He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [185]
“I’m late. I’m sorry. I’ll hurry.” Face averted, she ran for the stairs.
Though I despise social conventions in general, I would be the first to admit that there are sensible reasons behind certain of them. For example, the avoidance of controversial subjects and heated argument at the dinner table promotes digestion. Despite my best efforts I was unable to keep the conversation that night on a light pleasant note. Anna had been so late in arriving that there was not time for her to change before Fatima called us to dinner. I felt certain the girl had done it deliberately to annoy Katherine and perhaps make the rest of us feel like slackers. The dress she wore for her hospital duties was as severe as a proper nurse’s uniform.
I caught Katherine’s eye before she could speak and shook my head. “We must go in,” I said. “Or Mahmud will burn the soup.”
Disappointed in her hope of starting a row, Anna continued to be as provoking as possible. Many of the barbs she slipped into the conversation were aimed at Nefret.
In fact, I knew what had set her off. I had, by pure accident, overheard part of a dialogue between the two girls after luncheon. The first complete sentence was Nefret’s.
“It’s the uniform, don’t you see that? You want to be in love with a soldier, any soldier. I don’t care how many of them you pursue, but stay away from him. He—”
“You’re only saying that because you’re jealous! I saw you come in from the garden with him. You lured him out there. You want him yourself!”
“Lured?” Nefret gave a strange little laugh. “Perhaps I did. You are mistaken about the rest of it, however. Listen to me, Anna—”
“No! Leave me alone.” She went running off.
It had not required much effort to guess whom they were discussing. I had meant to warn Anna about Percy myself, but if she would not heed Nefret, there was little chance she would listen to me, and I did not believe there was any danger of a serious attachment, at least not on Percy’s part. Like the generous-hearted man he was, Cyrus had made testamentary provisions for his stepchildren, but Anna was not by any definition a wealthy heiress.
It may have been Anna’s sullen mood that infected the rest of us. There was certainly something in the air that night; it would be superstitious to speak of premonitions and forebodings, so I will not. Heaven knows there were sufficient reasons for concern in the events of those times. It was Cyrus who first mentioned the war. I was only surprised we had managed to keep off it so long.
“Heard anything more about an attack on the Canal?”
His question was directed at Emerson, who shook his head and replied somewhat evasively, “One hears a great deal. Rumors, most of them.”
Nefret looked up. “People are leaving Cairo. They say the steamers are completely booked.”
“The same ‘they’ who spread such rumors,” Emerson grunted. “One never knows who ‘they’ are.”
“But there will be an attack,” Anna said suddenly. “Won’t there?”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” Nefret said. “The wounded would be sent to the military hospitals. Anyhow, most of the troops guarding the Canal are Indian—Punjabis and Gurkhas. Not romantic, in your terms.”
The venom in her voice was like a slap in the face, and Anna’s cheeks reddened as if from an actual blow.
“The Forty-second Lancashire is there,” Cyrus said obliviously. “And some Australian and New Zealand troops.”
“And the Egyptian artillery,” Ramses added. “They are well trained, and the Indian regulars are first-rate fighting men.”
He was trying to reassure Katherine—and me? From my conversations with Emerson, I knew the situation was not so comfortable as Ramses implied. The British Army of Occupation had been sent to France, and their replacements were raw and untrained. The safety of the Canal hung on the loyalty of the so-called “native” troops, most of whom were Moslem. Would they be swayed by the Sultan’s call for a jihad?
“They certainly are splendid-looking fellows,” Nefret said. “I’ve seen some of them in Cairo, on leave.