The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [14]
“For once,” Emerson remarked somewhat breathlessly, as I struggled to free myself from the steely arms that had wrapped round me, “I must come to O’Connell’s defense. You could hardly expect him to refrain from printing . . . Curse it, Peabody, will you please put down that parasol and stop squirming? I will not allow you to leave the house while you are in this agitated state of mind.”
I daresay I could have got away from him, but I would not have got far. Gargery stood before the closed door, arms outstretched and frame stiff with resolve; Ramses and David had been drawn to the scene by Emerson’s shouts and my indignant expostulations, and I entertained no illusions as to whose side they were on. Men always stick together.
“I do not know why you are behaving in such an undignified manner, Emerson,” I said. “Let me go at once.”
Emerson’s grip did not relax. “Give me your word you will come along quietly.”
“How can I not, when there are four of you great bullies against one poor little woman?”
Gargery, who is not especially large or muscular, swelled with pride. “Aow, madam—” he began.
“Mind your vowels, Gargery.”
“Yes, madam. Madam, if you want that reporter thrashed you should leave it to the Professor, or to me, madam, or Bob, or Jerry, or—”
Emerson cut him short with a gesture and a nod. “Come along to the library, Peabody, and we will discuss this calmly. Gargery, pour the whiskey.”
A sip of this curative beverage, so soothing to the nerves, restored me to my customary self-possession. “I suppose you have all read the letter,” I remarked.
Obviously they had, including Nefret, who had kept prudently out of the way until then. David said timidly, “I thought it a very gentlemanly and graceful gesture. An apology, even.”
“A cursed impertinence, rather,” Emerson exclaimed. “A jeer, a sneer, a challenge; rubbing salt in the wound, aggravating the offense—”
“He has a pretty turn of rhetoric,” said Ramses, who had taken up the newspaper. “ ‘The honorable and upright ladies of the suffragist moment—a movement with which I am in complete sympathy—cannot be blamed for their failure to anticipate my intentions. The police of a dozen countries have sought me in vain. Scotland Yard—’ ” He broke off and looked critically at Nefret. “You find it amusing?”
“Very.” Nefret’s laughter is quite delightful—soft and low-pitched, like sunlit water bubbling over pebbles. On this occasion I could have done without the pleasure of hearing it. Catching my eye, she attempted to contain her mirth, with only partial success. “Particularly that sentence about being in sympathy with the suffragist movement. Considering that one of his lieutenants is female, one must give him credit for living up to his principles.”
“What principles?” Emerson demanded, conspicuously unamused. “His reference to your Aunt Amelia proves he is no gentleman.”
“He referred to her in the most flattering terms,” Nefret insisted. She snatched the paper from Ramses and read aloud. “ ‘Had I known that Mrs. Emerson would be present, I would not have proceeded with my plan. I have greater respect for her perspicuity than for that of all Scotland Yard.’ ”
Emerson said, “Ha!” I said nothing. I was afraid that if I unclenched my jaws I would use improper language. Ramses looked from me to Nefret.
“What do you think, Nefret?”
“I think,” said Nefret, “that Sethos does not know much about women either.”
It gave me a certain mean satisfaction to find that Sethos had foiled Scotland Yard as effectively as he had fooled me. The inquiry had come to a dead end after Mr. Romer’s carriage and horses were discovered in a livery stable in Cheapside. The individual who had left it was described, unhelpfully, as a bearded gentleman. The carriage had been empty.
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