The Curse of the Pharaohs - Elizabeth Peters [54]
“Humph,” I muttered. “That is conceivable. Though I find it hard to believe that Lord Baskerville’s death could affect him so strongly. His lordship was not, I believe, the sort of man who was capable of winning the devoted love of his subordinates.”
“Really,” Mary said hesitantly, “I would not like—”
“Your discretion does you credit. Nil nisi bonum, and all that; but remember, Mary, we are investigating the poor man’s death, and this is no time—”
“This is no time for gossip,” shouted a voice behind me. Mary started and dropped her pencil. I turned to behold Emerson, his pose one of extreme belligerence, his face flushed with heat and anger. “You are not investigating anything,” he went on. “Get that clear in your mind, Amelia, if you can. Stop interfering with my artist and return to your rubbish heap, or I will put you over my shoulder and carry you back to the house.”
Without waiting for an answer he vanished into the interior of the tomb.
“Men are such cowards,” I said indignantly. “He knew I had more to say. Well, I will deal with him later; it would make a bad impression on the men if I were to follow him and point out the weakness of his argument. I am glad we had this little talk, Mary.”
With a reassuring pat on the shoulder, I left the girl to her work. Not that I was at all intimidated by Emerson’s anger— no, indeed. I wanted to think over what the girl had told me. She had given me much food for thought. I was particularly struck by her description of Armadale’s strange behavior preceding the death of Lord Baskerville. What she failed to see, being fond of the young man, was that this phenomenon only strengthened the theory that Armadale had murdered his patron. The absence of a motive had been one of the things in Armadale’s favor; but a maniac needs no motive, as we know from our studies of criminal behavior.
II
Upon returning to the house that evening, tired and hot and out of sorts, it was no pleasure to be told that Lady Baskerville wanted to see us immediately. Emerson replied with a single vehement word and went stamping off to our room. I delayed a moment in order to reassure the messenger, who had turned quite green with terror.
Atiyah, Lady Baskerville’s attendant, was a Cairene and a Copt, and therefore was not popular with the Moslem servants. A shy, timid creature of indeterminate age—as are most Egyptian women, once they pass the brief bloom of youth—she spent most of her time in Lady Baskerville’s chamber attending to her duties or in the small room in the servants’ wing that had been assigned to her use. Lady Baskerville was constantly reprimanding her. Once, after overhearing such a lecture, I asked the lady why she did not employ an English maid, since Atiyah seemed so inadequate. The lady replied, with a curl of her handsome lip, that Lord Baskerville had preferred not to incur the expense. That accorded with what I had heard of his lordship’s peculiar blend of professional extravagance and personal parsimony—he had, for instance, never employed a manservant while in Egypt—but I suspected the true reason was that Lady Baskerville could not have bullied and berated a free-born Englishwoman as she did the humble native.
I therefore made it a point to speak gently to the woman, whose hands were fumbling with a string of carved wooden beads, which I took to be a kind of rosary.
“Tell Lady Baskerville we will come as soon as we have changed our clothing, Atiyah.” Atiyah continued to stare blankly and finger her beads, so I added, “There is nothing to be afraid of.”
These consoling words had precisely the opposite effect from what I had intended. Atiyah started violently and began to speak. Her voice was so low and her discourse so poorly organized that I was obliged to shake her—gently, of course—before I could make any sense of what she said. I then dismissed her, with appropriate reassurances, and hastened to find Emerson.
He had finished bathing and was in the process of putting on his boots. “Hurry up,” he said. “I want my tea.”
“I assure you, I want it too.