Crocodile on the Sandbank - Elizabeth Peters [86]
“The situation is intolerable,” he exclaimed. “Amelia, swear to me that you will do precisely what I said; you will not take foolish chances, or expose yourself—”
“I have said I would. Don’t you understand English?”
“Good God! You are the one who fails to understand; don’t you realize there is not another woman living whom I would—”
He broke off. From the far end of the deck Lucas approached, his hands in his pockets, his lips pursed in a whistle. The strains of “Rule, Britannia” floated to my ears.
Emerson gave me a long, piercing look—a look that burned itself into my brain. Without another word he turned and vanished down the ladder to the lower deck.
I could not face Lucas just then. I followed Emerson. He was out of sight by the time I reached the lower deck, so I went on down, into the area where the cabins were located. My cheeks were tingling; I felt a foolish desire to imitate Lucas’s whistling. It had been very hot on the upper deck; even those few moments had burned my face so that it felt warm and flushed.
In a narrow, dark corridor I ran full tilt into Evelyn.
“Amelia,” she cried, clutching my arm. “I have just seen Mr. Emerson from my window. He is leaving—he is on his way back, without us. Stop him, pray do; I must go back—”
With a start of repugnance I remembered the role I must play.
Evelyn was trying to brush past me. I put my hands on her arms and leaned heavily against her.
“I am feeling ill,” I muttered. “I really think I must lie down…”
Evelyn responded as I had known she would. She assisted me to my cabin and helped me loosen my dress. I pretended to be faint; I am afraid I did not do a convincing job of it, what with shame at betraying her trust and the odd exhilaration that bubbled inside me; but poor Evelyn never suspected me of false dealing. She worked assiduously to restore me; indeed, she waved the smelling salts so ardently under my nose that I went into a fit of sneezing.
“Leave off, do,” I exclaimed between paroxysms. “My head will fly off in a moment!”
“You are better,” Evelyn said eagerly. “That was your old strong voice. Are you better, Amelia? Dare I leave you for a moment? I will run after Mr. Emerson and tell him to wait—”
I fell back on the pillow with a heartrending groan.
“I cannot walk, Evelyn. I think—I think I must stay here tonight. Of course,” I added craftily, “if you feel you must go—and leave me here alone—I will not try to keep you…”
I closed my eyes, but I watched Evelyn through my lashes. The struggle on the girl’s face made me feel like Judas. Almost I weakened. Then I remembered Emerson’s look, and his words. “There is not another woman alive whom I would—” What had he meant to say? “Whom I would trust, as I am trusting in your strength and courage?” Would the sentence, interrupted by Lucas, have ended in some such wise? If so—and there could hardly be any other meaning—it was an accolade I could not fail to deserve. The triumph of converting that arrogant misogynist into an admission that Woman, as represented by my humble self, had admirable qualities…. No, I thought, if I must choose between Evelyn or Emerson—or rather, between Evelyn and my own principles—I must betray Evelyn. It was for her own good.
Still, I felt rather uncomfortable, as I watched her fight her silent battle. Her hands were pressed so tightly together that the knuckles showed white, but when she spoke her voice was resigned.
“Of course I will stay with you, Amelia. How could you suppose I would do otherwise? Perhaps a quiet night’s sleep will restore you.”
“I am sure it will,” I mumbled, unable to deny the girl that much comfort. Little did she know what sort of night I half expected!
I ought to have stayed in my bed, refusing food, to carry out my performance; but as the day went on, I began to be perfectly ravenous. Darkness fell, and I felt I was safe; not even Evelyn would insist that we make the journey by night. So I admitted to feeling a little better, and agreed that nourishment would do me