The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [129]
After the slow passage of approximately a century of time (for so it felt), my musing was interrupted by a knock at the door.
‘Who is it?’ I called.
‘It is I, Mama. May I come in?’
I realized I should have gone to say good night to him, and make sure he was where he was supposed to be. ‘Yes, Ramses, come in.’ Then I added, ‘I was about to come to you. There has been no word from your papa as yet, but I am not at all concerned about him.’
Ramses closed the door carefully behind him and stood looking gravely at me. He was already in his nightgown and was, for Ramses, comparatively clean. I wondered if he was aware of the softening impression made on his mother by the angelic whiteness of his flowing gown and the touching sight of his little bare feet (he was supposed to be wearing slippers, but never mind that). The suspicion did not linger; surely not even Ramses could be so depraved as to employ appeals to the tenderest of maternal sentiments in order to allay maternal suspicion.
‘I came to say good night, Mama, and to ask . . .’ Ramses began.
‘So I supposed. Give me a kiss, then, and go to bed. It is late.’
‘Yes, Mama.’ Ramses delivered the kiss, which I returned, but slipped away from the arm I had put around him. ‘I came to ask –’
‘I told you, Ramses, your papa is still out. He will come up to kiss you good night when he returns; he always does.’
‘Yes, Mama. But that was not what I came to ask. I am only too well aware of Papa’s prolonged absence, since I have been listening –’
‘You have, have you? What is it, then?’
‘I wanted to ask for an advance on my allowance.’
The idea of giving Ramses his pocket money on a regular basis had been Emerson’s, and I must say it had worked well. The amount was ridiculously high, but, as Emerson pointed out, we were always buying him books and paper and pens and other academic necessities; being obliged to budget his needs would be a useful lesson in management, and would end in costing us no more than we would have given him anyway.
‘What, have you spent last week’s already? You told Miss Helen you had twelve shillings sixpence, and that was before your papa gave you –’
‘I have had unusual expenses,’ Ramses explained.
‘Your mummification experiments, I suppose,’ I said, grimacing. ‘Very well; Mama’s pocketbook is on the bureau, take what you need.’
‘Thank you, Mama. And may I say that the confidence you demonstrate in my integrity touches the deepest wells of –’
‘Very well, my son, very well.’ I glanced at my watch. A scant five minutes had passed since I last looked at it. Would the hands never move?
Ramses went straight to the door. ‘Good night, Mama.’
‘Good night, my son. Sleep –’
The door closed before I could finish. It was just as well; in my state of nervous excitability I could hardly bear to be in the same room with another person, much less carry on a conversation.
At last the interminable period of waiting was over and I prepared to leave. I had debated at length about what to wear. I decided to assume one of the costumes I had found so convenient on the dig in Egypt – full tweed trousers to the knee, with stout boots below, a loose shirt, and, under all, the new corset I had had specially made to order. Then I took my belt from the bureau and buckled it on; and the familiar clash and jangle of the useful implements attached to it filled me with a sense of confidence and valour. I much regretted the absence of my revolver. I had left it in the care of Abdullah, on account of Emerson