Seeing a Large Cat (6 page)

"Good evening, sir," she said. "Good evening, Mrs. Emerson, ma'am. I am so glad Daddy was able to catch you. I think he wants to talk with you about boring old tombs, so we will just wait on the terrace."

"Without a chaperone?" I exclaimed.

Dolly tossed her head and glanced over her shoulder at Nefret and David. "Why, sure 'nuf, Miss Forth will be a perfect chaperone. And-David? Hurry along now, Mr. Emerson."

Ramses allowed himself to be removed. Nefret took David's arm. "May I lean on you, David?" she inquired with a dazzling smile and eyes as hard as lapis beads. "At my age one tires so easily."

"They make a handsome pair, don't they?" Bellingham said. He was not speaking of Nefret and David, though the description would have been accurate.

"What is it you want?" Emerson demanded.

"Why, sir, first of all to thank your son for coming to Dolly's assistance the other day. But I expect she is doing that now, and much more prettily than I could."

I had not found the young lady's manners especially pretty. She had been sweetly rude to Nefret, and by using his first name, she had relegated David to the status of a servant.

Emerson had not missed the slight to his protege. "Miss Bellingham was not in need of assistance. The young man may have annoyed her, but she was in no danger from him or anyone else in such a public place. If that was your sole motive for detaining us-"

"I have not yet mentioned my principal reason for wishing to speak with you."

"Do so, then."

"Certainly. I heard today, from M. Maspero, that your excavations this season will be restricted to the more obscure and least interesting tombs in the Valley of the Kings." He looked inquiringly at Emerson, who nodded brusquely. "I made so bold as to tell M. Maspero that it would be a pity to hand over such an important site to less competent archaeologists, when he has available in you the most skilled excavator in Egypt."

"Oh, you did, did you?" Emerson, who had been shifting restlessly from one foot to the other, suddenly sat down and fixed the other man with a steady stare. "And what did Maspero say?"

"He did not commit himself," was the smooth reply. "But I have reason to believe he would be receptive to your application should you approach him again."

"Indeed? Well, I am obliged to you for your interest"

Colonel Bellingham had sense enough to leave it at that. He bade us good evening, and we watched him walk away.

"Well?" I said.

"Well. You don't suppose I am going to follow up that interesting suggestion, do you?"

"I know you too well to suppose any such thing," I replied. "You have taken a dislike to Colonel Bellingham, though I am at a loss to understand why."

"I do not need a reason to take a dislike to a man," Emerson declared.

"That is true," I admitted.

Emerson gave me an amused look. After knocking out his pipe, he pocketed it and rose to his feet. "I don't know what Bellingham was up to, but his implied promise was pure poppycock. Davis has the firman for the Valley of the Kings, and Maspero would have no reason to revoke it. Come along, my dear, the children will be waiting for us."

One of them was. Nefret stood at the entrance to the hotel, looking out toward the street.

"Where are the others?" I asked.

"David went to hire a cab. Ramses..." She swung round to face me and burst out, "They have gone into the gardens. They were standing together at the top of the steps-Miss Dolly having made it clear to me and David that our company was not welcome-when she suddenly darted off across the street. Ramses went after her."

The Ezbekieh Gardens cover an area of over twenty acres. They afford a popular promenade at all times of day; the attractions include cafes and restaurants, as well as a variety of rare plants and trees. After dark, in the limited glow of gaslight, they are even more romantic than the Moorish Hall at Shepheard's, and not at all the sort of place into which a young unmarried lady should venture even with an escort.

Colonel Bellingham-having, as I assumed, sought in vain within-hurried up to us. "Into the gardens, did you say?" he exclaimed. "Good heavens! Why didn't you Stop them?"

Without waiting for a reply, he rushed down the steps.

"It was not your responsibility," I assured Nefret. "I am certain there is not the slightest cause for alarm, but perhaps we had better go in search of them."

Emerson caught hold of Nefret as she started impulsively down the stairs. "Ramses will find her and bring her back," he said. "I see David has a cab waiting; come along, my dears."

Nefret would not get into the cab. "Please, sir, let go of my arm," she pleaded. "You are hurting me."

"You are hurting yourself, child," Emerson said in increasing exasperation. "Stop trying to pull away from me. Do you suppose I will allow you to enter that dark den of iniquity alone? Oh, very well, we will go as far as the entrance, but not a step farther. Damnation!"

