The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [120]
“What about the girl Nefret mentioned?”
His lips set in a thin line of distaste. “Several were very young, but her description was too vague to enable me to identify which one she meant. All in all, it was a singularly unpleasant and absolutely unproductive visit. I would not have mentioned it to you if I hadn’t felt it necessary to warn you. You see, Mrs. Emerson, I know you well, and I know Miss Forth; she must not go there again. Must not!”
Such vehemence, from a man of his temperament, was strangely disturbing. “I agree she must not,” I said slowly. “But aside from the general impropriety of such an act, you seem to feel there is a particular reason—a particular danger. I beg you will be more specific.”
“Don’t you see?” He put his cup down and turned to face me. “Her first visit there caught them unawares. They had not expected she would come; who would?”
“Presumably they had not expected Ramses and David either.”
“No; but it was her behavior, her open-hearted, generous appeal to those miserable women, that may have suggested to someone a means of luring her into a trap. I never believed that message was genuine. If you had not intercepted it—might she not have gone alone to the rendezvous? Might she not respond to another such appeal, or brave the horrors of that place if she believed the writer of the note was threatened? You must convince her such an act would be madness!”
His voice was tremulous with emotion. Did he care for her that much? Perhaps I had misjudged him.
“Do you care for her that much, Sir Edward?”
After a few sounds suggestive of strangulation, Sir Edward remarked, “I ought to be accustomed to your forthright manners, Mrs. Emerson. You warned me once I would never succeed in winning her regard.”
“Was I correct?”
“Yes.” His voice was as soft as a sigh. “I didn’t believe you then, but after observing her this season I know she will never be mine.”
He had not answered my question. There was no need for me to repeat it. I knew the answer.
The train was late. It was after three in the morning before the long-awaited sounds brought me running to the verandah. Emerson had hired a carriage for the travelers and their luggage (I kept telling him we ought to have one of our own, but he would not listen), and before long I was able to hold Evelyn and Walter in a loving embrace. They were both haggard with fatigue, but neither would rest until they had seen their child with their own eyes.
Nefret had dozed off on the mattress we had placed beside the bed, and the two girls made a pretty sight, with the lamplight playing on their loosened hair and their faces flushed with sleep. Nefret woke at once; her first gesture was to place a finger to her lips, so we crept quietly out again, followed by Nefret.
Weary though they were, Evelyn and Walter were too keyed up to sleep. We retired to the sitting room and the heaped-up platters of food Fatima brought. Emotions were too profound and too joyful to be restrained; tears and fond embraces and broken protestations followed.
The first coherent comment I can recall came from Walter. “I cannot decide whether to beat Daoud senseless or thank him from the bottom of my heart.”
“The latter,” said Emerson. “He is twice your size.”
“He would stand still and let you do it, though,” Ramses said. “It wasn’t his fault, Uncle Walter.”
“So everyone keeps telling me.” Walter passed his hand over his eyes. “Well, at least we are here, and it is wonderful to see you all again. You are looking well, Amelia—remarkably well, under the circumstances.”
“She thrives on this sort of thing,” Emerson muttered.
Evelyn had made the boys sit with her, one on either side, and was inspecting them with the tender anxiety of her motherly heart. “And you both look better than I had dared expect. Your hand, Ramses—”
“It’s greatly improved,” Ramses assured her. “Mother and Nefret made a great fuss about nothing.”
She smiled at him and turning to David, raised