Guardian of the Horizon - Elizabeth Peters [137]
The only light in the reception hall was the pale pearly non-darkness of predawn. At first he didn’t see her, and his heart skipped several beats. Then she moved away from the column that had concealed her. “The candle went out,” she said in a faint voice. “It was so dark, and there were noises…I was afraid they had caught you.”
Then she was in his arms, clinging to him, her breathing hard and fast. She raised her head from his shoulder, and he saw the sparkle of tears on her lashes. “Why did you take me away? Was it only for the reasons you said?”
The words forced their way through the barriers he had raised in his mind. “I love you.”
“You don’t have to invent pretty words,” she whispered, as her arms went round his neck. Her fingers slid through his hair, pulling his face down to hers. “You love her, I saw it. You want me. What is wrong with that? Take me.”
He knew if he kissed her he wouldn’t be able to stop. He held her away. “No, Daria, no. Not here, on this filthy floor, like an animal. Not now.”
“When? How much time do we have? An hour, a day? I love you. I have loved you since the night I came to your room and you sent me away because of kindness and pity. Don’t send me away now. We may both die tomorrow.”
He kissed her.
Eleven
After Emerson had placed me upon my couch he anxiously felt my brow and pressed his cheek against my breast, attempting, I presume, to listen to my heartbeat. He was off by several inches. I rather hated to stop him, but it would have been cruel to keep him in suspense.
“I am not ill, my dear,” I whispered. “It is only a ruse.”
Emerson sat up as if he had been stung by a scorpion. “Curse you, Peabody,” he began.
“Sssh! You will spoil the whole thing if you don’t play along.”
“Rrrrr,” said Emerson. It sounded like the amplified purr of a large cat but was, in fact, a growl. However, understanding had replaced resentment. He leaned closer and hissed at me.
“The handmaidens?”
“Yes. I would have told you earlier if you had been courteous enough to listen to me.”
Emerson stroked his chin and studied me thoughtfully. “Let us abjure our habitual exchanges of reproach for the time being, Peabody. This may come to nothing, but it has—er—possibilities. I will tell the servants you are ailing and demand medical attention for you.”
“You may express concern, but do not request a handmaiden until tomorrow morning. I don’t want a lot of people trotting in and out of here tonight. There is a chance Ramses may try to communicate with us, and we must leave a message for him.”
Two of the ladies assisted me out of my elaborate costume and into a night robe. They had to roll me back and forth, since I pretended to be so feeble I could not even raise an arm. I heard Emerson shouting in the next room. It was clever of him to express suspicion about the food and the wine, though it was a little hard on the servants, who were afraid they would be punished for negligence, if nothing worse. Eventually I declared I would try my own medicines and see how I felt in the morning. The ladies left in a great hurry.
“That’s settled,” said Emerson, scrubbing vigorously at my forehead with a damp cloth.
“Have they all gone away?”
“As fast as they could trot,” said Emerson in a pleased voice.
“Then stop doing that. You are rubbing the skin off my forehead.”
Emerson was somewhat surprised when I wrote the message on one of Ramses’s shirts, but I believe in killing two birds with one stone whenever possible. An additional garment might come in useful. After brief cogitation I added trousers and a pair of boots. He hadn’t wanted to burden himself with their weight when he left, but he might need them, and if he did not, there was no harm done.
At the first light of dawn I woke Emerson, holding my hand firmly over his mouth until he had stopped thrashing and cursing. “Go straightaway, before the servants turn up, and see if there is any word from Ramses,” I hissed. “I am filled with the direst of forebodings