Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (66 page)

Whereupon he departed, walking with slow, stately strides. When I saw him open the door of our room I started to expostulate; then I realised he was taking the most direct route, through our room and out the window. I only hoped he would not step on the cat or smash my toilette articles as he proceeded on his single-minded path.

‘It really astonishes me that the male sex is so completely devoid of a sense of logic,’ I said. ‘There is little danger of an attack on the tomb by daylight; Emerson might have waited until we had settled other, more pressing, matters. But, as usual, everything is left to me. Go back to Arthur’s room, my dear. I will send someone to you with breakfast shortly.’

‘But,’ Mary began, her eyes widening. ‘But how – ’

‘Leave that to me,’ I said.

I found Mr Vandergelt with Ahmed. The cook was squatting on the floor completely surrounded by the bundles that held his worldly possessions, including his prized cooking pots. His wrinkled face serene, he was staring pensively at the ceiling while Vandergelt waved fistfuls of American greenbacks at him.

When I left the kitchen, Ahmed was at work. I cannot claim all the credit; Ahmed’s exaggerated disinterest had betrayed the fact that the sight of the money was beginning to affect him, and the salary he eventually agreed to accept was truly princely. But I flatter myself that my passionate appeals to honour, loyalty, and friendship had their effect.

Gracefully I disclaimed the compliments Mr Vandergelt lavished on me, and asked him to carry the good news to Lady Baskerville. Then at last I was free to strip off my work-stained garments. I was relieved to find that the water jars in the bathroom were full. Much as I would have liked to prolong my immersion in the cool water, I made as much haste as I could, for although the immediate crisis had been resolved I felt sure other problems awaited me. I was half dressed when Emerson climbed in through the window and, without so much as a glance in my direction, walked into the bathroom and slammed the door.

I knew from his face that his mission had been unsuccessful. Though I yearned to comfort him I could not linger – nor, indeed, was he in any mood to accept condolences just then.

I went first to the dining room, where a waiter was arranging a tray of steaming dishes on the sideboard, and ordered him to prepare a tray and follow me to Arthur’s room. When I entered, Mary rose from her chair with a cry of surprise.

‘Have you convinced the servants to remain, then?’

‘The strike is settled,’ I replied wittily. ‘Good morning, Sister.’

The nun nodded benignly at me. Her round rosy face was as fresh as if she had had eight hours’ sleep, and I observed there was not a drop of perspiration on her brow, despite her muffling garments. While she applied herself to her well-deserved breakfast, I examined my patient.

I saw at once that Mary’s optimism was justified. The young man’s face was still sunken, his eyes tightly closed; but his pulse was distinctly stronger. ‘He cannot continue without nourishment, however,’ I mused. ‘Perhaps some broth. I will have Ahmed boil a chicken. There is nothing as strengthening as chicken broth.’

‘The doctor suggested brandy,’ Mary said.

‘The worst possible thing. Mary, go to your room and rest. If you go on this way you will fall ill yourself, and then what will I do?’

This argument halted the girl’s objections. When she had gone, with a last lingering look at the still face of her lover, I sat down beside the bed. ‘Sister, I must speak frankly.’

Again the nun nodded and beamed at me, but did not speak.

‘Are you dumb?’ I inquired sharply. ‘Answer, if you please.’

The good woman’s placid brow grew troubled. ‘
Quoi?
’ she enquired.

‘Oh, dear,’ I sighed. ‘I suppose you speak only French. A fine help you will be if Arthur awakens and tries to tell us what happened. Ah, well, we must do the best we can.’

So, in the plainest possible terms, I explained the situation. From the startled look on the nun’s face I saw that she had believed her patient to be the victim of an accident. No one had mentioned attempted murder, and alarm replaced her surprise as I pointed out that the murderer might return to try again.

‘Alors,’
I concluded,
‘vous comprenez bien, ma soeur,
that the young man must not be left alone for a single instant. Guard yourself as well. I do not think you are in danger, but it is possible that the villain may try to drug you so he can reach his victim. Touch no food that I have not brought you with my own hands.’

‘Ah, mon Dieu,’
the sister exclaimed, reaching for her rosary.
‘Mais quel contretemps!’

‘I could not have put it better myself. But you will not abandon us in our need?’

After a moment of struggle, the nun bowed her head. ‘We are all in the hands of God,’ she remarked. ‘I will pray.’

