Children of the Storm (12 page)

“Don’t pounce on the child, Emerson,” I ordered. “He doesn’t remember you. Give him time to get used to all these new faces.”

“Oh,” said Emerson. He came to a stop. “Er—sorry.”

Then the little boy lived up to his proud name. “He is my uncle Radcliffe,” he said and held out his hand. “How do you do, sir?”

Emerson did not even flinch at the name, which he thoroughly dislikes and with which few people venture to address him. His features wreathed in smiles, he took the small hand carefully in his. “How do you do, my dear boy? Welcome to Egypt.”

“Very nice,” I said, for it was clear to me that Emerson, overcome by sentiment, was about to pounce again. “Let us get the children tucked away, shall we?”

It did not take long; both of them were too tired to make a fuss. I had caused a nice little cold supper to be supplied for the nursemaid.

“Sound asleep,” I reported, returning to the others. “Perhaps the rest of you would also like to retire? You have had a long tiring trip.”

“Impossible,” Evelyn exclaimed, holding out her hands. “I at least am too happy and excited to be weary. Come and sit with me, Amelia, and let me look at you. Have you won the favor of some god, that you never change?”

The little bottle of hair coloring on my dressing table was owed some of the credit. I saw no reason to mention it. To her loving eyes, perhaps, I could never change; but I had, and so had she. The fair hair shone pure silver now, and she was painfully thin; but the blue eyes were as fond and clear as ever. She was right after all. Neither of us had changed in any way that mattered.

No doubt the same could be said of Walter, but his physical appearance was something of a shock. We had paired off, as we used to do; the contrast between Emerson’s sturdy, vigorous frame and Walter’s stooped shoulders and myopic squint made the latter look years older than his elder brother. He had Emerson’s dark hair and blue eyes, and he had once been a sturdy young fellow, not as quick to anger as his excitable brother but ready to defend himself and his loved ones when danger threatened. I did not doubt his willingness to do so now, but years spent in sedentary scholarship poring over faded papyri had taken their toll. Emerson, though he is not especially observant, had noticed it too. He broke off in the middle of an animated description of Deir el Medina, and squeezed Walter’s arm.

“High time you came out,” he declared. “We’ll put some muscle in that arm and some color in your face.”

Walter only laughed. He knew this was Emerson’s uncouth way of expressing affection and concern.

Lia and Nefret sat side by side, talking of . . . of babies, of course! What else would two young mothers talk about? Lia had been named for me, but preferred the shorter version of the name—to avoid confusion and because Emerson’s bellow of “Amelia!” when he was put out with me had always made the poor girl very nervous. Blue-eyed and fair-haired like her mother, she brought back fond memories of the young Evelyn, who had been my companion on that first memorable voyage to Egypt. Little did I dream that our lives would become so intertwined, and that the passage of time would bring such a bountiful harvest of happiness, with a second generation following in our archaeological footsteps.

It was good to see Ramses and David together again, close as brothers and almost as alike, their black heads close together as they began catching up on the news.

They were not given much time to chat, for Emerson, assuming that everyone else would be as eager as he to talk Egyptology, drew the rest of us into his conversation with Walter and began outlining the plans he had for them. He was telling Evelyn about Cyrus’s hope of having all the tomb paintings at Deir el Medina copied and published, when there came a peremptory knock at the door.

“Who can it be, at this hour?” I wondered aloud.

Then I remembered we had told the concierge to send up any telegrams as soon as they arrived, no matter how late the time.

Emerson’s eyes met mine. “I’ll see,” he said, and went to the door. In his customary fashion he flung it wide . . . and stood transfixed.

Emerson is a very large person, but his bulk was not sufficient to conceal completely the man who faced him. I saw a head of black hair and the shape of a shoulder covered in brown tweed. It was enough. I sprang to my feet. Emerson shifted position; he was trying, I think, to block the doorway, but the visitor pretended to take it for an invitation to enter, and slipped neatly past him.

I recognized the tweed suit as one he had borrowed from Ramses on a previous occasion, and never returned. A black beard and mustache hid the lower part of his face; the upper part was transformed by the waving locks that fell across his high brow, and by a pair of tinted eyeglasses that darkened his ambiguously colored eyes to brown. They swept the room in a quick, comprehensive survey; and the bearded lips parted in a smile.

