Children of the Storm (21 page)

Ramses began, “You shouldn’t have . . .” Then he stopped himself. It wasn’t his job to scold the boy.

“I would like another cup of tea, please,” Justin said politely. “And Evvie would like another biscuit.”

He directed his charming smile at Evvie, who was standing next to him, with obvious designs on the platter of cakes. Justin patted her cheek. “I like her,” he announced. “I like all the children.”

I HAD QUITE A LONG conversation with Molly—or Maryam, as she said she preferred to be called—while I cleaned and bandaged the cut on her arm. The conversation was, however, somewhat one-sided. Her answers to my questions were brief and uninformative, her manner withdrawn. If I had not known better, I would have thought she was afraid of me. Only once did she respond with her old energy, when I told her that her father had been searching for her and would be extremely relieved to know she was safe and well.

“You mustn’t tell him!” she cried. “Promise you won’t.”

“I cannot promise that. He certainly would not like to hear that you have been reduced to working as a paid companion. You must tell Mrs. Fitzroyce that you are leaving her employ.”

“I can’t,” Maryam said in a low voice. “You’ve seen what Justin is like. He trusts me. He has difficulty getting used to new people, and François, though utterly devoted, has his failings.”

“He certainly does,” I said. “Well, Maryam, your sense of duty does you credit. However, your father—”

“I will not be dependent on him or anyone else.” Her chin lifted. “He doesn’t care about me. He used me when he needed me for his own purposes.”

“You are mistaken about that,” I assured her.

“Perhaps. May I go now? Mrs. Fitzroyce will be worried about Justin.”

“I cannot detain you if you choose to leave. Please think about what I have said. There is no shame in honest labor of any kind, but your position is onerous, and as a member of our family you are entitled to our assistance.”

“Thank you.” Her remote expression did not change. She got to her feet, pulling her torn sleeve down.

Despite the artificially grayed locks she looked little older than she had when I last saw her, though she must now be eighteen or nineteen. Her long-lashed hazel eyes were shaped like those of her father. The dreadful frock did not entirely hide a trim little figure.

I said, “May I give you a hat?”

It was quite a nice hat, of natural straw with quantities of veiling and several artificial flowers. Justin, who was nothing if not candid, remarked that she looked almost pretty. He added, “She would like a cup of tea, I expect.”

“No,” Maryam said quickly. “We must be getting back, Justin. Your grandmother will be worried.”

“We can’t go yet,” Justin said comfortably. “My donkey has run away.”

“I will get the motorcar,” Emerson announced, and went out after shooting a defiant glance at me. He was a trifle sensitive still about the car, which he had not been allowed to use as often as he would have liked. I was as anxious to be rid of the pair as he, and I didn’t suppose he could kill them between here and the landing, so I raised no objection.

I had persuaded Emerson to put the machine in the stableyard, though I did not suppose for a moment that it would remain there. Its admirers were numerous, and some had got into the habit of paying it a daily visit—from a distance, since Emerson and Selim had made it clear that anyone who ventured close enough to touch it would be subject to dire punishment, and possibly a curse or two. When the vehicle appeared I was not surprised to see Selim seated beside Emerson. He spent a good deal of his spare time tinkering with the confounded thing.

The appearance of the motorcar distracted Justin and altered the tenor of his demands. “A motorcar! Am I to ride in it? May I operate it?”

“Do you know how?” I asked.

“No, but I expect it is quite easy to learn. I would like it very much.”

“No one drives the motorcar except me and Selim,” said Emerson forcibly if somewhat inaccurately.

“Let Selim drive them, Emerson,” I ordered. “There isn’t room for all of you, and anyhow, I need you here.”

Emerson grumbled a bit, but I knew that he too was anxious to discuss the latest developments. Selim moved over to the driver’s side, and Emerson caught Justin by the collar as he was climbing up into the seat.

“Let Miss—er—get in first,” he ordered.

The boy’s slim frame stiffened. “Let go of him at once, Emerson,” I said, remembering how he had reacted to being grasped.

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Emerson shouted furiously, but he complied. “Do as I say, Justin. Do not attempt to touch the controls. You are to obey Selim as you would me. If you give him any trouble you will never be allowed to visit us again. Selim, go across with them and deliver the boy to the dahabeeyah.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Maryam said. “He won’t run away from me, will you, Justin?”

