Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (157 page)

‘Certainly. Rap on the door when you are ready. But don’t try my patience too long.’ Then he said, in a language I recognized as French, though it was slurred and oddly accented, ‘Let down your tresses, oh my beloved, that their perfumed splendour may be the only barrier between your ecstasy and mine.’

I believe I succeeded in concealing my surprise at this extremely personal comment, for I thought it better to pretend I had not understood. Yet a strange sensation ran through me – a tingling warmth, if there can be such a thing. The extraordinary powers of the man were not limited to those of the mind; his body was that of an athlete, and his voice – that remarkable, flexible, and sonorous instrument – could change as suddenly and as completely as could his appearance.

He left me then, and I did not delay in following his orders. Do not believe, dear Reader, that I would have acquiesced so meekly had I not had an ulterior motive. Little did the villain know he had played into my hands! It was a pity that I could only attain my ends by such a doubtful stratagem, but by ordering me to remove my garments he had given me an excuse to dispose of certain of those garments in a manner he could not expect. He had said he would not return until I summoned him, but not knowing whether he would keep to his word, I had to work quickly.

Removing my trousers, I unwound the flannel belt I always wear when in Egypt and tore off a strip. How often had my dear Emerson teased me about this article of clothing! It was an invaluable protection against catarrh, as was proved by the fact that I had never suffered from that complaint. (In fact, Emerson had never suffered from it, either, though he absolutely refused to wear a flannel belt. However, Emerson is a law unto himself.) The belt had proved useful on a number of occasions; now it might be my salvation. Fortunately I had purchased a new supply before leaving England, and the bright pink colour had not been faded by repeated washings.

It was with some reluctance that I removed from around my neck the chain from which hung my lapis scarab bearing the cartouche of Thutmose the Third. It had been Emerson’s bridal gift; to part with it now, when it was my only memento of him, was hard indeed. But my hands were firm as I knotted the chain onto the end of the flannel strip. How fitting it would be if the gift of marital affection should save me from a fate that is (supposed to be) worse than death.

Returning to the window with my bit of flannel, I extracted one of my hairpins. Though a good three inches in length, these devices were useless weapons because of their flexibility. However, this very quality was what I counted on now. Selecting the largest of the apertures in the shutter, I pushed the flannel and its scarab appendage into the hole as far as I could reach with my finger. The hairpin then came into play. There was a moment of suspense when the flannel jammed in the outer opening and would not move; after poking and prodding it, I finally felt it give way, and triumph filled me as I pushed the rest of the strip through and knotted the end to prevent it from falling out.

I felt certain the shutters covered a window that opened onto the open air. From that shutter now dangled a bright pink strip of flannel with a lapis scarab at its end. If, as I hoped, the window gave onto a public thoroughfare, someone was certain to notice my marker eventually.

I ripped the rest of the flannel into strips and knotted the ends together. Not even Sethos would notice that one strip was missing, and he could amuse himself by speculating on what I had meant to do with the cloth.

Once stripped down to my combinations – a one-piece, knee-length cotton garment trimmed with lace and little pink bows – I picked up the filmy objects Sethos had supplied. They were not quite so indecent as I had thought; the bodice was low-cut and sleeveless, but not translucent, for the fabric was covered with heavy embroidery and beadwork. But the trousers! There was enough fabric in them to have covered the tall windows in my drawing room at home, but they concealed very little. I put them on over my combinations.

‘Let down thy hair, oh my beloved …’ It was half-way down already. My hair is heavy and coarse, and the rough handling I had received had not improved the neatness of my coiffure. I had no intention of appearing to respond to Sethos’ impertinent request, particularly since I meant to retain my hairpins if I could. One never knows when a hairpin may come in handy. However, it was not easy to rearrange my tresses without the help of a comb or brush and I was still struggling with them when there was a rap on the door.

‘Oh, curse it,’ I said, quite as Emerson might have done.

The door opened and Sethos put his head through the curtain. He stepped aside; the bald-pated giant entered with another tray, this one loaded with plates and dishes.

Sethos looked me over and then remarked, coolly, ‘I hope you don’t mind my saying, Mrs Emerson, that the effect is not quite what I had expected. Never mind, it is a start. That unusual garment you are wearing is sufficiently form-fitting to assure me you are not concealing a pistol or a stiletto.’

