Seeing a Large Cat (29 page)

"You are not going to tell me what it was-wasn't? Damnation!" Emerson exclaimed. "All right, Peabody, I accept the challenge. Would you like to place a small wager?"

"We will discuss it later, my dear," I said, giving him a meaningful look. "Now, as to the next subject-"

"My lunch with the Bellinghams?" Nefret suggested.

"Not yet, Nefret," Emerson said. "Your aunt Amelia got me off the track with her confounded detectival digression. Let us finish with the Frasers before we deal with the other nuisances."

So I described the conversation with Enid and Donald, and my agreement with Mrs. Jones. "We must take pains to avoid a showdown. The primary purpose of this evening's performance is to set the stage for the final act, which will persuade Donald to abandon his fantasy."

"You have that all worked out, have you?" Emerson inquired.

"Mrs. Jones believes she can arrange a convincing setting. I don't doubt she has had ample practice; we can leave the ectoplasm and the spirit voices and the musical background to her. She knows, surely, that the Egyptians did not play tambourines or banjoes? The only remaining question-"

I ought to have known better. The argument flared up so quickly and became so heated, I was unable to get a word in. Clearly both of them had been primed and ready.

"There is no one else to play the part!" Nefret insisted.

"You are mistaken," said Ramses.

"No 'pretty little Egyptian girl' could do it! She would giggle or miss her cue or-"

"I am not thinking of a pretty little Egyptian-"

"Not Aunt Amelia, either. She must be one of the participants; her absence would be noted. You can tell them I am indisposed or-"

"No, not Mother. I."

I could have made myself heard then, but I was as incapable of speech as Nefret. Ramses had at least succeeded in silencing her; her mouth remained open, but for several seconds the only sounds that emerged were a series of gurgles. I was afraid she was going to laugh-the temptation to do so was strong-but she chose another, even more devastating form of mockery. After looking him up and down, she said, "You will have to shave off your mustache."

"Believe it or not, I had thought of that," Ramses said.

"And you would be willing to make the sacrifice? How touching! No, Ramses, dear, you must not. It is a nice mustache and it must have taken you a long time to grow it."

"Now, Nefret," I began.

"But, Aunt Amelia!" Nefret turned to me. "There is no way on earth anyone could mistake Ramses for a girl, even heavily veiled, sans mustache, and in deep shadow. He is-er-" She let out a choked laugh. "He is the wrong shape!"

The shadows of night had crept across the eastern sky, and a few shy stars shone in the deepening blue. Ramses was sitting on the parapet in his favorite position, his back against one of the columns and his long legs stretched out. The dusk blurred his shape, but the truth of Nefret's objection was apparent. Until.. .

I do not know what he did, but as I had learned to my sorrow, Ramses's skill at the art of disguise was not limited to false beards and other obvious items. The change was so slight as to be indefinable, but all at once his form seemed to soften and his long straight limbs took on a curving outline. "I intended to be seen reclining," said Ramses. "Voluptuously."

Nefret said with grudging admiration, "You might pull it off at that. But why go to all that bother when I-"

"Enough," I broke in. "Neither of you is going to play the princess. I have thought of the perfect person to do it."

It had come to me in a flash, as such inspirations do- though I suppose a student of psychology would say they are the result of unconscious cogitation rising suddenly to the surface of the mind. Since I wanted time to think about it before I committed myself, I refused to answer the curious inquiries the children showered upon me.

"I will explain at a later time," I assured them. "It grows late and Nefret has not had a chance to tell us of her conversation with the Colonel."

Ali came then to call us to dinner. A beautiful bouquet of roses, mignonette, and other flowers adorned the table. I assumed one of our friends had sent it; attentions of that sort were often paid me.

After all, as Nefret admitted, she had very little to tell us. The most interesting piece of news was that the Bellinghams were no longer staying at the hotel. Cyrus had offered them the use of his dahabeeyah, the Valley of the Kings.

