Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [46]
These arrangements were not concluded without a considerable amount of noise. Emerson is too well bred to swear in the presence of a lady, but his state of mind found expression in loud, broken ejaculations, and frequent cries of “Good Gad!” My first concern was to get Enid settled as soon as possible; she was clearly on the verge of total collapse, a normal reaction for one finding sanctuary after hours of nervous strain and physical exertion. A camp cot and blankets, a lamp and basic toilet articles were easily supplied (for I always equip my expeditions adequately). Not until this was accomplished and Enid was tucked into bed did I realize I had seen nothing of Mr. Nemo. A normally curious individual would have come out to see what was happening. I went to his room, but I knew in advance what I would find.
There was no lock on the crude wooden door, but Nemo had attempted to barricade it with the packing case that served as his table. People often underestimate my physical strength. I am only five feet tall and rather on the thin side (in most areas), but I keep myself fit; when I put my shoulder to the door, I had no difficulty shoving the empty case out of the way.
Nemo lay on his side, facing the door. A slight, sweet smile curved his lips; the flame of the tiny lamp on the floor in front of him was reflected in his unblinking eyes.
He had brought the vile instrument of his destruction with him. I reproached myself for neglecting to search his belongings, though in fact I had not seen that he had any. But it would have been easy for him to conceal the pipe and the opium in the folds of his robe. I found them almost at once; sunk in the euphoria of the drug, he had not thought to conceal them again. The pipe lay beside him, where it had fallen from his lax hand. Near it were a small tin box half-filled with a dark, treacly substance and a thin metal dipper, which was used to scoop up a small quantity of the opium. Dipper and opium were then held over a flame until the substance was cooked and reduced in size, after which it was dropped into the bowl of the pipe.
I knew the futility of attempting to speak to Nemo. He was far away, wandering in fields of illusion. I gathered up the tin of opium, the pipe, and the metal dipper; blew out the lamp; and went quietly away.
The rest of the night passed without incident. Emerson snored. He seldom snores. When he does, it is usually deliberate.
I was up with the dawn, filled with my usual boundless energy. There was a great deal to be done that day, and I looked forward to it as a pugilist rejoices in the prospect of testing his strength against a worthy opponent. I moved quietly about my morning tasks, trying not to wake Emerson, for I thought it would be a good idea to have his breakfast ready when he woke. His temper would be tried often enough in the hours to come.
The absence of wooden flooring was annoying, for it enabled people to creep up on one unheard. My trained sixth sense, however, warned me that someone was watching me; expecting to see my ubiquitous son, I looked up with a frown and beheld instead the countenance of Mr. Nemo peering warily through the curtain we had rigged to give us a modicum of privacy.
He inspected the room from one corner to the other, as if he expected to see monsters lying in wait. “Will you step outside with me, Mrs. Emerson?” he asked in a whisper.
I had been about to suggest the same thing. A long, serious conversation with Mr. Nemo was high on my list of activities for the day. I was only surprised that he made no effort to avoid the scolding he must have known was coming. But perhaps instead of asking forgiveness he meant to go on the offensive and demand the return of his abominable drug apparatus. His grave expression and the firm set of his lips indicated determination rather than repentance.
Once outside, he beckoned me to follow him to the north side of the house, where we could not be seen from the doorway. Then he faced me.
“Mrs. Emerson, I am leaving your employ.”
He had not shaved that morning,