The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [116]
Though I was sadly in need of freshening myself, I went first to the sitting room to look through the messages that had been delivered that day.
“Curse it,” I said to David, the only member of the group who had come with me. “There is nothing from Cairo. We ought to have heard again from Walter by now.”
“I’ll go over to the telegraph office,” David said. “You know how slow they are.”
He looked so serious that I gave him an affectionate pat on the arm. “Now don’t worry, David, I am sure everything is all right. You mustn’t go off alone. I will send one of our fellows.”
By the time I had located Mustafa and given him his instructions it was getting late, so I contented myself with a hasty splash in the washbasin and a rapid change of clothing. Fatima brought the tea tray to the verandah, where Horus was sprawled insolently across the entire length of the settee. I gave him a gentle but emphatic shove, since I had selected that seat for myself, and he jumped onto the floor, swearing and switching his tail. Ramses, who had just emerged from the house, let out an exclamation of surprise.
“How did you do that?”
“Avoid being scratched, you mean? It is a question of mental and moral superiority.”
“Ah,” said Ramses. He took the cup I handed him and settled down on the ledge, lounging comfortably against the square pillar.
A restful silence followed. For once Ramses did not seem inclined toward conversation, and I was happy to sip my tea and enjoy the peace and quiet. How nicely my vines had grown! They hung like draperies of living green, half-veiling the apertures, rustling softly in the evening breeze.
The others soon joined us, and we were deep in an animated discussion of the day’s discoveries when Ramses sat up, parted the curtain of vines next him, and looked out. His soft exclamation drew me to the doorway.
A carriage was approaching—one of the rather rattletrap conveyances for hire at the boat landing. It drew up before the house and stopped. The vehicle swayed and creaked as a large man descended. Though his long robe was crumpled and stained, it was of fine linen fabric, and a pair of dusty but elegant leather sandals encased his feet. He looked strangely familiar. He resembled . . . He was . . .
Daoud! There was barely time for me to assimilate that amazing sight when another equally astonishing vision materialized—a woman, robed in black, whom Daoud tenderly assisted from the carriage. Holding her hand, he led her to me. His broad, honest face shone with pride.
“I have brought her, Sitt,” he announced. “Safe and unharmed, as you told me to do.”
Curling fair hair had escaped the scarf that covered her head, and her face was unveiled.
“Evelyn?” I gasped.
It was not she. It was my niece, my namesake, my little Amelia—white-faced and hollow-eyed, and most astonishing of all—here! I looked again at the carriage. No one else was in it.
“Where are your mother and father?” I demanded. “Good Gad! You didn’t come alone, did you? Lia—Daoud—”
Instead of answering me, the girl held out a trembling hand. Still dazed with disbelief, I took it in mine. She raised sunken blue eyes, and a faint smile touched her white lips. They parted. But before she could speak, Nefret pushed past me and put her strong young arms round the other girl.
“She is exhausted,” Nefret said. “Leave her to me, Aunt Amelia, I’ll take care of her. David, will you help me?”
The others had hastened to the doorway. For once even Ramses appeared to be struck dumb. Nefret’s appeal roused David from his paralysis of astonishment; stepping forward, he lifted the swaying little figure. She nestled in his arms like a kitten and hid her face against his breast. Following Nefret, he carried her into the house.
“If ever there