The Curse of the Pharaohs - Elizabeth Peters [111]
“How can you suppose me capable of abandoning you?” was the heated reply. “If that wretched woman has suffered a heart attack you will have two sick persons on your hands, in addition to all your other responsibilities.”
“That’s my noble girl,” said Mr. Vandergelt approvingly.
“Thank you,” I said.
When we reached the house I rolled up my sleeves and went first to Arthur’s room. He was deep in slumber, so I proceeded to see how Madame was getting on. The Egyptian woman who had been assigned to attend the lady was leaving her room as I approached. When I asked her where the devil she thought she was going she informed me that the Sitt Baskerville had sent her for fresh water. I therefore allowed her to proceed on her errand.
Lady Baskerville was bending over the gross shape that sprawled across the bed. In her elegant gown and delicate lace shawl she was an incongruous figure to be found in a sickroom, but her movements were quick and efficient as she straightened the sheets.
“Will you have a look at her, Mrs. Emerson? I don’t believe her condition is serious, but if you feel we ought to call Dr. Dubois, I will send someone at once.”
After taking Berengeria’s pulse and heartbeat I nodded agreement. “It can wait till morning, I think. There is nothing wrong with her now, except that she is dead drunk.”
Lady Baskerville’s full red lips curved in a wry smile. “Blame me, if you wish, Mrs. Emerson. As soon as she had been placed on the bed she reached under the mattress and brought out a bottle. She did not even open her eyes! At first I was too surprised to interfere. Then… well, I told myself that to attempt to wrest the bottle from her would only lead to a struggle which I must lose; but to be honest I wanted to see her insensible. I am sure you must despise me.”
In fact, I rather admired her. For once, she was being honest with me, and I could not blame her for carrying out a scheme which I had myself once contemplated.
After directing the servant, who had returned with the water, to keep a close watch and wake me if there was any change in Madame’s condition, I went with Lady Baskerville to the drawing room, where the others were assembled. Emerson had commanded their presence, and as we entered we heard Kevin O’Connell berating my husband for his lack of consideration.
“Miss Mary is on the verge of collapse,” he cried. “She ought to be in bed. Just look at her!”
The young lady’s appearance did not support this diagnosis. Her cheeks were tear-stained and her costume somewhat the worse for wear, but she sat upright in her chair, and when she spoke her voice was calm.
“No, my friend, I do not require pity. I need to be reminded of my duty. My mother is a tormented, unhappy person. Whether she is ill or mad or simply evil-minded I do not know, but it does not matter. She is my cross and I will bear it. Lady Baskerville, we will leave you tomorrow. I am ashamed that I have allowed this to go on as long as it has.”
“Very well, very well,” Emerson burst out, before anyone else could speak. “I am sure we all sympathize with you, Miss Mary, but at the moment I have more pressing matters to discuss. I must have a copy of the painting of Anubis before I demolish the wall. You had better be at work early, before—”
“What the—” O’Connell sprang to his feet, red as a turkey cock. “You cannot be serious, Professor.”
“Be still, Kevin,” Mary said. “I made a promise and I will keep it. Work is the best medicine for a wounded heart.”
“Humph,” said Emerson, kneading his chin. “I agree with the sentiment, at least. You might think about it too, Mr. O’Connell; how long has it been since you sent off a story to your newspaper?”
O’Connell sank limply into a chair and shook his disheveled red head. “I will probably lose my position,” he said gloomily. “When one is living the news, it is hard to find time to write about it.”
“Cheer up,” Emerson said.