Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [89]
“I venture to say,” said Ramses, in his most pedantic manner, “that most people would forget their manners when confronted with someone as remarkable in appearance as yourself. However, I do not wish any opprobrium to attach to my mama. She has endeavored to correct my behavior, and if the result is not as it should be, the blame is mine, not hers.”
It was difficult to assess the effect of this speech on Mrs. Axhammer, for the veil blurred her features. Personally, I thought it rather a handsome effort. Ramses advanced and held out his hand. “May I escort you, madam?” he asked.
The old lady brandished her parasol. “Get away, get away, you young rascal. I know boys; trip you up, boys do, and put spiders on you.”
Ramses began, “Madam, rest assured I had no intention—”
“Now how could you be any use to me?” the old lady demanded irascibly. “Puny little critter like you. . . . Here, ma’am, I’ll take your arm. You’re short, but you look strong.”
She caught me by the shoulder. She was wearing dainty black lace mittens, but there was nothing delicate about her hand, which was as heavy as a man’s. I permitted the liberty, however. Courtesy to the elderly is a trait I endeavor to instill in my son—and the lady’s grip was too strong to be easily dislodged.
As we walked slowly toward the pyramid, Mrs. Axhammer subjected me to a searching and impertinent interrogation. She asked how old I was, how long I had been married, how many children I had, and how I liked my husband. I returned the compliment as soon as I could get a word in, asking her how she liked Egypt.
After a long diatribe about the heathen customs and unsanitary habits of the modern Egyptian, she added in an equally vitriolic tone, “Not that civilized folks act much better, ma’am. The scandals I heard in Cairo would make a lady blush, I do assure you. Why, there was a young English lady murdered her inamorato a few days ago; cut his throat ear to ear, they say, in her very room.”
“I had heard of it,” I said. “I cannot believe any young lady would do such a thing.”
A gust of wind blew Mrs. Axhammer’s veil askew, just as she bared a set of large white teeth whose very perfection betrayed their falsity. “There’s no doubt in my mind,” she snapped. “Women are dangerous, ma’am, much more dangerous than the male. I see you’ve got one out here with you. Don’t approve of women taking work away from men. Ought to stay home and tend to the house.”
Realizing I would get no more out of the malicious old creature except ignorant maledictions about her own sex, I determined to finish my duties and get rid of her. She paid no attention to my lecture, which, if I may say so, was of admirable quality, and resisted my efforts to lead her away from the excavations.
“There’s a white man down there with all them natives,” she exclaimed indignantly. “Is that your husband? Ain’t he got no sense of dignity? Hi, there, you—” And she made as if to jab Emerson, whose back was turned, with her parasol.
Like lightning I brought my own parasol into play, striking up the shaft of Mrs. Axhammer’s with a skill worthy of a master swordsman. The ring of steel on steel made Emerson jump, but he did not turn round.
The old lady burst out laughing and feinted playfully at me with her parasol. “Useful instruments, ain’t they? Never travel without one. Hey, there—”
She spun round; and as her flailing draperies settled, I saw to my consternation that they had concealed a small kneeling form.
“Ramses!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing?”
“Looking up my skirts,” the old lady howled. “Let me at