There was nothing unusual in that. It was the sort of generous, openhearted gesture Cyrus frequently made. He was always inviting people to stay with him at the Castle, for he was the most hospitable of men and enjoyed company. The dahabeeyah lay empty a good deal of the time and-as was typical of Cyrus-the crew and staff were kept on and generously paid.

Still, it was not news I wanted to hear. The Valley of the Kings was moored on the West Bank. The location was not as safe as Luxor, with its bright lights and flocks of tourists.

Nefret was forced to admit she had learned very little about the tragic events of five years past. "One can hardly interrogate a bereaved husband about the death of his wife-especially when he is engaged in the process of acquiring another one."

Emerson dropped his knife. "What did you say?"

"I know the signs," Nefret said coolly. "Don't think me vain;

he was more concerned with finding out about my ancestry and background than with paying me compliments-though he did that too. He asked about my grandfather, and my mother's connections, and he was full of questions about those imaginary missionaries who were, as he believed, in charge of my upbringing during my youth."

She paused to take a bite of chicken. Ramses said, "It would appear that he had already investigated your history."

Nefret swallowed. "Clearly he had. Everyone in Luxor knows the story, so it would not be difficult for him to find out."

"No one has ever questioned our little fiction about the kindly missionaries," I said uneasily-for the true history of Nefret's first thirteen years was one I had taken pains to conceal.

"He did not question it. He only wanted to make certain I was still a virgin."

David caught his breath. Ramses blinked. My glass fell from my hand, spilling its contents across the tablecloth. Nefret gave me a rueful smile. "Oh, dear, I forgot. That is one of the words I am not supposed to use, except in church. He put it much more delicately, I assure you."

The only person whose countenance had not altered in the slightest was Emerson. It had been rigid as a mummy mask ever since Nefret started speaking. Only his lips moved now. "Delicately," he repeated.

"Emerson, control yourself," I said in alarm. "I feel certain the man has done nothing to justify your paternal wrath. Such unwarranted egotism is not uncommon in your sex. He is not the first; you remember the Honorable Mr. Dillinghurst and Lord Sinclair and the Comte de la Chiffonier and-"

"I cannot imagine," said Emerson, "why you should suppose I am about to lose my temper."

He rose. He leaned forward. He lifted the flowers from the vase and carried them to the open window. Slowly and methodically he wrenched the poor pretty blossoms from the dripping stems and pitched them out into the night.

"Oh," I said.

"Quite," said Emerson. "Now then, my dears, we had better get ready to leave. I presume you and Nefret will want to change, Peabody."

"And you."

"I am fully clothed and relatively clean," said Emerson, resuming his seat. "Go ahead, my dears. If you require any assistance with buttons, give me a hail, Peabody. Ramses, I would like a word with you and David."

When Emerson bellows all of us ignore him. When he speaks in that tone it is wise to do as he suggests. Meekly and in silence Nefret left the room. I followed; and the boys, obeying Emerson's gesture, moved their chairs closer to his.

They had left their serviettes at their places. As I passed I saw one of them bore a small crimson stain. Ramses had done more than blink. His nails or one of the table implements had dug deep enough to pierce his palm.

Chapter Ten

I hope I number patience among my virtues, but shillyshallying, when nothing is to be gained by delay, is not a virtue. had finished with the buttons by the tune Emerson joined me, slamming the door of our room behind him. I did not like the look of him at all. He was altogether too calm.

"What did you talk about with Ramses?" I demanded.

"I wanted to know why David is favoring his left arm."

I had not expected that. "Oh, No one was trying to keep it secret from you, Emerson. There was so much to discuss we didn't get to that."

"And yet," said Emerson, "one might reasonably suppose that a murderous attack on our son and his friend would be of interest to me."

"You are right," I admitted. "I meant to give David a good brisk arnica rub before he retired, but perhaps I should do it now."

