Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [48]
“Fascinating,” I exclaimed. “I am deeply indebted to you for the information, Mr. Nemo. Please forgive me for suspecting you. Though it now appears I was, in a sense, paying you a compliment!”
Nemo did not return my smile. “You owe me no apology. What you have told me changes nothing, Mrs. Emerson. You are right, I would not touch a hair of your head, and your men could certainly overcome me; but you will have to bind me or imprison me to keep me here. I must and will go.”
“I understand, Mr. Nemo. I know what has moved you to this decision. It is the arrival of the young lady.”
Nemo’s tanned cheeks paled. “You—you—”
“Looking from the window last night you saw her,” I went on. “A flower of English womanhood, with the grace and charm that achieves its fullest perfection in our favored nation. Seeing her must have reminded you of your shame and of what you have lost.”
Nemo raised a trembling hand to his brow. “You are a witch, Mrs. Emerson!”
“No, Mr. Nemo; only a woman, with a woman’s heart. Our intellectual powers, never doubt it, are fully equal to those of the so-called stronger sex, but we have a greater understanding of the human heart. It was a woman who brought you to this, was it not?”
A muffled voice from the house interrupted the conversation at this interesting juncture. I took my watch from my pocket and inspected it. “Time is passing, Mr. Nemo. I must be about my business. We will discuss your situation at a future time. Until then I count on you to remain. The young lady will keep to her room today. You won’t have to face her until I have spruced you up a bit and decided on a story to tell her. Have I your word not to run away?”
“You would take my word?” Nemo asked incredulously. “After I broke it?”
“You did not break it. You said you would try not to succumb.” Another, more irate shout from within reminded me of my duties. “I must be off. I am going to Cairo today. I will see you this evening.”
Nemo shrugged. “Until tonight, then. Beyond that—”
“That will do. Yes, Emerson. I am here; I am coming.”
I hastened within.
When I set out shortly after breakfast, it was with the serene consciousness that I had dealt with all the outstanding emergencies. Enid had been warned that she must pretend weakness and keep to her room. We dared not risk her exposing her ignorance of archaeology, which would certainly occur within five minutes of her appearance at the dig. Mr. Nemo had been measured for a suit of clothes and sent off, with Ramses, to supervise the excavation of the causeway. Emerson had been soothed and fed and encouraged by my solemn promise that our bed that night would be under the open sky and the brilliant stars of the desert. (To be sure, a canvas roof would intervene between us and the open sky, brilliant stars, et cetera, but Emerson is particularly susceptible to poetic expressions of that nature. And I confess that I was myself peculiarly stimulated by the image thus evoked.)
I had sent Abdullah to hire a horse from the mayor of the village. It was the finest steed in the neighborhood, a charming little brown mare that was reported to be the apple of the sheikh’s eye. Certainly the cost of her hire bore this out, as did her shining coat and the confidence with which she greeted me. I quite fell in love with her myself. Her high spirits matched my own; when she broke into a gallop I made no effort to restrain her, but abandoned myself to the joys of speed. I felt like one of the heroes of Anthony Hope or Rider Haggard, dashing to the rescue. (Their heroines, poor silly things, never did anything but sit wringing their hands waiting to be rescued.)
It seemed only a few moments before I saw the first of the monuments of Sakkara. Some energetic specimens of the tourist breed were already there, for next to Giza, Sakkara is the most popular excursion in the Cairo region. One of the guides told me where the archaeologists were working, and I was pleased to find Mr. Quibell on his feet, notebook in hand, copying inscriptions. After I had lectured him on the impropriety of standing