Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [10]
“I do know, I had planned to spend the day tomorrow doing just that.”
“Now you won’t have to.” Emerson turned to the washbasin. “I have taken care of everything. We can leave for Dahshoor first thing in the morning.”
“Tomorrow morning?”
Emerson splashed and sputtered and shook himself like a large dog. “Ah, most refreshing. Won’t it be wonderful to be back in the desert, Peabody? Sand and stars, peace and quiet, solitude, no confounded distractions . . .”
I was extremely vexed with him, but amusement tempered my annoyance. Emerson is as transparent as a child. Also, the ripple of muscle across his back distracted me. I picked up the towel and assisted him to dry himself.
“I see through your scheme, Emerson. You want to get me away from Cairo. Very well. Naturally I share your enthusiasm for sand and stars, solitude, and so on. But there are a great many things I must attend to before—”
“Not at all, Peabody. Abdullah and our men have been at Dahshoor all summer; we decided it was inadvisable to leave the site unguarded, if you recall. I don’t doubt that by this time they have selected a proper house and arranged it for us, removing to it the possessions we left at Dronkeh last spring.”
“Abdullah’s idea of a proper house is not mine. I will need—”
“Whatever you need can be procured after you ascertain what it is you need.” The words were a trifle slurred and the speech lacked Emerson’s usual precision of syntax. I saw that he was watching me in the mirror with an expression I knew well.
“Need I shave, Peabody?” he inquired.
“Of course you must, Emerson. Your beard is heavy, and—”
He turned and wrapped his arms round me, pressing me and the towel to his breast. His cheek brushed mine. “Need I shave, Peabody?” he repeated hoarsely.
“Emerson,” I began, but I got no further for reasons which should be apparent to any reader of sensibility. Since my normal intelligence becomes somewhat muddled under the circumstances that then prevailed, I do not know how long it was before an uncomfortable prickling sensation at the back of my neck made itself felt. Freeing myself from Emerson’s hold, I turned to see Ramses standing in the doorway. The cat was in his arms and both were staring unabashedly.
“Ramses,” I exclaimed somewhat breathlessly. “Are you smiling?”
“My expression was one of affable approbation,” Ramses protested. “It pleases me to see you and Papa engaging in demonstrations of that nature. I cannot as yet explain why that should be the case, but I suspect it may indicate some deep-seated need for—”
“Ramses!” Emerson had got his breath back. “Return to your room at once. And close the door.”
Ramses promptly vanished, without so much as a “Yes, Papa.” But the mood had been broken. With an embarrassed cough Emerson reached for his shaving mug. “We must do something about a bodyguard for Ramses,” he said. “Or rather, I meant to say, a companion, an escort—”
“The first word was appropriate,” I replied, attempting to smooth my ruffled hair. It was futile, for the strands clung to my fingers with a kind of physical electricity, induced, no doubt, by the dry heat. I sat down at the dressing table in order to construct my evening coiffure.
“I wanted to bring a manservant with us,” I continued. “But you said no.”
“We could hardly ask poor John to abandon his new bride,” said Emerson, briskly whisking the soap into foam. “Once we reach Dahshoor, Selim can take up the duties he performed last season.”
“Selim was perfectly useless, Emerson. I didn’t say so, for I would not hurt the lad’s feelings for the world, but he proved incapable of preventing Ramses from doing anything. Indeed, he became Ramses’ accomplice in crime rather than his guard.
“What he really needs is a tutor,” I went on. “His education has been extremely one-sided, to say the least. He can translate hieroglyphic Egyptian as easily as most children of his age can read English, but he has only the feeblest acquaintance with the sciences, and none whatever