Children of the Storm - Elizabeth Peters [50]
“He can’t talk,” said Evvie, who could, and did incessantly. “Can the other one?”
“She is your cousin Charlotte,” Lia said, with an embarrassed glance at Nefret. “It isn’t polite to call her ‘the other one.’ “
“Then who is this one?” Evvie inquired.
“He is named after your papa,” said Nefret. “You may call him Davy.”
Little gentleman that he was, Dolly introduced himself and his sister, and offered to shake hands. Charla’s emphatic dark eyebrows had drawn together in a scowl that was comically like that of her grandfather. It cleared temporarily as she responded to Dolly’s friendly gesture; then Evvie held out a hand to Davy and showed several small pearly teeth in a smile. “I like this one,” she announced.
Struck dumb, and bedazzled by fat honey-colored curls, dimples, and dainty features, Davy pressed the giraffe into her hand and invited her, with an expansive gesture, to join him on the floor, where the rest of the menagerie had been arranged. This did not sit well with Charla. The wooden animals—which included a lion, a hippopotamus, and an improbable elephant—had been carved by a Sudanese living in Luxor, and for the moment at least they were the twins’ favorite toys.
Luckily no one understood what Charla said. “Wouldn’t you and Evvie like a biscuit?” Ramses asked quickly.
All in all, it didn’t go too badly. The only actual casualty was Dolly, who, in the way of all peacemakers, got a sharp blow on the face when he tried to settle an argument between the two little girls over a doll. It had no hair, since Charla always stripped her dolls of clothing and wigs as soon as she got them; in the struggle it lost an arm and both legs and Evvie hit her brother with one of the legs. She may not have meant to.
His big eyes bright with tears, Dolly was swept up by Emerson, who had watched the whole business with a fatuous grin. He gave the little boy a hug and then handed him over to his wife and got down on the floor, where he helped the other three finish dismembering the doll, talking all the while about the process of mummification.
“The Egyptians didn’t take the heads off,” he explained to his rapt audience. “They shoved a hook here.” He demonstrated, with a long forefinger. “Here, deep into—”
“Father,” Nefret murmured. “Please.”
“Children love mummies,” said her mother-in-law—who probably would have objected if Nefret had not done so first. She was cuddling Dolly in a way that aroused Ramses’s direst forebodings. He was a dear little fellow, and she had been utterly devoted to his namesake, so it was not surprising that she should take him under her wing. He hoped Nefret would see it that way. Up to this time the twins had had no rivals for the attention of their paternal grandparents. With four children, and one of them Evvie, he saw trouble ahead.
The only ones who did justice to Fatima’s superb tea were his uncle Walter and David, both of whom had apparently decided to leave the discipline to their wives, and, of course, the children, whom Emerson stuffed with cakes and biscuits. Feeling somewhat stifled by motherhood, Ramses got up and went to sit on the ledge next to David.
“How do you do it?” he asked.
David never had to ask what he meant. He glanced at the juvenile maelstrom, which had expanded to include Horus. The cat was fascinated by small children, but his attempt to creep under the settee, whence he could observe them unmolested, had been a failure; only Emerson’s brisk intervention saved him from the fate of the doll.
“They’ll settle down,” David said lazily. His artist’s eyes dwelled lovingly on the long stretch of golden pale desert, fringed by the green of the cultivation and canopied by the blue-gray of twilight. He threw his arm round Ramses’s shoulders and sighed deeply. “God, it’s good to be back!”
“I hope you feel the same tomorrow morning when Father rousts you out at daybreak and drags