Children of the Storm (34 page)

Sethos held the little boy up so that their eyes were on a level. “And who is this adventurous young man?” he inquired. Davy giggled.

The little rascal had got us over the first awkwardness. Sethos handed Davy over to Ramses and helped Maryam out of the carriage, while the rest of us fended off the other children. They immediately gathered round Sethos; Davy was captivated by his new acquaintance, and the little girls responded as all females did to his calculated charm.

“What happened to your face?” inquired Evvie, leaning against his knee. “Did someone hit you?”

“Three someones,” said Sethos, without missing a beat. “Three large, cruel men. They were about to hurt a poor cat. I made them stop.”

The twins chirped approvingly and Evvie batted her lashes at him. “Where is the kitty?”

“At my house. I am calling her Florence. She has black stripes and a white front.”

“That was very noble of you, sir,” said Dolly.

Sethos’s face softened a trifle as he looked at the little boy. “You must be young Abdullah. I knew your great-grandfather well. He would have done the same.”

“Why don’t you all draw a picture of Florence?” I suggested, glaring at my inventive brother-in-law. Abdullah had hated cats.

The pack dispersed, except for Sennia. “Was that a true story?” she asked, fixing Sethos with a questioning stare.

“Not a word of it,” said Sethos promptly.

Sennia chortled. “You are funny. Who are you, really? Are you her father? I remember her; she was here a long time ago.”

She gestured at Maryam, who was sitting next to Evelyn. The girl was wearing the hat I had given her, and a new frock—the best Luxor had to offer, one must assume—of pink mousseline de soie. Papa had taken her shopping.

“Why don’t you go and introduce yourself?” I suggested.

General conversation was impossible with so large a group. It did not take Sethos long to maneuver himself into a tête-à-tête with me, while Maryam responded shyly to Evelyn’s kindly questions, and the children set to work on innumerable drawings of presumed felines. The tête-à-tête was immediately expanded by Emerson, who squeezed himself onto the settee next to me and fixed stern sapphirine orbs upon Sethos.

“You are awaiting my report, I suppose,” the latter said.

“I am awaiting elucidation of precisely who everyone in Luxor believes you to be,” I replied. “What did you tell Mrs. Fitzroyce?”

“I did not meet her.” Sethos leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. “Two husky lads intercepted me at the head of the gangplank. When I handed over my card I was informed that the Sitt was resting but that the other lady was expecting me. I wasn’t allowed onto the boat. Maryam appeared with her pathetic little bundles and we left.”

“Then you did not meet Justin?”

“I caught a glimpse of him, peering out from the doorway to the cabins. At least I assume it was he; he appeared as wary as a timid animal, so I pretended I hadn’t seen him.”

“What card did you leave?” I asked.

“That of Major Hamilton, of course. I always carry a selection.”

“Ha,” said Emerson. “The Vandergelts know your real identity.”

“I suppose there is no way of avoiding them,” Sethos said with a martyred sigh.

“I don’t see how you can be ready to leave Luxor for a few more days,” I said. “The Vandergelts are giving a soiree on Sunday, and Selim will expect you to turn up for his fantasia tomorrow.”

Sethos groaned theatrically. “Must I?”

“You sound like Emerson,” I said, wondering if he was doing it on purpose to annoy. “It would be advisable to give the impression that this is an ordinary visit from an old acquaintance. Your habit of popping in and out in various bizarre costumes, like the Demon King in a pantomime, makes things very difficult.”

“But much more interesting, Amelia dear.”

WE LINGERED OVER FATIMA’S EXCELLENT dinner, for everyone was on his or her best behavior, and Sethos exerted himself to be agreeable. I was about to suggest we withdraw to the parlor when a visitor was announced. I had been half-expecting him, for nothing is a secret in Luxor.

“Show Mr. Vandergelt into the parlor,” I said to Gargery. “And make sure there is plenty of whiskey.”

Cyrus was too much of a gentleman to forget apologies and greetings, but even these held an element of reproach.

“I figured the fella in the aeroplane was you,” he said, shaking Sethos’s hand. “I’d have called earlier, if anybody had bothered to tell me you were here. What are you gonna do next, ride in on an elephant?”

“Whiskey, Cyrus?” I inquired.

