The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [105]
‘Peabody, I wish to the devil you wouldn’t go off like that,’ he mumbled into my ear.
I realized he was unaware of the dire necessity that had prompted my disappearance. My hasty explanation caused the colour to fade from his face and evoked several incoherent and profane exclamations. Not until after we had climbed into the carriage and were on the homeward path did he simmer down enough to make sense.
‘Let us give thanks that nothing serious transpired,’ I said. ‘Perhaps it was a case of mistaken identity, or a peculiar joke.’
Not that I believed either theory, but I preferred not to discuss the darker implications of the event until Emerson and I were alone. I might have known Ramses was not to be fobbed off with such an inane suggestion.
‘It was not a case of mistaken identity,’ said Ramses. ‘The man knew who I was. And if it was meant as a joke, the individual’s sense of humour is warped. Just before he pitched me away, he said, “My regards to your papa, young Master Emerson. Tell him that next time I come calling, it will be on him.”’
‘Oh, sir,’ exclaimed Percy. ‘I say, how exciting!’
Whereupon Ramses turned and punched Percy in the stomach. To be strictly accurate, it was not in the stomach. Percy fell off the seat and doubled up with a shriek of anguish. Emerson seized his son by the collar. ‘Ramses! Where did you learn –’
‘From you, Papa,’ Ramses gasped. ‘Last winter, when we were searching for Mama, who had been abducted by . . . It was when we broke into the house behind the khan, and the man with the large knife came at you, and you –’
‘Oh,’ said Emerson. ‘Well, er, hmmmm. That was quite a different matter, Ramses. When one is defending oneself against a villainous criminal armed with a knife . . . er. Yes. Gentlemen settle their differences in quite another way, Ramses.’
‘Emerson,’ I exclaimed, assisting the groaning youth back onto the seat of the carriage, ‘how can you speak so coolly? Ramses struck the first blow; it was unprovoked, and –’
‘And inept,’ said Emerson, frowning. ‘See here, Ramses; fold your thumb over your closed fingers –’
‘Ramses,’ I said wearily, ‘you are confined to your room until further notice.’
To my annoyance, Emerson refused to take the incident seriously. ‘Boys will fight, Peabody. You cannot change human nature. A few lessons in boxing might be an excellent idea. Hmmm, yes. Under my supervision, of course . . .’
In honour of Percy’s birthday we had plum cake for tea. Violet ate three pieces. I was too unnerved to prevent her from doing so.
My hopes of accomplishing something useful that day were not entirely disappointed. I managed to send several important letters and telegrams, and of course the attack on Ramses was not devoid of interest. When we went up to change for dinner, Emerson agreed without a murmur to assume his evening clothes, and my heart twisted painfully. But however I might deplore his reticence, all lesser grievances had been temporarily submerged. Faithless he might have been – faithless he might yet be. But when danger threatened him I found that my devotion was as strong as ever, and that anguished concern for his safety rose triumphant over all.
We were almost dressed, and the maid was emptying the bath, when I spoke.
‘Are you . . . Will you . . . You will take care, Emerson, won’t you?’
‘Take care?’ He turned from brushing his hair to consider me with surprise. ‘What for, Peabody?’
‘For your life and safety, of course. That was another threat, Emerson.’
‘Ramses was the one who was carried off, Peabody.’
‘Ramses took no harm – except for a bump on his head, and that is too hard to be easily damaged. The threat was directed at you. Knowing how precious Ramses is to you –’
Emerson crossed the room in a few long strides and clasped me to him. ‘There is one object even more precious to me than Ramses,’ he said hoarsely. ‘My darling Peabody . . .’