Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [50]
His initial efforts were promising. He turned up smack on time the following morning, washed and shaved and sober, and worked tirelessly and well. I had him to tea; I had him to dinner; he began to put on flesh and gain confidence. Even Sennia approved of him. “He is rather boring,” was her verdict. “But nice.” After a few more days I proposed that he move into one of the guest chambers.
To my surprise he refused, courteously but decidedly. “You have already done so much for me, Mrs. Emerson. I cannot accept additional favors until I have earned them.” He was sufficiently at ease with me by then to add, with one of his shy smiles, “It isn’t because I spend the evenings drinking, you know.”
I had already been certain of that; I am well acquainted with the signs of overindulgence. I did not press him, for an individual is entitled to his privacy.
Do not suppose, Reader, that the pressure of professional labor had made me lose sight of another objective. The children had been gone for almost a week when I decided Emerson’s laissez-faire approach was not going to work. No one had attacked us. It was extremely vexing, so I worked out a few little schemes of my own. I arranged matters so that I could take care of at least two of them on the same day. Efficiency is my strong point, if I may say so; and besides, I did not suppose I could get away from Emerson a second time after he had found out what I had done.
I slipped away one afternoon when he was fully occupied with a burial shaft. I knew he would be there for a while, since several interesting bits of mummy had turned up. Naturally I left a message for him at the house, but I expected I would have an hour or two to myself before he tracked me down.
The Turf Club was a bastion of British bigotry in the heart of Cairo. (The description is that of Emerson.) Egyptians were not admitted to membership. Neither were noncommissioned officers. We were not members either, but I did not anticipate I would be prevented from entering.
Such proved to be the case. The doorman was a large, very gloomy-looking fellow, who had once occupied the same position at Shepheard’s. He took one step forward. I waved my parasol at him in a friendly manner. He backed hastily away, and flung the door open.
I had never been in the Club, since Emerson and I refused to patronize establishments of that sort, but I had heard that many of the officers and high officials were in the habit of meeting there for drinks and gossip before they went on to various evening appointments. The large hall appeared to be where these activities took place; it was not yet crowded, for the hour was still early, but I saw a number of familiar faces. They saw me as well. Some looked away, as from a visual obscenity, while others stared and muttered amongst themselves. I realized I was the only female present. Apparently the sacred precincts were out of bounds to women as well as other lower breeds.
I found a spot from which I could get a good view of the proceedings and made myself comfortable. I believe my appearance could not have been faulted; I was wearing a smart calling suit of saffron silk and my second-best hat. The parasol might have been regarded as a slightly discordant note, for it was larger and plainer than the frivolous parasols carried by fashionable ladies. I have had occasion in the past to remark on the all-round usefulness of a good stout parasol; it proved its usefulness once again, for, failing to capture the attention of a waiter, I hooked one of them by the arm and ordered a whiskey and soda.
The buzz of conversation, which had halted upon my entrance, resumed, though on a lower note. Sipping my whiskey, I looked around. There was no one to whom I cared to speak. Evidently no one cared to speak to me. I had been there a good half hour before the gentleman to whom I had addressed a little note finally appeared. He appeared a trifle ill at ease, and as he stood in the doorway I thought how much he reminded me of another Edward,