The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [53]
“It is not like you to employ circumlocutions, Katherine. If you mean that Nefret has fallen in love, I fear your instincts have, for once, led you astray. Her feelings for Howard and Ned Ayrton are friendly at best, and I assure you she would never set her cap for a married man.”
My little jest brought a smile to Katherine’s lips. “No doubt I am mistaken. I often am.”
The first star of evening had appeared in the sky over Luxor and I was about to suggest we retire to the parlor when Ramses turned his head. “Someone is coming,” he said, interrupting his father in mid-expletive.
The Egyptians call Ramses “the brother of Demons,” and some of them believe he can see in the dark, like an afreet or a cat. I would not deny that his vision is excellent. Several seconds had passed before I made out the shadowy form of a man on horseback. He dismounted and advanced toward us, and when the dying light illumined his well-cut features I let out an exclamation.
“Good Gad! Is it—can it be—Sir Edward? What are you doing here?”
Sir Edward Washington—for it was indeed he—removed his hat and bowed. “I am flattered that you remember me, Mrs. Emerson. It has been several years since we last met.”
It had been over six years, to be precise. He had not changed appreciably; his tall form was as trim, his fair hair as thick, and his blue eyes met mine with the same look of lazy amusement. I remembered my manners, which astonishment had made me forget. Astonishment—and a certain degree of uneasiness. At that last meeting I had bluntly informed Sir Edward that he must give up any hope of winning Nefret and he had informed me, less bluntly but just as unequivocally, that he intended to try again. And here he was, and there was Nefret, smiling and dimpling in a particularly suspicious manner.
I rose and went to meet him. “It is unlikely that I would forget an individual who worked so diligently with us on Tetisheri’s tomb, and who was, moreover, responsible for rescuing me from a particularly awkward situation.”
This reference reminded Emerson of his manners. At their best they were far from perfect, and he had never been very fond of Sir Edward; but gratitude won out over dislike. “I suppose being strangled could be described as an awkward situation,” he said dryly. “Good evening, Sir Edward. I had not expected to see you again, but so long as you are here you may as well sit down.”
Sir Edward appeared to be amused rather than offended by this less-than-effusive invitation. His own manners were admirable. His greeting to Nefret was warm but in no way familiar; his comments on how Ramses and David had grown since he had last seen them were only a little condescending. Ramses’s reaction was to rise to his full height, an inch or two greater than that of Sir Edward, and shake hands rather more vigorously than courtesy demanded.
As it turned out, Sir Edward was acquainted with all the others except Katherine.
“I had heard of Mr. Vandergelt’s good fortune, and am delighted to make the acquaintance of a lady who has been so widely praised,” he said with a graceful bow.
“How very kind,” Katherine replied. “I had heard of you too, Sir Edward, but was not aware of the remarkable incident to which the Professor referred. Is it a secret, or will you tell us about it?”
Sir Edward remained modestly silent, and I said, “It is no longer a secret. Is it, Emerson?”
Emerson glowered at me. “People are not infrequently moved to strangle you, Amelia. This—er—incident occurred a few years ago, Katherine, when my discreet, prudent wife took a notion to go haring off to confront a suspect without bothering to inform me of her intentions. Had not Sir Edward followed her—for reasons which were never explained to my entire satisfaction—she might have been efficiently murdered by—”
“Emerson!” I exclaimed. “Enough of this morbidity. We were just about to retire to the parlor for refreshment and a bit of carol singing, Sir Edward. You will join us, I hope?”
“I had no intention of intruding,” the gentleman in question