He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [109]
“Mother, it is surely a waste of time to speculate. Why don’t you eat your soup before it gets cold?”
“Speculation,” I retorted, “is never a waste of time. It clears away the deadwood in the thickets of deduction.”
Ramses retreated behind his serviette.
“Something caught in your throat?” his father inquired, returning and resuming his seat.
“No, sir. Was the Major in?” Ramses was a trifle flushed. I hoped he was not coming down with a fever.
“That we will discover in due course,” said Emerson, beginning on his soup. He eats very neatly but very quickly; he finished before me and then resumed speaking. “I sent up a message saying I was here and wanted to see him.”
The response to his message did not take the form he expected. Ramses saw her first; he said something under his breath, and directed my attention toward the door of the dining salon.
“It is only Miss Molly,” I said. “Why such bad language?”
“I am beginning to think of her as a Jonah,” Ramses said.
“Nonsense,” said Emerson, turning to smile at the dainty little figure. She saw us at the same moment and came tripping toward us. I could tell from her affected walk and her pleased face that she thought she looked very grown-up. Her pink satin frock was so fresh she must have just put it on, and the ringlets framing her face were held back with a circlet of artificial rosebuds. Clothing makes the woman, as I always say; in this ensemble, which was more suitable for a jeune fille than a child, she did appear older than her admitted age. It must have been her indulgent uncle who had authorized the purchase.
Miss Nordstrom followed close on the heels of her charge. Her face was even more forbidding than it had been on the occasion of our first meeting, and I thought she looked very tired.
“I hope you are recovered,” I said sympathetically.
“Thank you, Mrs. Emerson. It was only a mild—er—indisposition. You must excuse us for interrupting your dinner,” she went on. “Come along, Molly, and don’t keep the gentlemen standing.”
“Can’t we sit with you?” Molly asked me.
“As you see, we have almost finished dinner,” I said.
“Oh, so have I. Finished dinner, I mean. Nordie said I could come downstairs for a sweet if I drank all my milk. The milk here tastes very horrid.” She made a comical face at Emerson, who beamed down at her from his great height.
“Certainly, my dear. And you too, of course, Miss Er-um. Will the Major be joining us?”
The waiter brought two more chairs and we all shifted round, to the great inconvenience of all concerned. Miss Molly settled herself into her chair between me and Ramses with an air of great satisfaction.
“He can’t,” she said.
“I hope,” said Ramses, “he is not suffering from an alimentary indisposition.”
Molly giggled. “An upset stomach, you mean? No, that was—”
“The Major was about to leave for a dinner engagement when your message arrived,” Miss Nordstrom said, turning pink. “He sends his regrets and hopes to see you another time.”
“Ah,” said Emerson. If he was disappointed he hid it very well. In fact, if I had not known better, I would have thought he appeared pleased.
Miss Molly took her time about ordering a sweet, asking everyone’s opinion in turn. She divided her attention between Emerson and Ramses—getting very little in the way of conversation out of the latter—which left me to entertain Miss Nordstrom. An uphill job it was, too. All she could talk about was how much she disliked Cairo and yearned to return home.
“The food does not agree with me, Mrs. Emerson, and it is impossible to keep to a normal regimen with the child. At home, you know, one has complete control and a proper schedule for school hours, healthful exercise, and visits with parents. The Major’s hours are so erratic I never know when he will be here, and then he wants to be with Molly.”
“Quite natural,” I said.
“Oh, yes, no doubt, but it does not make for proper discipline.” She lowered her voice. “I assure you, I would not have allowed her to disturb you if he had not given in to her pleas. I do not hold with such late hours for children, or