“I reckon. Thank you.” He tugged fretfully at his goatee and turned reproachful eyes on me. “How come I have to hear all the news secondhand? Don’t you folks trust me anymore?”

“Er, hmph,” said Emerson, busy with the decanters. “The fact is . . . er . . .”

“There hasn’t been time,” Nefret said. She perched on a hassock beside Cyrus and put a caressing hand over his. “You’ve heard about the identification of the bones? Don’t be angry, Cyrus dear. We would have notified you at once if we had found the princesses’ jewels.”

“You think I’m pretty selfish, I guess,” Cyrus muttered. “That poor devil, out there all this time, and me thinking the worst of him . . .”

“This discovery alters neither the circumstances nor your assessment of Martinelli, Cyrus,” I said. “He took the jewelry, there can be little question of that, and although we may never know his motive for doing so, he had no right to remove it without your permission.”

“You’re sure it was him? Where was he found?”

“If you are thinking of conducting a search of the area, I beg you to abandon the idea,” Ramses said; like myself he had seen the stubborn glow of archaeological greed in Cyrus’s eyes. “Believe me, Cyrus, I would have done so myself if I believed there was the least likelihood of finding the jewelry. It was Martinelli, all right, but if he wasn’t murdered and robbed, the men who found the body would have taken anything of value.”

Cyrus knew he was right, but he was not the man to abandon hope so easily. He kept asking questions and proposing theories. His final appeal was to Sethos.

“Can’t you do anything?”

The corners of Sethos’s mouth twitched slightly. “Not much use having a master thief as a friend of the family if he can’t help out, eh?”

“I didn’t mean—” Cyrus began.

“Of course you did. Quite right, too. I will make further inquiries, but don’t get your hopes up.”

“Sure appreciate it,” Cyrus said, his hopes obviously rising. “Well, I better get on home. Sorry for busting in on you like this.” He had avoided looking directly at Maryam. Now he went to her and held out his hand. “Good to have you back in the family, young lady. We will see you at our soiree on Sunday, I hope.”

His tact and kindness brought a becoming flush to her cheeks. “Thank you, sir. I don’t know . . .” She glanced at her father, who said easily, “We accept with pleasure. Please convey my thanks and regards to Mrs. Vandergelt. I look forward to seeing her and her son again.”

“Oh, say, that reminds me.” Hat in hand, Cyrus turned to me. “Katherine told me to ask whether some of you folks might want to stay with us at the Castle. We’ve got plenty of room, and you must be getting a mite crowded here.”

Such was certainly the case. I had had to move Sennia out of her pleasant little suite of rooms and give them to David and Lia and their children. She was in David’s old room, with the one next to it serving as a schoolroom. Evelyn and Walter occupied the guest rooms at the other house. What with additional offices and storage rooms, both houses were full up, and I had been forced to ask Sennia to share her schoolroom with Maryam, an arrangement that did not please Sennia. I would have consigned the Luxor gossips to the devil and sent Maryam to stay with her father on the Amelia, but she needed a little more time to be comfortable with him. Besides, I wanted her with me, where I could keep an eye on her. The girl had been attacked once already, and that incident had yet to be explained.

I was tempted to send Sennia to the Castle, along with Basima and Gargery, whose constant surveillance was beginning to get on my nerves. However, Horus would have had to accompany them, and he had no manners, particularly with regard to the Vandergelts’ cat Sekhmet.

I was about to tell Cyrus I would think it over and let him know, when Evelyn spoke up. “That is very good of Katherine, Cyrus. If you are sure, Walter and I will take advantage of your kind offer. I will speak to Katherine about it tomorrow.”

Evelyn was the mildest and most accommodating of women, but when she spoke in that decisive tone I never attempted to differ with her. I waited until after Cyrus had left us before venturing to ask what had prompted her decision.

“Having houseguests for a protracted period becomes inconvenient” was her smiling reply. “Ramses and Nefret would never say so, but I am sure we are putting them out. Katherine and I enjoy each other’s company; she has been feeling a bit neglected, I think.”

Ramses leaned over the back of the sofa and put his arm round her shoulders. “You needn’t be so tactful, Aunt Evelyn. Being in the same house with my children is enough to drive anyone into a nervous collapse.”

He was laughing and she laughed too, as she looked up at him. He was standing between her and Maryam; the girl shifted position slightly.

