Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [106]
“I don’t know. But Selim will. Emerson, there are a number of other perplexing issues facing us, but in light of my latest theory we must consider the unmasking of Hathor of primary importance.”
As if drawn by a magnet, Emerson’s eyes returned to the list of names. “Mrs. Pankhurst?!”
I HAD BEEN OF TWO minds as to whether to tell the children about my unpleasant new theory. A good night’s sleep, a bright morning, and (particularly) the affectionate attentions of my spouse restored my natural optimism and reminded me that they were not children but responsible adults, and that it was my duty to warn them of a potential danger. I waited until Sennia had finished breakfast and gone off to gather her books before I told them.
The only one who took it seriously was Gargery. Like the romantic he was, he had been vastly intrigued by the veiled lady. The others expressed the same reservations Emerson had hinted at the night before, namely and to wit, that the whole thing was a figment of my imagination.
“What made you think she might have had a weapon?” Ramses asked, the tilt of his brows expressing his skepticism. “I feel sure one of us would have noticed if she had pointed a pistol at us.”
“I am not at all sure you would have,” I retorted. “With all respect to you, my dear, nobody seems to have noticed very much.”
“There was quite a lot going on,” David said. He reached for the marmalade. “I’m beginning to feel rather sorry for the poor woman. It must have been disconcerting in the extreme to have her performance interrupted by that screaming mob—and can you picture her scrambling over the wall, tearing her elegant robe?”
“Nevertheless,” said Emerson, who had finished eating and was glancing pointedly at his watch, “we must take every possibility into account. Peabody’s wild—er—unorthodox theories have often—er—sometimes proved true. Keep a sharp eye out, all of you.”
As soon as we arrived at the site I found Selim and informed him I wanted to talk to him. He had been a bit shy of me since the arrival of the motorcar, but this morning he had a new grievance.
“When may we give a fantasia of welcome, Sitt Hakim? It should have been done before this. Ramses said he would talk to you, and we have been waiting for you to say when it will be.”
“I am sorry, Selim,” I said, acknowledging the justice of his complaint. “Ramses did speak to me, and the matter slipped my mind. You know how difficult it is to get Emerson to agree to attend a social event.”
“This is not a social event,” said Selim. Now that he had me on the defensive, he folded his arms and gave me a severe look. “It is an obligation and an honored custom as well as a pleasure. The Father of Curses will obey your slightest wish.”
“He ignored my wishes about the motorcar.”
“You did not forbid him to get one, Sitt.”
His beard twitched, just as his father’s had done when he was trying to repress a smile. I could not help laughing.
“You are in the right, Selim. I have been remiss about entertaining the family. Mrs. Vandergelt wants to give a party for them too, and several old friends in Luxor have sent invitations. But your fantasia must come first. Would this coming Friday suit you?”
Selim no longer repressed his smile. “I will tell Daoud and Kadija.”
“Now that that most important matter is settled, I want to go over a few things with you.” I unfolded a piece of paper. I had found time to make another list. It was headed “Outstanding Questions.”
“Ah,” said Selim. “A list.”
Several of the items were of long standing and Selim had nothing new to add. The purported madman who had attacked Maryam had not been identified, nor had the individual responsible for the sinking of Daoud’s boat. There had been no sign of the jewelry stolen from Cyrus, or of Martinelli. Selim’s face grew longer and longer as I read on. He prided himself on his connections and he hated admitting he had drawn a blank. The last question took him by surprise.
“Layla? Yes, Sitt, of course I remember her. The third wife of Abd el Hamed. Why do you ask about