Having arranged the dishes on the table, the giant retired. Scarcely had he vanished behind the curtain before a series of thuds and knocks broke out. ‘Don’t get your hopes up,’ said Sethos with a smile. ‘It is not a rescue party you hear, but my servant engaging in a bit of carpentry. I ordered a bar to be placed on this side of the door, as a token of my respectful intentions and my high esteem. Aren’t you going to thank me?’

‘What, thank my jailor for refraining from assaulting me?’

Sethos laughed and shook his head. ‘You are incomparable, my dear – Mrs Emerson. Please sit down and let us dine.’

He lifted a silver cover. The delicious aroma of chicken and spices reminded me that I was extremely hungry, my luncheon having been rudely interrupted. I would require all my strength in the hours to come; so I sat down on a cushion and helped myself. I refused wine, however.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Sethos, with one of his peculiar smiles. ‘I do not intend to weaken your resistance by rendering you intoxicated. It may take weeks, even months, but eventually you will learn to love me for myself.’

‘Months! You can’t keep me shut up in one room so long. I need exercise, fresh air–’

‘Never fear. This is only a temporary stopover. Tomorrow we leave for one of my country estates. I have prepared it especially for you and I know you will appreciate it. There are gardens filled with shade trees and exotic blooms, winding paths and crystal fountains, where you will be free to wander as you will.’

This was a piece of news, and no mistake! I should have expected it, but it cast a decided shadow over my hope of escape. I knew Emerson would find me sooner or later if I remained in Cairo; but even Emerson would find it difficult to search every inch of Egypt. Nor had Sethos said we were to remain in Egypt. His villa might be anywhere in the Near East – or the world!

The longer I could delay our departure, the better for me, but I could not think of any way of doing that. To pretend illness would not deceive Sethos; to pretend a sudden, overwhelming affection would be even less convincing, supposing I could bring myself to simulate that emotion. However, it would do no harm to simulate tolerance at least, and encourage him to talk in the hope that he might inadvertently betray some information I could use.

‘Who are you really?’ I asked. ‘Is this your true appearance?’

Sethos smiled. ‘That is another of the qualities I love in you, Amelia – I beg your pardon, Mrs Emerson. You are not subtle. Much as I yearn to confide in you, greatly as I burn to come to you as myself, caution compels me to preserve my incognito until we are truly united. This face you see is only one of a thousand I can assume if I wish. I am, if I may say so, a master in the art of disguise. Permit me the indulgence of boasting a little – of making myself appear admirable in the opinion of one I adore–’

‘Pray continue,’ I said, helping myself to a salad. ‘The subject interests me a great deal.’

‘But it is not a subject in which you could excel. You are my antithesis, direct where I am subtle, forthright where I am cunning and indirect. You go straight to your goal, banging people over the head with your parasol, and I glide as slyly and sinuously as a serpent. The art of disguise is essential in my business, not only for practical reasons but because it casts an aura of the supernatural over my actions. Many of my ignorant assistants believe I change my appearance by magical means. Whereas in reality it is only a matter of grease paint and hair dye, wigs and beards and costumes, and a more subtle yet equally important alteration of demeanour. Gestures, carriage, the tone of the voice – these change a man’s appearance more effectively than any physical trick. I can make myself an inch or two taller by means of special shoes and boots; but I make myself appear shorter by holding myself in a certain way. If you had examined the viscount with a critical measuring eye, you would have seen that he was taller than his stooping posture suggested; that his bowed shoulders were not so narrow as they seemed; that his hesitant speech and foolish mannerisms suggested a physical weakness his actual proportions did not support.’

‘But his eyes,’ I exclaimed – for I was genuinely fascinated. ‘Surely the priest of Dronkeh had black eyes; and Ramses assured me–’

‘Ramses has a great deal to learn,’ Sethos said. ‘There are ways of changing the colour of the eyes. Certain drugs enlarge the pupils. Paint applied to the eyelids and lashes make the iris appear darker or lighter, especially if one is fortunate enough to have eyes of an ambiguous shade between brown and grey. Someday I will show you my bag of tricks, Amelia; in each of my hideaways I have a laboratory fitted out with my equipment, including a few items I developed myself. It may amuse you to experiment with them; though in your case it would be difficult to conceal those sparkling, steely orbs or dim their brilliance …’

He gazed into them as he spoke, his voice dropping to a soft murmur.

