The Curse of the Pharaohs - Elizabeth Peters [117]
Vandergelt collapsed under the awning. “I sure hope you ladies will excuse me. I’m not in a fit state for the company of the gentler sex just now.”
“You look like an archaeologist,” I said approvingly. “Have a cup of tea and a little rest before we start back. What results, gentlemen?”
Again I refer the reader to the technical publications about to appear. We had an animated and extremely enjoyable discussion on professional matters. Mary seemed to enjoy it too; her timid questions were very sensible. It was with visible reluctance that she finally rose and declared she must get back.
“May I escort Miss Mary?” Karl asked. “It is not right that she should go alone—”
“I need you here,” Emerson replied absently.
“I’ll be escorting the lady,” O’Connell announced, smirking triumphantly at his rival. “Unless, Professor, that matter of which we spoke last night is imminent?”
“What on earth is he talking about?” Emerson asked me.
“You remember,” O’Connell insisted. “The message—the evidence that would—er—”
“Message? Oh, yes. Why can’t you speak out, young man, instead of being so confoundedly mysterious? It must be the effect of your profession; always sneaking and spying. As I think I told you, the messenger will probably not arrive until tomorrow morning. Run along, now.”
Emerson then drew me aside. “Amelia, I want you to go back to the house also.”
“Why?”
“Matters are rapidly approaching the final crisis. Milverton—curse it, I mean young Baskerville—may not be out of danger. Watch him. And make sure everyone knows that I expect the fatal message tomorrow.”
I folded my arms and looked at him steadily. “Are you going to confide your plans to me, Emerson?”
“Why, surely you know them already, Amelia.”
“It is impossible for any rational mind to follow the peculiar mental convolutions that pass for logic among the male sex,” I replied. “However, the course of action you have suggested happens to suit my own plans. I will therefore do as you ask.”
“Thank you,” said Emerson.
“You are quite welcome,” I replied.
Mary and Mr. O’Connell had gone off in Vandergelt’s carriage. I took the path over the hills, so was the first to arrive at the house. Though climbing in and out my bedroom window had now become a natural and convenient procedure, I decided on this occasion to make a formal entrance, by way of the gate. I wanted my presence to be noted.
As I entered the courtyard Lady Baskerville came out of her room. She greeted me with unusual warmth. “Ah, Mrs. Emerson. Another hard day’s work accomplished? Is there any news?”
“Only of an archaeological variety,” I replied. “That would not interest you, I suppose.”
“Once it did. My husband’s enthusiasms were my own. He spoke of them constantly. But can you blame me for now regarding the entire subject as darkly stained by unfortunate memories?”
“I suppose not. Let us hope, however, those memories will fade. It is unlikely that Mr. Vandergelt will ever abandon his absorption in Egyptology, and he will want his wife to share it.”
“Naturally,” said Lady Baskerville.
“Was your trip to Luxor a success?” I asked.
The lady’s somber countenance brightened. “Yes, the arrangements are being made. And I found a few things that were not too bad, considering. Do come to my room and let me show you my purchases. Half the pleasure in new clothes is in showing them to another woman.”
I was about to refuse, but Lady Baskerville’s sudden fondness for my company struck me as highly suspicious. I decided to go along with her in order to ascertain her true motives.
I thought I understood one such motive when I saw the disorder of her room, every surface being strewn with garments that she had taken from their boxes. Automatically I began to shake them out and fold them neatly away.
“Where is Atiyah?” I asked. “She ought to be performing this service for you.”
“Didn’t you know? The wretched woman has run away,” was the careless reply. “What do you think of this shirtwaist? It is not very pretty, but—”
The rest of her speech went unheard by me. I was