The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [137]
I replied in monosyllables; I was afraid to leave my mouth open too long for fear of what might come out of it. A rational person might suppose my anger and jealousy had been dispelled by the sad death of that unhappy woman who had loved ‘not wisely but too well’; but oh, Reader, jealousy is not rational. She had died to save him. The gun had been pointing at Emerson, not at her, when she seized the assassin’s arm and clung, with the fierce strength of passion, to prevent him from administering the coup de grace. She had not struggled to escape, but only to turn the weapon away from the man she adored. Dead and martyred, she was a greater rival than she had been living.
A strangled sound escaped my lips. It might have been a sob; but I rather think it was a smothered cry of fury. Emerson looked anxiously at me. ‘You had better spend the rest of the day in bed, my dear. Have a nice rest –’
I crumpled my napkin and threw it on the floor. ‘So you can creep out of the house unbeknownst to me? Where are you going, Emerson? To make arrangements for a fitting funeral and a marble monument? To have the coffin opened, that you may kiss her lips for the last time? Who was that woman, Emerson? What did she mean to you?’
Emerson sat gripping the arms of his chair, eyes bulging and mouth ajar. Gargery’s reaction was more explosive; he dropped the platter he was holding, and the cook’s beautiful three-layer jelly collapsed into a rainbow puddle.
‘Oh, madam,’ he gasped.
‘Wait a minute,’ Emerson said. ‘Peabody, you take my breath away! You think I . . . You think she . . . Was that why you . . . Upon my word, Peabody, I assumed you were joking.’
‘Joking! About a subject so serious as fidelity, lifelong devotion, trust –’
‘Now, just a bloody minute, Peabody,’ Emerson exclaimed.
‘Oh, madam!’ Gargery advanced towards me, his feet squelching in the ruins of the jelly. ‘Madam, the professor would never – he could not – he is utterly devoted, body and soul –’
I took a deep breath. ‘Emerson,’ I said, quite calmly, ‘I really do not think I can control myself much longer. I am very fond of Gargery here, and I appreciate his friendly interest in us, but –’
‘Oh, quite, Peabody,’ said Emerson. ‘Pas devant les domestiques, eh? At least not this time. Excuse us, Gargery, there’s a good chap. Don’t worry, everything is quite all right.’
He offered me his arm. I took it. We proceeded, with measured pace and in perfect dignity, to the drawing room.
The moment the door closed, Emerson picked me up in his arms and carried me to the sofa.
‘My darling Peabody–’ he began.
‘Caresses will not avail you in the present instance,’ I cried, struggling to free myself.
‘Oh, no? Peabody, were you really jealous? Were you? How good of you, my darling. I cannot remember when I have felt so highly complimented.’
‘Emerson, you are really . . . Emerson, don’t do that. I cannot think clearly when you . . .’
Emerson stopped what he was doing, and assisted me to sit up. When I sat on his knee, my eyes were on a level with his. Holding me by the shoulders, he looked gravely at me. ‘Have you forgotten, Peabody, what happened last winter in Cairo?’
My eyes fell before his. ‘No, Emerson. I have not forgotten.’
‘I will not insist I had greater cause than you to feel the pangs of jealousy,’ Emerson continued seriously. ‘For that might start one of those amiable little arguments of ours, which tend to go on and on without ever arriving at a conclusion. I will only repeat the words you said to me shortly afterwards. “If the years we have spent together,” you said, “and the intensity of my devotion, have not convinced you that I never have, never will, and never could love another, no words of mine can change your opinion.” I beg to remind you, Peabody, of that eloquent speech.’
I hid my crimson face and trembling lips against his breast and placed my arms around his neck.
A short time later, when we were sitting side by side in mutual accord, I remarked, ‘All the same, Emerson – and I hope you will take the question in the spirit in which it is meant,