The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [118]
We kept up a rather faltering conversation during the drive. Emerson brooded. His hand was constantly at his chin, stroking it as was his wont when perplexed or troubled, and even my mention of predynastic pottery failed to inspire more than an abstracted mumble of agreement.
Not until we had left the city behind and were travelling through a belt of suburban villas did he rouse himself. ‘See here, Peabody,’ he began, in almost his old style, ‘what are you after? If we don’t compare notes before we get there, we may find ourselves at cross-purposes; and in the past that has led us into some embarrassing, not to say dangerous, situations.’
‘I will be perfectly candid with you, Emerson,’ I began.
‘Ha,’ said Emerson.
‘I have nothing particular in mind.’
Emerson worried his chin. ‘Knowing you as I do, Peabody, I am inclined to believe that statement. In fact, I cannot conceive what you might be looking for. A workshop, where an endless stream of papier mâché masks are being manufactured?’
‘I hardly suppose his lordship would be foolish enough to show me such a place – assuming, of course, that it exists. If there were any way you could keep him occupied while I had a little look around –’
‘Put it out of your mind, Amelia. From what I have heard about Mauldy Manor, it would take ten men ten days to explore every crumbling nook and decayed cranny. And if the ushebtis came from his father’s collection, he would not leave the empty display case with the label still affixed.’
‘Well, of course not, Emerson. We will simply have to have our wits about us and keep alert for any interesting development. I have hopes that – supposing his lordship to be the man we are after – he will let something slip in the course of conversation. I am a great believer in allowing people to talk freely and without interruption –’
‘You?’ said Emerson. ‘“The clever-tongued, whose speech fails not”?’
I had a feeling it would be a long time before I heard the last of that coincidentally appropriate quotation, but I felt obliged to point out that it had surely been no more than that. ‘He could not have known we would be in the audience that day, Emerson. Since Henutmehit was a priestess of Isis, the speech was probably designed to be directed to her.’
‘Hmph,’ said Emerson.
The sun beamed down upon the grassy pastures of Richmond, and all the loveliness of spring spread out before us – wildflowers in bloom, little lambs frolicking in the fields, birds swinging and singing on blossomy boughs. I could only begin to imagine what Mauldy Manor would look like on a night of fog and rain; for even in sunlight its crumbling towers suggested the worst excesses of Gothic romance, and the veil of soft green vines that clung to the weathered walls did not soften their grim outlines.
The house was a typical hodgepodge of architectural styles, one wing being of stone and another of brick and timber in the Tudor manner. Only one wing appeared to be inhabited, and it was to the door of this, a relatively modern eighteenth-century structure, that the carriage drive led. As we descended from the brougham, a servant emerged to greet us and to direct the coachman round to the back.
I have seen more prepossessing countenances than that of the butler, but his manner was perfectly correct as he took Emerson’s hat and stick and tried to take my parasol, which I of course did not allow. He then showed us into a pretty drawing room which had wide windows opening onto a stretch of lawn and a rose garden, whose bushes were leafing out, but which as yet bore no flowers.
My scheme for getting his lordship to talk would have worked well, if he had had anything pertinent to say. I would scarcely have recognized him as the limp, lethargic young man we had met at the Museum.