The Ape Who Guards the Balance - Elizabeth Peters [63]
Emerson was out of temper with Ramses. I knew why, of course. He blamed the boy for allowing Nefret to accompany him and David on their midnight foray into the Old City. To be sure, Emerson had taken me into areas of Cairo almost as dirty and dangerous, but he still thought of his adopted daughter as a sweet-faced, golden-haired child. She was no longer a child, as a number of young gentlemen could testify, but fathers are absurdly sentimental about their daughters. (I have been informed that some mothers are just as silly about their sons. This has never been a failing of mine.)
I did not hold Ramses accountable for Nefret’s behavior on that occasion. However, when I found that he had let her go with him to examine the corpse, I discovered I was not so broad-minded as I had believed.
The rest of us were on the verandah taking tea when she and Ramses rode up, and one look at her face told me she had been doing something other than paying calls in Luxor, as she had said she intended. Ramses’s face was set like stone, a certain indication of some strong emotion rigidly controlled. Ignoring his attempt to help her dismount, she slipped out of the saddle, tossed the reins to the stableman, and joined us round the tea table.
“Will you have a slice of cake?” I inquired, offering the plate. The cake was especially rich, stuffed with nuts and dates and thickly iced.
Nefret swallowed and turned her head away. “No, thank you.”
“Ah,” I said. “So you did go with Ramses. Nefret, I strictly forbade you—”
“No, Aunt Amelia, you didn’t. No doubt you would have done if you had thought of it, but you didn’t.” She gave me a rather strained smile and reached out a hand to pat Emerson’s rigid arm. “Professor darling, stop sputtering. Recall, if you please, that I am the only one of us who has had medical training.”
“She was sick,” said Ramses. Arms folded, he leaned against the wall and fixed a critical look on his sister.
“Not until afterwards! You were a bit green around the mouth yourself.” She snatched up a bit of cake and thrust it at him. “Here, have a bite.”
“No, thank you,” said Ramses, averting his eyes.
“That bad, was it?” I inquired.
“Yes.” Nefret replaced the sticky morsel on the plate and wiped her fingers on a serviette.
“Yes.” Ramses had gone to the side table. He came back with two glasses of whiskey and soda and handed one to Nefret. “I trust you do not object, Mother. As you have often said, the medicinal effects of good whiskey—”
“Quite,” I agreed.
Ramses raised his glass in a salute to Nefret before drinking quite a quantity himself. He settled himself in his favorite place on the ledge and remarked, “She made a closer examination of the wounds than I would have cared to do. They appeared to be consistent with the assumption that has been made.”
“What, a crocodile?” I exclaimed. “Ramses, you know perfectly well—”
“Peabody.” Emerson had recovered himself. His tone was calm, his face composed—except for a certain glitter in his blue eyes. “Does this strike you as suitable conversation for the tea table?”
“Many of our conversations would not be considered suitable for polite society,” I replied. “If the young people can put themselves through the discomfort of actually viewing the remains, we can do no less than listen to their description. Er—you might just get me a whiskey and soda too, if you will be so good.”
“Bah,” said Emerson. But he complied with my request and filled a glass for himself. David declined the offer. Except for an occasional glass of wine he did not imbibe. At least not in my presence.
Stroking Horus, who had settled himself solidly across her lap, Nefret said, “I won’t go into lurid detail, Professor dear. The wounds were consistent with those that might have been made by the large jaws of an animal with long sharp teeth. Since we know that no such animal is to be found in this area, we must conclude that they were made