‘I would rather hear rational discourse than empty compliments,’ I said – though I was conscious of a perceptible quickening of my pulse.

He drew back. ‘Forgive me. I will keep my word, though you make it very difficult … I will answer any questions you may have – except one.’

‘Your real identity, I suppose. Well, Mr Sethos, I have a dozen others. Why do you lead such a life? With your abilities you could succeed in any one of a number of lawful professions.’

Thoughtfully he replied, ‘Someday I will tell you my history, and then you will understand the motives that impelled me into this admittedly curious way of life. But one I may confess now. It is not for monetary gain alone that I rob the dead and the living. The finest objects I acquire never reach the sordid stalls of the marketplace. I am a lover of beauty; and the most beautiful objects I take, I keep for myself.’

His meaning was unmistakable, for he gazed again into my eyes with an expression of intense interest. I burst out laughing. ‘That is a very pretty speech, Mr Sethos, but I am afraid you have undermined your claim to be a connoisseur by abducting me. Emerson is the only man–’

‘Please do me the favour of refraining from mentioning that person every few sentences,’ he interrupted fiercely. ‘You are right, though; the professor and I are more alike than he would care to admit, and his appreciation of your charms is only one of the things we share.’

‘I can’t stop mentioning him, because he is constantly in my thoughts.’

His eyes fell. ‘You have the power to hurt me,’ he muttered. ‘Your laughter wounded me deeply.’

‘I really don’t think I owe you an apology, Mr Sethos. If I have wounded your
amour-propre
, you have done me a more serious injury. This is the first time I have been abducted by a man who claimed to have been moved to madness by my beauty, so I don’t know the correct way to behave.’

My little attempt at humour was not well received. Sethos looked down at me. ‘How could you have missed the attentions I paid you?’ he demanded tragically. ‘How could you have supposed, as you apparently did, that I intended to harm you? Why, scarcely a day has passed since your return to Egypt that I have not managed to speak to you or at least admire you from afar. Not only was I the three individuals you mentioned – I was a tourist, a snake-charmer in the Muski, even a digger in your own excavations. Everything I have done was designed to demonstrate my deep passion–’

‘Such as whisking Ramses off the top of the Great Pyramid?’

‘That was a scheme that went awry,’ Sethos admitted. ‘I was – as you have probably guessed – the American gentleman who spoke to you atop the pyramid. My intention was to stage a daring rescue of that appalling child and restore him to your arms. However, I was foiled by Donald Fraser, curse him.’

‘I see. And on another occasion, when your horse ran away with Ramses–’

‘The same rascal interfered to spoil my plans.’ Sethos’ lips curled back in a wolfish snarl. ‘He at least will have occasion to regret his interference. I had determined to slaughter his even more rascally brother the moment I learned he had fired a shot that might have struck you. Ronald was a tiresome fellow anyway, and so stupidly single-minded, I was afraid he would continue to endanger you by making further attempts on Donald. So I did away with him, and it gave me a particular satisfaction to incriminate Donald when I did so. Surely you must have understood why I went to the trouble of carrying his body all that distance and laying it at your feet? I returned the communion vessels because, in a newspaper interview I read, you expressed your disapprobation of that particular theft. I sent you flowers – you know the meaning of red roses in the language of love – and a golden ring bearing my name! How could you have overlooked their significance?’

‘Good Gad,’ I exclaimed. ‘So that is what was troubling Emerson! Poor dear man, he must have thought–’

‘Emerson again!’ Sethos flung up his hands.

My poor dear Emerson! (I continued my soliloquy in my thoughts, since it did not seem sensible to irritate my companion further.) Emerson had correctly interpreted the signs I had missed. It was not surprising that I should have done so, for my inherent modesty had clouded my normally clear intelligence. My thoughts were in a whirl, for a new and terrible thought had invaded my calm. Was it possible that Emerson believed – that he suspected – that he entertained for a single instant the slightest doubt of the wholehearted sincerity of my devotion? Was he – in short – jealous?