Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [32]
He went on for some time. I let him get it out of his system—for the time being. It was one of Emerson’s chief aggravations and the subject would certainly arise again, as it had done often before. He had refused to allow Ramses to attend school, and in this case I had to agree with him. Any educational system that separates the sexes and denies women equal intellectual opportunities is obviously a poor system.
Finally Emerson wound down. He gave himself a shake and mopped his perspiring brow. “At any rate, Peabody, I am glad to see you have given up your nonsensical notions about master—er—about Mr. Nemo’s criminal associations.”
I smiled to myself but did not reply. Emerson enjoys our little arguments as much as I do; they are, if I may invent a striking metaphor, the pepper in the soup of marriage. However, I felt he had had enough excitement for one evening and I was anxious to finish and get to bed.
His thoughts had turned to the same subject. After a moment he said, “I found a very pleasant little pit in the rock, Peabody. With a bit of canvas for a roof and a trifle of the sweeping and scrubbing you women seem to consider necessary, it would make a most agreeable sleeping chamber.”
“For whom, Emerson?”
I had my back turned, but I heard the creak of his chair and the elephantine tread of Emerson trying to tiptoe. His arms stole around my waist. “Whom do you think, Peabody?”
I felt a warm moist touch on my neck, just under my ear. Much as I would have liked Emerson to pursue this interesting course, I forced myself to be firm. “All in due time, Emerson. I have two more boxes to unpack.”
“Leave them till morning.”
“They may contain articles we will need first thing in the morning. I have not yet found the teakettle. . . . Do stop it, Emerson. I cannot concentrate when you Oh, Emerson! Now, Emerson . . .”
Nothing was said for some time. Eventually a persistent sound, like that of a file rasping on wood, penetrated my absorption. Emerson heard it too; his grasp on my person loosened, and I attempted, not entirely successfully, to straighten my disheveled attire before I turned toward the door. No one was there. I felt certain, however, that Ramses had been watching. The purring of his feline companion had given him away and had forced him to beat a hasty retreat.
It seemed pointless to pursue the matter, or Ramses. Silently I turned back to the labors Emerson’s affectionate demonstration had interrupted. As is occasionally his habit, Emerson turned his annoyance at the disturbance, not on the perpetrator, but on the nearest object—me.
“It has taken you a devil of a time to unpack,” he grumbled.
“If you had condescended to stay and help, I would be done.”
“Then why didn’t you say so? That is just like a woman. They always expect a fellow to read their minds—”
“The most rudimentary intelligence would have made it evident—”
“And then they whine and complain when—”
“Whine, indeed! When have you ever heard me—”
“I admit the word is inappropriate. Shout would be more—”
“How can you—”
“How can you—”
We were both out of breath by then and had to pause to take in oxygen. Then Emerson said cheerfully, “You were quite right, Peabody; this parcel is one I remember and it does indeed contain a new teakettle, which I purchased in the sûk. I seemed to recall that the kettle of last season had become sadly dented after I used it to kill a cobra.”
“It was clever of you to think of it, Emerson. I confess that the incident of the cobra had quite slipped my mind. What is in this