The Curse of the Pharaohs - Elizabeth Peters [49]
Milverton was not far behind us. I was relieved to see him leave the room, not only because he needed his rest, but because it seemed inadvisable for the two men to be left alone, in view of the antagonism between them. His hands in his pockets, his head bowed, he strolled slowly along, and he was still in the courtyard when we reached our doors. Lady Baskerville’s was next to ours; we paused to bid her a courteous good night. Scarcely had she stepped into the room, however, when an appalling shriek burst from her lips and she staggered back, her arms outthrust as if to ward off an attacker.
I reached the lady first and supported her swaying frame while Emerson snatched a lantern and ran into the room to see what had caused such alarm. As usual, Lady Baskerville was rudely unappreciative of my attentions. She wrenched herself from me and flung herself into the arms of Milverton, who had rushed to her side.
“Help me, Charles, help me!” she cried. “Save me from —from—”
I itched to slap her, but could not do so because her face was buried against Milverton’s shoulder. At that moment an incongruous sound reached my ears. It was the sound of my husband’s hearty laugh.
“Come and see, Amelia,” he called.
Pushing Lady Baskerville and Milverton out of the way, I entered the room.
Though smaller than the chamber formerly occupied by his lordship, it was of ample size and decorated with feminine delicacy. Soft matting covered the floor; the china vessels were of fine porcelain, painted with flowers. Under the window stood a dressing table equipped with crystal lamps and polished mirrors. Emerson stood by the table, holding the lantern high.
Firmly planted in the center of the tabletop, surrounded by the little pots and jars that contained Lady Baskerville’s beauty aids, was a huge brindled cat. Its shape and its pose were startlingly similar to the statues of felines that have come down to us in great number from ancient Egypt, and the color of its fur was like that shown in the paintings—a ticked brownish and fawn pattern. The triple mirror behind the animal reflected its form, so that it seemed as if not one but an entire pride of ancient Egyptian cats confronted us. Unsympathetic as I am with female vapors in any form, I could not entirely blame Lady Baskerville for behaving as she had; the lantern light turned the creature’s eyes to great luminous pools of gold, and they seemed to stare directly into mine with a cold intelligence.
Emerson is insensitive to subtler nuances. Putting out his hand, he tickled the descendant of Bastet, the cat goddess, under its lean chin.
“Nice kitty,” he said, smiling. “Whose pet is it, I wonder? It is not wild; see how sleek and fat it is.”
“Why, it is Armadale’s cat,” Milverton exclaimed. Supporting Lady Baskerville, he advanced into the room. The cat closed its eyes and turned its head so that Emerson’s fingers could reach the spot under its ears. With its glowing orbs hidden and its purr resounding through the room, it lost its uncanny appearance. Now I could not imagine what Lady Baskerville had made such a fuss about, especially since the cat was known to her personally.
“I wonder where it has been all this time?” Milverton went on. “I haven’t seen it since Armadale disappeared. We called it his, and he made himself responsible for its care, but in fact it was something of a house mascot, and we were all fond of it.”
“I was not fond of it,” Lady Baskerville exclaimed. “Horrid, slinking beast, always leaving dead mice and insects on my bed—”
“That is the nature of cats,” I replied, studying the beast with more favor. I had never been particularly fond of cats. Dogs are more English, I believe. I now began to realize that felines may be excellent judges of character, and this belief was confirmed when the cat rolled over and embraced Emerson’s hand with its paws.