Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [55]
“You are more than kind,” she murmured, her head bent over the parcel.
“Not at all. I have the bill and expect you will reimburse me as soon as you are able.”
Enid looked up with a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye, as the poet has it. All at once she flung her arm around my neck and hid her face against my shoulder. “Now I begin to understand why people speak of you as they do,” she murmured. “My own mother could have done no more for me. . . .”
My heart went out to the girl, but I knew that an overt expression of sympathy would bring on the flood of tears she was trying valiantly to repress. I therefore attempted to relieve the situation with one of my little jokes. Patting her hand, I remarked with a smile, “I doubt that even your dear mama could have been as useful in the present situation; a lady so well bred as she would not have had my extensive acquaintance with hardened criminals and their habits. Now, now, my dear, cheer up. I have a question for you. Why didn’t you tell me you were engaged to be married?”
She raised her head, astonishment writ large upon her features. “But I am not. Whoever told you that?”
“Mr. Baehler, the manager of Shepheard’s Hotel. Your affianced husband is in Cairo, burning to assist you.”
“I cannot understand . . . Oh. Oh, heavens. It must be Ronald. I should have known!”
“You owe me an explanation, my dear girl. Who the dev—Who is Ronald?”
“The Honorable Ronald Fraser. We grew up together, Ronald and I and . . .” Her lips closed. She sat for a moment in silence, as if thinking how best to explain. Then she said slowly, “Ronald is my second cousin—the only kin I have now. He has no other claim on me.”
“Why would he call himself your fiancé, then? Or did Mr. Baehler misunderstand?”
Enid tossed her head. “He asked me to marry him. I refused. But it would be like Ronald to assume I would change my mind. He has a habit of believing what he wants to believe.”
“Ah, I see. Thank you for your confidence, Miss Marshall. And now I think you had better put on the dress I brought you and join us for a cup of tea and a little conversation. Afterwards we will retire to our tents. Did I mention you will be sleeping in a tent tonight? I am sure you will enjoy it. Much more pleasant than this stuffy room.”
When I returned to the sitting room, Emerson was still trying to explain to Ramses about the horrors of opium addiction. He did not appear to have made much headway. Ramses remarked, “May I say, Papa, that the poignant description you have just delivered verges on the classic? However, you will permit me to point out that there is no danger whatever that I would succumb to the temptations you have so eloquently described, since mental lethargy is not one of my—”
Emerson shot me a look of agonized appeal. “Ramses,” I said, “you are not, under any circumstances whatever, to smoke, eat, or imbibe any form of opium.”
“Yes, Mama,” Ramses said resignedly.
I then went to have a look at Mr. Nemo. I did not expect to find him indulging in the occupation Ramses so longed to experience, since I had his supply of opium and did not suppose he had money to buy more. I found him undrugged, and in a very bad temper. He looked up from the book he was holding and glared at me.
“I am glad to see you improving your mind, Mr. Nemo,” I said encouragingly.
Nemo tossed the book aside. “I don’t want to improve my mind. I had no choice. Haven’t you anything to read except books on Egyptology?”
“You should have asked Ramses. He has brought along some of his favorite thrillers—a surprisingly low taste for a person of his erudition. Never mind that now, I have a task for you. The moon is still bright; can you see well enough to put up the other tent? I intend the young lady to sleep there tonight.”
“I would work in total darkness if it would get her away from the house,” Nemo said gruffly. “What is she doing here? How long is she going to stay?”
“She is an archaeologist, Mr. Nemo. She has come to help with the digging.”
“Is that