Seeing a Large Cat (37 page)

Dinner was announced just then, and we took our places at the table. The interval allowed me time to consider Mrs. Jones's surprising offer-to wonder what had prompted it- and to admit that, whatever her motives, her request for information was justified.

I therefore gave her a brief resume of the Bellingham case. Some of what I told her was new to Cyrus as well. He had a habit of stroking his goatee when he was agitated or profoundly interested in something. In this case it was increasing agitation that prompted him to tug at the appendage, and when I mentioned Ramses's unfortunate adventure of the past night, he went so far as to interrupt me in midsentence.

"Holy Jehosaphat! Now see here, folks, I plumb refuse to send a lady into the middle of a shooting war. If I had known that piece of sticking plaster covered a bullet hole, I would never have proposed the idea. I figured young Ramses had just had another one of his accidents."

The sticking plaster had replaced my bandage. I had observed this flagrant violation of my orders, but Ramses had not given me time to do anything about it, delaying till the last possible moment before joining us in the carriage; and when I got a good look at him I saw something else that distracted me from the sticking plaster.

The mustache was gone.

A sharp dig in the ribs from Emerson had prevented me from remarking on this. Ramses's expression did not invite commentary; arms folded and brows lowering, he looked like a youthful sultan hoping for an excuse to order someone beheaded. Even Nefret had refrained from speaking, though she gurgled a bit.

Now Ramses said, "It is not a bullet hole, Mr. Vandergelt, only a slight crease. In my opinion Mrs. Jones would be in no danger of being shot at."

"In your opinion," Cyrus repeated sarcastically. "On what do you base that opinion, if I may ask?"

"I am glad you asked me that, sir."

He looked questioningly at me and I said with a sigh, "Very well, Ramses, you may explain. Only be succinct, if you are able."

"Yes, Mother. I base my assumption on the simple fact that Colonel Bellingham is the only one of the two who has employed a firearm. He wants to kill Dutton and will use any means at his disposal. Dutton's intentions toward the Colonel may be no less lethal, but his only weapon appears to be a knife. He could easily acquire a rifle or a pistol, and he has had innumerable opportunities to fire at the Colonel. We may reasonably assume, therefore, that Scudder wants to come to close grips with Bellingham."

"Good Gad," I exclaimed. "In order to make him suffer-to torture him, even. How diabolical!"

"That is one possible interpretation," said Ramses. "The corollary is that Scudder has no murderous intentions toward Miss Dolly. Killing her would not suit his purpose. He has attempted to use her only as a means of getting her father into his hands."

"I agree," Nefret said in her soft, sweet voice. "Your greatest danger, Mrs. Jones, is from Dolly herself. Watch what you eat and drink, and take care not to be alone with her at the top of a cliff or on a busy street."

The only one of the male persons present whose face did not express shocked surprise was-of course-Ramses. He gave his sister a sidelong look, to which she responded with an amused flash of blue eyes.

"Half the trouble she has got into is of her own making," Nefret continued. "She is impatient of supervision-"

"Decidedly," said Mrs. Jones dryly, "if she has rid herself of her attendants by such drastic means."

"She hasn't actually killed anyone," Nefret admitted. "Just made them dreadfully ill or crippled them a bit."

"Good Gad," said Emerson. "My dear girl, do you really believe she would do such things? You have no proof."

"I could probably get it if I wanted to take the trouble," Nefret said coolly. "But why bother? Professor darling, you are too kindhearted to understand women like little Miss Dolly. She wants her own way and will get it by one means or another. She would not go so far as murder, I daresay, but she is too stupid to anticipate the consequences of her acts and too indifferent to the feelings of others to care about those consequences."

Emerson's face was a study. No one cares to be accused of naivete-especially men, who think of themselves as less sentimental and more worldly than women. Nefret was absolutely correct, however. Emerson is hopelessly naive about women. And I had an uneasy feeling that Nefret, like Mrs. Jones and me, knew exactly why Dolly Bellingham was so determined to get away from watchful guardians who would prevent her from... doing what she wanted to do.

Nefret turned abruptly to her brother. "Ramses knows what I am talking about."

