Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [43]
“I quite agree, Emerson. It is remarkable.” In order to obtain tents, it would be necessary for me to make a trip to Cairo. I would then have an opportunity to make my inquiries into the murder of Kalenischeff. I had intended to do this all along, but now I had a reasonable excuse.
“Quite remarkable,” I said.
The shades of night were falling fast by the time we reached the compound. The men had retreated into their hut; despite their superior education, none of them remained outside in the darkness if he could help it, for, as every Egyptian knew, night was when the demons were out in full force. We found Ramses alone in the sitting room, except for his ever-present feline companion. He had been writing at the table, but it was clear that our approach had not gone unnoticed, for he pushed his writing materials aside when we entered and rose, with no sign of surprise.
“Good evening, Mama; good evening, Papa; good evening, Miss—”
“Where is Mr. Nemo?” I asked.
“He was here a moment ago. I presume he has gone to his room.” Ramses stepped forward, his hand extended. “We have not had the pleasure of meeting, I believe. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Walter Peabody Emerson.”
“More familiarly known as Ramses,” said Emerson, laughing. “This is Miss Marshall, my boy. She is a distinguished archaeologist, so you must treat her with respect.”
“Hardly distinguished, Professor,” the girl said quickly. “I am the merest beginner. So this is your son. What a fine little chap!”
She took Ramses’ hand. A curl of the lip expressed Ramses’ opinion of her description; feeling my gaze fixed upon him, he kept that opinion to himself, saying instead, “I was unaware of your academic qualifications, miss. May I inquire at what learned institutions you have studied?”
“No, you may not,” I said. “Will you light the stove, Emerson? I am sure Miss Marshall would like a cup of tea. While the water is heating, I will show her to her room.”
“I am afraid I am putting you to a great deal of trouble,” the false Miss Marshall began. She broke off with a shriek and jumped back. The cat Bastet, who had been coiling her sinuous form around the girl’s ankle, emitted a reproachful mew and butted her furry head against one scuffed little boot.
“It is only Ramses’ cat,” I said.
“The cat Bastet,” Ramses elaborated. “She seems to have taken a fancy to you, miss. That is unusual, and in my opinion you should be flattered by the attention, for animals, as it is well known, have a sixth sense that gives them—”
“Be quiet, Ramses,” I said. The girl had raised a trembling hand to her brow, and I took the liberty of putting a supportive arm around her. “Miss Marshall is exhausted and can’t be bothered with your unorthodox theories. Come into the next room, my dear. When you see your accommodations, you won’t apologize for putting us out, I assure you.”
Only a curtain separated the small adjoining chamber from the sitting room, and thus far the sole furnishings were a few empty crates. I assisted the young lady to one of them and sat her down.
“You will not be as comfortable here as in the sitting room,” I said in a low voice. “But I could see your nerve was ready to give way, and believed you would be better alone.”
“You are very good. Please don’t let me keep you from your family—”
“Oh, I have no intention of leaving you.” I took a seat on another crate. “There are a number of matters we must discuss without delay, if you expect to continue your masquerade.”
The room was illumined only by the moonlight. The girl had shrunk back into the darkest shadows, but I heard her gasp sharply. She made a valiant effort to recover herself. “What do you mean, Mrs.