‘An excellent idea, so far as it goes,’ I replied. ‘But I suggest you also keep your eyes open. Do not be alarmed, Sister, I am about to arrange for a guard. You can trust him completely.’

On this errand I went, via my window, to the building where our men were housed. Several of them were lounging on the grass in carefree attitudes. At the sight of me they precipitately vanished inside the house. Abdullah alone remained, his back against a palm tree, a cigarette between his fingers.

‘I am unworthy of your confidence, Sitt,’ he murmured, as I sat down beside him. ‘I have failed you.’

‘It is not your fault, Abdullah; the circumstances are extraordinary I promise you, before many hours have passed Emerson and I will settle this case as we settled the other you know of, and will convince the men that these tragedies were also caused by human evil. I come now to ask a favour. Will the men help with the work at the house? I want someone to watch under the window of the sick man and protect him and the holy woman in black.’

Abdullah assured me that the men would be glad to relieve their guilty consciences by assisting me in any way that did not directly involve the accursed tomb, and I found myself able to choose between a dozen volunteers. I selected Daoud, one of Abdullah’s many nephews, and introduced him to the sister. With my mind at ease on that point, I could at last go to my breakfast.

Emerson was already at the table, attacking his bacon and eggs furiously. Karl had returned; sitting as far as possible from Emerson, he ate in timid little bites, his moustache drooping. I deduced that he had felt the sharp edge of Emerson’s tongue, and felt sorry for him. Vandergelt, always the gentleman, rose to hold a chair for me.

‘Things are sure in a mess,’ he said. ‘I don’t know how much longer we can go on this way. How is the patient today, Mrs Amelia?’

‘No change,’ I replied, helping myself to tea and toast. ‘I doubt that he will ever speak again, poor fellow. Where is Lady Baskerville?’

Scarcely had I spoken when the lady swept into the room. She was in deshabille – grey chiffon ruffles, sweeping flounces, her hair flowing around her shoulders. Seeing my astonished gaze, she had the grace to blush.

‘Forgive my attire; my stupid maid has run away and I am too nervous to be alone. What are we to do? The situation is dreadful.’

‘Not at all,’ I replied, eating my toast. ‘Sit down, Lady Baskerville, and have some breakfast. You will feel better when you have eaten.’

‘Impossible!’ Lady Baskerville paced up and down wringing her hands. She required only an armful of weedy flowers to make a somewhat mature Ophelia. Karl and Vandergelt followed her, trying to calm her. Finally she allowed herself to be helped to a chair.

‘I cannot eat a mouthful,’ she declared. ‘How is poor Mr Milverton – Lord Baskerville, I suppose I should say; I cannot take it all in. I tried to see him earlier, but was denied, most officiously. Mary had the effrontery to tell me, Radcliffe, that it was by your orders.’

‘I feared it would distress you,’ he replied coolly. ‘Rest assured that everything possible is being done. It is little enough, I am sorry to say. Don’t you agree, Amelia?’

‘He is dying,’ I said bluntly. ‘I doubt that he will ever regain consciousness.’

‘Another tragedy!’ Lady Baskerville wrung her long white hands, a gesture that displayed their slender beauty. ‘I can endure no more. Radcliffe, much as I regret the decision, I must bow to fate. The expedition is cancelled. I want the tomb closed, today.’

I dropped my spoon. ‘You can’t do that! Within a week it will be stripped by robbers.’

‘What do I care for robbers or tombs?’ Lady Baskerville cried. ‘What are ancient relics compared with human life? Two men have died, one lies near death – ’

‘Three men,’ Emerson said quietly. ‘Or do you not consider Hassan the watchman a human being? He was not much of a man, to be sure, but if he were the only victim I would still feel obliged to bring his murderer to justice. I intend to do that, Lady Baskerville, and I also intend to finish excavating the tomb.’

Lady Baskerville’s jaw dropped. ‘You can’t do that, Radcliffe. I hired you and I can – ’

‘I think not,’ Emerson replied. ‘You begged me to take on the job and told me, if I recall correctly, that his lordship left funds with which to carry on the work. Furthermore, I have Grebaut’s order appointing me archaeologist in charge. Oh, it may involve a long, complex legal battle, when all is said and done, but’ – and his eyes sparkled wickedly – ‘but I enjoy battles, legal or otherwise.’

Lady Baskerville took a deep breath. Her bosom swelled to alarming proportions. Vandergelt leaped to his feet. ‘Goldurn you, Emerson, don’t you talk to the lady like that.’

