Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [67]
By this time the other pursuers were spread out all over the terrain, in their efforts to follow the changing course of the runaway. It must have been Emerson’s strong paternal instincts that led him to be first upon the scene, for no one could possibly have predicted where the animal would eventually halt. The others all converged on the spot, and before long the protagonists in the drama were swallowed up by a crowd of screaming supernumeraries and hidden by agitated blue and white draperies.
Not until that moment did I feel the hand that had gripped my shoulder, though its pressure was hard enough to leave (as I later discovered) visible bruises. The grip relaxed and I turned in time to catch Enid as, with a tremulous moan, she sank fainting to the ground.
I dragged the girl into the tent and left her there. The intensity of the drama was sufficient excuse for her reaction, but I knew Emerson would be annoyed if he discovered she had succumbed. He had a poor opinion of swooning females.
The viscount and his entourage were the first to return. Most of them kept their distance, but his lordship summoned courage enough to face me. However, he was prudent enough to remain on horseback as he made his stammering apologies.
I cut them short. “I don’t hold you wholly accountable, since Ramses has a habit of getting into scrapes; however, I think you had better take yourself off before Professor Emerson gets here. I refuse to be responsible for his actions when he is under extreme emotional stress, as I suppose him to be at this time.”
The gentlemen took my advice. They were in full retreat when Emerson staggered up, with Ramses clasped to his bosom. After Ramses had finally convinced his father he was capable of standing, Emerson ran after the riders, cursing and demanding that they come back and fight like men. Having expected a demonstration of that sort, I was able to trip him up, and by the time he had resumed an upright position and brushed the sand from his perspiring countenance, he was relatively calm.
“No harm done,” he said grittily. “But if that idiot ever shows his face here again—”
I handed him my water flask, for it was evident that his speech was encumbered by sand. “Perhaps we had better stop for the day,” I suggested. “It is after noon, and everyone is tired from all that running around.”
“Stop work?” Emerson stared at me in amazement. “What are you thinking of, Peabody?”
So we returned to our labors. The diggers went at it with renewed vigor; I heard one of them remark to another that he always enjoyed working for the Father of Curses, since there was sure to be something amusing going on.
Naturally we looked for Nemo in order to express our appreciation and admiration, but he was nowhere to be found. Since he was still wearing his Egyptian robes and turban, it was not difficult for him to hide among the fifty-odd diggers; and even after we had finished work and returned to the house, I was unable to locate him. I need not tell the Reader that my reasons for wishing to speak to him were not solely those of parental gratitude. I had a number of questions to ask that young man, and this time I was determined to get answers.
I had, of course, explained to Ramses that his behavior was wholly inexcusable. Not all the blame for the incident could be attributed to him, since the accidental