Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (9 page)

‘Did you pinch yourself?’ Evelyn inquired seriously.

‘I had not time to pinch myself,’ I said, pacing angrily up and down. ‘You see the torn netting – ’

‘I believe you fought a gallant fight with the bed sheets and the netting,’ Evelyn said. ‘Real objects and those seen in dreams blend into one another – ’

I let out a loud exclamation. Evelyn looked alarmed, fearing she had offended me; but it was not her disbelief that had prompted my cry. Bending over, I picked up from the floor the hard object that my bare instep had painfully pressed upon. In silence I held it out for Evelyn’s inspection.

It was a small ornament, about an inch long, made of bluegreen faience, in the shape of the hawk god, Horus – the kind of ornament that often hangs on necklaces worn by the ancient Egyptian dead.

I was more determined than ever to leave Cairo. Of course I did not believe in ghosts. No; some malignant human agent had been at work in the moonlit room, and that worried me a good deal more than ghosts. I thought immediately of Alberto as a possible culprit, but there really seemed no reason why he should undertake such a bizarre trick. His was not the type of the murderer; he was vicious, but weak. And what would it profit him to murder either Evelyn or myself?

A criminal of another kind might hope to profit, however, and I came to the conclusion that my visitor had been a would-be thief, a little more imaginative than his fellows, who hoped by his imitation of an ancient Egyptian to confound a wakeful victim long enough to effect his escape. It was a rather ingenious idea, really; I almost wished I could meet the inventive burglar.

I decided not to summon the police. The Egyptian police are perfectly useless, and I had not seen the man’s face closely enough to identify him, even supposing that the authorities could track one man through the teeming streets of Cairo. The man would not return; he had found me wakeful and threatening, and he would look for easier prey.

Having come to this conclusion, I was somewhat easier in my mind, so I explained it all to Evelyn, hoping to calm her nerves. She agreed with my deductions, but I think she still half believed I had been dreaming.

I did take the precaution of investigating Alberto’s activities. I was unable to discover where he had been staying. There are hundreds of small inns in Cairo, and presumably he had used one of these, for he certainly had not been observed in any of the European hotels. I did learn, however, that a man of his description had taken a ticket on the morning train for Alexandria, and I decided that we could dismiss Alberto from our thoughts.

Walter was not so easy to dismiss. He called next morning, as early as was decently possible. Evelyn refused to see him. I understood, and commended, her motives; the less she saw of him, the easier the eventual parting would be. Not knowing her true feelings, Walter naturally misunderstood. I assured him that physically she was recovered and then informed him she could not receive visitors. What else could he assume but that she did not want to see
him
? He even went so far as to ask whether it was some act of his that had brought on her fainting fit the night before. I assured him that this was not so, but the poor lad was unconvinced. Looking like a wan Byronic hero, he asked me to say goodbye to Evelyn for him. He and his brother were leaving next day for their dig.

I felt so sorry for the young fellow I almost blurted out part of the truth; but I knew I had no right to violate Evelyn’s confidence. So I went upstairs, to console the other half of the pair of heartbroken lovers, and a tedious business it was too, when a little common sense on both parts would have settled the matter to the satisfaction of all.

With Michael’s assistance I contrived to hurry the boat crew. Michael’s newborn devotion was complete; he did everything he could to assist us, although at times I think he shared the opinion of the men – that I was an interfering, illogical female. One of my acquaintances at Shepheard’s had informed me I had made an error in selecting a Christian as my dragoman, for the Copts are not accepted as readily as coreligionists by Moslem crews and captains. However, Reis Hassan and Michael seemed to get on well enough, and the preparations proceeded apace. The piano was moved into the saloon, and the curtains were hung; they looked very handsome. The crew began to straggle in from their home villages. I sent Travers off to England, and saw her go with no regrets.

We were very busy during those days, shopping for more supplies and visiting Michael, where we played with the little girl and practised our Arabic on the ladies of the household; having the piano tuned, paying final visits to Gizeh (I went in the Great Pyramid again, but Evelyn would not), going to the museum several more times, and making calls on the British authorities. I found another of my father’s old acquaintances in the finance ministry; he scolded me for not having called earlier so that he could have the opportunity of entertaining me. He was very kind; so much so, that I began to feel uncomfortable at the way his eyes examined me. Finally he burst out,

‘My dear Miss Amelia, you really have changed; are you aware of how much you have changed? The air of Egypt must agree with you; you seem much younger than you did when I last saw you in Sussex.’