"The boy is all right." Emerson took me by the shoulders. "Sit down for a moment, Peabody. Curse it, there are too damned many things going on at once. We must talk."

He sounded like his old self, profane and annoyed-which relieved my mind considerably. "What bothers you most, Emerson? Colonel Bellingham's intentions with regard to Nefret?"

"They can wait. I was a trifle put out at the idea initially," Emerson admitted in one of the great understatements of the year. "But I suppose that by his standards he has done nothing amiss. If he has the effrontery to come round and ask for my permission to court Nefret, I will pitch him out the window as I did his flowers, and that will take care of that."

"It should," I agreed, smiling. "The murder of Mrs. Bellingham-"

"That can wait too. Let us get the Fraser nonsense settled so we can concentrate on more serious matters. What is this latest inspiration of yours, Peabody? If you want me to play the princess, I must flatly refuse."

"Your-er-shape is even less convincing than that of Ramses," I said with a laugh, and went on to tell him what I had in mind.

Emerson nodded. "Hmmm, yes. That is really quite clever, Peabody. For it must be apparent to you, as it has been to me, that the trouble originated with her."

"That is just like a man! He was certainly the one at fault initially."

"Let us say they are both essential to a proper resolution," said Emerson, and interrupted the discussion long enough to demonstrate the truth of his remark. "Will she do it?"

"Leave it to me."

"I would much prefer to." He helped me on with my shawl and escorted me to the door. Before he opened it he said gravely, "And you, my dear, can leave the lads to me. I don't know what the incident at Luxor Temple has to do with the other matters that are interfering with my work, but I mean to find out. It would be a pity to lose Ramses now, after all the time and effort we have spent raising him."

Propelled by the strong arms of our devoted men, the little boat glided across the river. The lights of the hotels on the East Bank made a brilliant display. Even more beautiful was the play of moonlight on the dark water. The lunar orb was almost at the full; accompanied by its glittering entourage of stars, it rose serenely into the sky. We sat in silence, each occupied with his or her own thoughts, but mine, at least, were not of the beauty of the night. Even the warm clasp of Emerson's hand, holding mine under the cover of my full skirts, did not comfort me.

It was not that I blamed myself for neglecting to give full weight to the incident at Luxor Temple. I had become accustomed to people throwing things at, or dropping them on, Ramses; they usually had some reason for it, though, and I had not given sufficient thought to that question. What was Ramses up to this time? Was I allowing my obligation to an old friend to distract me from my duties as a parent? I had obligations to David as well, and he was always at Ramses's side, aiding and abetting him in all his underhanded schemes and just as vulnerable to attack.

After serious consideration of the matter I concluded that I had not been at fault-yet. The Fraser case must take precedence, and at this point in time it was impossible to know for certain whether it was unrelated to the other mysteries that surrounded us. Mrs. Jones was an enigma. She might be precisely what she had appeared to be-an unscrupulous practitioner of dubious arts who had got herself in over her head and desired only to extricate herself without unpleasant repercussions. Her claim of concern for Donald's physical and mental health had impressed Cyrus, but he was notoriously susceptible to female blandishments. She had not convinced me.

Was she secretly involved in the Bellingham business? Emerson had jeered at my theory, but he had produced no argument that proved me wrong. Donald had been on the spot when we removed the mummy-that was a fact. Mrs. Jones might have attempted to dissuade him, as she had claimed, or she might have subtly insinuated the idea into his head.

Another (possible) motive for her (hypothetical) actions had occurred to me. What if she were connected in some way with Dutton Scudder? What if she were his mother, aunt, older sister, cousin, mistress . . . Well, that did seem unlikely. However, stranger things have happened. We knew nothing about Mrs. Jones's background except what she had told us.

I could not imagine why she would want to disable Ramses, but then the motive behind the incident at Luxor Temple was still unclear. Why would any one of the people involved want to disable him? I had been too quick to assume that only a man could have handled the heavy granite head. Mrs. Jones was a sturdy, healthy woman; she would not have been able to keep up with Donald during his hegira through the western valleys if she were not. A clever woman would complain about sunburn and scraped hands in order to mislead me.

