Crocodile on the Sandbank - Elizabeth Peters [101]
“Very well,” Lucas said shortly.
Evelyn had reached the bottom of the path and was walking slowly across the sand, away from camp. The poor child looked infinitely weary and sad as she proceeded with dragging steps and bowed head. The setting sun struck off her golden head like a flame.
Lucas’s pace was quicker; he soon caught her up and they walked on together. Naturally I could not hear what they said, but I felt sure he was pressing his suit. The weary shake of her head gave me some hope, but not enough.
I turned to Walter, who was sitting beside me. His eyes were fixed on the distant couple. He looked ten years older than his real age.
“They make a pretty pair,” said Emerson, who was outdoing himself in obnoxiousness that afternoon. “My lord and my lady, it will be an excellent match.”
“Oh, do be still,” I snapped.
“Why, I thought ladies enjoyed matchmaking. You may be proud if you bring this off. He is rich, titled, handsome; she is poor. A brilliant match for a girl like that.”
My self-control, ordinarily excellent, suddenly snapped. I was utterly disgusted with the lot of them—with Evelyn and her morbid love of martyrdom, with Lucas and his arrogance, with Walter’s hang-dog suffering acceptance—and most of all with Emerson. He thought he had won, and I feared he had; by handing Evelyn over to Lucas he kept his brother bound to his selfish wishes and now he was twisting the knife in the wound, convincing Walter that the girl was marrying Lucas out of the desire for wealth and worldly position. His smile maddened me; I could no longer hold my tongue.
“Bring it off!” I cried. “I would rather see Evelyn in a—in a monastery than married to that wretch. She does not love him. She loves—someone else, and thinks she will save him by accepting Lucas. Perhaps she is right after all. The man she loves is a poor-spirited wretch, who will not even take the trouble to declare himself!”
Walter grasped my hands. His face was transfigured.
“You can’t mean it,” he whispered. “You can’t mean that I—”
“Yes, you young fool.” I gave him a shove that sent him staggering. “She loves you; why, I cannot imagine, but she does. Now go and stop her!”
Walter gave me a look that made me tremble. He bounded off down the ledge; and I turned to face his brother, throwing my shoulders back defiantly. I had done a foolhardy thing; I did not know what would come of it. But at that moment I was prepared to face a whole horde of Mummies, much less Emerson, to defend my act.
He was rocking back and forth in his chair, shaken by silent spasms of laughter.
“My dear Peabody,” he gasped. “You amaze me. Can it be that you are a secret romantic after all?”
He was impossible. I turned my back on him and watched the tableau down below.
Walter ran like a deer; he soon reached the others, and the three stood talking. It was only too easy to follow the conversation; Walter’s impassioned gestures, Evelyn’s startled response, and Lucas’s angry interruption.
“I am going down,” I said uneasily. “I may have acted a trifle precipitately….”
“Intervention might be advisable,” Emerson agreed calmly. “His noble lordship is not above striking a wounded man; and Walter is no match for him with only one arm. Damnation! I have waited too long!”
He had waited too long; and he had been correct in his assessment of Lucas’s character. He struck; Walter went staggering back. Emerson was already halfway down the path, leaping along like a mountain goat. I followed; I dared not go quickly, for I could not remove my eyes from the little drama below.
Evelyn tried to intervene; Lucas shook her off. Walter had been shaken but not felled; he returned to the fray. Ducking his head under the other man’s flailing blows, he returned them with interest; and I could scarcely repress a cheer when his clenched fist struck Lucas’s outthrust jaw with a solid smack. Lucas fell just as Emerson came running up. He seized his brother’s arm—unnecessarily, for Walter was not the man to take advantage of a fallen opponent. Running as fast as I could with