“Of course not.” He smiled sweetly. “Good afternoon, everyone. I will see you again soon.”

I watched somewhat apprehensively as the motorcar went off in a cloud of dust. It seemed to be operating correctly. I then asked Fatima to fetch the children’s nurserymaids and get them off to bed. For once, the children’s parents did not offer to assist; everyone sat unmoving and silent, waiting for me to speak first. I dropped rather heavily into a chair. “It is somewhat early, but I do believe that if I were offered a whiskey and soda I might be inclined to accept.”

Emerson at once obliged, and poured a rather stiff one for himself. Observing Walter’s bemused expression, he poured an even stiffer one and pressed it into his brother’s hand.

“Cheer up, Walter. That is the last hitherto unknown relation you are likely to encounter.”

“I certainly hope so.” Walter took a long drink of whiskey. “Don’t we have any respectable missing relations?”

“To the best of my knowledge, Maryam is perfectly respectable,” I replied. I spoke, as I always endeavor to do, the literal truth. I might harbor suspicions, but I did not know for certain.

“But she is—”

I cut him off with an imperative gesture, for I thought I knew what word had been on the tip of his tongue. Sennia did not consider herself “one of the children”; she had remained, and was paying close attention. Illegitimacy was not a topic I intended to discuss in her presence. She had heard the word—and worse—from horrid children at her Cairo school—who had got it from their parents; when she first came to me, tearful and bewildered, to ask what it meant, I had done my best to convince her that only ignorant, vulgar people cared about such things.

“What did you think of her, Sennia?” I asked.

Sennia primped up her mouth and rearranged the bracelets that encircled her slim brown wrists. “I don’t like her. I didn’t like her before.”

“We must not be unkind, Sennia. She has had a hard time, and after all, she is kin.”

“What is she to me?”

“No more than Hecuba to Hamlet,” Ramses murmured. “In actual fact . . . a cousin of some degree, I suppose, Sennia. Is that right, Mother?”

“Let me see. Sennia’s father was my nephew, and Maryam is . . .” In some confusion, I finished my whiskey. “Oh, good Gad, what does it matter?”

Sennia was not to be put off. “What is she to Ramses?”

“Time for bed, Sennia,” I said, giving it up.

“You are going to talk about things you don’t want me to hear.” Miss Sennia rose with great dignity, arranging her skirts. “I understand. Good night, everyone. But I still don’t like her.”

“It is somewhat overwhelming,” Evelyn said, shaking her head. “Emerson told us of her background, Amelia, while you were with her. Did she explain what has brought her to this pass?”

“Briefly.” I sipped my whiskey. “Her husband died suddenly—he was not a young man—and left her with nothing. He had speculated unwisely, it seems. She had to sell her engagement ring to bury him.”

“From the description we got of the diamond, it must have been an extravagant funeral,” Nefret murmured.

“Be that as it may, Nefret, she had to seek a situation. Lady’s companion was the only occupation for which she was fitted, and she soon discovered that her youthful appearance was against her. Hence the gray hairs and the artificially aged countenance. She had, I expect, learned something of the art of disguise from her father. Still, she was unable to find work until she answered an advertisement from a lady who wanted someone familiar with Egypt, where she intended to spend the winter. No doubt,” I added, “Mrs. Fitzroyce’s age and poor eyesight made it easier for Maryam to carry out her masquerade.”

“All this is very interesting,” Ramses said in a tone that implied he did not find it so. “What I want to know is why she was attacked today. I thought when I heard her scream that some nervous female tourist was being harassed by an importunate beggar, but the fellow was actually slashing at her with his knife. That sort of thing is unheard of.”

“I asked her that, of course,” I replied.

“What did she say?”

“That she had no idea why anyone would want to injure her. There must be a reason, though,” I declared. “Not a good reason—there is never an excuse for violence—but something she has done, or is believed to have done, that inspired a desire for revenge.”

“What nonsense!” Emerson burst out. “That is just your melodramatic imagination, Peabody, always constructing mysteries. What could she have done, a child like that?”

