Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [153]
“We will say good night too, Mother,” he said.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like another cup of coffee?” I suggested. “Or a little chat?”
“He needs to rest,” Nefret said, taking the hand Ramses offered and rising. “He’s had rather a long day. Good—”
“Indeed he has. I feel obliged to remark, Ramses, that in giving David his well-deserved praise, we slighted you. You saved David from serious injury and risked yourself, as you have always done, for the sake of friendship and the cause of—”
“Don’t make a speech, Mother.” He was laughing, though, and he bent his head to give me an affectionate kiss on the cheek. “You’d have done the same, and probably more effectively. One glimpse of that parasol and the mob would have fled, screaming. Oh, I almost forgot. I translated a few pages of that papyrus for you. They are on your desk.”
“Thank you, dear boy. Nefret, how is Selim getting—”
“I will look in on him before we go to bed,” said Nefret fondly but firmly. “Good night, Mother.”
I did not feel it necessary to wait up for Maryam; it just so happened that I was sitting on the veranda, enjoying the peace of the quiet night, when they returned.
“Good evening, Amelia,” Sethos said, helping his daughter out of the carriage. “Since you have waited up, like a conscientious chaperone, I will not stay. Good night, Maryam.”
Maryam would have gone on her way through the garden had I not opened the door in a pointed manner. “Sit down for a moment,” I said pleasantly. “Did you enjoy your dinner with your father?”
“Yes, it was very nice.” My expectant silence evoked additional comment. “I didn’t realize he was so popular. A number of people stopped to talk to him. A friend of yours—Mrs. Fisher, I believe—sent her best wishes.”
“After extracting an introduction to you, I expect. Newcomers to Luxor are always of interest. Did she remember having met you some years ago, when you were here with your husband?”
“Did I meet her? I don’t recall. It was a long time ago, and I have changed a great deal since then.”
The door to the house opened and Emerson peered out. “What are you doing out here? It is time for . . . Oh. Er. Hullo, Maryam. Did you have a nice evening?”
“Yes, sir, thank you.”
“What about that scoundrel François?” Emerson inquired. “Did you see him?”
“Yes, sir, I did. Mrs. Fitzroyce called him to the saloon after I told her about the stone-throwing. He . . . I . . .”
“Don’t stutter, child,” Emerson said kindly. “He denied it, I suppose.”
“No, sir, he didn’t.” She raised her eyes to his face. “He said terrible things, about Ramses and you. He hates you.”
“Not to worry,” said Emerson cheerfully. “If he shows his face round here I will deal with him.”
“He won’t. She spoke to him very sternly—threatened him with dismissal if he did anything like that again. That is the worst punishment he could receive, to be separated from Justin.”
“Nevertheless, we will watch out for him,” I declared.
“It won’t be for long,” Maryam said. “They are leaving for Cairo in a few days. Justin has been unwell.”
* * *
EMERSON HAD HOPED TO FIND an excuse to fight with François, but the next two days passed without a sign of him, or of any other trouble. The treasure was packed and ready to go, except for the items I had decided to leave, so I soothed Emerson by returning his staff to him and allowing him to get on with his excavations. The discovery of several nice votive statues and stelae which had been overlooked by earlier diggers enabled him to ascribe one group of broken-down foundations to an Eighteenth Dynasty shrine, and Bertie finished his plan of the Amenhotep