‘Keep out of this, Vandergelt,’ Emerson said. ‘It is none of your affair.’

‘You just bet it is.’ Vandergelt moved to Lady Baskerville’s side. ‘I have asked the lady to be my wife, and she has done me the honour to accept.’

‘A bit sudden, is it not?’ I inquired, spreading marmalade on another piece of toast (my busy day and night had given me quite an appetite). ‘With your husband dead less than a month – ’

‘Naturally we will not announce our engagement until the proper time,’ Vandergelt said in shocked tones. ‘I wouldn’t have told you folks if the situation had not been so perilous. This poor lady needs a protector, and Cyrus Vandergelt, U.S.A., is privileged to take that part. My dear, I think you ought to leave this cursed place and move to the hotel.’

‘I will obey your slightest wish, Cyrus,’ the lady murmured submissively. ‘But you must come with me. I cannot flee, leaving you in danger.’

‘That’s right, Vandergelt, desert the sinking ship,’ Emerson said.

A look of embarrassment spread over the American’s rugged features. ‘Now you know I’m not about to do that. No, sir; Cyrus Vandergelt is no four-flusher.’

‘But Cyrus Vandergelt is a dedicated archaeology buff,’ said Emerson mockingly. ‘Admit it, Vandergelt; you cannot tear yourself away until you know what lies beyond that wall at the end of the passageway. What is it to be, wedded bliss or Egyptology?’

I smiled quietly to myself, seeing the agonised indecision that twisted the American’s features. The hesitation did not flatter his promised bride (though I confess that, faced with a similar dilemma, Emerson might have hesitated too).

Lady Baskerville saw the signs of struggle on her fiancé’s face and was too wise in the ways of the male sex to force him into a reluctant sacrifice. ‘If that is how you feel, Cyrus, of course you must stay on,’ she said. ‘Forgive me. I was distraught. I am better now.’

She applied a dainty kerchief to her eyes. Vandergelt patted her shoulder distractedly. Then his face brightened.

‘I have it! There is no need to make such a choice. At a time like this, convention must yield to necessity. What do you say, my dear girl – will you defy the world and be mine at once? We can be married in Luxor, and I will then have the right to be at your side day and – er – that is, at all times and in all places.’

‘Oh, Cyrus,’ Lady Baskerville exclaimed. ‘This is so sudden. I should not … and yet …’

‘Congratulations,’ I said, seeing that she was about to yield. ‘I trust you will excuse us if we do not attend the ceremony. I expect to be occupied with a mummy at about that time.’

With a sudden rush Lady Baskerville left her chair and flung herself at my feet. ‘Do not be harsh with me, Mrs Emerson! Conventional minds may condemn me; but I had hoped that
you
would be the first to understand. I am so alone! Will you, a sister woman, abandon me because of an old-fashioned, senseless rule?’

Snatching my hands, toast and all, in hers, she bowed her head.

Either the woman was a consummate actress or she was genuinely distressed. Only a heart as hard as granite could be unmoved.

‘Now, Lady Baskerville, you must not take on so,’ I said. ‘You are getting marmalade all over your sleeve.’

‘I will not rise until you say you understand and condone my decision,’ was the murmured response from my lap, where the lady’s head had sunk.

‘I do, I do. Please rise. I will be your matron of honour, or your flower girl, or I will give you away, whatever you wish; only stand up.’

Vandergelt added his appeals, and Lady Baskerville consented to restore my hands and my crumbling toast. As she rose I caught the eye of Karl von Bork, who was watching in openmouthed astonishment. Shaking his head, he murmured low,
‘Die Engländer! Niemals werde ich sie verstehen!’

‘Thank you,’ Lady Baskerville sighed. ‘You are a true woman, Mrs Emerson.’

‘That’s right,’ Vandergelt added. ‘You’re a brick, Mrs Amelia. I’d never have proposed this if matters weren’t so doggoned desperate.’

The door burst open and Madame Berengeria billowed in. Today she was enveloped in a tattered cotton wrapper and her wig was not in evidence. Her wispy hair, which I saw for the first time, was almost pure white. Swaying, she scanned the room with bloodshot eyes.

‘A person could starve to death,’ she muttered. ‘Insolent servants – wretched household – where is the food? I require…. Ah, there you are!’ Her eyes focused on my husband, who pushed his chair back from the table and sat poised, ready for retreat. ‘There you are, Tut – Thutmosis, my lover!’