He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [118]
“Thank you, Emerson,” I said. “Nefret, that will be quite enough. I understand your concern, my dear, but you did not give me a chance to explain. Really, you must conquer this habit of rushing into action without considering the consequences.”
I half-expected her to burst into another fiery denunciation. Instead her eyes fell, and the pretty flush of anger faded from her cheeks. “Yes, Aunt Amelia.”
“That is better,” I said approvingly. “Drink your coffee and I will tell you the plan.”
I proceeded to do so. Nefret listened in silence, her eyes downcast, her hands tightly folded in her lap. However, she did not miss Emerson’s attempt to tiptoe out of the room. Admittedly, Emerson is not good at tiptoeing.
“Where is he going?” she demanded fiercely.
“To get ready.” I was not at all averse to his leaving, since it enabled me to speak more candidly. “For pity’s sake, Nefret, don’t you suppose that I too yearn to accompany them? I agreed to stay here and keep you with me because I believe it is the best solution.”
Her mutinous look assured me she was unconvinced. I had another argument. It was one I was loath to employ, but honesty demanded I should. “There have been times, not many—one or two—in the past, when my presence distracted Emerson from the struggle in which he was engaged, and resulted in considerable danger to him.”
“Why, Aunt Amelia! Is it true?”
“Only once or twice.”
“I see.” Her brow cleared. “Would you care to tell me about them?”
“I see no point in doing so. It was a long time ago. I know better now. And,” I continued, before she could pursue a subject that clearly interested her a great deal, and which I was not anxious to recall, “I am giving you the benefit of my experience. Their plan is a good one, Nefret. They swore to me that they would retreat in good order if matters did not work out as they expect.”
Her slim shoulders sagged. “How long must we wait?”
I knew then I had won. “They will come straight back, I am sure. Emerson knows if he does not turn up in good time I will go looking for him. He would do anything to avoid that!”
From Letter Collection B
Dearest Lia,
Do you still keep my letters? I suspect you do, though I asked you to destroy them—not only current letters, but the ones I wrote you a few years ago. You said you liked to reread them when we were apart, because it was like hearing my voice. And I said—I’m sorry for what I said, Lia darling! I was horrid to you. I was horrid to everyone! You have my permission—formal, written permission—to keep them if you wish. I would be glad if you did. Someday I may want—I hope I may want—to read them again myself. There was one in particular . . . I think you know which one.
I’m in a fey mood tonight, as you can probably tell. I’ve put off writing to you because there is so much I want to say that can’t be said. The thought that a stranger—or worse, a person I know—might read these letters is constantly in my mind; it’s as if someone were lurking behind the door listening to our private thoughts and confidences.
So I will confine myself to facts.
Aunt Amelia and I are alone this evening; the Professor and Ramses have gone out. With the lamps lit and the curtains drawn, this cavernous parlor looks almost cozy, especially with Aunt Amelia darning socks. Yes, you heard me: she is darning socks! She gets these housewifely attacks from time to time, heaven only knows why. Since she darns as thoroughly as she does everything, the stockings end up with huge lumps on toes or heels, and the hapless wearer thereof ends