Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [118]
With an effort I forced myself to fix my thoughts on more important matters. I had not had the opportunity to tell Cyrus about Martinelli. I was in no hurry to see the Vandergelts, since we had yet to decide what to tell Cyrus about Sethos. All three of them knew of his relationship to Emerson. Selim was the only other person in Luxor who knew, but Selim was unaware that the drab companion was Sethos’s daughter. Or was he?
My head was aching. It was Emerson’s fault, for dragging me back to the dig before I could pin my elusive brother-in-law down. We had left him in Luxor, where, as he explained, he hoped to acquire a few basic necessities before collecting his daughter. They were to come directly to us, and I had expected them before this. Matters might not be so easily settled as Sethos had assumed. Mrs. Fitzroyce might reasonably make a fuss, and Justin was almost certain to do so.
Emerson was the first to join me. “Where is everybody?” he demanded.
“They will be here soon, I expect. All of them.”
They were. All of them except Sethos and Maryam. The children began clamoring for tea, so I told Fatima to serve.
“Shouldn’t we wait for our guests?” inquired Sennia.
My poor head gave a great throb. I had forgotten about Sennia, bright as a new penny and as “ ‘quisitive” as the elephant’s child. How much had I told her? How much should I tell her? She had met Maryam when Maryam was Molly. She had encountered Sethos, not as Major Hamilton but as “Cousin Ismail” . . . I gave it up.
“How do you know we are expecting guests?” I inquired feebly.
Sennia was a trifle vain and always insisted on dressing in her best for tea. She smoothed her ruffled skirt and rolled her eyes. “Fatima told me. Who are they? Is one of them Mr. Badger from the aeroplane?”
“It is a surprise,” I said, since I had not the least idea what Sethos would look like or what he would call himself. Surely she wouldn’t remember or recognize “Cousin Ismail.”
Knowing Sethos’s penchant for dramatic epiphanies—the aeroplane was certainly the most impressive to date—I might have expected he would wait until he had a large audience before he presented himself. We saw the carriage coming some distance away; it was the best of those for hire at the landing. It drew up with a flourish in front of the house, and Sethos got out. Then he swooped like a hawk on Davy, who was scuttling as fast as his fat legs could carry him toward the motorcar. The child was absolutely uncanny. I had just that moment opened the door.
Sethos held the little boy up so that their eyes were on a level. “And who is this adventurous young man?” he inquired. Davy giggled.
The little rascal had got us over the first awkwardness. Sethos handed Davy over to Ramses and helped Maryam out of the carriage, while the rest of us fended off the other children. They immediately gathered round Sethos; Davy was captivated by his new acquaintance, and the little girls responded as all females did to his calculated charm.
“What happened to your face?” inquired Evvie, leaning against his knee. “Did someone hit you?”
“Three someones,” said Sethos, without missing a beat. “Three large, cruel men. They were about to hurt a poor cat. I made them stop.”
The twins chirped approvingly and Evvie batted her lashes at him.