Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [112]
“Won’t you and Mrs. Emerson stay for tea, Professor?”
“No,” said Emerson. I coughed meaningfully, and he amended his reply. “Er—thank you, but we have not the time. Confounded rude of Mrs. Emerson to burst in on you, but the circumstances . . . Hmph. Amelia, shall we go? Where’s the girl? That is, I mean Miss—”
I poked him with my parasol before he could shove his foot farther into his mouth.
Maryam had slipped out of the room. I hoped she had only gone to get her hat, but I wasn’t taking any chances on her eluding me, so I rushed through my farewells and removed Emerson from the room. Somewhat to my surprise, Justin did not renew his demand to go with us. He had retreated and stood with his back against the wall like a cornered animal.
“He doesn’t like me,” said Emerson, who had also observed the boy’s reaction.
“You keep catching hold of him. It is just as well; he was determined to come along until you turned up. Now where is that girl? We will wait here at the head of the gangplank so she can’t get away.”
“You think she may bolt?”
“I do not know, Emerson, but I prefer not to take the chance. That is why I came here at once, before she learned of the arrival of a mysterious stranger in an aeroplane. Whatever possessed you to follow me?”
“I wanted to be sure you had gone where you said you were going, Peabody.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“Not one whit,” said Emerson. His curious gaze moved round the deck, taking in the elegant fittings and the crewmen who watched him with equal curiosity. “The old lady must be filthy rich. She’s set herself up in style. I don’t recognize any of the crewmen. A sturdy lot, aren’t they?”
“They are Cairenes, I suppose. She probably hired them with the boat.”
When Maryam came she was wearing the flowery hat. She had washed the paint off her face and loosened her hair. She looked very young and frightened. Emerson immediately offered her his arm and told her not to worry.
Emerson left us at the Amelia; he dislikes emotional scenes and anticipated that this one would be particularly fraught. I led Maryam to the saloon, where we found young Nasir furiously dusting various articles of furniture. Fatima must have rousted him out of his house in the village and sent him to the boat to resume his former duties as steward. I had known I could leave everything to her; her standards were a good deal higher than mine.
“The beds are made, Sitt,” he announced proudly, waving the cloth, so that the dust immediately settled back onto the surfaces he had cleaned. “And the tea is made, and the food is here, and Mahmud is ready to cook, and—”
“Very good,” I said. “Where is the gentleman?”
“In his room, Sitt. There is hot water and towels and—”
I told Maryam to sit down and went to fetch Sethos. By accident or design, he had selected the same room he had once occupied when he was ill with malaria. He was standing at the window looking out across the rose and golden ripples of the river.
“She is here,” I said, though I knew he must have been aware of our arrival. “I will leave you two alone.”
“No.” He turned slowly to face me. “Please stay.”
“Come now, don’t be such a coward. You aren’t afraid of her, are you?”
“I am afraid of saying the wrong thing.” He passed a hand nervously over his hair. I decided it was not a wig, though the color was a peculiar shade of rust-streaked brown.
“Very well,” I agreed. Only courtesy had led me to make the offer. I was immensely curious to know what they would say to each other, and it was likely that a mediator—or referee!—might be wanted.
Nasir had served tea; I told him we would wait on ourselves, and sent him away. After a brief interval, during which time Maryam sat with bowed head and Sethos stood staring, for once bereft of speech, I took a chair and said briskly, “Maryam, will you pour, please? Milk only for me. Your father takes lemon, no sugar.”
The social amenities are considered meaningless by some, but in my experience they are useful in helping