Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [25]
Other friends and family members were there. Daoud considered it his duty to send us away with the proper blessings; he had dressed in his most elegant silken robes, as he always did on such occasions, though he was sulking a bit because he had wanted to come along. The twins were not coming either. If I understood the tenor of their remarks, they were extremely indignant at being left without parents and grandparents for several days. Emerson, who is a perfect coward with children and women, had wanted to creep away without telling them, but Nefret had insisted that we could not suddenly disappear without explanation and reassurance of return. I agreed with her, and began quoting from various authorities on child-rearing until Emerson cut me off with his usual shout of “Don’t talk psychology at me, Peabody!”
After bidding the others an affectionate farewell, I turned last of all to Selim. A little pang, half pleasure, half pain, ran through me, for he looked so like his father—more slightly built and not as tall, but with the same aristocratic bearing and finely cut features. He was the only other person we had taken into our confidence.
“Remember, Selim,” I said softly, “you are to open all telegrams and send the information on to us at Shepheard’s if it is from . . . him. Keep on the alert for any rumors that may—”
Emerson shouted for me to board the train, and Selim showed his white teeth in a smile. “Yes, Sitt, you have told me. Do I not always obey your slightest command? A good journey. Maassalameh.”
The train chugged away into the night—it was, as usual, late—and we went at once to the dining car, where I prescribed a glass of wine for Nefret.
“I know you hate to leave the children,” I said sympathetically. “But take my word for it, dear girl, you will find that a little holiday from the adorable creatures will do you good. In time you will come to look forward to it.”
Nefret’s pensive face broke into a smile, and Ramses said, “Good advice, Nefret, from one who knows whereof she speaks. Did you look forward to your holidays from me, Mother?”
“Enormously,” I assured him. Ramses laughed, and so did the others; but I thought there was a shade of reproach in Nefret’s look. I prescribed another glass of wine.
The lamps on the table flickered and the crockery rattled, and it was advisable to hold on to one’s glass. We lingered over our wine, since there are no companions as compatible as we four. However, the car was full and we could not talk confidentially there. Before we settled down for the night we had a little council of war in Emerson’s and my compartment.
“Mark my words,” I declared. “Mr. . . . What did you say, Emerson?”
“I said, we always do.” Emerson muttered round the stem of his pipe.
“Oh. Thank you, my dear Emerson. As I was saying, if Mr. Russell learns we are in Cairo he will be chasing after us, demanding to know why we asked him to detain a harmless traveler and what we are up to now. We must decide how much, if anything, to tell him.”
Emerson opened his mouth. I went on, raising my voice slightly, for I believe in an orderly exposition. “Even more important is what to tell Walter and Evelyn. They know nothing of our relationship—their relationship, that is—with Sethos, yet he is also Walter’s brother, and in my opinion—”
“It is also my opinion,” said Emerson, taking advantage of my pausing to draw breath.
“I beg your pardon?” I exclaimed in surprise.
“Did you suppose I would dare to differ with you?” Emerson grinned at me. “I agree that the time for secrecy has passed. We may get ourselves in trouble with the War Office by exposing Sethos’s role as an agent of British intelligence, but I can’t see that we have any choice. The rest of it makes little sense unless that is admitted—and, as you might say, my dear Peabody, half-truths are more confusing than out-and-out lies. If I know Walter, the poor innocent chap will be delighted to find he has another brother.”
“Aunt Evelyn may not be so delighted,” Ramses said. Like his father, he had loosened his tie and unbuttoned