The Falcon at the Portal: An Amelia Peabody Mystery (32 page)

I heard none of this firsthand. My connections with British officials and their ladies were few, and the most venomous of the latter would not have dared mention the subject to
me.
It was Nefret who told me what was being said, and I had to force it out of her. I happened to be in the courtyard the afternoon she returned from a luncheon party, and one look at her stormy face was enough; I intercepted her when she would have started toward her room and made her come and sit with me.

She was one of those girls who really did look very pretty when she was angry; her eyes flashed and her cheeks took on a wild-rose blush. They matched the gown she was wearing that afternoon and the silk roses that adorned her elegant hat. The only discordant notes were her gloveless hands and the scraped knuckles on the right one. When she saw me staring at it she tried to hide it under her full skirts.

"Dear me," I said. "How did you do that?"

"I... uh ... Would you believe me if I said I caught my hand in the carriage door?"

      "No."

Nefret burst out laughing and gave me a quick hug. "I did, though. Did you think I was so unladylike as to punch another young lady on the jaw?"

"Yes."

"I was sorely tempted. Why do you suppose I went to that stupid woman's stupid little party? I wanted to know what they were saying about us. I knew some of them wouldn't be able to resist tormenting me—they think they're so
clever,
with their innuendoes and sly hints and pursed lips and sidelong looks! I was in complete control of myself until Alice Framington-French said she soooo admired Ramses for keeping a stiff upper lip after his
tragic loss,
and I said we all missed Maude, we had been very fond of her, and she said, well, but that was a bit
different,
wasn't it, and
really
couldn't I persuade Ramses it was time he settled down and stopped breaking hearts, that was a sister's role, wasn't it—oh, but of course he wasn't
really
my brother, was he, and then she and Sylvia Gorst exchanged one of
those
looks ..."

She stopped to catch her breath. Nefret's way of talking in italics intensified as she became angrier. I was neither surprised nor angry—not very. No one has a nastier imagination than a well-bred lady. One must learn not to care what such people are thinking and saying or one will be in a perpetual state of agitation.

I said as much to Nefret, who nodded glumly. She took the pins out of her hat and began fanning herself vigorously with it. "I did
not
hit her. I just curled my lip and said yes, it was a pity
she
hadn't been able to catch Ramses year before last, she certainly pursued him hard enough, though not as hard as
Sylvia,
and then I thanked her for a
delightful
luncheon and stalked out and when I got in the carriage I slammed the door on my hand."

A noise like that of a cannon firing sounded without. I did not suppose I would ever become accustomed to the volume and spontaneity of Narmer's barking. He had a perfectly astounding voice for a dog his size; one was reminded of blasted heaths and spectral hounds.

"Someone is coming," Nefret said unnecessarily, while I dabbed at the tea I had spilled on my shoe. She was always trying to convince me of Narmer's usefulness as a watchdog.

"The Vandergelts are coming to dinner," I replied. "Go and
tell that dog to behave itself, Nefret; you and Ramses are the only ones he will listen to. Last time the Vandergelts came he jumped all over Katherine and knocked her hat off."

Nefret hurried to obey, but my concern had been unnecessary; the barking cut off as if by a knife, and the door opened to admit the Vandergelts, and Ramses.

"We saw Ramses at the train station and brought him on with us," Katherine explained.

I turned my attention to my son, of whose absence from the house I had not been aware until that moment. "You went to Cairo this evening?"

"Yes. I had an errand. Mrs. Vandergelt, won't you take this chair? It hasn't quite so many cat hairs as the others."

"Where is Horus?" Cyrus inquired. It could not be said that he got on any better with the cat than the rest of us, but he took an interest since Horus had fathered the kittens of the Vandergelts's cat Sekhmet. She had once belonged to us but had adapted quite happily to the pampered life she led at the Castle.

"In my room, I expect," Nefret said. "I'll go see, and change out of this frock."

