Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [36]
“I don’t believe he was lying,” Ramses said. “Rashad had nothing to do with tonight’s event. He hasn’t the imagination to invent such a scenario. This could be connected in some fashion with our missing thief.”
“Do you suppose he has that sort of imagination?” I inquired.
“He or one of Sethos’s other associates,” Ramses replied. “Admit it, Mother, this has Sethos’s trademark. I don’t believe he was personally involved, but his influence was widespread and pervasive.”
“Still no reply from him?” Emerson asked me.
“No, curse the man. Did Russell have anything more to say about Martinelli?”
“That was one good thing resulting from the events of the evening,” Emerson replied. “Russell is now under the impression that we asked him to detain Martinelli because we suspected him of being involved with a Nationalist plot—the same plot that resulted in Ramses’s disappearance. It is inherently unlikely, but not as unlikely as—er—”
“The veiled Hathor,” Nefret murmured. Ramses gave her a long, unsmiling look, and I said hastily, “Speculation can take us no further at this time. It was a most peculiar incident, but no harm was done—except what Ramses did to himself—and apparently none was intended. She actually said so, didn’t she? Ramses?”
“What?” Ramses looked up. “Sorry, Mother. If my memory can be trusted, she said something of the sort.”
I decided it would be advisable to change the subject. “We had better get some rest. Do you realize the family will be arriving this evening?”
“Yes, Mother,” said Ramses.
They took their leave. “And you, Emerson,” I said.
“I don’t need to rest,” said Emerson. “What’s wrong with those two, Peabody? They seem to be out of temper with each other.”
“I will be happy to explain, Emerson, if you will allow me to do so without forbidding me to talk psychology.”
“Try to avoid the word if possible,” muttered Emerson.
“Nefret’s reaction is unreasonable, but quite understandable to a student of . . . that is, to me. It would be difficult to say which would bother her more—the suspicion that her husband has fantasies about beautiful desirable women pleading for his favors, or the possibility that a beautiful, desirable woman really is pleading for his favors.”
“Hmmm,” said Emerson, rubbing the cleft in his chin. “So if a similar sort of thing should happen to me, you would . . .”
“Be mad with jealousy,” I assured him, and saw his lips curve into a smile that was not without a touch of smugness. I went on, “We cannot help being jealous, my dear; we care too much for you to remain indifferent to the fear that you care less for us.”
Of course it was not as simple as that. Contrary to the opinions of sentimentalists, children put a strain on a marriage. It takes a while to sort out new feelings and new responsibilities. I know whereof I speak, Reader; it had taken me over twenty years! The large fortune Nefret had inherited from her grandfather had enabled her to found a hospital for fallen (as well as upright but impoverished) women in Cairo, and she had fought a hard battle against masculine prejudice to acquire surgical training so that she could better assist these unfortunates. She had given up her medical career in favor of matrimony, motherhood, and archaeology. Although she had never expressed regret, I wondered if she missed it. However, it would only have confused my dear Emerson if I had entered into a serious analysis. His is a very straightforward mind.
There are other psychological difficulties connected with the birth of children, but they were not the sort of thing one can discuss with a male person.
“Hmmm,” said Emerson again. “Well, my dear, in this case I must bow to your expertise. They will settle their differences, won’t they?”
“In their own way, Emerson, in their own way. I would be sorry to see them settle into the bland tedium of most marriages. I consider that unlikely. We never did, and in my opinion—”
“We are all the better for it,” Emerson