Ramses started. For once he was unable to get out more than an incoherent, "Er-uh-what?"

"I am referring to the time she ran away from you, into the Ezbekieh," Nefret explained.

Cyrus, who had been even more thunderstruck than Emerson by Nefret's accusations, had recovered himself. Shaking his head, he said, "I guess you may be right, Miss Nefret. No well-brought-up young lady would do such a foolish thing, even if she didn't know she was in danger. Consarn it-excuse my language, ladies, but I am now all the more opposed to this scheme."

"And I," said Mrs. Jones, who had listened with interest, "am all the more intrigued. Never fear; now that I am forewarned I can deal with Miss Dolly. All you expect of me, I take it, is to prevent her from going out alone, by day or by night."

"Our future activities would certainly be easier if we could count on that," said Ramses. "It might relieve your mind, and that of Mr. Vandergelt, to know that David and I will be on the Amelia only a short distance away. We can work out a system of signals so that you can summon us in the unlikely event that you need assistance."

They went on to discuss it while Nefret made suggestions and Cyrus listened in gloomy silence. What his precise relationship with Mrs. Jones might be was none of my affair; it was clear to me that he had sufficient interest in her to be concerned for her safety, but not sufficient authority over her to command her actions. Mrs. Jones interested me too. She was the sort of woman for whom I would have felt considerable sympathy if her past had not been so shady, for we had a number of characteristics in common. Modesty prevents me from listing those characteristics, but they should be apparent to anyone who is familiar with my activities.

I determined to find the opportunity for a private talk with the lady and found it when we retired to the drawing room for coffee. After we had got our pianoforte, Cyrus decided he must have one too-the largest grand piano obtainable. It had arrived in pieces, along with the German expert who put it back together. Cyrus asked Nefret to play and prevailed upon the others to join him in song; and while he and Emerson bellowed out a rousing sea chanty I took my coffee cup and Mrs. Jones to a cozy corner.

"I cannot make out why you are willing to do this," I began.

The lady's cheeks plumped up in the expression that made her look so like a smiling cat. "One of the things I admire about you, Mrs. Emerson, is your directness. Alas, I cannot respond in kind. My motives are not clear even to me. However, curiosity is certainly one of them. I could not creep tamely away without finding out how this peculiar business will be resolved-if it can be."

"Oh, I have every expectation that it will. We have encountered other cases as difficult."

"So Mr. Vandergelt tells me. You enjoy a challenge, I believe? So do I. That is another motive, I suppose; I have dealt with several difficult young women, but none I ached to slap as much as I do Dolly Bellingham."

I could not help laughing. "You were right about her, of course. She wants, not only a husband, but one who will beat her when she needs it."

The change in her expression made me regret my frivolous comment. "I ought not to have said that. Violence against women is too common and too terrible to be spoken of lightly. I did not mean it literally, I only meant-"

"I understand." After a moment she went on, "Did I give myself away? Well, why deny it? My late, unlamented husband was a wife beater, or aspired to be one. I did not take it lightly, Mrs. Emerson. I fought back when and as I could. I would have left him, but like so many women, I had nowhere to go and no way of supporting myself and my children."

"You have children?"

She lifted the gold locket that rested among the laces at her breast and opened it. "A boy and a girl. Bertie is twelve, Anna ten. Both are at school."

The faces had been cut from cheap photographs and the fea hires were not easy to make out in the soft lamplight. There was a resemblance, I thought, between the lad's features and those of his mother; the thing that struck me most forcibly was the warmth of their smiles.

Before I could think what to say Mrs. Jones closed the locket. "To make a long story short, Mrs. Emerson, my husband was thrown from his horse while returning one night from a friend's house. He had drunk to excess, as he often did, and a December night on the Yorkshire moors finished him off- which may have saved me the trouble of doing so. Through mismanagement and indifference he had wasted most of his estate. I was determined to preserve what little he left for the education of the children, so I had to seek employment. I was a governess, a companion, and a teacher in a girls' school. I had neither the time nor the money to train myself for a more remunerative occupation, even if any were available to women. I fell into my present way of life by accident. The only thing I regret about it is that it does not pay better. If I could find something that did, I would probably do it."

