The Curse of the Pharaohs - Elizabeth Peters [39]
Lady Baskerville seized Mr. Vandergelt’s arm; I took possession of my poor gaping Emerson; and leaving Madame and her unfortunate daughter to bring up the rear, we proceeded to the dining salon. A table had been prepared for us, and it was there that the next difficulty arose, caused, as one might have expected, by Madame Berengeria.
“There are only six places,” she exclaimed, settling herself at once into the nearest chair. “Did not Mary tell you, Lady Baskerville, that my young admirer will also be dining?”
The effrontery of this was so enormous as to leave the hearers with nothing to say. Shaking with fury, Lady Baskerville summoned the maitre d’hôtel and requested that an additional place be set. In defiance of custom I placed Emerson firmly between myself and our hostess, which left Mr. Vandergelt to partner Madame Berengeria. Her appearance had thrown the arrangements out in every conceivable way, for there was now an uneven number of ladies and gentlemen. The empty chair awaiting Madame Berengeria’s “admirer” chanced to be between me and Miss Mary. So preoccupied was I with other matters that it did not occur to me to wonder who this person might be. I was taken completely by surprise when a familiar freckled face surmounted by an equally well-known shock of flaming red hair made its appearance.
“Heartfelt apologies for my tardiness, Lady Baskerville,” said Mr. O’Connell, bowing. “’Twas unavoidable, I assure you. What a pleasure to see so many friends! Is this my place? Sure an’ I couldn’t want a better one.”
As he spoke he inserted himself neatly into the vacant chair and bestowed an inclusive hearty smile upon the party.
Seeing, by the intensifying livid hue of his countenance, that Emerson was on the verge of an explosive comment, I trod heavily upon his foot.
“I did not expect to meet you here, Mr. O’Connell,” I said. “I trust you have recovered from your unfortunate accident.”
“Accident?” Mary exclaimed, her soft dark eyes widening. “Mr. O’Connell, you did not tell me—”
“It was nothing,” O’Connell assured her. “I clumsily lost my footing and fell down a few stairs.” He looked at me, his eyes narrowed with amusement. “’Tis kind you are, Mrs. Emerson, to be remembering such a trivial incident.”
“I am relieved to hear that you considered it trivial,” I said, maintaining my pressure on Emerson’s foot, which twitched and writhed under the sole of my shoe.
Mr. O’Connell’s eyes were as innocent as limpid pools of water. “To be sure I did. I only hope my editors feel the same.”
“I see,” I said.
Waiters bustled up carrying bowls of clear soup, and the meal began. Conversation also began, each person turning to his dinner partner. Thanks to Madame, this comfortable social custom was confused by the presence of an extra person, and I found myself with no one to talk to. I did not object; sipping my soup, I was able to eavesdrop on the other conversations in turn, to my edification and entertainment.
The two young people seemed on friendly terms. Indeed, I suspected Mr. O’Connell’s feelings were somewhat warmer; his eyes never left the girl’s face and his voice took on the soft, caressing tones that are typical of the Irish. Though Mary evidently enjoyed his admiration, I was not sure that her affections were seriously engaged. I also observed that though Madame Berengeria was regaling Mr. Vandergelt with a description of her romance with Set-nakhte, she kept a close eye on the young people. Before long she turned abruptly and interrupted O’Connell in the middle of a compliment. This freed Vandergelt; catching my eye, he pantomimed a sigh of relief and joined in the discussion between Emerson and Lady Baskerville.
Thanks to Emerson, this had taken a strictly archaeological turn, despite Lady Baskerville’s sighs and fluttering lashes and repeated thanks for his gallantry in coming to the rescue of a poor lonely widow. Happily impervious to these hints, Emerson continued to explain his plans for excavating the tomb.
Do not believe for an instant,