Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (158 page)

Impossible, my heart cried out. Surely Emerson could no more question my affection than I could doubt his. But if he did – if he could – then my disappearance must raise doubts … It was a thought more terrible than any fear of imminent annihilation. I believe my lips actually quivered for a moment. But only for a moment; the necessity of escape became more pressing than ever.

Incredibly, I had almost forgotten my position in the interest of the conversation, and another fear wormed its way into my mind. The man had a superhuman power of fascination. I had been chatting with him easily, fearlessly. Could time bring about the result he confidently expected?

Again my heart responded with a fervent ‘Impossible!’ But a doubt lingered …

‘Tell me,’ I said resolutely, ‘about the Fraser brothers. How did you become involved with Ronald?’

‘Through normal business channels,’ Sethos said readily. ‘I have in my employ several of the most reliable assassins in Cairo. He approached one of them and his request was, in due course, passed on to me. He had hired Kalenischeff (whose reputation was known to everyone except the naive officials of the police department) to distract Miss Debenham when she came to Cairo bent on tracking down Donald Fraser and convincing him to tell the truth about Ronald. Ronald could not permit that; only his brother’s woolly-witted loyalty stood between him and prison, disgrace and destitution. And he had good reason to fear that Donald might yield to the persuasion of the young and wealthy woman he secretly adored. Hence Kalenischeff, who led the girl astray instead of helping her.

‘Kalenischeff, however, was not trustworthy. I had dismissed him from my employ some months earlier for that very reason. It would have been more discreet of me to have had him killed, but I am not so prone to needless slaughter as you suppose. He was in no position to betray my identity – I take care that no one shall be in that position – but if he had told all he knew, he could have crippled some of my operations.

‘I kept an eye on him, therefore; and when I heard from Ronald Fraser that Kalenischeff was about to betray both of us, I was happy to accede to his request that Kalenischeff be disposed of. The wretch had decided to make a clean sweep, collect as much money as possible, and leave Egypt for good. He knew the Department of Antiquities would pay a tidy sum for information about me.’

‘And Miss Debenham offered an even larger sum if he would help her find Donald and tell Donald of his brother’s treachery.’

‘Precisely. The girl proved resistant to the drug we used and made the mistake of running away. As I told you, she was never in real danger; the weak muscles of a woman – even yours, my dear – could not have struck a blow like the one that destroyed Kalenischeff.’

‘But Donald – poor Donald! You must clear him. That was an unworthy act, Mr Sethos.’

‘If it will please you,’ Sethos said softly. ‘I will see to it that Fraser goes free.’ He reached for my hand. I pulled it away. He shrugged and sighed and smiled, and leaned back.

‘Not even a touch of the hand in return for my confessing to murder? So be it. I told you I was a patient man.

‘The rest of the business should be clear to you now. Ronald never knew my real identity. As Viscount Everly I encouraged him to join my little group because I wanted to watch the fellow. I knew, of course, that Miss Debenham had fled to you, just as I knew you had taken Donald Fraser under your wing. I was not surprised, since it is your habit to adopt every unfortunate innocent you come across – by force, if necessary.’

‘It is the duty of a Christian to help the unfortunate.’

‘It is a Moslem’s duty too. Strange, how the so-called great religions all insist on the same weak virtues. Even the ancient Egyptians boasted of having given food to the hungry and clothing to the naked.’

‘It is a sublime and universal truth,’ I replied. ‘What you view as weakness is the quality that makes us one with the Divine. “And the
greatest
of these is love.” Or, I hastily amended, ‘as the word is sometimes translated, charity.’

‘A poor, feeble translation,’ said Sethos softly. His eyes held mine with hypnotic power, I felt myself sinking deep into their velvety depths. Then he lowered his gaze, and I let out a quick, involuntary sigh. His lashes were as long and thick and curling as those of a pretty girl. I wondered if they were his own.

‘I have always avoided the softer sentiments,’ Sethos went on reflectively. ‘My feelings for you came on me like a hurricane, a great natural force I was powerless to resist. I would have resisted them if I could. Even now I have a strange foreboding–’

‘You have them too!’ I exclaimed.

