The Deeds of the Disturber (26 page)

She was a clever woman, but in her agitation she had made one little slip. How meaningful it might be remained to be seen, but it had certainly opened up new possibilities I meant to explore.

Upon reaching home I discovered I had missed Mr. O'Connell. He had stayed quite some time—"stamping up and down the drawing room and talking to himself," according to Gargery—before abandoning his quest, but he had left a note. Although it was addressed to me, some of the reproaches in it were obviously meant for Emerson.

"Well, really," I said, tossing the note aside. "I am sorry to find Mr. O'Connell is such a poor sport. He has played worse tricks on me. All is fair in love, war, and journalism, Gargery."

"I took the liberty of saying something of the sort to Mr. O'Connell," said Gargery. "Though it was not put so nicely, madam. You and the professor do have such a striking way of putting things, madam, if you don't mind my saying so."

At teatime Emerson had not returned. After waiting an extra quarter-hour, I ordered tea to be brought in and told Mrs. Watson she might send the children down. Percy and Violet were the first to appear. Both looked very neat and tidy, though the buttons straining across Violet's back reminded me of the lecture I had meant to deliver. I proceeded to do so and informed her that from now on she was restricted to one biscuit or slice of cake at tea. Having gobbled the allowed amount and tried in vain to persuade me to change my mind, she retreated in sullen silence to a corner.

Percy had decided that in lieu of butterflies, which were in short supply in London, he would begin collecting beetles. He went on to tell me about it at great length, and I confess the advent of Ramses came as such a relief I welcomed him with more than my usual affection, despite the fact that he smelled strongly of some nasty chemical which had burned several holes through his trousers.

"I was performing tests on the ushebti, Mama," he explained, handing me that object. "I am convinced now that it is genuine. The ancient paste burns with a yellow flame, whereas the modern imitation—"

"I will take your word for it, Ramses," I replied. "I never doubted that the shawabty was genuine."

"Your instincts were quite correct, Mama," Ramses replied with ineffable condescension. "However, I felt it expedient to make the tests, since, as you probably know, royal ushebtis are in rather short supply, even in museums."

Percy laughed boyishly. "You are a funny chap, Ramses. Fancy knowing all that." He gave Ramses a playful nudge.

Seeing Ramses' elbow move, I said sharply, "Don't fight, boys. Ramses, come here and sit next to me. And give me the shawabty; I don't want it to be broken."

Ramses obeyed. I edged away from him, since the smell did not improve on closer acquaintance. "So it is a royal shawabty. I thought so, but did not read the inscription."

"Men-maat-Re Sethos Mer-en-Ptah," said Ramses. "It is an interesting coincidence, Mama. The name of Sethos is not unfamiliar to us."

"You are unfortunately correct, Ramses."

"There is no possibility, I presume, that we are once again matching
wits with that unknown genius of crime, that master of disguise, the Master—"

"I certainly hope not, Ramses. And I advise you not to repeat that idea, or any of the phrases you have just used, to your dear papa."

"I would never do that, Mama, since I have observed that any such references enrage Papa to a point even beyond his normal expressions of irritability. I have never really understood why."

"Because Sethos escaped us, that is why," I said.

Ramses nodded gravely. "That possibility had occurred to me, but it does not fully account for the peculiar character of Papa's fury. To be sure, the fellow had the audacity to hold you prisoner, Mama, and Papa's attachment to you is so great he would naturally wish to wreak vengeance on anyone who threatened your life—"

"Quite right, Ramses. He would feel the same if you had been held prisoner."

"And yet," Ramses insisted, "there is an element, indescribable yet persistent, that eludes me. For instance, Mama, the letter Sethos left contained several inexplicable phrases. He seemed to be blaming you for the criminal acts he contemplates in future. The obvious conclusion is that there was something you might have done that would have turned him from his evil ways. But I cannot think what it might have been."

"You can't?" I let out a long breath of relief. "Well, thank goodness there are some things . . . Never mind, Ramses. We have seen the last of Sethos, I am certain of that. This business lacks his characteristic touch. And," I added, glancing at Percy, "I would prefer not to discuss the subject."

