love and desperation she had lifted the unconscious man so that his head lay on her breast. Her blouse and her little hands were dabbled with his blood, which was flowing copiously from a wound on his forehead.

‘Put him down at once, you ninny,’ I said.

For all the attention she paid me, I might not have been there at all. She went on moaning and showering kisses on his tumbled hair.

I was still short of breath but I forced myself to crawl toward them. ‘Lower his head, Enid,’ I ordered. ‘You ought not to have lifted him.’

‘He is dead,’ Enid cried repetitiously. ‘Dead – and it is all my fault. Now he will never know how I loved him!’

Donald’s eyes flew open. ‘Say it again, Enid!’

Joy and relief, shame and confusion stained her lovely, tear-streaked face with a glory as of sunrise. ‘I–I–’ she began.

‘Say no more,’ Donald exclaimed. With an agility that belied his encrimsoned visage, he freed himself from her embrace, and took her into his. She made but a feeble attempt to resist; his masterful manner overcame her scruples, and when I left them – as I did almost at once – I had no doubt that he would prevail. I also had no doubt but that my lecture on the subject of firmness had had the desired effect, and I congratulated myself on bringing this romantic confusion to a satisfactory end.