The Falcon at the Portal: An Amelia Peabody Mystery (16 page)

Emerson is well-known to the staff at Shepheard's. He is, I expect, part of the training given new waiters: how to fold a serviette, how to pour wine, how to deal with Professor Emerson. (Ignore his eccentricities of dress and speech, and obey his orders instantly.) The response to his summons
was
virtually instantaneous, and after I had ordered my modest repast I turned to the children.

"How was your morning, my dears? Nothing out of the ordinary occurred, I presume?"

"If you are referring to murderous attacks or inexplicable happenings, the answer is no," said Ramses.

Nefret, who had opened her mouth, closed it again. Emerson handed the menus to the waiter, unfolded his serviette, and began describing the interesting features of the Layer Pyramid. Ramses asked a number of questions. Emerson began drawing on the tablecloth.

"Don't do that," I said. "Where is your notebook?"

Emerson reached into his pocket. Instead of the notebook he withdrew the potsherd he had found that morning.

"What is that?" Ramses asked, reaching for it.

"The cause of your father's little misadventure," I replied, as Emerson investigated his other pockets.

I proceeded to give a well-organized account of the events of the morning. Nefret's expressive countenance indicated some amusement as I described our encounter with the Reynoldses and Geoffrey.

"Poor Maude," she murmured. "All that way for nothing."

Ramses, intent upon the potsherd, ostentatiously ignored this comment.

"The young fellows seem very keen," said Emerson obliviously. "We may take advantage of their offer to give us a hand for a few weeks. Both of them know the site."

"They might have warned you about the loosened stones," said Ramses.

"Good Gad, there was no need to warn me; I could see for myself that the cursed structure is falling apart. I was a bit careless, that's all." Emerson finished his soup and beckoned the waiter. "It seemed a strange place to find a potsherd of that size lying out on the surface. Our first artifact, eh? I couldn't make anything of the inscription, though."

"Just random hieroglyphs," said Ramses. "Hieratic, rather— Middle Kingdom type. Perhaps some apprentice scribe was practicing."

"Get the dirty thing off the table and eat your pilaf," I ordered.

"Yes, Mother."

"What are we doing this evening?" Nefret asked.

"Shopping."

Emerson groaned.

"Not you, Emerson. All you do is complain and look at your watch. Nefret and I will attend to the purchase of necessary furnishings. You and Ramses can begin packing books."

"There is no hurry," Emerson began.

"Considering the rate at which you pack books, there is. I intend to be moved in before Christmas. I instructed Selim to meet us at the house tomorrow with a full crew—carpenters, masons, painters, and cleaning persons."

Emerson's brows drew together. "I told Selim—"

"I countermanded your order."

From Letter Collection B

       Dearest Lia,

It is most inconsiderate of you to be elsewhere when I yearn desperately to talk with you. A honeymoon is no excuse. Something happened this afternoon that has left me feeling wretched and uncomfortable, and I must confide in someone. You will see, as I proceed, why I cannot confide in Aunt Amelia or the Professor or Ramses. Especially Ramses!

I told you in my last that Percy had turned up. I wish you could have been there when he greeted us; I suppose he had no idea how absurd he looked in that ostentatious uniform, with his pink sunburned face and his huge mustache. His reception would have discouraged a less confident man. Aunt Amelia went absolutely rigid and her gray eyes took on a steely glitter; the Professor let out one of his ripest oaths and would have elaborated on it if I had not pretended to lose my footing and stamped heavily on his foot. Ramses? Well, my dear, what would you expect? He's become even more the stone pharaoh. I used to be able to break through his shell by teasing him, but these days he doesn't turn a hair, no matter what I say or do. If I walked into his room stark-naked he would just blink and ask if I weren't afraid of catching cold.

I seem to be losing the thread of the narrative, as Aunt Amelia would say. To resume: I didn't suppose we would see much of Percy, even after we heard that he had returned from Alexandria; the young officers spend most of their time at the Turf Club or the socially acceptable hotels or at various private parties. I underestimated his persistence. He didn't call on us
—
I think it has dawned on him that the Professor wouldn't be pleased to see him
—
but he invited me to several parties and dances. I refused, by return messenger, explaining I had no time for social activities.

This wasn't strictly true, since we have seen more than I would like of Maude Reynolds and her set. She and her brother are such close neighbors, it's impossible to refuse all their invitations. I don't mind Geoffrey and jack; they have been very helpful on the dig and I've become rather fond of them, especially Geoff. He turned up at the house one morning with a cartload of flowers
—
roses, poinsettias, lemon and orange trees and various climbing vines, which he proceeded to plant with his own hands all round the courtyard. He couldn't have done anything to please Aunt Amelia more; the two of them were at it all morning, digging and fertilizing and watering and discussing horticulture.

Ramses and I have had the devil of a time trying to satisfy
both the Professor and Aunt Amelia; he wants us on the dig every day, and she wants us at the house. It's like walking a tightrope! We will be making the move in a few days
—
inshallahl

I'm losing the thread again. You can guess why. I will gird up my loins (figuratively speaking! as Aunt Amelia would say) and get it over.

