Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [144]
“Leave him alone, Ramses,” Nefret said. She leaned over the bed. “I want you to take another dose of quinine. Then I’ll get you a nice frilly nightcap and we’ll let you sleep.”
Where she had obtained the cap Ramses could not imagine. He had never seen her wear it. It had pink bows and rows of lace ruffles.
“Surely not even Mother wears those?” he asked.
“It’s what they call a boudoir cap,” Nefret explained. “To cover one’s untidy hair while one drinks one’s morning tea, before one’s maid attends to one’s toilette. It came with the negligee—a set. I intended to give it to Sennia.”
“I’m going to kill him,” Ramses said.
“You can kill him after breakfast, darling. Go on up; I’ll be along after I’ve had a word with Margaret.”
As he made his way up the stairs to the upper deck, Ramses considered his plan again. It had a number of weak spots, but he had been unable to think of anything better. Cyrus would have to be warned, and another lie concocted for him and Katherine; not even to Cyrus could they reveal the true identity of Nefret’s patient. Ramses swore under his breath. Inventing wild fictions was more along his mother’s lines than his—but he could only thank God she wasn’t here, adding further complications to a situation that was already getting out of hand. He’d have to wait until afternoon, when the men were sleeping, to take Margaret across the river, and by one means or another force Sethos to divulge the secret he was determined to keep to himself, and . . .
And get rid of Jumana and Jamil. He had no sooner seated himself than they turned up. With another muttered oath he went to the rail. When she saw him Jumana began waving and calling out. She looked like an animated doll in Nefret’s clothes.
“Don’t swear,” Nefret said, joining him at the rail.
“Was I? Tell them they won’t be needed today, Nefret.”
“Eat your breakfast before it gets cold,” Nefret said, and went back down the stairs. Nasir was standing at attention, a napkin over his arm as she had taught him, ready to serve the food, but Ramses stayed at the rail, watching as Nefret talked with Jumana. It was a task he ought to have tackled himself, instead of leaving it to her, but that infuriating conversation with Sethos had left him so angry he wasn’t sure he could trust himself to behave normally.
The loan of a few books satisfied Jumana. Jamil lingered, exchanging witticisms and boasts with Ashraf, before he followed his sister. Nefret came upstairs. She declined Nasir’s offer to warm the food, told him they would wait on themselves, and began eating tepid eggs and soggy toast.
“I’m sorry,” Ramses said. “I ought to have sent them away myself instead of—”
“Stop it.” She looked up. Her eyes were blazing. “You’re always sorry about the wrong things. What sort of idiotic stunt have you planned for tonight? If you’re determined to go through with it, I’m going with you.”
“Someone has to stay with him.”
“Someone! Why is someone always me?” Her eyes were brimming with tears—probably of rage.
“In this case—”
“I know.” She wiped her eyes. “But I insist on knowing where you are going and what you mean to do.”
“The obvious move is to go back to the house where he was staying and pretend to look for something he’d been forced to leave behind. I’ll show myself to some of the villagers, indicate guilt and alarm, and beat a hasty retreat.”
“I thought that was it. Damnation, Ramses, what if some of the—the others are watching the place?”
“I’ll retreat even more hastily.” It was a fairly feeble attempt at humor and Nefret was not amused. He took her hand in his. “I doubt they have the manpower to waste on surveillance, Nefret. But it would certainly help if I knew who they are and how many of them there are and what they want from him.”
Her unsmiling lips tightened. “I’ll find out.”
“You’d take advantage of a sick man?”
She pushed her chair back. “One more insouciant remark, Ramses Emerson, and you will be sorry. He was faking that attack. If it follows the usual pattern, it won’t hit again until later this afternoon, and