Crocodile on the Sandbank - Elizabeth Peters [69]
“You did not see the rockfall, then?” Emerson asked.
“No.”
“It couldn’t have been an accident,” Emerson grunted. “Too fortuitous. Why that one spot, while we happened to be inside the tomb?”
“We were fortunate that it was not a more extensive landslide,” I said, stumbling into a thornbush.
“Hmmph,” said Emerson, trying not to groan.
A mile or two from camp we were met by Walter and Evelyn, who, alarmed at our prolonged absence, had set out to look for us. Walter went quite pale when he saw Emerson’s faltering steps and bandaged body, but he knew better than to commiserate.
“It is most unfortunate,” he said thoughtfully. “Another accident, just now, will merely confirm the villagers’ superstitions.”
“We need not tell them, surely,” said Lucas.
“They will know,” I said. “I suspect one of them has good reason to know what has occurred.”
“Aha!” Lucas exclaimed. “You think it was no accident?”
He was altogether too pleased about the whole affair. I knew it was unfair of me to blame him for enjoying the adventure; his acquaintance with Emerson and Walter was of the slightest, so he could not be expected to feel for them as Evelyn and I did. And certainly the wild events of those days would have appealed to the adventurous spirit of any young gentleman. Nevertheless, his grin annoyed me.
“It was no accident,” I said curtly. “This was a foolish expedition. From now on we must stay in the camp and close to one another. Perhaps no real harm was intended—”
“We cannot know that,” Walter interrupted. “If the rock had struck my brother’s head instead of his shoulder—”
“But his injury was an unfortunate accident. It was incurred during our release, not during the rockfall, which could hardly have been designed to murder us. You knew our destination; you would have searched for us if we had not returned, so that even if Abdullah had not happened to go after us, we would not have been incarcerated long. No; the attempt could not have been at murder. I believe it was only another harassment.”
“And if Peabody says so,” remarked Emerson, “that is the Word of the Prophet.”
We finished the journey in cool silence.
However, we had much to be thankful for. Evelyn pointed this out as we prepared for dinner in our homey tomb. She was not looking well that evening; I noticed her pallor and sober looks all the more because it contrasted so strikingly with her appearance during the preceding week. She had been frightened, weary, and uncomfortable, as we all were; but under the strain there had been a quiet happiness, a kind of bloom. The bloom was now gone. And of course I knew the reason.
“Has Lucas been annoying you?” I inquired, with my usual tact.
Evelyn was doing her hair in front of the mirror. Her hands faltered; a bright lock of golden hair tumbled down her back.
“He asked me again to marry him.”
“And you said…?”
Evelyn turned. The disordered masses of her hair flowed out with the force of her movement and fell about her shoulders. She had never looked lovelier, for the nobility of her purpose and the strength of her emotion transformed her face.
“Amelia, how can you ask? You know my feelings; I have never tried to conceal them from you, my cherished friend. I cannot marry the man I love; but I will never be the bride of another.”
“You are wrong,” I said forcefully. “Walter loves you. I know it; you must know it. You are being grossly unjust to him, not to give him the chance—”
“To know my shame—my folly? Never fear, Amelia; if he should ask me to marry him, I will tell him the truth.”
“And why do you assume he will recoil? Oh, I agree; you must be candid, he would hear the story sooner or later, and he would have cause for resentment at hearing it from another than yourself. But he is a splendid lad, Evelyn; I like him more with every day that passes. He would not—”
“He is a man,” said Evelyn, in a tone of weary wisdom that would have made me laugh, had I not been so distressed for her. “What man could forget or forgive such a thing in his wife?”
“Bah,” I said.
“If I had anything to offer him,” Evelyn