“And that is just your masculine naïveté, Emerson, always assuming that youth and a pretty face guarantee innocence. Oh, I grant you that irrational persons may react violently to relatively harmless offenses, but mark my words, there is something behind all this, and for her own sake we must discover what it is. I allowed her to go today because I could hardly detain her by force, but I hope eventually to persuade her to come to us.”

“Here?” Nefret exclaimed.

“At least until her father can take charge of her. He said he would see us soon, but I will send a message anyhow. She still harbors a grudge against him, but I believe I can set her straight on that. Emerson, were you about to speak?”

“No,” said Emerson.

“You were rolling your eyes and moving your lips.”

“I may be allowed, I hope, to alter my expression without asking your permission.”

“Hmmm. As I was about to say, she will be more receptive to his explanations now. There is nothing so destructive to pride as poverty. It is our moral obligation to bring about the reconciliation of father and child, and assist a member of our family who is in need.”

“Curse it,” said Emerson hotly. “When you start quoting pious axioms there is no use trying to change your mind.”

“What objection do you have to her being here?”

“None. None, damn—er—confound it. I feel sorry for the girl, but—”

“A premonition!” I exclaimed. “Are you having a premonition?”

“I never have premonitions! They are pure superstition. You are the only one who—”

“There is one thing that worries me,” Nefret said, cutting Emerson off on the brink of an explosion. “Justin. If she is here, he will come again. You saw how he was with the children.”

“He was charming,” Lia said. “And they obviously like him.”

“Oh, he’s charming,” Nefret said. “And utterly irresponsible. If he enticed them to go with him, for a walk or a game, he might have one of his attacks, or wander off and leave them.”

Ramses spoke with unusual heat. “Nefret, that couldn’t possibly happen. Even if he visits us again—which he is as likely to do whether she is here or not—no one would be fool enough to leave him alone with any of the children, or let him take them from the house.”

“Quite right,” I declared.

In fact, Maryam’s reappearance had disturbed me more than I wanted to admit. Yet—I assured myself—what reason had I to mistrust the girl? During our brief acquaintance with her she had been a nuisance, headstrong and undisciplined, but never a danger. Her father believed that after she fled from him she had found a masculine protector, but even if it was true, she was more to be pitied than censured.

“Never a dull moment,” I declared cheerfully. “Now I suggest we all get ready for our guests.”

By the time the Vandergelts arrived I had bathed and changed, and written out a telegram. Emerson had insisted on seeing it before I sent it off.

“I did not want to be explicit,” I explained, handing it over. “Sethos’s colleague Smith, who promised to pass on messages, is not the sort of individual to be trusted with such painfully personal information.”

“He has used it against us before,” Emerson muttered. “Hmmm. Well, this should be all right. ‘Missing person found. Come at once if possible.’ I will send Ali across to the telegraph office.”

With that matter taken care of I was able to greet our guests with a mind at ease and a smiling countenance. The evening had turned chilly, so we gathered in the sitting room instead of on the veranda.

“Hope we’re not too early,” Cyrus said, for Evelyn and I were the only members of the family present.

“No, the others are late,” I said in mild vexation. “I do apologize. I try my best to inculcate proper manners, but sometimes I think it is a hopeless chore, especially with Emerson.”

“And Walter,” his wife said with a smile. “I expect he decided to steal a few minutes with his texts. When he is involved with a tricky translation I sometimes have to shake him to get his attention.”

Lia and David entered, closely followed by Nefret. Ramses was conspicuous by his absence, and I observed that Nefret’s brow bore faint lines of worry or annoyance. “I am so sorry,” she began.

“Not at all,” Katherine said graciously. “Were the children restless tonight?”

“Ours were,” David replied. “We took them to Abdullah’s tomb this afternoon. They couldn’t stop talking about it. Dolly wanted to hear every story I could remember about my grandfather, and Evvie asked the most outrageous questions—”

“She is only two,” Lia expostulated. “I don’t see what was so outrageous about them.”

“ ‘Do all dead people look like the ones in Uncle Radcliffe’s books?’ “ David was obviously quoting.

“Good heavens,” Katherine exclaimed. “Has he been showing those poor children photographs of mummies?”