Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [9]
“Nefret?” Ramses wrenched the door open and lifted her up. He added, rather as an afterthought, “Mother?”
“Quite all right,” I croaked. “What the devil was that?”
Emerson’s large hands untangled me and raised me to my feet. “Don’t sit down yet, the seat is covered with debris, including broken glass. Steady, my dear. Any damage?”
“Not to me. Nefret pushed me down and shielded my body with hers. Is she hurt?”
“A few cuts on her arms,” Ramses said. There was blood on his face and on Emerson’s. The windscreen had shattered, spraying them both with glass.
For a time we stood staring blankly at one another. Except for the gaping hole in the street and the crumpled bonnet of the motorcar, the entire incident might have been a horrible dream. The night was still, and only a tranquil half-moon lit the dark sky. The car was jammed up against a brick wall next to what appeared to be a factory. The moonlight was bright enough to enable me to read the sign. It stuck in my mind, as inconsequential facts do at such times: BRUBAKER’S BEST PATENTED BRACES.
“Well, well,” said Emerson. “Let’s see if we can get the confounded thing to start, shall we? That was inspired driving, my boy.”
“Pure luck. If there hadn’t been a brick wall handy . . .” He was still holding Nefret by the shoulders. “It was one of our own shells.”
We did not get home until two in the morning. One of the tires had to be changed, and although the engine had started at Emerson’s first vigorous turn of the handle, it jerked and coughed whenever Ramses changed gears. Gargery, who had been waiting up for us, turned pale at the sight of the blood-streaked, disheveled crew and wanted to ring the doctor at once.
“You see wot ’appens when you go off on your own,” he exclaimed indignantly.
Nefret reminded him that she was a doctor and Emerson shouted, “Hell and damnation, Gargery, not even you could protect us from an exploding shell. Serve the whiskey, and then go to bed.”
Soon thereafter, Nefret took Ramses off to their room, and I did the same with Emerson. He objected violently when I tried to apply iodine to his cuts, but I did it anyhow. Thanks to Nefret, I had got off without a scratch.
“I have not had a chance to say this,” I remarked, over Emerson’s mumbled curses, “but that was a very eloquent speech, Emerson. Well done, my dear.”
“Bah,” said Emerson. “It relieved my feelings, but it had not the slightest effect. People like Cecil and Salisbury are so swathed in self-conceit, common sense cannot penetrate.”
“Not to mention Mr. Smith. Obviously that is not his real name.”
“Obviously.” Emerson swiped irritably at the iodine that was running down into his mouth. “We know what he is, at any rate. Curse these people, they so enjoy mystification and subterfuge.”
“I can’t help being a little curious as to what he had in mind.”
“I am not at all curious,” Emerson said. “And I hope to heaven Ramses isn’t either. He meant it, didn’t he? He has done his part. He wouldn’t change his mind—would he?”
“No, my dear,” I said firmly. “But they may not give up so easily. Smith is an underling, a go-between. I feel certain he was sent by someone higher up. Perhaps Kitchener himself.”
“I don’t care if he was sent by the King or the Prime Minister or God Almighty. They cannot force Ramses to take on another assignment and he knows as well as I do that it would be foolhardy in the extreme. If he doesn’t,” Emerson added, with a snap of his teeth, “I will have Nefret point it out to him in terms he can’t ignore.”
From Manuscript H
The voices came floating out of the darkness.
“Tie his arms and feet and let’s get out of here.”
“Leave him alive? Are you mad? He knows who I am.”
“Kill him, then. Or shall I cut his throat for you?