"You might just look in at Emerson and tell him our guests are here," I called after her.

When Nefret reappeared she was wearing a blue shot-silk tea gown she had purchased in Paris at a price that had made me blink. She could well afford as many expensive gowns as she liked, and this one was particularly becoming; it deepened the blue of her eyes and had the lines only a top-flight designer can create. The effect that evening was marred by the bulky shape of Horus, who was hanging over her shoulder, his large hindquarters resting comfortably in the curve of her arm.

Emerson soon joined us and we settled down to catch up on the news. There was no one with whom we could be as comfortable as the Vandergelts. Before long Emerson was smoking his pipe and Cyrus his cheroot, and various masculine garments were strewn about the furniture. Ramses had removed his coat, tie and collar as soon as he entered the house, and Cyrus had been persuaded to follow his example. Emerson, as I hardly need say, had not had them on to begin with. Nefret had put Horus on the floor by the sofa, over his loud protests, so she could sit cross-legged as she preferred.

The Vandergelts had recently returned from a brief trip by
dahabeeyah to Medum and Dahshur. They had decided to remain on board instead of returning to us, and I did not argue with them since I know one is more comfortable in one's own quarters. Emerson wanted to talk about Dahshur, but I put an end to that; there was still no hope we could get that site, and it was only rubbing salt in our wounds to discuss it. I knew Katherine was anxious to hear about the tragedy; they had left Cairo the day after our frightful discovery and had missed the funeral.

"I felt a little guilty about not attending," she said. "But we scarcely knew the poor girl and we had already made our arrangements to sail."

"Why should you feel guilty?" Emerson demanded. "Funerals are a waste of time. You needn't bother attending mine. I won't give a curse."

"How do you know you won't?" Cyrus asked.

Emerson does not at all mind being teased by Cyrus, for they are the best of friends, but I did mind listening to my husband's unorthodox opinions on the subject of religion—again. I had heard them quite often. His eyes shone wickedly and his lips parted...

"You were not missed," I said, cutting Emerson off with the expertise of long practice. "There was a large attendance."

"All staring and nudging one another like tourists at a monument," Emerson growled. "Most of the people who attended didn't even know the girl. Ghouls!"

Katherine looked from me to Nefret, who was staring fixedly at the cat, to Ramses, perched on the edge of the fountain. "If you would rather not discuss the subject, I understand," she said. "But that is what friends are for, you know—to listen and perhaps offer useful advice."

"Doggone right!" Cyrus exclaimed. "We'd both feel real insulted if you didn't let us in on things like you've always done before. That poor girl's death was no accident, don't tell me it was, and you folks are in trouble because of it, don't tell me you aren't. How can we help?"

Emerson heaved a sigh so deep, a button popped off his shirt; Nefret looked up with a smile; and I said, "Ramses, if you will be so good—pass round the whiskey!"

I brought our friends up-to-date on the circumstances surrounding Maude's death and the events that had followed. They were not as indignant as I about the failure to conduct a post-mortem. "It's more than likely they wouldn't have found anything to prove it was murder, anyhow," Cyrus said shrewdly. "Even a bullet hole or a knife wound would be hard to see if the injuries were that extensive."

"Death most probably resulted from the blow on the back of her head," Ramses said. "It would have been difficult to prove it was caused by the conventional blunt instrument rather than the side of the shaft."

"You didn't tell us that," Nefret exclaimed. "How do you know?"

"I can't be certain. But I've been thinking about it, trying to remember details. I told you there was very little blood on her clothing and on the rock surface. That suggests that she had been dead for some time when she was thrown into the shaft. The only area of extensive bleeding was on the back of her head. Her hair had been saturated."

"So she was struck from behind," I said. "At least it was mercifully quick and virtually painless. Can we deduce that if she turned her back on her killer he was someone she knew and trusted?" I answered my own question before Ramses or Emerson could beat me to it. "Not necessarily. He might have lurked in hiding and caught her unawares."

