Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [146]
“I’ve been waiting for it to grow out,” Sethos explained, stroking his chin. “Just wait, Amelia; once I’ve had it trimmed and touched up a bit—and made a few other changes—the mere sight of me will cause you to swoon with admiration.”
“Bah,” said Emerson. “All you will learn is that there are several women in Luxor—I name no names, Peabody—who would stop at nothing to marry off their spinster daughters. The woman you’re after won’t come anywhere near you.”
“I think she might,” Sethos said, his smile fading. “I am known to be a friend of Mr. Cyrus Vandergelt, am I not?”
“In short,” said Ramses, after a moment of silence, “you intend to set yourself up as bait.”
Maryam let out a little cry, and her father turned to her with a reassuring smile. “It’s perfectly safe, Maryam. I doubt very much that she would try the same trick a second time. If she does, I promise I won’t follow her into a dark alley.” He looked round the circle of sober faces and shrugged. “It’s our best lead and it ought to be pursued.”
“It would be nice if we could clear the matter up soon,” I said. “The Christmas season is approaching. I have never allowed a criminal to interfere with my holiday celebrations, and I don’t intend to begin now.”
“Christmas!” Emerson exclaimed, eyes bulging. “Now see here, Peabody, I have never objected to the unnecessary effort you expend on what is essentially a pagan holiday with accretions from an equally nonsensical superstition—”
“We certainly can’t disappoint the children,” Lia said. “I must confess I hadn’t given it much thought.”
“I have,” I said. “But we still have a few weeks.”
“There is another matter,” said David, glancing at his father-in-law. “The Milner Commission is due in Egypt shortly, and the British attitude is already known. The Protectorate will continue. Zaghlul Pasha has sent word that the commission is to be boycotted entirely. There will be strikes and demonstrations all over the country.”
“How do you know that?” Lia asked.
“I read the newspapers,” David said somewhat impatiently. “I hope Sethos is right, but I have a feeling that Cairo is going to take the explosion at the railroad station more seriously than he anticipates.”
“It has nothing to do with us,” Ramses said, watching his friend with a furrowed brow. “Stay out of it, David. You promised you would.”
“We will keep him out of it,” I said firmly. “Good heavens, haven’t we enough to worry about without that?”
Fatima came in. “There is a patient for you, Nur Misur. Will you go?”
“Of course.” Nefret rose.
“And the rest of us must return to our labors,” I declared. “Who is going to the Castle with me?”
“Not I,” Emerson growled.
“No one expects you to, my dear. Cheer up; we will have finished the job in a day or two and then we can get on with our investigation.”
“What investigation?” Emerson demanded. He pushed his plate away with such violence that it knocked over a glass. Water spilled across the cloth. “Curse it,” Emerson shouted. “I am sorry, Fatima. It was your fault, Peabody, your bland optimism drives me wild! There is nothing to investigate. We’ve come to a dead end. You know perfectly well we can’t do a bloody thing except sit round waiting for another bloody attack!”
“That is not quite correct, Radcliffe,” said Walter, adjusting his eyeglasses. “Er—Sethos’s scheme—”
“Is posturing without purpose,” Emerson snarled. His hard blue stare moved from one of his brothers to the other. Sethos grinned appreciatively and Walter, who had known Emerson even longer, calmly buttered another piece of bread.
WHEN I ARRIVED AT THE Castle, I found Cyrus pacing up and down the display room, tugging at his goatee. Katherine trotted alongside, patting him and emitting breathless phrases like “Now, Cyrus,” and “Cyrus, dear.” He was going at a great pace and my dear Katherine was a trifle stout; she let out a gasp of relief when my appearance brought Cyrus to a halt.
“Now what?” I demanded. “Katherine, sit down, my dear, and catch your breath.”
Cyrus turned remorsefully to his wife.