It was therefore with renewed interest that I studied the lady when she admitted us to her sitting room. Her initial appearance had misled me. She was younger than her gray-streaked hair had suggested. (Not Scudder's mother, then? She might have married young-to an American, of course.)

With some difficulty I turned my attention from these fascinating theories to the arrangements for the seance. They suited her purpose, and mine, admirably. The room was large and lofty, with long windows opening onto a small balcony, and a door that connected with her sleeping chamber. A table had been moved into the middle of the room, and chairs arranged around it. Heavy dark draperies had been drawn across the windows, and the inconveniently brilliant electric lights had been replaced by the softer glow of shaded lamps.

It would tax my patience and yours, dear Reader, if I were to describe in detail what transpired. It was similar to other performances of the sort-the dim lights, the clasped hands, the trance, the questions and murmured replies-except that Mrs. Jones did it better than most of her fellow practitioners. She was an excellent mimic. The princess's voice was quite unlike hers; it sounded younger and lighter, with an engaging, if improbable, little accent. (Though I admit it would be difficult to know how an ancient Egyptian would sound speaking English.) She even uttered a few words of the ancient language. Here she was on safer ground, since the ancients did not write the vowels and no one knows precisely how the language was pronounced. She had the consonants right, though, and I saw Emerson's eyebrows lift in surprise when she rattled off a formula of greeting.

Donald was a bit of a nuisance. Our presence had raised his hopes and increased his impatience; his demands for information became more importunate, his frustration at the necessarily indeterminate answers more apparent. He was holding my left hand, and at times he squeezed it so hard I wanted to swear, at him and at Mrs. Jones for delaying her announcement.

She was showman enough to gauge her audience's emotions with pinpoint accuracy. Donald was on the brink of a violent outburst when she deemed it advisable to break the news.

"I vill come to you," murmured the sweet, soft voice. "Do not seek me in ze dry valleys, I am not dere. I vill come to you here and you vill see me mit your own eyes. I vill greet you and tell you vat you must do."

Well, we had to end the proceedings. Donald broke the circle, leaping to his feet and rushing at Mrs. Jones. Emerson, who had been gasping and puffing with suppressed laughter, was quick enough to intercept him in the nick of time.

"You know the danger to the medium if the trance is broken," he said sternly, catching Donald in a firm grip and returning him to his chair. "Peabody, how is she?"

"She is coming out of it," I said, bending over Mrs. Jones, who was muttering and moaning. Unseen by the others, she opened her eyes and winked at me.

The electric lights were turned on and people began moving round the room. Donald remained slumped in his chair, his head bowed as if in silent prayer. I grasped Mrs. Jones's hand, under the pretense of taking her pulse, and whispered, "Is he all right, do you think? He appears to be in a stupor."

Suddenly Donald leaped to his feet. Mrs. Jones shied back as he approached, and I braced myself; but our concern was needless. His face shining with joy, Donald dropped reverently to one knee.

"Is it true?" he exclaimed in broken accents.

"She does not remember what she said," I said quickly. "But yes, Donald, I heard it too. We all heard it."

Mrs. Jones gave me a grateful glance. "What?" she murmured, raising a limp hand to her brow. "What happened?"

"She is coming to me." Donald grasped her other hand and raised it to his lips. "She, herself, in the flesh! When? I can't wait much longer."

"Leave her alone, Donald," I ordered. "She needs time to recover. A glass of wine, perhaps, Mrs. Jones?"

Emerson supplied the wine and stood listening while I told Mrs. Jones of the most recent refinement of our plan. There was no fear of Donald's overhearing; radiant with happiness, he had retired to the sideboard with Ramses and David and was rhapsodizing at the top of his lungs.