Most men take the hint after one has consistently refused their invitations. The young officers here in Cairo are often more persistent; their gaudy uniforms and swashbuckling ways make quite an impression on girls fresh out from England, and some of them find it difficult to believe
any
woman can resist them. It couldn't have been a coincidence that Percy turned up, in person, when I was alone on the dahabeeyah. Aunt Amelia had dragged Ramses and the Professor (protesting loudly) to help her at the house, and had ordered
me
to finish packing
—/
admit I'd kept putting it off. Now don't tell me I oughtn't have seen him, Lia; when Mahmud brought me his card he was already on the boat and in the saloon. I thought I could get rid of him before the others came back.

A less conceited man might have realized he was not welcome. I was wearing the same clothes I wear on the dig
—
boots and trousers and shirt. I defy you to define a less seductive costume! I settled myself in a straight chair instead of sitting on the divan, so he wouldn't have an excuse to sit next to me. I told him I was busy and asked flat-out what he wanted. He didn't waste time, I'll say that for him. Before I knew what was happening, he was leaning over me, so close I could see the separate hairs in his mustache.

The trouble with straight chairs is that they fall over very easily. For every action there is, we are told, an equal reaction; I was afraid that if I let fly with hand or foot, I would end up on my back entangled in the chair legs
—
an ignominious and, under those circumstances, vulnerable position. I looked him in the eye and said, "Sir! How dare you?"

It sounded so silly I could hardly keep a straight face. However, I had used it effectively on certain earlier occasions. Percy backed off, looking foolish. I slipped out of the chair and stood behind it.

"You claim to be an officer and a gentleman," I said. "If you cannot behave like one you had better go."

''Forgive me," he mumbled. "I couldn't help myself. You are so lovely, so desirable
—"

"So it was my fault that you behaved like a cad?" (Another of those words that seems to be effective, though I'll be cursed if I know exactly what it means!)

"You don't understand. I want to marry you."

I laughed
—
not a genteel, ladylike giggle, but a hearty guffaw. It was completely spontaneous, but I suppose I couldn't have done anything more offensive if I had tried. He flushed darkly, and I got myself under control
—
for the moment.

"No," I said. "Not under any circumstances. Not if you were the last man on earth. Not if the sole alternative were a slow painful death by torture."

"You don't mean it," Percy said.

I managed to hold on to my temper. I was quite proud of myself, for really, can you
imagine
a more infuriating statement? I said quietly, "The others will be back before long. If you are still here when the Professor comes
—
or Ramses
—"

"Ah," said Percy, sneering like a stage villain. "Are you really going to let Aunt Amelia marry you off to cousin Ramses? I thought you had more spunk. He's not man enough for you, Nefret."

That
was when I lost my temper. You remember our discussion of that interesting episode in Percy's book? David wasn't supposed to tell
you
what Ramses had admitted to him, and
you
weren't supposed to tell
me;
but we tell each other everything, don't we? You swore me to secrecy, as David had sworn you. Lia, I broke my word! I couldn't help it. That he should dare sneer at Ramses! I informed Master Percy that he wasn't fit to blacken Ramses's boots, and called him a sneak and a liar and a coward
—
among other things. I wasn't too coherent, but by the time I ran out of breath the whole story had come out.

I didn't fully comprehend what I had done until I saw Percy's face. It had gone all patchy red and white, as sunburned skin does after a bad shock.

"I didn't know," he muttered.

"Obviously you didn't, or you would not have written such rubbish, knowing we could challenge it."

"It's true?" He caught himself. "I mean to say
—
you would take his word instead of mine?"

"Really, Percy, you are too ridiculous!" I didn't feel like
laughing, though; I had begun to realize what a mess I'd made of the business. "Ramses didn't tell me anything. He didn't want anyone to know."

"Then how did you find out? I mean to say, what makes you think
—"

"He confirmed it, but only after some of us reasoned it out for ourselves."

"Some of us," Percy repeated.

"Not Aunt Amelia and the Professor, at least I don't believe so. We swore we would keep it to ourselves. Please
..."
The word came hard, but I got it out. "Please don't say anything."

Percy threw his shoulders back and stuck out his chin. "I would obey your slightest wish, Nefret, but this puts me in an impossible position. Ramses deliberately deceived me
—
for the best of motives, I am sure
—
but now that I know the truth I must give him the credit he deserves. An officer and a gentleman could not act otherwise."

I cringe when I remember the hackneyed cliches in which I begged him
not
to act like an officer and a gentleman. Yes, I had to beg. Whether he would actually have humiliated himself I don't know; that sort of thing is not his style; but I didn't dare take the chance. I knew Ramses would be furious if he found out I had given him away. Finally Percy
reluctantly
agreed
—
as a favor to me.

After he had gone I was trembling so hard I had to sit down. You know my frightful temper, Lia; I lose it too quickly, and when I've got my wits back, I feel guilty and ashamed. Not of embarrassing Percy
—
he deserved it, though I admit he behaved surprisingly well. I would have expected him to storm and shout and deny everything. But I can't forgive myself for betraying Ramses. The promise was unspoken, but it should have bound me. You won't say anything, will you? Not even to David.