The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [122]
‘That was not Ramses, Amelia. How could it be?’
‘I didn’t say it was. I only said I wanted to see what Ramses has been up to.’
When Gargery admitted us, he was so puffed up with news he could hardly wait to take our things before telling it. ‘You’ve had a number of callers, sir and madam. That journalist has been twice –’
‘Mr O’Connell?’
‘I believe that is his name, madam,’ said Gargery, his nose in the air. ‘He seemed in a state of some agitation, and said he would return later.’
‘If he hopes to presume on my good nature,’ Emerson began angrily.
‘He would not be so foolish, Emerson. Who else, Gargery?’
‘A young gentleman from the Museum, madam. A Mr Wilson. Here is his card. He also said he would call again later in the hope of finding you in. Then this letter was hand-delivered; it appears to be of some importance.’
My heart gave a great leap. Ayesha had said I would know her messenger. Well, I had not been there to see him. The envelope was conventional enough, of heavy, expensive, cream-coloured linen, bearing my name in a flowing (obviously female) hand.
I ripped it open, trying to appear casual and at the same time prevent Emerson (who was breathing heavily into my left ear) from seeing the contents. It was an invitation to tea on Thursday from a friend of Evelyn’s.
‘Curse it,’ I said involuntarily.
‘Were you expecting some particular message?’ Emerson inquired pointedly.
‘Er – no, of course not. I wonder what Mr O’Connell wants?’
Gargery had not finished. ‘Professor, someone called for you.’
‘Who was it?’ Emerson asked.
‘He left no name, Professor. But he seemed quite put out – rudely so – to find you were not at home.’
The pronoun did not relieve me. A messenger from Ayesha could be male or female.
‘Oh, did he,’ said Emerson, bristling. ‘What sort of person was this scoundrel?’
‘An unmannerly, arrogant sort of scoundrel, sir,’ Gargery replied. ‘And a foreigner to boot. He had a pronounced accent –’
A stifled exclamation burst from my lips. Emerson gave me a curious look. ‘What sort of accent, Gargery?’
‘I don’t know, sir. He wore a turban, sir. I took him for an Indian.’
‘Do we know any Indians, Peabody?’ Emerson asked.
‘I don’t think so, Emerson.’ But we knew a good many Egyptians; and they also wore the turban.
‘He said he would call again,’ Gargery volunteered.
‘Hmph,’ said Emerson. ‘Well, Amelia, it appears we are about to be deluged by visitors, curse them. If you want to speak with Ramses, you had better do it now.’
‘It is almost time for tea,’ I replied, glancing at the watch pinned to my lapel. ‘Tell them to bring it in, Gargery, and ask the children to come down.’
Emerson went upstairs to change out of the despised frock coat, and I proceeded to the drawing room. I was looking through the afternoon post when the children entered, and after greeting them, I remarked to Percy, ‘It is strange we haven’t heard anything from your mama, Percy. Not that I wish to alarm you – for I am sure there is no cause – but perhaps I ought to write to her. Have you the address?’
‘No, Aunt Amelia, I haven’t. It was somewhere in Bavaria,’ Percy added helpfully.
‘I see. Hmmm. Ramses, would you mind sitting over there, across the room? I congratulate you on washing your face and your hands, but the aroma of chemicals that clings to your clothing . . . What experiments are you working on?’
‘Just my usual experiments, Mama.’
‘Nasty,’ muttered Violet, reaching for a muffin.
Gargery appeared at the door. ‘Mr O’Connor is here, madam.’
‘O’Connell,’ I corrected, knowing full well Gargery had deliberately mistaken the name. ‘Show him in, then. And tell the professor to hurry.’
O’Connell came in with his usual rush, stuffing his cap into his pocket. ‘What is it now, Kevin?’ I asked. ‘A murder, or another arrest, or what?’
‘Nothing so bad as that, Mrs E. At least I hope it is not.’ He took the chair I indicated and looked curiously at the children.
‘No more muffins, Violet,’ I said sharply. ‘And don’t pout, or Aunt Amelia will put you on bread