I was wearing a dress Evelyn had selected for me, a mustard-yellow foulard trimmed in green, with draped skirts.

‘Fine feathers, my dear sir,’ I said briskly. ‘They are becoming even to elderly hens. Now, I wonder if you could help me – ’

I had come, of course, to find out about Evelyn’s grandfather. I could see that my friend was surprised at my interest, but he was too much of a gentleman to ask the cause. He informed me that word of the earl’s death had reached him within the past fortnight. He knew no details, only the bare fact; it was not a subject of consuming interest to him. I was inhibited because I could not ask the questions I needed to ask without betraying Evelyn’s secret. I did not want her identity to become known in Egypt, since we proposed to spend the rest of the winter there. So I had to go away with my curiosity partially unsatisfied.

However, I was able to meet Major – now Sir Evelyn – Baring, the consul general and British agent, who came into the office as I was leaving it. He reminded me of my brothers. Solid British respectability lay upon him like a coating of dust. His neat moustache, his gold-rimmed pincenez, the rounded configuration of his impeccably garbed form, all spoke of his reliability, capability, and dullness. However, he had done an admirable job of trying to restore financial stability to a country heavily in debt, and even when I met him he was known to be the chief power in Egypt. He was faultlessly courteous to me, assuring me of his willingness to be of assistance in any possible way. He had known my father, he said, by reputation. I was beginning to get an image of my dear papa sitting quietly in the centre of a web whose strands extended all over the globe.

We planned to leave on the Friday. It was on the Thursday evening that our visitor arrived, and conversation with him made clear several points that had hitherto, been cloudy – and raised new problems not so easily solved.

We were in the lounge; I had insisted we go down. Evelyn had been pensive and sad all day, brooding about her grandfather and, I suspected, about the thought of Walter speeding southward away from her. The Emersons did not hire even a small dahabeeyah; Walter had explained that they rented space on a steamer which carried their supplies, and that they slept on deck with the crew, rolled in their blankets. I thought of my delicate Evelyn living in such conditions and could not wholly regret the loss of Walter.

We were both tired, having been occupied all day with such last-minute details as always occur when one prepares for a journey; and I believe I was dozing just a little when an exclamation from Evelyn aroused me. For a moment I thought we were about to have a repetition of the evening of Alberto’s appearance. Evelyn had risen to her feet and was staring toward the door. Her expression was not so much one of alarm, however, as of disbelief; and when I turned to see the cause of her amazement, I beheld a young gentleman coming quickly toward us, a broad smile on his face and his hand extended in greeting.

He seemed for a moment as if he would embrace her. Propriety prevailed; but he took her limp hand in both his big brown ones and wrung it enthusiastically.

‘Evelyn! My dear girl! You cannot imagine the relief, the pleasure…. How could you frighten me so?’

‘And you cannot imagine my surprise,’ Evelyn exclaimed. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

‘Following you, of course, what other reason could I have? I could not rest while I was in doubt as to your safety. But we forget ourselves, Evelyn.’ He turned to me with the same broad smile. ‘I need not ask; this must be Miss Peabody. The kindly, the noble, the greathearted Miss Peabody, to whom I owe my dear cousin’s recovery. Oh, yes I know all! I visited the British consul in Rome; that is how I traced you here. And knowing what that gentleman did not, of the circumstances that had brought Evelyn to Rome – no, Cousin, we will not speak of them, not now or ever again; but knowing of them I am able to give Miss Peabody’s conduct the credit it deserves. My dear Miss Peabody! Excuse me, but I cannot restrain my enthusiasm; I am an enthusiastic fellow!’

Seizing my hand, he wrung it as thoroughly as he had wrung Evelyn’s, beaming like a younger edition of the immortal Pickwick all the while.

‘Really, sir,’ I said. ‘I am quite overwhelmed – ’

‘I know, I know.’ Dropping my hand, the young gentleman burst into the jolliest peal of laughter imaginable. ‘I do overwhelm people. I can’t help it. Please sit down, ladies, so that I may do so; then we will have a pleasant talk.’

