Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [54]
“Go after him!” I gasped, for the man I had attacked was no longer to be seen.
“Be damned to that,” said Emerson. “Curse it, don’t you realize you are wounded?”
“Nonsense,” I said, wondering why my voice sounded so far away. “It was only . . .”
The next thing I knew I was half sitting, half reclining on the seat of the carriage, with Emerson bending over me. I heard something rip. It was the sleeve of my coat. The glow of light surrounding us came, as I discovered, from Emerson’s torch, which he had propped on the seat. With the gentleness and efficiency that mark his movements, he bound strips of cloth around my upper arm, muttering all the while. “Not so bad as I feared. My darling girl, what a bloody idiot you are! Hang on, my love, I’ll have you back at the Club in a few minutes and we will find a physician—”
“There is no need for that,” I replied. “Where is my parasol? Find my parasol, Emerson, I think I may have dropped it.”
Swearing vehemently with relief and exasperation, Emerson located the object and tossed it into the cab before he mounted the box. The poor horse was in an extreme state of agitation, but Emerson’s firm hands and calm voice soon had it under control. As he drove he kept turning to look back at me, uttering exclamations of concern and complaint.
“How many times have I told you not to attack an armed man with that confounded parasol? Are you conscious, sweetheart? You have no more sense of self-preservation than Ramses, and considering that you are only half his size, your impetuosity verges on feeblemindedness. I ought to have you locked up. Speak to me, my darling. Have you fainted?”
“Certainly not. It is only a scratch. Curse it, I believe I have lost my second-best hat.”
• • •
Six
• • •
“What an inept, amateurish attack,” Emerson remarked sourly.
“And after all the trouble we went to,” I agreed.
Meeting one another’s eyes, we simultaneously burst out laughing. It had been a ridiculous performance, especially the ending, when we tiptoed through the darkened house like a pair of burglars in order to avoid waking Fatima or Gargery. I doubted we could conceal the truth from them indefinitely, though. Emerson’s thick hair had absorbed the worst of the blow and the bump was not very conspicuous, but my nice ensemble was ruined and even if I managed to hide it, Fatima would notice it was missing and demand to know what I had done with it. I allowed Emerson to help me out of my bloodstained garments and tend to my little wound. Wrapped in a comfortable but becoming rose silk dressing gown, with a glass of whiskey in my hand, and my husband sitting close by me on the settee, I felt fully restored and ready to discuss the events that had transpired.
“The most interesting aspect of the evening,” Emerson went on, “is that we seem to have attracted a new group of enemies. I don’t believe Asad had a hand in the business.”
“Their intent may have been to keep him from approaching us.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Peabody. One of them took the place of our driver, which could be easily accomplished. The other must have been nearby, waiting and watching; if Asad had tried to get to us, the second man had only to knock him on the head or drag him away. By all accounts he’s a timid, undersized chap. We, on the other hand, are known to be formidable fighters. Why tackle us—and with only two men? By Gad, it’s a confounded insult!”
“Perhaps the attack was not meant to succeed. The fellow who attempted to pull me out of the carriage did not draw a weapon until after I had him pinned against the wall with six inches of steel in his body.”
Emerson let out another guffaw and threw his arm round my shoulders. “Don’t exaggerate, Peabody. If you had put six inches of steel into him he wouldn’t have been able to scamper away so handily. I am profoundly sorry I ever gave you that damned sword-parasol.”
“You are confusing the issue, my dear.”
“Hmmm, yes.” Emerson put his