“How good to see you, brother,” he exclaimed, clasping Emerson’s palsied hand. “And the rest of the family, too—never did I dare hope for such a pleasure. This must be—it can only be—my dear sister Evelyn. Allow me the privilege of a kinsman . . .” He lifted her hand and kissed it respectfully while she gaped in bewilderment. He greeted Lia in the same fashion, embraced me and Nefret, shook David’s hand and that of Ramses. Our surprise was so paralyzing, and his movements were so quick, that he got through the entire rigmarole without interruption. When he turned last of all to Walter, his face working with simulated emotion, I knew I had to intervene. Unfortunately, in my confusion and vexation, I said the wrong thing.

“Sethos, please! Walter doesn’t know . . . Oh, curse it!”

I did not know his real name; this alias, of all the others he had used, came easiest to me. It was the final straw for Walter. He had been more stupefied than any of us, but not so stupefied that he could not put the pieces together. He looked in silent appeal at Emerson—got no response, no denial, no protest—clapped his hand to his breast—turned white—and fell over, unconscious.

“IT WAS ONLY A FAINT,” Sethos said. “Nothing serious.”

“No thanks to you,” I said angrily. “If his heart had been weak, that might have been the end of him. You put on that performance deliberately and with malice aforethought. Shame!”

Never let it be said of me that I take the offensive in order to distract listeners from my own misdemeanors. It wouldn’t have done me a particle of good, anyhow. Emerson, whose feelings for his reprobate half-brother vacillated between grudging affection and violent annoyance, froze me with an icy blue stare.

“You were the one who administered the coup de grâce, Amelia. Walter might have been able to assimilate the existence of an unknown brother; to have that same brother identified as the criminal of whom he has heard us speak so—er—critically, finished him off.”

“Well, curse it, I don’t know his real name,” I retorted. “Since we are on that subject—”

“In retrospect, my little joke was ill-advised,” Sethos said smoothly. “I am sorry, Amelia. You know my unfortunate sense of humor. But look on the bright side, my dear, as you are so fond of doing. You were planning to tell them, weren’t you? Now it’s over and done with, and you won’t have to fret about how to break the joyous news.”

He gave me an insolent smile. To do him justice, he had not been so cool when he helped Emerson carry the unconscious man to his room. He had hovered anxiously over Walter until Nefret finished her examination and announced there was no damage to the heart. When Walter opened his eyes and muttered, “Where am I?” he stepped back, folded his arms, and tried to look unconcerned. On my advice, Nefret gave Walter a sedative, and we left him with Evelyn, who had accepted Sethos’s muttered apology with a dignified nod.

The rest of us had returned to the sitting room. Emerson served whiskey all-round. Sethos was himself again, unrepentant and unmoved. I thought he looked tired, though. Leaning back against the cushions, he sipped appreciatively at his whiskey.

“Do they know about the robbery?” he asked.

David started. “What robbery?”

“I suppose they will have to know,” I admitted. “But I certainly don’t intend to wake Walter up and drop that on him too.”

“It can wait,” Sethos said coolly. “But you might tell me a little more about it. Emerson’s telegram was of necessity cryptic.” He fished in his pocket and took out a crumpled piece of paper. He handed it to me and I read it aloud.

“ ‘M. gone missing with ladies’ property. Where would he take it? Advice urgently needed.’ “

“How did you get here so quickly?” I asked.

“I was in Constantinople. Margaret sent the message on, since it sounded urgent. I came as soon as I could. Now tell me the rest of it. What precisely is missing?”

“Three bracelets—the most valuable of the lot—and a magnificent pectoral.” In my usual efficient fashion I summarized the facts that were known to us. David exclaimed, “Poor Cyrus! What a blow.”

“It is as great a blow to me,” Sethos said. “I had nothing to do with it, Amelia. Do you believe me?”

“Yes. You would have taken the lot.”

Sethos threw his head back and laughed heartily. “You flatter me, my dear. I thank you for your confidence. To be honest, I am surprised at Martinelli. If he has reverted to his old habits I would have expected him to be more thorough. Unless he had found a particular buyer who wanted particular items, for reasons unknown . . . I will of course pursue inquiries here in Cairo, but don’t get your hopes up. My old organization is dispersed and its members scattered.”

