The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [137]
“What have you got to say, Aunt Amelia? Aren’t you going to speak up for them?”
“My dear, it is out of the question. I am sorry.”
“Why?”
“She is only seventeen, Nefret.”
“He would wait.”
“He would wait?” Walter burst out. “The slyness of it! I welcomed that boy into my home, treated him like a son, and he took advantage of a child who—”
“False!” Nefret’s voice pealed like a bugle. She looked like a young Valkyrie as she spun round to face Walter, cheeks flushed, hair as bright as a bronze helmet. “Lia made the first advance; do you think David would have dared, shy and modest as he is? He wanted to confess but she wouldn’t let him. Why are you all behaving as if he has done something shameful? He loves her with all his heart and he wants to marry her—not now, when she comes of age and he has established himself.”
“They cannot marry,” Walter said. “Not now or ever.” He passed his hand over his eyes. “I spoke in the heat of anger, and I regret it. I will tell the boy so, for I don’t believe he did anything dishonorable. But marriage . . .”
Ramses had followed David to the door and closed it after him. Lounging against the wall, his hands in his pockets, he said, “He’s Egyptian. A native. That’s it, isn’t it?”
Walter did not answer. Ramses was not looking at him; he was looking at me.
“Certainly not,” I said. “You know my feelings on that subject, Ramses, and I am offended you should think me capable of such prejudice.”
“Then what is your objection?” my son inquired.
“Well—his family. His father was a drunkard and his mother—”
“Was Abdullah’s daughter. Is it Abdullah to whom you object? Daoud? Selim?”
“Stop it, Ramses,” Emerson ordered. “I will not have you addressing your mother in that accusatory tone.”
“I beg your pardon, Mother,” said Ramses, not meaning a word of it.
“This business is too serious to be settled in a single evening of recriminations and accusations,” Emerson went on. “You may remove your family tomorrow evening, Walter, if you insist, but I will be cursed if I am going to lose another night’s sleep getting you to Luxor in time to catch the morning train. No, Nefret, I don’t want to hear any more from you either. Not tonight.”
“I was only going to ask,” said Nefret meekly, “what you think, Professor?”
“I?” Emerson tapped the ashes out of his pipe and rose. “Good Gad, is someone asking my opinion? Well, then, I do not see what all the fuss is about. David is a talented, intelligent, ambitious young man. Lia is a pretty, spoiled, engaging little creature. They must wait, of course, but if they are of the same mind three or four years from now she could do worse. Now off to bed with you all.”
Nefret ran to him and threw her arms around him.
“Hmph,” said Emerson, smiling fondly. “Bed, young lady.”
We dispersed in silence. Walter looked rather shamefaced. He was a kind, gentle man, and I could see he regretted his behavior, but I did not suppose he would change his mind. It was an unfortunate development. Walter had thought of David not only as a gifted pupil but as an adopted son; this disclosure must change that relationship forever. It was even more difficult for Evelyn, who had taken David to her bosom.
She kissed me good night, looking sad enough to break my heart, and went to Walter. He put a comforting arm round her and led her out. Nefret caught Ramses by the hand. “Come to David,” she said, and led him out. Neither of them looked at me.
“So, Peabody,” said my husband. “Another pair of cursed young lovers, eh?”
I believe in the efficacy of humor to relieve awkward situations, but I could not smile at this old joke. “They will get over it, Emerson. ‘Hearts do not break; they sting and ache for . . .’ I forget the rest.”
“Thank God for that,” said my husband piously. His eyes followed me as I went round the room extinguishing the lamps. “It’s going to be up to you, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Evelyn relies on your judgment, and you have Walter firmly under your thumb, along with the rest of us. If you supported the young