Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [103]
“I owe Weigall one for that,” Ramses muttered.
“I doubt he said any such thing,” I replied, tossing another half-dozen epistles into the wastepaper basket.
“He was certainly the social butterfly when he was inspector,” Nefret remarked. “Always bragging about Prince This and Lady That.”
“We mustn’t be uncharitable, my dear. In his official capacity Mr. Weigall had to be polite to important visitors. So do some of our colleagues who are dependent upon private contributions. We are under no such constraints, and people like that are only a nuisance if one allows them to take advantage. Gargery has been quite useful in that respect; if strangers turn up asking for us, we send him out in full butling mode. When he looks down his nose and intones, ‘The Professor and Mrs. Emerson are not at home,’ even the most importunate Americans beat a retreat.”
“Gargery can’t look down his nose at everyone,” said Lia with a laugh. “He’s only five— Oh, Gargery. I am sorry; I didn’t see you.”
“That is quite all right, Miss Lia,” said Gargery, putting her in her place by calling her miss instead of madam.
“Gargery can look down his nose at anyone,” I said. “It is not a matter of height, but of presence.”
“Thank you, madam,” said Gargery. “Shall I bring the drinks tray, Professor?”
“Yes, why not?” He sat down on the floor and beckoned the children to gather round. “See what I found today.”
It was a small statue of limestone, approximately six inches high. The workmanship was rather crude, but the face had a smiling, naive charm. “This was dedicated to the queen Ahmose Nefertari by a fellow named Ikhetaper,” Emerson explained, tracing the line of hieroglyphs with his finger. “You may look but don’t touch. It is not a dolly.”
“I would like to go and dig with you and Mama and Papa,” said Evvie. “If I find something, can I keep it?”
Charla shot her an evil look, which Emerson did not miss. He knew better than to accede to that request. “I’ll tell you what,” he said heartily. “Supposing I teach you all how to ride a donkey. As I said to your grandmother the other day, it is high time you learned.”
The offer was received with general acclamation. I am not a petty-minded woman. I did not mention that it had been my idea.
On the whole, the riding lesson was a success. That is to say, it was a success with the children. The donkeys were less than pleased and one of the adult persons present behaved rather badly. I refer of course to Emerson, who kept snatching the children off the little beasts whenever they (the latter) moved faster than a walk. Evvie fell off twice and Davy once—to express his solidarity, I believe, on the second occasion. The happiest of all was Dolly, who trotted round and round the courtyard like someone who had been riding all his life. When Emerson, puffing and dust-covered, declared an end to the lesson, Dolly obediently dismounted. He came to me and took my hand.
“That was very good,” I said. “We will keep this particular donkey for you.”
“Thank you, Aunt Amelia. When I am older I will ride a great white horse, like my great-great-grandfather.”
“Only one ‘great,’ “ I said, wondering what the devil Emerson had been telling him. Abdullah had never been an enthusiastic horseman.
“When will we go and see him again?”
“Soon. Run along now and wash up for supper.”
Charla did not want to get off the donkey. She stuck like a cocklebur until Ramses detached her and carried her away.
Since I had remained a safe distance from the circus it did not take me long to tidy myself. I treated myself to a brief stroll through the gardens, checking on my plantings. One of the roses appeared to me to be a trifle wilted; I made a mental note to remind Fatima to remind Ali to water it. What a restful place it was—the sweet scent of blossoms, the melodious songs of birds. A bee-eater flashed overhead, iridescent bronze and steel blue and green, and a dove let out its strange cry, almost like a human laugh. The cry ended in a squawk and I plunged into the