His lashes lifted; laughter warmed his brown – his grey – his chameleon eyes, before they darkened into sombre pensiveness. ‘I used to view such premonitions as the expression of an instinct developed by those who have reason to fear danger. But now I wonder if there is not some higher fate that guides our destinies. Not a benevolent deity; no one who studies the cruelty of man can believe in a god who permits such atrocities. Only a vast, impersonal something, with a perverted sense of humour! It would be strange, would it not, if the solitary weakness of a lifetime should be my downfall? I sense that this may be so. You could redeem me, Amelia – you and you alone. Only imagine what I might do for the world if my powers were turned to good instead of evil. Help me, Amelia. Give me your hand – lead me out of darkness into light…’

It was a thrilling moment. I felt that at long last I understood this strange, brilliant, and tormented man. I was moved – nay, I was inspired. My lips parted. My breast heaved. My hand reached out …

Our fingertips had not quite touched when the sounds of violence made both of us start from our seats. The curtains swayed wildly as the door opened and slammed back against the wall. There was only one person of my acquaintance who opened a door in that manner! I pressed my hand to my palpitating bosom.

It was Emerson! It was he! But what a sight he was! His hair stood on end, his best dress shirt was in shreds; one sleeve had been ripped away from the seam and huddled on his forearm like a ragged gauntlet. His face was disfigured by reddening patches, and one eye was half-closed. Blood dripped from his scraped knuckles, and in either hand he held a naked sword. Never in my life had I beheld a spectacle that moved me more! I felt that my pounding heart must burst the confines of my breast.

Before the curtain had fallen back into place, Emerson whirled round. He let out a startled remark, dropped one of the swords, and slammed the door shut but not before a sinuous and tawny form had streaked through the opening. Emerson dropped the bar into place just as the panels began to reverberate under a fierce assault. Then he turned again. His gaze went straight to me.

‘Amelia!’ he exclaimed. ‘For God’s sake, put on some clothes!’

‘Emerson,’ I replied, with equal passion. ‘Watch out!’

Emerson ducked and a heavy silver bowl crashed into the door, skimming his dishevelled head. The cat Bastet sauntered toward Sethos. Her loud rasping purr blended with the dying echoes of the sound of the bowl striking the door. Sethos staggered as the cat twined affectionately around his ankles – she was, as I believe I have mentioned, a large and muscular animal. Agilely he leaped away, and the cat Bastet, deeply affronted, headed for the table and the stuffed chicken.

After a casual glance around to assure himself that Sethos had no other missiles convenient to hand, Emerson looked again at me. ‘Has he harmed you, Peabody? Has he dared … Has he … Good Gad, Peabody, seeing you in that outrageous costume has filled me with apprehensions I scarcely–’

‘Have no fear, Emerson! He has not … He did not …’

‘Ah!’ Emerson’s chest swelled, completing the ruin of his best shirt. He shook the tatters of his sleeve from his arm and flexed his muscles. ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘I will only tear
one
of his legs off.’

He started toward Sethos, who retreated as delicately as Bastet might have done, his hands hanging limp and loosely flexed.

‘Emerson,’ I said.

‘Please don’t distract me, Peabody.’

‘He is unarmed, Emerson. Your scimitar–’

‘Scimitar? Oh.’ Emerson stared curiously at the weapon. ‘I took it from that fellow out there,’ he explained. ‘Never saw such a hard head on a human being. He was up and at me again almost at once. I expect, though, that they have overpowered him by this time.’

Indeed, the pounding on the door had ceased. ‘You did not come alone then?’ I asked.

‘Certainly not. Ramses–’

‘Emerson!’

‘And a regiment of police officers.’ He transferred his gaze to Sethos. ‘Your evil career is ended, you swine. But I shan’t admit the police until I have dealt with you. I promised myself that satisfaction, and I think I deserve it.’

Sethos straightened to his full height. He was not as tall as Emerson, or as brawny, but they made a magnificent pair as they faced one another in mutual animosity.

‘Good, Professor,’ he said in a low, drawling voice. ‘I promise myself some satisfaction too, for I have yearned to come to grips with you. Give me the other sword, and we’ll fight for her like men.’

‘Emerson,’ I cried in some anxiety, for I knew my husband’s temperament only too well. ‘Emerson, you don’t know how to fence!’

