He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [30]
Ramses stood watching them, nagged by the obscure and irrational sense of guilt that always filled him when he saw his father with a child. Neither of his parents had ever reproached him for failing to present them with grandchildren; he had believed they didn’t much care until Sennia had entered their lives. He still wasn’t certain how his mother felt, but his father’s attachment to the little girl was deep and moving. Ramses missed her too, but for a number of reasons he was glad Sennia was safe in England.
He located the carriage Miss Nordstrom had hired and told the driver to bring the lady to their house. Then he mounted Risha and headed for home, wondering what his mother would make of his father’s latest pet.
:
I have become quite accustomed to having the members of my family bring strays of all species home with them. Nefret is the worst offender, for she is constantly adopting wounded or orphaned animals, but they are less trouble than wounded or orphaned humans. When Emerson strode into the sitting room carrying a small human of the female gender, a familiar sense of foreboding filled me. Men have a number of annoying qualities, but over the years women—especially young women—have given me considerable trouble. Most of them fall in love with my husband or my son, or both.
Emerson deposited the young person in a chair. “This is Miss Melinda Hamilton, Peabody. She hurt her foot climbing the Great Pyramid, so I brought her to you.”
Miss Hamilton did not appear to be in pain. She returned my clinical stare with a broad smile. A gap between her two front teeth and a sprinkling of freckles gave her a look of childish innocence, but I judged her to be in her early teens. She had not yet put up her hair or lengthened her frock. The former was windblown and tangled, the latter dusty and torn. She was not wearing a hat.
“You are not an orphan, are you?” I asked.
“Peabody!” Emerson exclaimed.
“As a matter of fact, I am,” said the young person coolly.
“I beg your pardon,” I said, recovering myself. “I was endeavoring, rather clumsily, I confess, to ascertain whether some anxious person is looking all over Giza for you. Surely you did not go there alone.”
“No, ma’am, of course not. My governess was with me. The Professor just picked me up and brought me here. He is so kind.” She gave Emerson an admiring look.
“Yes,” I said. “He is also thoughtless. Emerson, what have you done with the governess?”
“Ramses is bringing her. Is tea ready? I am sure our guest is tired and thirsty.”
He was reminding me of my manners—something he seldom gets a chance to do—so I rang for Fatima and asked her to bring tea. I then knelt before the girl and removed her shoe and stocking. She protested, but of course I paid no attention.
“There is no swelling,” I announced, inspecting a small, dusty bare ankle. “Oh—I am sorry, Miss Melinda! Did I hurt you?”
Her involuntary movement had not been caused by pain. She had turned toward the door. “My friends call me Molly,” she said.
“Ah, there you are, Ramses,” said his father. “What have you done with the governess?”
“And what have you done with your pith helmet?” I inquired. Like his father, Ramses is always losing his hats. He passed his hand over his tumbled hair, trying to smooth it back. He ignored my question, probably because he did not know the answer, and replied to his father.
“She will be here shortly. I passed the carriage a few minutes ago.”
“Hurry and clean up,” I ordered. “You look even more unkempt than usual. What have you been doing with yourself?”
“Rescuing me,” said Miss Molly. “Please don’t scold him. He was splendid!”
Ramses vanished, in that noiseless fashion of his, and I said, “I thought it was the Professor who rescued you.”
“No, no,” said Emerson. “It was Ramses who brought her down from the pyramid. She’d hurt her foot, you see, and—”
“And lost my head.” The girl smiled sheepishly. “I was afraid to go up or down. I made a perfect fool of myself. Mrs. Emerson, you have been so kind—may I ask another favor? Would it be possible for me to bathe my face