Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [69]
By morning Gargery was in a state of extreme exasperation. He was delighted that we had a corpse on our hands; he had been secretly hoping for some such thing ever since we arrived. Not that he was an unkind or uncaring individual, but as he had once remarked, “If there’s got to be a murder, madam, it might as well be us that gets the use of it.” He had got his wish, and here we were selfishly trying to keep him from getting the use of it. Fortunately the morning post included the long-awaited letter from Nefret, which served as a temporary distraction.
It also roused Emerson from his normal state of early-morning stupor. Gargery’s attempts to read the letter over his shoulder were not well-received, however.
“She says they are well and happy,” I informed my surly butler. “The rest of it concerns archaeological matters, which would not be of interest to you.”
“I do not know why you should suppose that, madam,” said Gargery stiffly. “We all of us take a deep interest in that there tomb you were so busy with for so long.”
“Tetisheri? Well, there is nothing in the letter about that. They had just arrived in Luxor.”
“Was there anything for Miss Sennia, madam?”
“They sent their love, of course. Emerson, what on earth is the matter?”
“She will expect more than that, madam. She will expect—”
“Hell and damnation!” Emerson bellowed.
“—a personal letter,” Gargery finished.
“I am sorry, but they—”
“I had a feeling—a hideous foreboding—”
“Emerson!” I shouted.
“You needn’t scream, Peabody!”
“Miss Sennia will—”
“Gargery!”
“There is nothing wrong with my hearing, madam.”
They were both glaring at me, but at least I had got them to be quiet. I decided to deal with Gargery first. “There is no letter for Miss Sennia, so she will have to accept it.”
Emerson examined his cup. “More coffee, Gargery.”
“Are you sure you want more, sir?”
“Yes, I’m sure. What an idiotic question.”
Gargery added a dribble of coffee to Emerson’s cup. “Far be it from me to hurry you and madam, sir, but I must leave shortly to take Miss Sennia to school.”
“Yes, quite,” Emerson said absently. He was rereading Nefret’s letter. The import of Gargery’s comment finally penetrated. He looked up with a scowl. “Since when has it been necessary for you to stand over me while I finish my breakfast? Go.”
Gargery’s jaw set. After a chat with me, he and Fatima had agreed on a compromise. They would take it in turn to serve breakfast and dinner, alternating each week. (Implicit in the agreement was the right of both to listen at the door.) He was a man of his word and would stick to it, but he was unwilling to give up a single minute of his allotted time. After he had stamped out, taking the coffeepot with him, I turned to my husband.
“Now, my dear Emerson, what is the trouble?” I inquired sympathetically. “Tell me about your premonitions.”
Emerson’s eyes narrowed into sapphirine slits. “I never have premonitions, and I don’t believe in yours—never have, never will.”
“You just this minute said—”
“Did I? No, I didn’t. And if I did, I didn’t mean it.” Emerson snatched up the pile of unopened letters and began looking through them. “Nothing from Russell,” he remarked.
“We can hardly expect word so soon. Let’s not discuss it here. Have you finished breakfast?”
“I want another cup of coffee.” Emerson’s wandering eye moved across the table and failed to find the object it sought. “Where the devil is the coffeepot?”
“Gargery took it away,” I replied. “Pure spite, I presume. I fear you were right when you— Ah, Fatima. Thank you. The Professor was just asking for more coffee.”
She offered more of everything, which we refused. Still she lingered. “Was there a letter from Nur Misur?”
“Yes. She posted it as soon as they arrived in Luxor. They are well and happy. You