Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [169]
“Now, now,” said Emerson, glancing uneasily at his wife, who remarked, “There is no excuse for hysteria, Miss Minton. We will go down to luncheon at once. First smooth your hair and put on your hat.”
“Of course. It wouldn’t do to appear in public without a hat, would it?” She pressed her hands to her flushed cheeks. “I beg your pardon. I have been under something of a strain.”
Their table was ready, and Emerson insisted she eat something and have a glass of wine before she explained. A lady in distress always brought out the chivalrous side of his nature. He even called her Margaret. His wife did not.
“If you are yourself again, Miss Minton, we would appreciate a brief, coherent narrative.”
Half a glass of wine and a roll had restored Margaret’s self-possession and her sense of humor. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait and borrow my written account?”
“Just tell us,” Ramses said quickly.
“By all means,” said his mother.
“You may wonder why I asked Nefret to speak before I opened the door. Yesterday afternoon, just as I was about to go down for tea, there was a knock at my door, and a voice. Your voice, Ramses.”
Ramses bit off an oath. His father didn’t.
“Bloody hell and damnation! What did he say?”
“’It’s me, Margaret. All right, are you?’ It sounded exactly like you, Ramses.”
“It would,” Ramses said between his teeth.
“So of course I unlocked the door, and started to open it. He slammed it, practically in my face, and ordered me to lock it and keep it locked. He didn’t sound like you then! He went on to tell me what a bloody idiot I was, and that there were at least three people in the hotel, including himself, who would lay violent hands on me if I put my nose outside that door, and that he wasn’t the only one who could imitate your voice, and . . .” She smiled wryly. “If he meant to frighten me, he succeeded. When he stopped listing all the things that could happen to me, I asked several questions—you can imagine what about—but there was no answer.”
The waiter brought their soup, and with a murmured apology, she began to eat.
“Two other people,” Emerson muttered. “Who the devil . . .”
“It may not have been true,” Ramses said.
“I couldn’t take the chance, could I?” Margaret demanded. “And later that night, after I’d gone to bed, someone rattled the doorknob. I’d just got up nerve enough to turn out the light and I was half asleep. I yelled, ‘Who’s there?’ Nobody answered. Then, just before dawn—”
“Good Gad,” Emerson exclaimed. “Again?”
“He said he was the safragi, with my breakfast. I hadn’t ordered breakfast.”
“Three in all,” Nefret murmured. “I wonder how many of them were Sethos?”
“I’m glad you find this amusing, Nefret,” Margaret said.
Nefret hastily wiped the smile off her face. Ramses didn’t understand her amusement either; Sethos’s intentions might have been honorable, but his methods were deplorable.
“He’d have had time to pop by just before he went to catch the Assuan train,” Nefret went on.
Margaret dropped her soup spoon. “He’s gone to Assuan?”
“Not bloo— not likely,” said Emerson. “But he has left the hotel, the bas— the ungrateful wretch. Ramses got him over here yesterday, since the presence of a stranger on board the Amelia had become known. Good idea, really. Confuse the trail.”
“Thank you, Father,” Ramses said.
“Hmm, yes. You can’t stay here either, Margaret—Miss Minton—”
“Please use my given name, Professor. Formality is somewhat absurd under the circumstances.”
“Er—thank you. As I was saying, we need to get you away from here. Peabody?”
“Quite right, Emerson. She is going back to the Castle with us. I have already spoken to Cyrus about it.”
Of course she had, Ramses thought. She had probably put it on her list: “Move Miss Minton.” Neither of the Vandergelts would have had a word to say about it.
She and Nefret