“Very well,” I said. “It will be a nice rest for you, Evelyn, being away from the little darlings for a while. The accommodations at the Castle are quite luxurious, and you will be waited upon like a queen.”

Somewhat belatedly, it occurred to me to ask Walter what he thought about the scheme. The little darlings had not bothered him, since he was deaf and blind to all distractions while he was working. Nudged by his wife, he said absently, “Certainly, my dear, whatever you say. I will take the papyrus with me. It is proving to be most interesting.”

“I’m afraid it is my fault that you are all being put to so much trouble,” Maryam murmured.

“Not at all,” I said. “This will work out nicely for everyone. You can move into the other house tomorrow. I expect you are tired; come along and I will show you where you are to sleep tonight.”

The schoolroom—no longer to be referred to as the day nursery—was not directly connected to Sennia’s bedroom—not to be referred to as the night nursery. The doors of both rooms opened onto the courtyard behind the house. A cot had been moved in, and Fatima had made certain all was neat and tidy, but I had not realized how shabby the room looked. The calico curtains, moving gently in the night breeze, were threadbare, and the tiled floor bore certain indelible stains—ink and paint and the evidence of feline visitation.

“I am afraid it isn’t very elegant,” I said apologetically. “But it is only for one night.”

She said something under her breath—something about “no better than I deserve.” Since I believe in striking when the iron is hot, I decided to take the bull by the horns. I motioned her to sit down. “I have been wanting to talk to you about your mother, Maryam. She was an unfortunate woman who behaved very badly and who died violently—but not at our hands, or at those of your father.”

She gasped as sharply as if I had struck her, and looked up into my face. “You don’t believe in beating round the bush, do you?”

“There is no sense in that. I don’t know what you have heard about her, but I intend to set the record straight and remind you that you are in no way accountable for any of her actions.”

“My father was not present when she . . . when she died?”

“No. Shall I tell you what really happened that day?”

She nodded, her eyes wide.

“Her—er—association with your father followed other—er—associations of a similar nature,” I said. “I am giving you the bare facts, Maryam, without attempting to explain or excuse them, though you must bear in mind that she had no chance at a better life. That is tragically true of many women, but Bertha was not the sort to submit meekly. She formed a criminal organization of women and was, in a somewhat unorthodox way, a supporter of women’s rights. She came to dislike me because she believed—er—”

“That my father was in love with you.”

“In essence, that is correct,” I said with a little cough. “Such is no longer the case, if it ever was, but jealousy drove her on several occasions to try to kill me. The final attempt occurred on the day of which I am speaking. She had taken me prisoner the previous afternoon. Thanks to your father, I was able to escape; but when I came out of the house of my friend Abdullah, where I had found refuge the night before, she was lying in wait for me. I was saved by Abdullah, who threw himself in front of me and took in his own body the bullets meant for me. Several of the men who were present—friends of ours and of Abdullah—had to wrestle her to the ground in order to get the gun away from her. I do not know—I doubt anyone knows—who actually struck the fatal blow. My full attention was on Abdullah, who lay dying in my arms. They did not set out to kill her, Maryam; they were mad with anger and grief, and she would have gone on shooting if they had not prevented her.”

“Abdullah,” she repeated. “Little Dolly’s great-grandfather? Selim’s father, and the grandfather of David . . . You all loved him very much, didn’t you?”

Her composure worried me. It was unnatural. “Yes, we did.”

“They were present—Selim and David?”

“Why, yes. So were . . . See here, Maryam, if you suspect Selim or David of striking the fatal blow—”

“That was not what I meant.”

“Good Gad,” I exclaimed in horror, as her meaning dawned on me. “Are you suggesting that one of them—one of us—blames you for your mother’s actions and wants revenge? That one of them—one of us—hired an assassin to attack you? Nonsense, child. Aside from the fact that none of us would perpetrate such an act, your true identity was unknown to us until after the event. Get it out of your head this instant.”

The curtains flapped violently. Maryam let out a little scream and I let out a muffled swear word as a portly form climbed laboriously through the window. Once Horus had been able to leap through it. Age and weight had taken their toll; now he had to scale the wall. Poised awkwardly on the sill, he looked round the room, spat, and vanished into the night.