Crocodile on the Sandbank - Elizabeth Peters [105]
Lucas was as good as his word; it was as if he had determined to humble himself as thoroughly as possible. He carried a tray with glasses and a bottle; putting this down, with a flourish that struck me as rather pathetic, he began to work at the cork.
“Won’t you persuade Evelyn to join us?” he asked in a low voice. “I dare not; to be candid, I am ashamed of myself for my behavior this afternoon. I am of a passionate nature; I suppose dear old Grandfather would say it was my Latin blood.”
So I called Evelyn, and she came out of the deep shadow where she had been sitting, holding Walter by the hand and smiling shyly at her cousin. I found his excuses inadequate. Nothing could possibly excuse his reference to her misfortune in front of Walter. But, on the other hand, this very reference had brought about the present happy state of affairs, and I must say that Lucas made his apologies like a man and a Briton. Walter received them in the same spirit; to see the two young fellows clasp hands, there in the moonlight, was a touching sight.
Then Lucas handed us each a glass and raised his own.
“To Evelyn’s future!” he cried. “May it bring all that her closest kinsman could desire!”
We drank. Even Emerson took a sip. He made a face, like a nasty little boy taking medicine. He had moved his chair out near the table, and I could see him quite well; his expression of sour disapproval pleased me no end. Seeing that he was in no mood to do the proper thing, and realizing that it was a little too much to expect of Lucas, I proposed the next toast.
“To Walter! May he make Evelyn as happy as she deserves—or I will deal with him!”
“Spoken with characteristic tact,” said Emerson under his breath.
Walter leaned forward and put his hand on mine.
“You may deal with me as you see fit, Miss Amelia,” he said warmly. “Don’t think I shall ever forget that it is to your encouragement, in large measure, that I owe my present happiness. I hope you will be often with us; you may keep your eye on me that way and make sure I measure up to your expectations.”
Emerson rolled his eyes heavenward.
“I may take advantage of your invitation,” I said cheerfully. “I have developed quite a taste for archaeology.”
I suppose it was the wine that made me feel so giddy. We all waxed cheerful under its benign influence—all but Emerson, who sat brooding like a hard stone statue. Finally, when the bottle was empty, Lucas concluded the fete.
“If all goes well, we shall have a busy day tomorrow. Rest is advisable. I suggest, gentlemen, that we stand watch tonight. Tomorrow may bring an end to the mysteries that surround us; let us make sure no mishap occurs tonight.”
“Just what I was about to suggest,” muttered Emerson, shooting a piercing glance at Lucas. “Which watch would you prefer, my lord?”
Lucas replied with a shrug. It was arranged that he should remain on guard for the first three hours of the night, Emerson for the second watch, and Walter for the remainder. I carried Evelyn off to our sleeping chamber; she was in such a fog her feet seemed not to touch the ground, and after a few incoherent exclamations of gratitude and joy, she quickly fell asleep.
I was drowsy myself, unusually so, for the hour was still early; yet my drooping eyelids obstinately refused to remain shut. Some indefinable nagging discomfort kept forcing them open. The discomfort was purely mental; I had become inured by then to the hard mattress and the other rugged accompaniments to camping out. There is nothing more abominable than being in a state of bodily exhaustion and mental irritation; I was too lethargic to get up and seek some means of occupying my mind, but I was too uneasy to fall asleep. Try as I might, I could not pin