“You can’t do anything until tomorrow,” Emerson said. “I—er—you—er—Amelia is tired.” I had not been the only one to observe the lines of weariness in Sethos’s face. He must have traveled day and night to respond to our plea.

“Quite,” I said. “Have you booked a room here?”

“I have quarters elsewhere.”

Emerson’s eyes narrowed. Affection had been replaced by suspicion. Sethos went on, “Before I leave you in peace, we must confide fully in one another.”

“You mean you expect us to confide fully in you,” snapped Emerson.

“I assure you, brother, I will reciprocate as soon as I have something to confide. Is there anything you haven’t told me that might have bearing on this business?”

The indeterminate color of his eyes had been very useful to a master of disguise, since they could appear gray, green, or brown with the skillful application of makeup. Sunk in shadowed sockets, they looked darker now, as they came to rest on Ramses’s bandaged hands.

“That has nothing to do with—” Ramses began.

“We cannot be certain,” I interrupted. “Sethos may see a connection that eludes us. You young people needn’t stay, if you are tired, as you must be.”

“Wild horses couldn’t drag me away,” David declared. “Have you ever had an entire season without some kind of mischief? Don’t think for a moment that you can keep me out of it.”

“Or me,” said Lia firmly.

Sethos’s hard face softened. “The family blood runs true,” he said, in a tone that made Lia’s face turn pink. “All right, Ramses, let’s have it.”

“Hell,” said Ramses, running his fingers through his hair. “Must I?”

“Allow me,” I said, for I knew Ramses would not mention the most interesting details. He was inclined to be self-conscious about his encounters with amorous females. “You can correct me if my narrative goes astray.”

I made the narrative as matter-of-fact as I could, but I had not got far along before Sethos’s mouth began to twitch. His amusement was so evident, I frowned severely at him.

“The story appeals to your notorious sense of humor?”

His smile faded into sobriety. “Good God, Amelia, you don’t suppose I had a hand in it, do you? In my bygone and exceedingly ill-spent youth I was guilty of a number of extravagances, but never anything so wild as this.”

“Hmph,” said Emerson, glaring.

“Well, there was one that came close,” Sethos conceded, with a sentimental look at me.

“Stop that,” I said sharply. Emerson had never forgotten or entirely forgiven that occasion when I had been held prisoner by my amorous (had I but known) brother-in-law, in surroundings as voluptuous as those Ramses had described.

“I beg your pardon. And yours, Rad . . . Emerson. But really, if one cannot laugh at folly, what hope is there for the human race?” He shook his head. “I am at a loss to explain the affair. Perhaps we must attribute it to—er—personal interest on the part of the lady. It would not be the first time, would it?”

Ramses was almost as red in the face as his father. Sethos could not refrain from stirring people up. I recognized the symptoms of fatigue; it always put him in a quizzical mood.

“It is almost morning,” I said. “We would all be more sensible, I think, after some sleep. How can we reach you?”

“You can’t.” He rose. “I will come round tomorrow evening. Perhaps you will all dine with me? A celebratory—”

“Oh, go away,” I snapped.

FROM MANUSCRIPT H

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Somehow Ramses had not been surprised to see his reprobate uncle. To give him his due, Sethos had a gift for turning up without warning when his assistance was needed, but this time he appeared to be intent on stirring up trouble. He had shocked his unsuspecting half brother into a faint, provoked Emerson into a rage, offered no useful information and no prospect of any—and (most infuriating of all) he had refused to take Ramses’s story seriously. One of these days, Ramses thought savagely, he’ll drive me into smacking that supercilious grin off his face.

“What did you say?” Nefret asked

“Nothing.” He finished undressing and got into bed. “Let’s get some sleep.”

She was sitting at the dressing table brushing her hair. “I’m too keyed up to sleep. Don’t you want to discuss the amazing appearance of Uncle Sethos?”

The long locks of unbound hair rippled with light and movement, but for once the sight failed to arouse him. “No,” he said curtly, and rolled over, his back to her. When she finally joined him he pretended to be asleep.

The only person he wanted to talk to was David. There hadn’t been time the night before; his mother had bustled them off to their rooms as soon as Sethos left. But they knew each other pretty well, he and David. An exchange of glances and a few words had arranged a meeting for the following morning.