‘No, I don’t,’ Emerson admitted. ‘But you know, Peabody, there can’t be much to it – whacking at one another in turn, and–’

‘Emerson, I insist … No. No, my dearest Emerson– I beg you, I implore you…’

A pleased smile spread over Emerson’s face. ‘Well, Peabody, since you put it that way…’ And to my horror he flung the sword away. It skipped across the smooth marble floor in a series of musical ringing sounds. Even before it struck the floor, Sethos moved – not toward that sword, but toward the first, which Emerson had dropped at the door. Snatching it up, he swung on Emerson.

‘Now, Professor, we are more evenly matched,’ he snarled. ‘I know something of boxing, but I prefer not to meet
you
in that arena. Pick up the sword – I give you that much.’

Emerson shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t be much use to me,’ he remarked. ‘However …’ And with the catlike quickness he could sometimes summon, he snatched the wine decanter and brought it crashing down on the edge of the table. Bastet, who had been eating the chicken, soared up with a yowl of protest; the decanter shattered; and the table collapsed, spilling food and broken glass. The air glittered with crystal shards, like drops of clear hail.

Emerson ripped the silken covering from the couch and wrapped it round his left arm. ‘Now then,’ he said. ‘Come on, you bas– excuse me, Peabody – you villain.’

They circled one another in taut silence. Sethos lunged. With a quick twist of his body, Emerson stepped inside the other man’s guard and jabbed at his face with the broken bottle. Sethos jumped back. His next move was a slash, from left to right; Emerson beat it back with a blow across Sethos’ forearm. The blade whistled past his side. Sethos retreated again, giving Emerson a chance to snatch up the silver tray. It served as a makeshift shield; with its aid he took the offensive, striking the sword back each time it approached, and jabbing with the decanter.

In my opinion there is never any excuse for violence. It is the last resort of people and nations who are too stupid to think of a sensible way of settling their differences. The sight of two pugilists beating one another to a pulp sickens me; the idea of little boys being taught to ‘fight like men’ revolts and repels me. Was I therefore filled with disgust at the bloody battle that raged between these two men of intellect and ability?

No.

The sight of Emerson’s muscles rippling under his bronzed skin – of the ferocious smile that bared his strong white teeth – of the grace and vigour of his movements – roused an answering joyful ferocity in my bosom. My breath came in gasps, my cheeks burned. For a few moments I was not a civilized, sensible woman; I was a primitive female crouched in her cave as two savage male beasts fought to possess her.

It was a most curious and interesting sensation.

A wicked feint and even quicker riposte struck the makeshift shield aside. Sethos’ blade bit deep into Emerson’s arm. He gave a grunt of annoyance rather than pain and lunged forward. Only Sethos’ sideways turn of the head saved his eyes; the glass scored a row of ragged cuts down his cheek. Wounded and in need of a respite, the combatants broke apart, both dripping blood, both panting, both glaring.

‘This is ridiculous!’ I cried.

Neither man paid the least attention, but my fit of temporary insanity had ended abruptly at the sight of the blood spurting from Emerson’s wound. Masculine pride is all very well, and I hoped Emerson was enjoying himself, but I was cursed if I was going to stand by and see him cut to ribbons just so he could have the satisfaction of dying to defend my honour.

I ran toward the door. Emerson did not take his eyes off Sethos, but he saw me. ‘Peabody,’ he gasped. ‘If you open – that door – I will – I will – oof!’ I heard Sethos’ blade ring on the silver platter. I snatched up the scimitar Emerson had flung away and turned for an appraisal of the situation.

It was far from reassuring. Even as I turned, the final blow was struck. Too late, I thought wildly – too late to admit the helpers waiting outside, too late even to reach my stricken spouse and stand side by side with him, sword in hand! Sethos’ blade came down on the platter again and knocked it out of Emerson’s grasp. As the sword hung motionless from the impact for a split second, Emerson dropped the decanter and caught his opponent’s arm in both hands.

They stood frozen in matching strength, Sethos’ efforts to free his arm and Emerson’s efforts to hold it producing a temporary equilibrium. Slowly Sethos’ arm bent. The sword quivered in his straining hand. Beads of sweat broke out on Emerson’s brow. The rose-pink wrappings on his arm were crimson now, but his grip never weakened.

Then the end came. The sword fell from Sethos’ fingers, and Emerson’s hand, slippery with blood, lost its hold. Quick as ever, Emerson reached for the fallen sword. Sethos, just as quick, leaped back against the wall. He looked at me. ‘Amelia – farewell!’ he cried – and vanished.