The Curse of the Pharaohs - Elizabeth Peters [110]
Emerson beamed. “Thank you. Lady Baskerville, I took the liberty of ordering a feast for our men once they get back to the house. Abdullah and Feisal particularly deserve an entire sheep apiece.”
“Certainly.” Lady Baskerville nodded. “Really, though, Radcliffe, I hardly know what to say about this—this peculiar business. Was it, by chance, my emerald-and-ruby bracelet around that beast’s neck?”
“Ah—hem,” said Emerson. He fingered the dent in his chin. “I must apologize for the liberty. Never fear, I will restore it.”
“How? The cat has run away.”
Emerson was still trying to think what to say when Karl joined us.
“Herr Professor, you were splendid. One little point, if you permit—the imperative form of the verb iri is not iru, as you said, but—”
“Never mind,” I said quickly. Emerson had directed an outraged scowl at the earnest young German, rather like Amon Ra glowering at a priest who ventured to criticize his pronunciation. “Had we not better return to the house? I am sure everyone is tired out.”
“There will be no sleep for the guilty tonight,” said a sepulchral voice.
Madame Berengeria had risen from her chair. Her daughter and Mr. O’Connell, who flanked her on either side, made ineffectual attempts to keep her quiet and move her on. She waved them away.
“A fine show, Professor,” she went on. “You remember more of your past lives than you admit. But not enough; you fool, you have mocked the gods, and now you must suffer. I would have saved you if you had let me.”
“Oh, the devil,” Emerson exclaimed. “Really, I can’t tolerate much more of this. Amelia, do something.”
The woman’s bloodshot eyes moved to me. “You share his guilt and will share his fate. Remember the words of the sage: ‘Be not proud and arrogant of speech, for the gods love those who are silent.’ ”
“Mother, please,” Mary said, taking the woman by the arm.
“Ungrateful girl!” With a twist of her shoulder, Madame sent Mary staggering back. “You and your lovers… You think I don’t see, but I know! Filth, uncleanliness… Fornication is a sin, and so is failure to revere your mother. ‘It is an abdomination to the gods, going into a strange woman to know her…’ ”
The last comment was apparently aimed at Karl and O’Connell, whom she indicated by a wild gesture. The journalist was ashen with rage. Karl’s reaction seemed to be chiefly one of surprise. I half-expected to hear him repeat, “The English! Never will I understand them.”
Yet neither spoke to deny the vile allegations. Even I was momentarily nonplussed. I realized that Berengeria’s earlier exhibitions had contained a certain element of deliberate calculation. She was not acting now; beads of froth oozed from the corners of her mouth. She turned her burning gaze on Vandergelt, who had thrown a protective arm around his bride-to-be.
“Adultery and fornication!” shouted Madame. “Remember the two brothers, my fine American gentleman; by the wiles of a woman Anubis was driven to murder his younger brother. He put his heart in the cedar tree and the king’s men chopped it down. The lock of hair perfumed the garments of pharaoh; the talking beasts warned him to beware…”
The narrow cord of sanity had finally snapped. This was madness and delirium. I suspected that not even a brisk slap, my usual remedy for hysteria, would avail in this case. Before I could decide what to do, Berengeria pressed her hand to her heart and slowly subsided onto the ground.
“My heart… I must have a stimulant… I have overtaxed my strength…”
Mr. Vandergelt produced an elegant silver flask of brandy, which I administered to the fallen woman. She lapped it greedily, and by holding it in front of her, like a carrot in front of a balky mule, I was able to get her into the carriage. Mary was weeping with embarrassment, but when I suggested she ride with us she shook her head.
“She is my mother. I cannot abandon her.”
O’Connell and Karl offered to go with her, and so it was arranged. The first carriage set out on the return journey and the rest of us were about