The Curse of the Pharaohs - Elizabeth Peters [18]
“Enough,” I said. “It is late and Ramses should be asleep. Cook will be furious if we do not go down at once.”
“Oh, very well.” Emerson bent over the cot. “Good night, my boy.”
“Good night, Papa. One of the ladies of the hawem did it, I think.”
I seized Emerson by the arm and pushed him toward the door, before he could pursue this interesting suggestion. After carrying out my part of the nightly ritual (a description of which would serve no useful purpose in the present narrative), I followed Emerson out.
“Really,” I said, as we went arm in arm along the corridor, “I wonder if Ramses is not too precocious. Does he know what a harem is, I wonder? And some people might feel that reading such a catalog of horrors to a child at bedtime will not be good for his nerves.”
“Ramses has nerves of steel. Rest assured he will sleep the sleep of the just and by breakfast time he will have his theory fully developed.”
“Evelyn would be delighted to take him for the winter.”
“Oh, so we are back to that, are we? What sort of unnatural mother are you, that you can contemplate abandoning your child?”
“I must choose, it appears, between abandoning my child or my husband.”
“False, utterly false. No one is going to abandon anyone.”
We took our places at the table. The footman, watched critically by Wilkins, brought on the first course.
“Excellent soup,” Emerson said, in a pleased voice. “Tell Cook, will you please, Wilkins?”
Wilkins inclined his head.
“We are going to settle this once and for all,” Emerson went on. “I refuse to have you nagging me for days to come.”
“I never nag.”
“No, because I don’t permit it. Get this straight, Amelia: I am not going to Egypt. I have refused Lady Baskerville’s offer, and do not mean to reconsider. Is that plain enough?”
“You are making a grave mistake,” I said. “I think you should go.”
“I am well aware of your opinion. You express it often enough. Why can’t you allow me to make up my own mind?”
“Because you are wrong.”
There is no need to repeat the remainder of the discussion. It continued throughout the meal, with Emerson appealing from time to time to Wilkins, or to John, the footman, to support a point he was trying to make. This made John, who had been with us only a few weeks, very nervous at first. Gradually, however, he became interested in the discussion and added comments of his own, ignoring the winks and frowns of Wilkins, who had long since learned how to deal with Emerson’s unconventional manners. To spare the butler’s feelings I said we would have coffee in the drawing room, and John was dismissed, though not before he had said earnestly, “You had better stay here, sir; them natives is strange people, and I’m sure, sir, we would all miss you if you was to go.”
Dismissing John did not dismiss the subject, for I stuck to it with my usual determination, despite Emerson’s efforts to introduce other topics of conversation. He finally flung his coffee cup into the fireplace with a shout of rage and stormed out of the drawing room. I followed.
When I reached our bedchamber, Emerson was undressing. Coat, tie, and collar were draped inappropriately over various articles of furniture, and buttons flew around the room like projectiles as he removed his shirt.
“You had better purchase another dozen shirts the next time you are in Regent Street,” I said, ducking as a button whizzed past my face. “You will need them if you are going abroad.”
Emerson whirled. For so burly and broad-chested a man he is surprisingly quick in his movements. In one stride he bridged the space between us. Taking me by the shoulders, he…
But here I must pause for a brief comment. Not an apologia—no, indeed! I have always felt that the present-day sanctimonious primness concerning the affection between the sexes, even between husband and wife—an affection sanctified by the Church and legalized by the Nation—is totally absurd. Why should a respectable, interesting activity be passed over by novelists who pretend to portray “real life”? Even more despicable, to my mind, are the circumlocutions practiced