Lord of the Silent - Elizabeth Peters [94]
He had declined Nefret’s invitation to return with them to the dahabeeyah. Now he sat up, crossed his legs, and, with a courtly gesture, offered them a seat on the coffin. It was a coffin. Yet the smell of wood shavings and varnish gave the room a homely feel, and Nefret had placed the torch so they could see one another.
Ramses stared. He had seen Sethos on several occasions in various disguises—an elderly American lady, a priest, an effete young aristocrat, and, most recently, a Scottish engineer with red hair—but this was the first time he had been able to study the man’s actual features. He was wearing native dress, but his head and feet were bare. At the moment his hair was black, which didn’t signify much, but at least Ramses knew it was his own, thick and slightly waving. His eyes—what the hell color were they? An ambiguous shade between gray and brown, with a hint of green, according to Ramses’s mother, who had been in closer contact with Sethos than anyone else in the family. Ramses couldn’t tell, the light wasn’t strong enough. He had peeled off the loosened beard and attached mustache. Chin, jaw, and mouth were undistorted, and since this was to have been a quick raid under cover of darkness, he hadn’t bothered to stain his square white teeth. The nose was au naturel too, now that Nefret had removed the squashed lump of putty. The contours of that nose were strangely familiar.
Sethos was well aware of his intent scrutiny. With an amused smile, he said, “Do you have a cigarette? The trouble with these garments is that they are limited as to pockets.”
Wordlessly Ramses offered the tin and a packet of matches.
“Be careful with those matches,” Nefret said. “You don’t want to start a fire.”
Sethos blew a perfect smoke ring. “Is she always this high-handed?”
“No worse than Mother,” Ramses said.
Sethos turned to look at the portrait. “Clever of you to use that to lure me out of hiding. Nothing else would have done it. I’ve taken considerable pains to avoid you. Please don’t tell me you went to all this trouble to get me to return Queen Tiy’s jewelry. I won’t, and that’s flat.”
“I didn’t suppose you would,” Ramses said. “You’re back in business, then?”
“I never left it. My recent activities on behalf of a government that rewards its servants rather poorly did not interfere with the practice of my principal profession.”
“Such as the time you relieved Ibn-Rashid of his diamonds?”
“How do you know about that?”
He sounded surprised and a little angry. Pleased to have cracked that bland facade, Ramses was tempted to keep him in suspense, but time was passing and they had a good many things to discuss.
“Margaret Minton is in Cairo. She told Mother what really happened in Hayil. She’s not told anyone else.”
“Ah.” Sethos took his time about selecting and lighting another cigarette. “Why?”
“Why did she tell Mother? One can only suppose—”
“That she realized Mother was the woman you had mistaken her for, and she wanted to find out what had happened to you,” Nefret said impatiently. “Don’t be disingenuous. You deliberately set out to make her fall romantically in love with you.”
“Of course. I wasn’t sure I had succeeded, though. Women are so unpredictable. Well, well. What’s she after now?”
“Not you,” Nefret snapped. “Mother told her you were dead.”
“I hope that’s all she told her.” His faint smile had vanished. “It wouldn’t do me any good if a journalist found out about my noble sacrifices on behalf of dear old England.”
“She told Minton you were a thief and a swindler,” Nefret said bluntly.
“Ah.”
Seeing his downcast eyes and tight lips, Ramses was conscious of an unexpected feeling of sympathy. He knew what it was like to have people misjudge you and despise you because of it. Sethos was a thief and a swindler, but Ramses didn’t doubt that his business in Hayil had been on behalf of the War Office. He’d have left the Emir’s jewels untouched if he hadn’t been interrupted while he was examining that