The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [135]
Though it was still far from conclusive, the evidence all pointed in the same direction: namely, that the false priest and the murderer of Oldacre were one and the same, and that he was either Lord Liverpool or his demonic mentor. Both must be involved in the plot, along with others, for there had been at least six masked intruders at the lecture hall.
At this stage the ratiocinative process was broken by a muffled cry from Emerson. I flew to his side. He had not awakened, but he moved restlessly, turning his head from side to side and groping with his hand. I listened with beating heart to the broken syllables that escaped his lips; and with inexpressible joy recognized them for the syllables of my name.
As soon as I lay down beside him and took his hand in mine, he grew quieter. One last murmur stirred the ambient air. ‘Curse it, Peabody,’ he whispered. I drew his dark head to my breast and was about to resume my train of thought when for some unaccountable reason I fell asleep.
Upon waking my first thought was of Emerson. A quick glance into the countenance so near my own reassured me; he was sleeping sweetly. I then heard again the sound that had roused me.
‘Ramses,’ I whispered. ‘What are you doing there?’
Ramses’ head appeared at the foot of the bed. ‘I was very quiet, Mama. I only wanted to know if you were awake.’
‘I am now, thank you. But your papa is still sleeping, so –’
Emerson’s lips parted. ‘He is not sleeping.’
‘Your eyes are closed,’ I said.
They opened. ‘What the devil is the time?’ Emerson asked.
I pulled myself to a sitting position. I had gone to sleep in my dressing gown, so that was all right. Ramses’ round, interested eyes followed my every movement.
Emerson rolled over onto his back. ‘Urgh,’ he said. ‘What the devil is –’
‘I don’t know, Emerson, I cannot see the clock from here.’
‘It is ten minutes past two,’ said Ramses. ‘I trust you will forgive this intrusion, Mama and Papa, but having learned from Gargery of Papa’s most recent brush with death, my anxiety prompted –’
‘Two!’ Emerson exclaimed. ‘In the afternoon? It must be, the sun is shining . . . good Gad, Peabody, why did you let me sleep so late?’
My efforts to restrain him were vain; he swung his feet to the floor and headed for the bathroom. After hesitating for a moment Ramses followed him. He liked watching his father shave. He had been strictly forbidden to touch any of Emerson’s razors, after once almost cutting his throat while imitating that (in his case unnecessary) procedure.
After ringing the bell I followed them, to discover Ramses sitting on the commode while Emerson splashed cold water on his face. ‘That’s better,’ he said cheerfully. ‘What a night, eh, Peabody?’
‘It is not better. You have got the bandage wet. Emerson, how often must I tell you –’
Ramses spoke at the same time. ‘I presume, Papa, that your question refers to your latest encounter with the criminous masquerader. I would be most interested in learning what –’
Before either of us could finish, the bedroom door opened and a positive parade of servants entered – one of the maids carrying a tea tray, another with hot water, Mrs Watson to supervise their activities, and Gargery . . . well, I knew why Gargery was there. He did not even pretend to have a reasonable excuse.
‘How is the professor, madam?’ he demanded.
‘Fine, fine,’ Emerson shouted. ‘Good morning, Gargery. Who else is there? Mrs Watson? Splendid. I shall want a very large breakfast, Mrs Watson – or lunch – or whatever meal seems appropriate . . . as soon as possible, eh? Oh – excuse me – er – Susan –’ He backed up, to allow the maid (Mary Ann) to put a pitcher of hot water on the table.
Behind Gargery I saw what appeared to be the entire household staff – four