"But surely only someone she knew could have persuaded her to leave the house in the dead of night," Katherine said. "One must assume the attack did not take place in her room. Her brother would have noticed the—er—evidence."

"Well reasoned, Mrs. Vandergelt," said Ramses. "According to Jack, she had dined with him and retired at her usual hour. It was not until the following morning he realized she was gone and that her bed had not been slept in. There is no doubt but that she left the house of her own free will. One of the doors was unbolted and unlocked. Either someone roused her or she had arranged a meeting in advance—probably the latter, since she had changed her evening frock for riding clothes and had not gone to bed."

"So when Mr. Reynolds found her missing he came hunting for you," Katherine said. "Why? Don't look at me in that accusing fashion, Amelia, just think about it. The lady must have had a number of admirers; she was young, attractive and rich. This season her fancy seems to have fallen on Ramses. I don't mean to embarrass you, Ramses dear—"

"No," Ramses said. "That is—uh—I see what you are getting at, Mrs. Vandergelt, and I—uh—"

"You didn't suppose I had the sense to think of it?" She smiled affectionately. "I know you, you see; I feel certain your behavior in private and in public was exemplary. Why should her brother immediately suspect
you
of luring her away—for purposes of seduction, one must assume?"

Emerson swallowed noisily. "Good Gad, Katherine, what a cynic you are. You think someone put the idea into Reynolds's head?"

"It's a rather thick head, isn't it?" Katherine said calmly. "He hasn't much imagination or originality. And that scenario is so outrageously out of character for Ramses that no sensible person would entertain the notion for a moment."

"Thank you," Ramses said, very quietly.

"None of us entertained it," I assured him. "It is very kind of you to reassure Ramses, Katherine, but with all respect to your undoubted acumen, I cannot see this gets us any further. Unless you are suggesting that it was a former lover who killed her? And carried her body all that way in the hope of incriminating the man who had replaced him in Maude's affections ... Hmmmm."

"Control your outrageous imagination, Amelia," Emerson exclaimed. "If the girl's death were an isolated incident, there might be another motive, but there have been—how many?—three, four other seeming accidents. Curse it, this must be connected with our search for the forger. She knew something—or he thought she did—"

"Accidents," Cyrus interrupted. "What accidents?"

"I suppose," I said musingly, "that the shots fired at me might have been aimed at someone else. Or something else. But there was no game in sight—"

"Shots," Cyrus gasped. He began tugging agitatedly at his goatee. "I ought to be used to you, Amelia, but consarn it, you make my blood run cold sometimes. What shots? When? How many amusing little incidents like that have there been?"

Emerson was disinclined to admit his near fall from the pyramid had been one of the incidents in question, but he was overruled by the rest of us; the ostentatious ostracon must have been placed where it was in order to lead him onto a treacherous stretch.

"The most maddening thing about them," I said, "is that we have no idea why the villain is after us. If we were hot on his trail he might wish to distract or destroy us, but we haven't discovered a single confounded clue as to his identity, and he must be aware of that. A sensible villain (if there can be such a thing) would avoid stirring us up."

Katherine and her husband looked at one another. Cyrus shook his head. Katherine shrugged.

"Are you thinking the same thing I am?" Cyrus demanded of his wife.

"I feel certain I am, Cyrus."

"What are you talking about?" I inquired.

"I don't understand how you could have missed it." Katherine turned back to me. "Could we be mistaken, Cyrus?"

"Durned if I see how, Katherine."

"Confound it!" Emerson shouted. "Vandergelt, are you trying to drive me to distraction with enigmatic hints and unanswered questions? You sound like my wife."

"All right, old buddy," Cyrus said with a grin. "You're off the track, and I'll tell you how. These accidents of yours don't have a blamed thing to do with the forgeries. They were designed for one purpose and one purpose only: Somebody's trying to drive you away from Zawaiet el 'Aryan!"