He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [212]
It was not likely Emerson would be as sympathetic. I decided on the spot that it was none of his business.
Ramses had been as startled as the rest of us by these revelations, but he had sense enough not to refuse the offer. “Thank you, sir. But Uncle Walter’s children must have their fair share. And . . . another of my cousins.”
There was no need for him to explain. As soon as I knew Sethos and Hamilton were one and the same, I had realized who Molly might be.
“We cannot be certain,” I said thoughtfully. “Bertha was Sethos’s mistress, but the child she was carrying fourteen years ago might not have been his.”
“Fourteen years?” Emerson repeated. “Good Gad, has it been that long? Then it can’t be the same child. This girl is—what did you tell me—twelve years of age.”
“We had only her word for that. I did think she was remarkably mature for her age.”
“What do you mean?” inquired Emerson, staring.
I carefully avoided looking at Ramses, who was carefully not looking at me, and decided to spare him public embarrassment. He had been through quite enough in the past twenty-four hours.
“You were misled by her dreadful clothing on the occasion of our first encounter with her,” I explained in a kindly manner. “Even for a child of twelve they were old-fashioned and out of date—but then, so was Miss Nordstrom. I thought nothing of it at the time, but later she was dressed more suitably for her age, and I couldn’t help noticing . . . Women do notice such things. So do some men, and I am pleased to find that you are not one of them.”
“It’s all conjecture,” said Emerson stubbornly. “Sethos probably has a dozen . . . Oh, very well, Peabody, I apologize. Whoever her parents were, the child is not our responsibility. He made all the necessary arrangements for her several years ago, when he entered the service, and Maxwell assured me she would be well-provided for.”
“You asked about her?” It was Ramses who spoke. His face was even more unreadable than usual because of the bruises.
“Of course,” Emerson grumbled. “Well, I had to, didn’t I? Couldn’t leave the child alone in the world. I admit I was relieved when Maxwell told me Sethos was . . . told me the matter was taken care of. He does not know about the—er—the family relationship, and unless one of you can give me a reason why I should, I do not intend to tell him.”
I saw a reason, but I did not speak of it. Perhaps one day, when Emerson was in a softer mood, I could persuade him to bring his courageous and unfortunate brother back to the home of their ancestors, to lie with them in the family plot. In what unknown spot would he now be laid to rest? What would be his monument and what his epitaph? I had already thought of a suitable inscription for the monument I felt certain Emerson would wish to erect someday. It was a quotation from an Egyptian text: “Then Re-Harakhte said, Let Set be given unto me, to dwell with me and be my son. He shall thunder in the sky and be feared.” Like his ancient namesake, Sethos had redeemed himself and become one with the Divine Ruler of the cosmos.
This did not seem a propitious time for such a suggestion.
“You could not have prevented it, Emerson,” I said.
“Prevented what? Oh!” Emerson gave up the attempt to light his pipe. “No. Russell had his men ready, but I had the devil of a time convincing him we must act without delay. I could hardly tell him, could I, that my urgency was based on—er—”
“Woman’s intuition,” said Nefret, turning her head to smile at him. “I can imagine how Mr. Russell would have responded to that! Especially when I was the woman in question. How did you persuade him, then?”
“I rang through to the house as I had promised,” Emerson explained. “When Fatima told me about David, that settled the matter. I was, to put it mildly, somewhat distressed to hear that you two had gone haring off by yourselves, but there was nothing I could do but wait for Russell to get his caravan together and notify Maxwell of our plans. When we got there, the place was dead quiet, not a sign of life except a lighted window.