"Oh, well done," murmured Mrs. Jones when I had finished explaining. "If you can persuade her, that is the obvious solution. How soon can we bring it off? My nerves won't stand much more of this."

"Yet you seem to me quite a cool customer, as our friend Vandergelt would say," remarked Emerson.

I immediately shushed him. Emerson believes he can whisper, but he is mistaken.

"I hoped he would be here," murmured the lady.

"I expect he was engaged elsewhere," I said. "There was no reply to the note I sent. I feel sure he will wish to attend ... tomorrow night? Or is that too soon?"

"The sooner the better," was the reply. "I am not so cool as you think, Professor. What must I do?"

I had worked it all out during the seance, for I can easily think of two things simultaneously. Emerson listened in silence. I could not quite make out what he was thinking. At one moment amusement seemed to predominate, at another something verging on horror. When I showed Mrs. Jones the little bottle I had brought with me he broke out. "Good Gad, Amelia! You cannot-"

"Hush! It is essential, Emerson. He won't sleep a wink without it. Now come and help me."

He did not like it, but he distracted Donald while I tipped the laudanum into the glass. It turned the whiskey rather a horrid color, but I daresay Donald would not have noticed if it had been bright blue. Seeing his condition of frenetic excitement, I knew I had done the right thing.

Enid was next. I was tempted to administer a sleeping draft to her as well, for she looked ghastly. Nefret was with her, trying to persuade her to take a sip of brandy. I took the glass from the dear girl and dismissed her with a reassuring nod.

"Drink it," I said firmly. "And take heart. I have matters under control."

Enid did as I had ordered, with regard to the brandy, at least; a little color returned to her face, but her horrified expression did not alter.

"What have you done?" she whispered. "This is madness! In heaven's name, Amelia-"

"I am surprised you have so little confidence in me, Enid. Listen and I will explain."

The explanation was necessarily brief. Too brief, perhaps; she looked even more appalled. "Impossible, Amelia. How can you expect me to do such a thing?"

"Enid," I said, taking her limp hand. "I understand. But you must make your choice. Either you leave Donald, or you become a wife to him again. Men are rather pitiable creatures, my dear, and Donald is-well-"

"Stupid," she said bitterly. "Clumsy, unimaginative-"

"Unromantic? Quite the contrary, Enid. I don't doubt he erred in-er-a number of important ways, but it is his yearning for romance that has led him to this pass. You, my dear, can teach him-encourage him-er-need I say more?"

A wry smile touched her lips. "It is easy for you to say, Amelia. You would never need to-er-encourage your husband."

"My dear girl, I do it all the time! That is what a happy marriage is all about. I would be the first to admit, however, that Emerson is an extraordinary man."

"He is." There was a wistful light in her eyes as she watched Emerson, who had collared Ramses and appeared to be lecturing him about something.

"Are we agreed, then?"

"Oh, Amelia, I don't know. I do not see how I can-"

"It is the simplest thing in the world, my dear. I will arrange for a costume, and give you your final instructions tomorrow. Or-wait, I have a better idea. Ramses, will you come here for a moment?" He joined us, and I explained, "I have been telling Mrs. Fraser that she is the one to play the role of the princess. She will need a proper costume and a certain amount of coaching; you are the obvious one to acquire the former and do the latter."

"That would be very kind of you, Ramses," Enid said.

Ramses said in a rather odd voice, "I would be happy to advise Mrs. Fraser, but perhaps-"

"But me no buts, Ramses. I have never approved of your interest in and practice of the art of disguise; here is an opportunity to apply it to a useful end. That is settled, then. Enid, Ramses will come round-let me think-just after luncheon. We must attend the funeral services tomorrow morning. Can you get rid of Donald for the afternoon, Enid?"

"Yes, certainly," Enid said. "All afternoon, if you like."

She looked much brighter. I had sprung it on her rather abruptly; I ought to have realized it would take a little time for her to accustom herself to the idea. I gave her an approving smile. "I must take my little family home. Donald is half-asleep already."