"What is wrong?" David asked in alarm.

"Nothing is wrong," I said. "Miss Bellingham went into the garden and Ramses followed her, that is all. I can't think what has come over Nefret. She is usually more sensible."

"Perhaps we should go with them." David offered me his arm.

Fending off beggars and pedlars of dubious goods, avoiding carriages and camels and strolling tourists, we made our way across the busy thoroughfare. There was a little crowd gathered around the entrance to the gardens; as we hurried toward it I heard Nefret's voice raised in appeal and Emerson's loud response. It was, I am sorry to say, a swear word, I had to use my parasol to get through the ring of staring spectators, and I believe our arrival saved Emerson from assault by the gentlemen who were present. He had both arms round Nefret, who was pounding on his chest and demanding he let her go on into the gardens.

"Shameful!" exclaimed one of the watchers. "Someone call a constable."

"No need for that, I reckon," said another man, clenching his fists. "Unhand the lady, mister."

"Damned if I will," said Emerson. "Oh, there you are, Peabody. See if you can talk some sense into... Nefret! Good Gad, girl, don't faint."

For her hands now lay quiet against his breast and she had stopped struggling. "I have not the least intention of fainting," she said, and turned her head to glare at her champions. "What the devil are you staring at?" she demanded.

The Englishman and the American exchanged glances. "Appears to be a family fight," said the latter.

"Righto. None of our affair, eh?"

"You can let me go, sir," said Nefret to Emerson. "I won't run away."

"Your word on it?"

"Yes, sir."

Cautiously Emerson relaxed his grip. Nefret smoothed her hair and took a mirror from her evening bag.

I lifted my parasol and addressed the gaping watchers. "Some people, I am sorry to see, take an impertinent interest in the affairs of others. Disperse, if you please. The performance is ended."

However, it was not.

Movement along the shadow-shrouded path leading into the gardens drew all eyes in that direction. The spectators fell back as a form emerged and advanced into the glow of the gaslight Ramses had lost his hat. That was not unusual. What was a trifle unusual, even for Ramses, was the blood that covered one side of his face and stained the pink silk skirt of the girl he carried in his arms. She appeared to be unconscious, though I was beginning to suspect that Dolly Bellingham was not always what she appeared. Her head rested against his shoulder and her loosened hair fell like silver rain over his arm.

"I beg your pardon for being so long," Ramses said. "I assure you the delay was unavoidable."

"Apparently the Colonel's concern for his daughter was not without foundation," I remarked.

Over an hour had passed, and we were all together in the saloon on the Amelia. We had handed the young lady over to her father, who had been summoned from the garden by Emerson's stentorian shouts, and had bundled Ramses and ourselves into the waiting cab. Ramses had stubbornly refused to answer any questions; that is, he had pretended, not nearly so convincingly as Miss Bellingham, to feel faint. She had taken no injury; the blood on her frock had come from a cut on Ramses's forearm. His brand-new coat was damaged beyond repair.

As soon as we reached the dahabeeyah he declared he was perfectly well and would not go with me to have his injuries attended to. So I fetched my medical supplies to the saloon and had the satisfaction of seeing Ramses struck momentarily dumb with embarrassment and fury when we overpowered him and forced him to remove his coat and shirt.

He must have gone about half-clothed the whole summer, since the upper part of his body was as brown as his face. After he had simmered down he allowed me to bandage his arm, but refused to let me put a few neat stitches into the cut, remarking, with what I supposed to be an attempt at humor, that scars were regarded among the Beduin as marks of manhood. He had acquired several new ones over the summer, together with a fine collection of fading bruises. Ramses was always falling off of or into natural objects, but some of the marks strongly suggested, to the suspicious mind of a mother, that he had been fighting. Another indication of manhood, I assumed-and not only among the Beduin. I forbore comment at that time and concentrated on cleaning the bits of gravel and other debris from the abrasions on his face.

"You fell onto the path, did you?" I asked, probing one of the deeper gashes.

"Are you enjoying this?" Ramses inquired.

"Don't speak to your dear mama in that way," said Emerson, who was holding his head so he wouldn't squirm.

The sound Ramses made might have been a groan or a laugh- except that he hardly ever laughed. "I apologize, Mother."