‘Perhaps you might even consider introducing yourself,’ I suggested, tenderly massaging my fingers.

‘Forgive me, Amelia,’ Evelyn exclaimed. ‘Let me present my cousin, Mr Lucas Hayes.’

‘
I
will let you; whether
he
will be silent long enough to be presented, I don’t know.’ I looked keenly at the young man, who was smiling broadly, undisturbed by my sharpness. ‘But I fancy it is no longer Mr Hayes. Should I not say “your lordship”?’

A shadow clouded Evelyn’s face. The new earl leaned over and patted her hand.

‘
You
will say Lucas, I hope, Miss Peabody. I feel I know you so well! And it may be painful for Evelyn to be reminded of her loss. I see the news has reached you.’

‘We only learned of it a few days ago,’ Evelyn said. ‘I had tried to prepare myself, but…. Please tell me about it, Lucas. I want to hear everything.’

‘You are sure you wish to?’

‘Oh, yes. I must hear every detail, even if it is painful to me; and although I know I should not, I cannot help hoping that he forgave me, at the end … that he had time for one kind word, one message….’

She leaned forward, her hands clasped, her blue eyes misty with tears. She looked very pretty and appealing; the young earl’s face reflected his admiration

‘Evelyn, I am sure he felt kindness, even though…. But I will tell you all. Only let me marshal my thoughts.’

While he marshalled them I had leisure to study him with a curiosity I made no attempt to conceal. He was a tall, broad-shouldered young chap, dressed with an elegance that verged on foppishness. His patent leather boots shone like glass; his waistcoat was embroidered with rosebuds. A huge diamond glittered in the midst of an immense expanse of snowy shirt front, and his trousers were so close-fitting that when he sat down I expected something to rip. The candid cheerfulness of his face was very English, but his swarthy complexion and large dark eyes betrayed his father’s nationality. I looked then at his hands. They were well shaped, if rather large and brown, and were as well tended as a woman’s. I always think hands are so expressive of character. I had noticed that Emerson’s were heavy with calluses and disfigured with the scars and scratches of manual labour.

There is no use trying to conceal from the reader that I found myself illogically prejudiced against my new acquaintance. I say illogically, because his manner thus far had been irreproachable, if ebullient. His subsequent speeches proved him to be a man of honour and of heart. Still, I did not like him.

Lucas began his explanation.

‘You know, I imagine, that after your – your departure, our revered progenitor fell into such a rage that he suffered a stroke. We did not expect that he would recover from it, but the old gentleman had amazing powers of recuperation; I have noted that a vicious temper does seem to give its possessors unusual strength…. Now, Evelyn, you mustn’t look at me so reproachfully. I had some affection for our grandfather, but I cannot overlook his treatment of you. You must allow me an occasional word of criticism.

‘When I heard what had transpired, I went at once to Ellesmere Castle. I was not the only one to respond; you, who know our family, can imagine the scene of pandemonium I found on my arrival. Aunts and uncles and cousins of every degree had descended, like the scavengers they are – eating and drinking as hard as they could, and trying every despicable stratagem to get into the sickroom, where the sufferer lay like a man in a beleaguered fort. I couldn’t decide which of them was the worst. Our second cousin Wilfred tried to bribe the nurse; Aunt Marian sat in a chair outside the door and had to be pushed back whenever it was opened; young Peter Forbes, at his mother’s instigation, climbed the ivy outside the window of the sickroom and was only repelled by the footman and your humble servant.’

The waiter coming by at that moment, Lucas ordered coffee. He caught my eye and burst into another of those hearty peals of laughter.

‘My dear Miss Peabody, you have a countenance as expressive as an open book. I can read your thoughts; shall I tell you what you are thinking? You are thinking that I am the pot that calls the kettle black – that I am as thorough a scavenger as the rest. And, of course, you are absolutely correct! I respected our grandfather for his good qualities. He had a few; if I had more time, I might be able to recall one of them…. No, dear Miss Peabody, frankness is my worst failing. I cannot pretend to emotions I do not feel, even to improve my position in the world, and I will not be such a hypocrite as to pretend I loved our Grandfather. Evelyn is a little saint; she would find some excuse for a man who knocked her down and trampled on her….’