However, Percy was paying no attention to the conversation. He had taken something from his pocket and was examining it with a pleased smile. It was a handsome watch, which appeared to be of solid gold, and I was about to comment on the inappropriateness of a boy his age possessing such an object when something about it struck me as familiar.

"That looks like your watch, Ramses. The one Miss Debenham gave you."

Percy's smile broadened. "It is Ramses' watch, Aunt Amelia. Or rather, it was; he gave it to me. For my birthday."

Ramses' face was, if possible, even less expressive than usual. He had seemed delighted by the watch, which Enid Debenham (now Enid Fraser) had insisted on presenting to him, and which, needless to say, I had put away until the time when he would be old enough and careful enough to wear it. Apparently he had grown tired of it, or else his
attachment to the young lady had waned after her marriage, of which Ramses had not approved.

"You should not have given away a present from a friend, Ramses," I said.

Percy immediately offered me the watch. "I didn't think of that, Aunt Amelia. I say, I am sorry. Here, Ramses must have it back."

"No, if he gave it to you, it is yours. It was a generous gesture. However, it is too valuable an object to be carried by a little boy. I will put it away and give it to your mama when she comes, to keep for you."

"Of course, Aunt Amelia. I meant to ask you to do that. I only wanted to wear it for a little while, because it is so handsome and because . because of its being my birthday."

Though his disappointment was obvious, he had behaved so well I felt sorry for him. "I didn't know it was your birthday, Percy. We must certainly do something to commemorate the occasion. Supposing we all celebrate, tomorrow. What would you like to do?"

Violet stirred. "If Percy has a cake and a lot of things to eat for tea, can I have two pieces of cake? Or three?"

"We will see," I replied curtly. "It is your brother's birthday, and it is his decision as to what we are going to do. Think about it, Percy, and let me know tomorrow morning."

Percy's lips quivered. "Oh, Aunt Amelia, you are so good and kind. Thank you, thank you. And you, too, Cousin Ramses—for the beautiful watch." He gave Ramses a friendly slap on the shoulder. Ramses gave him one back, and although it was still rather early, I sent everyone to his or her room.

I had decided to dress for dinner. Honesty compels me to admit that I came to that decision in order to annoy Emerson, who hates dressing for dinner. Accustomed as I was to the free and easy style we kept at home, I kept forgetting that most upper-class establishments follow strict schedules, which I sometimes think are designed more for the convenience of the staff than of the master. When I opened the door of my room, I surprised one of the maids, who was crouched on the hearth.

She let out a squeal of surprise and curled into a sort of ball. Before I could reassure her, Mrs. Watson hurried in. Mrs. Watson looked annoyed. She was annoyed with me, for coming upstairs early, but of course she could not say so, so she began scolding the maid.

"You ought to have finished with the fire by the time Mrs. Emerson came. Run down now and fetch the hot water."

The girl scuttled out. "There is no hurry, Mrs. Watson," I said. "I am early. Did the professor say when he would be back?"

"No, madam, but I am sure he will be here shortly, since he is always so considerate about telling me when he expects to be late for dinner. Shall I have them wait until he arrives before they bring up the hot water?"

Like so many other modern "conveniences," the device that had been installed in the expectation of its producing hot water was constantly breaking down, so Evelyn had returned to the good old-fashioned customs. I informed Mrs. Watson I would not wait. Then I sat down with my feet on the fender. It had begun to rain, and the evening was cool.

I had decided not to mention my visit with Ayesha, or indicate by the slightest alteration in my manner that such an event had occurred. Emerson must know I had been there. It was up to Emerson to introduce the subject.

If he had nothing on his conscience, he
would
introduce the subject. After all—I kept telling myself—he was not responsible to me for his actions before we met. I knew that never once, since that time, had his devotion faltered; aye, I knew it because my trust in him was total, and also because he had not had much opportunity. At least not when we were in Egypt. At least . . .

There were occasions when he and Abdullah had gone off together, purportedly to visit the latter's village near Cairo. Abdullah would not hesitate to lie for the man he admired above all others.

