Lion in the Valley - Elizabeth Peters [97]
One of the paths from the village passed in front of the gates, and my vigil was further enlivened by the forms of fellahin returning home from the fields, donkeys loaded with wood for the cookfires, women muffled in black and carrying heavy water jars on their heads. The procession of eternal Egypt, I thought to myself—for poetic fancies come to me at such times.
An alien shape broke into the slow-moving parade, the very speed of its approach an intrusion. The shape was that of a mounted man, who rode straight through the open gates. Seeing me, he dismounted, sweeping off his hat.
“Mrs. Emerson, I am Ronald Fraser. We met the other day—”
“I know,” I said. “Are you by chance the person who put a hole in my son’s hat this afternoon?”
“No, indeed! At least I hope not.” His smile made him look so much like his brother, I glanced involuntarily over my shoulder. Donald was nowhere in sight, but Emerson was. His broad shoulders filled the open doorway and a scowl darkened his face.
“You hope not,” he repeated ironically. “I hope not too, young man; for if you were the one who committed that little error, you would have to answer to me.”
“It is in order to explain and apologize for the incident that I do myself the honor to call on you and your charming lady,” Ronald said smoothly. “May I—”
“You may,” I said, indicating the chair Donald had overturned in his hasty departure. “I would offer you a cup of tea, but I am afraid it is cold.”
Ronald righted the chair and deposited himself in it. He was a graceful creature, more elegant and less manly than his brother. Knowing them as I now did, I could never have mistaken one for the other. The younger man’s countenance betrayed the weakness of his character; his lips were thin, his chin was irresolute, his brow narrow and receding. Even his eyes, of the same sea-blue, were paler in color. They met mine with a clear candor I could not help but find highly suspicious.
In the most charming manner he disclaimed any intention of troubling me, even to the extent of a cup of tea. “I came,” he went on, “only to make certain that no harm had been done the lad. He ran out in front of our guns, Professor and Mrs. Emerson—I assure you he did. I honestly don’t know whose bullet it was that struck the hat out of his hand. He had retrieved it and retreated before we could go after him. Though we searched for some time, we found no sign of him, or of anyone else—though I thought I caught a glimpse of another person, an Arab, by his clothing. . . .”
He ended on a questioning note, but I was not tempted to inform him that the other person present had been his brother. Nor was Emerson; in fact, my husband’s response was direct to the point of rudeness. There were references, as I recall, to young idiots who could find nothing better to do with their time than blast away at birds who could not shoot back, and to his (Emerson’s) sincere hope that the shooters would end up riddling themselves and each other.
Mr. Ronald’s fixed smile remained in place. “I don’t blame you, Professor; in your place I would say much the same.”
“I doubt that,” Emerson replied haughtily. “If you think your powers of invective can equal mine, you are sadly mistaken.”
“I will make any amends in my power,” the young man insisted. “A gift to the little chap—a profound apology—”
I had been wondering why Ramses had not made an appearance. It was most unlike him to refrain from interrupting. Yet even this conciliatory and tempting offer did not bring him out of the house. The most profound silence filled that edifice; even the murmur of Ramses’ lecture had ceased.
“That is not necessary,