Crocodile on the Sandbank - Elizabeth Peters [6]
My stare must have been more intent than I realized. The girl’s eyes dropped. Then she raised her head and spoke, with a firmness I had not expected. Her voice settled any lingering doubts as to her class; it was that of a well-bred young lady.
“I am more indebted than I can say,” she began. “But be assured, ma’am, I shall not take advantage of your charity. I am quite recovered now; if you will direct your maid to return my clothing, I will rid you of my presence.”
“Your clothing has been thrown away,” I said absently. “It was not worth the trouble of laundering. You must remain in bed for the rest of the day in any case. I will order a seamstress to come tomorrow. There is a boat leaving for Alexandria on Friday next. A week should be sufficient. You will need to do some shopping, of course, but first I had better see what you have with you. If you will tell me where you have been staying, I will send a man around for your boxes.”
Her face was very expressive. It had registered a variety of emotions as I spoke; the blue eyes had flashed with indignation and then narrowed with suspicion. But the ultimate emotion was openmouthed bewilderment. I waited for her to speak, but she merely opened and closed her mouth, so I said impatiently, “I am taking you to Egypt with me, as my companion. Miss Pritchett failed me; she took the typhoid. I had agreed to pay her ten pounds a year. Naturally I will be responsible for equipping you for the journey. You can hardly travel in a flannel nightdress!”
“No,” the girl agreed, looking dazed. “But—but—”
“My name is Amelia Peabody. You will call me Amelia. I am a spinster of independent means, traveling for pleasure. Is there anything else you wish to know about me?”
“I know all I need to know,” the girl said quietly. “I was not entirely unconscious when you came to my rescue, and I hope I am able to recognize true kindness of heart. But my dear Miss Peabody—very well, Amelia—you know nothing about me!”
“Is there something I should know?”
“I might be a criminal! I might be vicious—unprincipled!”
“No, no,” I said calmly. “I have been accused of being somewhat abrupt in my actions and decisions, but I never act without thought; it is simply that I think more quickly and more intelligently than most people. I am an excellent judge of character. I could not be deceived about yours.”
A dimple appeared at the corner of the girl’s mouth. It trembled, and was gone. The blue eyes fell.
“You are deceived,” she said, so softly I could hardly hear. “I am not what you think. I owe it to you to tell you my story; and when you have heard it, then—then you will be justified in ordering me out of your sight.”
“Proceed,” I said. “I will be the judge of that.”
“I am sure you will!” The dimple reappeared, but did not linger. Her face pale, her eyes steady, the girl began to speak.
THE GIRL’S STORY
My name is Evelyn Barton-Forbes. My parents having died when I was an infant, I was brought up by my grandfather, the Earl of Ellesmere. I see you recognize the name. It is an ancient name and an honorable one—although many of the holders of the title have not been men of honor. My grandfather… well, I cannot speak fairly of him. I know he is regarded by many as miserly and selfish; though he possesses one of the greatest fortunes in England, he has never been known as a philanthropist. But he was always good to me. I was his pet, his little lamb, as he called me. I think perhaps I was the only human being to whom he never spoke harshly. He even forgave me for being a girl and not the heir he so ardently desired.
I suspect you are a feminist, Miss—Amelia? Then you will be indignant, but not surprised, to know that although I am the only child of my grandfather’s eldest son, I cannot inherit his title or estates. There are few exceptions to the rule that only male descendants may inherit.