Ayesha had said Emerson had never visited her in England. But she had not said when she came to England, and she had not struck me as an individual who would rather go to the stake than tell a lie. During the years we lived in Kent, before we resumed our excavations, Emerson was always going up to London for the day, or for several days at a time. He had been lecturing at University College and working at the Reading Room of the Museum. Neither of those activities need fill an entire day.

Startled out of my dismal thoughts by an odd grinding noise, I looked all around the room before I realized it came from me—specifically, from my teeth. I relaxed my jaws and reminded myself of the excellent resolutions I had formed. I would not insult my beloved and devoted spouse by hinting, even in the most oblique fashion, at such unjust suspicions. No. I would wait for him to raise the subject of Ayesha. It would be natural for him to do so. It would be unnatural if he did not. Thanks to Emerson's precipitate departure that morning, and his long absence from home, we had not had the opportunity to discuss the
previous evening's adventure, and speculate, as was our pleasant custom, on various theories and solutions. It would be extremely odd, under the circumstances, if the name of Ayesha did not arise.

Emerson is under the fond delusion that he can tiptoe. He makes as much noise tiptoeing as he does walking normally, and I was aware of his approach long before he reached the door. He stood outside for quite a time. He was, I felt sure, planning what approach to take, and I waited with interest to see what it would be.

Flinging the door open, he came straight to my side and lifted me out of my chair into a fond embrace.

"You look lovely tonight, Peabody," he murmured. "That dress you are wearing ... it must be new, it becomes you well."

"It is not a dress, it is a tea gown," I replied, as soon as I was able to speak. "The same tea gown I wore last night and on several previous occasions. I wear it because . . . Oh, Emerson! That is certainly one of the reasons, but . . . Emerson ..."

It cost more effort than I can possibly describe to put an end to the demonstrations the design of the tea gown facilitated, but I was beginning to suspect Emerson's motives, and resentment strengthened my will. Retreating behind the chair in which I had been sitting, I said sternly, "I am about to dress for dinner, and so must you. I daresay the hot water is now tepid. If you don't hurry, it will be cold."

"I am not going to dress for dinner," said Emerson.

"Yes, you are."

"No, I am not."

"Well, then, perhaps I won't change either." The dawning delight on Emerson's face should have made me ashamed of myself, but I am sorry to say it did not. I went on, "You can wear that beautiful smoking jacket I bought in Cairo—the one you swore you would be seen in only if you were deceased and unable to protest."

"Hmmm," said Emerson. "Peabody, are you annoyed about something?"

"I? Annoyed? My dear Emerson, what an idea. And the little fez that goes with it."

"Oh, curse it, Peabody, must I? The cursed tassel keeps getting in my mouth."

Gargery admired the smoking jacket very much, which put Emerson in a slightly better frame of mind. He admired the fez even more; with a defiant look at me, Emerson plucked it from his head and presented
it to the butler. "Now then, Peabody," he said, when Gargery had gone off with his prize, "no more of this sniping, eh? Be open with me. What is on your mind? Were the children unusually vicious today?"

"No more so than usual, Emerson, thank you for inquiring. Violet is sulking because I have restricted her consumption of sweets, but Ramses and Percy seem to be getting on better. Ramses has tested the shawabty and declares it is genuine."

"Well, I knew it was, Peabody."

"So did I, Emerson."

Emerson helped himself to Brussels sprouts. "I don't suppose you have heard from your estimable brother or his wife?"

"No, not yet."

"It is cursed peculiar, Peabody. You would think the woman would have the simple courtesy to write to thank you, and ask about her children."

"She is under a doctor's care, I believe. He may have forbidden it."

"And dear James is safely on the high seas, out of our reach," Emerson grumbled. "How you ever came to have such despicable relations—"

"At least they are not ashamed to show their faces," I retorted. "Though honesty compels me to confess that they probably should be. Do you realize, Emerson, that except for Walter I have not met a single connection of yours? Your mother did not even have the courtesy to attend our nuptials."

"Damned lucky for you she did not," Emerson replied, stabbing viciously at his mutton. "Excuse me, Peabody. I told you she cast me out years ago—"

"But you never told me why."