He Shall Thunder in the Sky - Elizabeth Peters [60]
David and Ramses exchanged glances. “If you don’t mind, Mother,” said my son, “I would rather not continue this line of speculation. David, you’ll probably have to take my place again tomorrow, so you had better stay here tonight. Lock the door after we leave.”
David nodded. “We need to talk.”
“That, too.”
“Ramses,” I said. “You—”
“Please, Mother, don’t argue! There’s no time now. David can’t take my place at dinner, not with Nefret and Fatima there. We’ll talk later. A council of war, as you used to say.”
I told Fatima we would take tea in the sitting room that evening. It was not a room we often used for informal family gatherings, since it was too spacious to be cozy and somewhat gloomy because of the small, high windows. However, it would spare Ramses the stairs to the roof; not much help, but the best I could do.
I made haste in bathing and changing, but the others were already there when I entered the parlor.
“Where is Mrs. Fortescue?” I asked. “Didn’t you ask her to come to tea?”
“If that inquiry is addressed to me,” said Emerson, with great emphasis, “the answer is, no, why the devil should I have done? She turned up this afternoon without warning and without an invitation, and expected me to drop what I was doing and show her every cursed pyramid at Giza. I was trying to think of a way to get rid of her when you saved me the trouble.”
“She asked where Ramses was,” Nefret said.
He had taken a chair some little distance from the sofa where she was sitting, and I observed he was now wearing a light tweed coat, which served to conceal the rather lumpy bandages. “How nice,” he murmured. “Which of her admirers was with her, the Count or the Major?”
“Neither,” Emerson said. “It was that young Pinkerton.”
“Pinckney,” Nefret corrected.
“Ah,” said Ramses. “I didn’t see him.”
“He was inside the tomb, with me. I was showing him the reliefs.”
“Hmmm,” said Ramses.
Nefret glared at him, or tried to; her prettily arched brows were incapable of looking menacing. “If you are implying—”
“I’m not implying anything,” Ramses said.
He was, of course. I had had the same thought. Mr. Pinckney might have brought the lady along as camouflage for his romantic designs on Nefret. Or she might have brought him along as camouflage for her designs on Emerson. Or . . .
Good Gad, I thought, this is even more complicated than our usual encounters with crime. The only thing of which I was certain was that neither Pinckney nor Mrs. Fortescue was Sethos.
Nefret subjected Ramses to another glare, and then turned to me. “The Professor assured me you were not seriously injured, Aunt Amelia, but I would like to have a look at you. What happened?”
“It was all a great fuss about nothing, my dear,” I replied, seating myself next to her on the sofa. “I took a little tumble into a tomb and twisted my arm.”
“This arm?” Before I could stop her she grasped my hand and pushed my sleeve up. “I don’t see anything. Does it hurt when I do this?”
“No,” I said truthfully.
“Or this? Hmmm. Well, it appears there is no break or sprain.”
“The greatest damage was to another portion of her anatomy,” said Ramses. “She landed on her . . . that is, in a sitting position.”
As he had no doubt expected, my look of chagrin put an end to Nefret’s questions.
“Never mind,” I said, with a little cough. “Have you asked Fatima to serve tea, Nefret?”
“Yes, it should be here shortly. I wanted to get an early start, since I am dining out this evening.”
“Dining out,” I repeated. “Have you told Fatima?”
“Yes.”
“You look very nice. Is that a new frock?”
“I haven’t worn it before. Do you like it?”
“Not very much,” said Ramses, before I could reply. “Is that the latest in evening dress? You look like a lamp shade.”
She did, rather. The long overtunic had been stiffened at the bottom so that it stood out around the slim black skirt in a perfect circle. I could tell by Emerson’s expression that he was of the same opinion, but he