"I know you didn't mean it," I assured him, flicking out a largish bit of gravel.

I do not know how he had managed it, but the skin around his mustache was relatively unscathed. I was tempted to cut off just a bit of it-it was quite long and hung down at the ends-but Emerson was watching me with an expression that assured me he had not forgot the time I had deprived him of his cherished beard after he had been wounded on the cheek. Shaving the cheek had been absolutely necessary, but Emerson still bore a grudge.

"There, that should do the job," I said. "Nefret, would you just get me... Never mind, my dear; sit down and take a little wine, you are still rather pale."

"With fury," said Nefret. She had been inspecting Ramses with the cool appraisal of a surgeon trying to decide where to insert the scalpel. Now she turned the same frigid stare on David. "Do you look like that too?"

David clutched at his collar, as if fearing she would have the shirt off him. "Like what?" he asked warily.

"Never mind. You probably do. Men!" Nefret took the glass I handed her and passed it on to Ramses.

"I don't suppose," he began.

"No whiskey," I said.

Ramses shrugged and tossed the wine down. It was a rather nice little Spatlese, which deserved more respectful treatment, but I did not comment-or object, when Emerson, after a questioning look at me, refilled the glass.

Having cleaned my medical instruments and tidied myself, I accepted the whiskey and soda Emerson had ready for me and took a chair. "It appears," I repeated, "that Colonel Bellingham's concern for his daughter was not without foundation. You had better tell us precisely what happened, Ramses, so we can assess the situation accurately."

"Oh, curse it," said Emerson. "I refuse to assess the situation or be drawn into it."

"Please, Emerson. Allow Ramses to proceed with his statement."

Sekhmet crawled onto Ramses's lap and began to purr. "The creature oozes like a furry slug," said Ramses, eyeing it without favor. "Very well, Mother. The tale is quickly told."

I did not suppose it would be, since brevity was not one of Ramses's strong points. To my surprise, he was as good as his word.

"Miss Bellingham and I were standing midway down the stairs, talking," Ramses began. "All at once she turned and pointed toward the gardens. 'Look there,' she cried. 'Isn't that just too sweet!' Or something to that effect. I did not see anything or anyone I would describe as-er-'sweet,' but naturally when she ran off I went after her. She is very quick. I didn't catch her up until after she had gone quite a distance into the gardens. It was dark. The gaslights in that area appeared to have gone out-"

"Or been broken," I interrupted. "There were bits of glass in those cuts."

Ramses gave me a sidelong look. "I thought you would notice that. To resume. She was standing still, peering into the shadows under a large specimen of Euphorbia pulcherrima, when I found her. She started to tell me someone was following her, but I cut her short; I was a trifle exasperated by her reckless behavior. I was trying to convince her to return at once when someone rushed out from the shrubbery and tripped me up. No, Mother, I did not get a good look at him, then or later; he wore a mask, naturally, and it was, as I have said, very dark. I fell rather hard, but not as hard as he had hoped, I fancy, for I was back on my feet almost at once. I managed to block his first attack, with minimal damage to myself. He fell back a step or two, and then Miss Bellingham began to scream-somewhat belatedly, in my opinion. He ran. She fainted. I picked her up and came back."

He finished his wine and I said in disbelief, "Is that all?"

"Yes."

EDITOR'S NOTE: The Reader may find it illuminating to compare Ramses's version of the incident with another account that occurs in one of the manuscripts in the newly discovered collection of Emerson family papers. The authorship of the fragment is as yet undetermined, but one may reasonably conclude that it was written either by Mr. Ramses Emerson himself, under the guise of fiction (in emulation of his mother), or by someone more in his confidence than his parents were likely to have been in such cases as this. Excerpts from this manuscript will be designated henceforth as "from Manuscript H."

They stood at the top of the stairs from the terrace, looking out at the Shari'a Kamel, filled even at that hour with cabs and carts, donkeys and camels, and an occasional motorcar. Across the busy street the gaslights of the Ezbekieh Gardens twinkled through the dark foliage like fallen stars. Dolly Bellingham was prattling on about something or other; he paid scant attention to what she was saying, but he rather enjoyed the sound of her soft voice, with its quaint foreign accent. Intelligent conversation was not one of Dolly's strong points. It was the voice and the big brown eyes and the soft little hands....