Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [44]
“My husband, though the most intellectual man of my acquaintance, is singularly naive about some things,” I said. “But surely you did not suppose you could deceive me, did you—Miss Debenham?”
For a few seconds the silence was unbroken even by the sound of her breathing. Then a long sigh quiveredthrough the air. “I knew I could never sustain the deception, Mrs. Emerson. I hoped only for a few days’ respite, in order to decide whether to cast myself upon your mercy or take flight again. When the professor assumed I was someone else, I felt Fate had approved my venture.”
Her voice was weary but calm, with no trace of the incipient hysteria it had displayed before. Obviously it was the strain of deceit that had unnerved her; her relief at finding herself free to speak candidly proved to me that she was essentially an honorable person.
“You read my letter, then,” I said.
“Yes. I must admit, Mrs. Emerson, that my first reaction upon reading it was anger. I am a very headstrong and stubborn person. I was overindulged by doting parents who made no attempt to curb my faults of character; I am impatient of criticism, and too set on having my own way. It is a grievous flaw—”
“What one person terms ‘headstrong,’ another may call ‘determined.’ Strength of character is not a flaw. You sound as if you were quoting someone, Miss Debenham—no, excuse me, I must accustom myself to calling you Miss Marshall.”
“Then—then you mean to allow me to continue my masquerade? You are willing to deceive your husband?”
“Oh, as to that, I would never deliberately deceive Emerson. If he chooses to deceive himself, it would be tactless in the extreme for me to correct his misapprehension, particularly since there is a distinct possibility that in the heat of the moment he might be moved to rash actions and/or expressions he would later regret. But, much as I would enjoy discussing the complexities of matrimony, a subject about which I have decided opinions, we must not stay here too long or even my dear Emerson will begin to wonder why we continue to sit in the dark. And Ramses . . . I will warn you about Ramses in due time. First it is essential that you tell me, as briefly but accurately as possible, precisely what happened on the night of the murder.”
“I dined with Prince Kalenischeff,” the girl said quietly. “We went to see the moonlight over the pyramids—”
“I saw you there. And afterwards?”
“We returned to the hotel. The prince said good night to me at the door of my room—”
“You did not invite him in?”
“I suppose I deserve that,” she said, after a moment. “No, Mrs. Emerson, I did not.”
“Continue, please. And be succinct.”
“The safragi had given me your letter. I read it as I brushed my hair and, as I have said, I was angry—”
“You may omit your emotional reactions except in so far as they have bearing on the events of that night.”
“Thank you. I tossed the letter aside. I prepared for bed. I went to bed. I fell asleep. Much later something woke me. Perhaps it was the sound of the door opening, or footsteps. A dark form came into the field of my vision. I recognized the prince. He moved quietly toward the bed. I got out of the bed. I fell to the floor. I lost consciousness. When I awoke the first light of dawn was brightening the window and I saw the prince lying dead across the bed. I went to my wardrobe. I took out—”
“Just a moment, if you please. I know I told you to be succinct, but that is carrying it a bit too far. Let us go back to your awakening in the middle of the night. How did you feel then? Alert and fully conscious, or unnaturally weak and drowsy?”
“I had barely strength enough to roll off the bed, away from him. How did you know?”
“I assume you were drugged, of course. Did you have anything to eat or drink before you retired?”
“I drank from the water bottle on the bedside table. The dry air makes one so thirsty. . . .”
“I thought so. Those damnable water bottles! One would think they had been invented for the convenience of burglars and murderers. Some kindly guardian angel roused you in time. . . . But it