I spoke without premeditation or even conscious thought. "Are you by chance acquainted with a woman named Bertha, Mrs. Jones?"

"Bertha who?"

The question was one I could not answer, and I regretted having asked it. "Never mind," I said. "It is just that she would agree with your point of view.'"

She put her cup down on the nearby table. "I apologize for boring you with the story of my life, Mrs. Emerson. I will say no more; I had not meant to say as much. Shall we join the musicians and finish the evening with an appropriate chorus?"

Cyrus, who had a fine tenor voice, was rendering "Kathleen *Mrs. Emerson's encounters with the woman called Bertha are described in Volumes 7 and 8 of her memoirs: The Snake. The Crocodile and the Dog and The Hippopotamus Pool.

Mavourneen" with an unfortunate attempt at an Irish brogue. We all applauded when he finished, and then-it was Mrs. Jones's suggestion-we joined in a rousing chorus of "Bonnie Dundee" while Ramses, who had declined the invitation to participate, watched us from half-closed eyes like an elderly owl.

"It is settled, then," Mrs. Jones said as we prepared to depart. "I will offer my services to Colonel Bellingham tomorrow morning."

"I think it would be best if I accompanied you," I said. "If you would care to join us for breakfast, Mrs. Jones, we will call on the Colonel together."

She approved the scheme, and we left them waving from the doorway like any host and hostess bidding guests good night. Fearing, from Emerson's pursed lips and raised eyebrows, that he might be moved to indulge in irrelevant speculation on this matter, I deemed it advisable to head him off by introducing another subject.

"Ramses, I expect you and David to stay at the house tonight."

"Yes, Mother."

I studied him suspiciously. "In the house. All night."

"Yes, Mother."

"In your rooms. Until-"

"Leave it, Peabody," said Emerson, his voice slightly blurred by what might have been laughter. Or again, it might not. When he went on he was entirely serious. "Scudder will not go to the Valley of the Kings tonight. He knows Bellingham will be armed and watching for him. He will try another approach next time."

"What would you do, if you were in his position?" I asked.

"I am not in his position, curse it," said Emerson irritably. "That is to say, I do not know what he hopes to accomplish. It would not be difficult for him to acquire a rifle from one of the so-called sportsmen who hunt in the hills and marshes around Luxor. But if I hated a man as much as Scudder hates Bellingham, I would want to see his face when I killed him; give him time to know he was about to die, and by whose hand."

From Manuscript H:

They met, at her invitation, in Nefret's room. "It would not be proper, I suppose, for me to go to yours," she remarked, sitting bolt upright in her chair and folding her arms.

Ramses looked at her curiously. "In conventional terms it is just as improper for us to be here. I hope you don't think Mother and Father would object. They are neither of them so conventional or-or mistrustful."

"I know."

Her eyes were downcast and her mouth was compressed. "Something has upset you," Ramses said quietly. "What is it?"

"Something the Colonel said last night. Then he made matters worse by apologizing! Disgusting old man! I won't let him spoil it," she added angrily and somewhat incoherently.

"I should hope not." She was not looking at him, which was probably just as well. The reference might have been obscure to someone else, but not to him-not when Nefret was concerned. He went on, in a voice more controlled than his face had been. "One way or another the Colonel and his daughter will be out of our lives shortly. I need your advice, Nefret. If I had had the sense to confide fully in you some days ago, we might not be in our present dilemma."

"What do you mean? " She looked up, her face brightening.

"I suspected before last night that Tollington was the man we were after. Not," he added with one of his rare smiles, "by following the same interesting train of deduction Mother employed. It was well reasoned, but not particularly helpful. What made me suspicious of him was an increasing sense of familiarity. I had come to grips with Dutton twice; though his face was hidden, I had observed the way he moved and certain other physical mannerisms-the way he held a knife, for example. When he struck me in Vandergelt's garden the other evening-"

"He moved in the same way? " Nefret asked.

"Not exactly. But really, it was a bloody stupid thing to do, wasn't it? No one except German university students fights duels these days. I had to ask myself what he really hoped to accomplish. The most innocent explanation was that he was trying to impress Dolly-"