The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [153]
‘Don’t be so tactful, Peabody,’ Emerson growled. ‘After that bas – . . . that fellow Sethos abducted you.’
‘Yes, quite. My belt and its accoutrements, are too conspicuous to be overlooked, so I thought perhaps . . . Emerson, please stop fumbling at me. You have your hand . . .’
‘What the devil are you doing?’ Emerson demanded.
‘We are not alone, Emerson,’ I reminded him. ‘Here, hold this and keep it from getting wet. And this.’
‘Peabody, what is . . . good Gad! My dear, are you wearing a corset?’
‘Emerson, please!’
‘I thought you felt rather rigid this evening,’ Emerson exclaimed. ‘But you swore you would never wear the cursed things because –’
‘I can’t stand this,’ said Inspector Cuff suddenly. ‘Mrs Emerson, I respect and admire you more than any lady I have ever known, but if you don’t tell me why you are – er – disrobing, I may lose my mind.’
‘It is very simple,’ I said. ‘Most women wear corsets; they are not regarded as potential weapons. But what, gentlemen, holds a corset in position?’
‘Cursed if I know,’ said Emerson.
‘Stays,’ muttered the inspector. ‘Narrow strips of whalebone – or steel! – sewed into pockets along the sides and back . . .’
‘Like this one,’ I said, pressing it into Emerson’s hand. ‘Be careful, my dear, it is quite sharp; I had it set into its own little scabbard, and very uncomfortable it was, I must say. And this one, which is serrated along one edge . . . Now you can have another go at those bars, Emerson.’
‘Incredible, Mrs Emerson,’ gasped the Inspector.
‘Elementary, my dear Inspector Cuff. How do you know so much about corsets, if I may ask? Are you a married man?’
‘No, ma’am, I am not. I have been a confirmed bachelor all my life. But by Heaven, Mrs Emerson, you have shaken my belief in the advantages of the single life. If I could meet another such woman as you –’
‘There is only one of her,’ Emerson said, in tones of intense satisfaction. ‘Just as well, I expect . . . Put your clothes back on, Peabody. Here we go, Cuff . . .’
It was all the Inspector could do to raise that mighty form, so as soon as I was dressed, I went to help. The water lapped at my calves as I stood with my back braced against the wall and Emerson’s boot resting on my shoulder. The play of moonlight across the limpid liquid had a strange, hypnotic fascination . . .
Suddenly the moonlight was cut off. Emerson let out a sharp cry and started back. Our human pyramid swayed dangerously. My foot slipped and I sat down with a splash, as Cuff, cursing with more imagination than I would have credited him with, struggled to keep his balance.
‘What the devil is going on?’ I shouted.
‘You won’t believe it,’ said Emerson in a hollow voice.
Then another voice said calmly, ‘Good evening, Mama. Good evening, Papa. Good evening, sir. I do not know who you are, but in view of the fact that you share the incarceration of my dear parents, I can only assume you are an ally, or possibly . . .’
XV
HOW long Ramses went on I cannot say. I was incapable of interrupting him, and I fancy Emerson felt the same. When next I took note of what was going on, another voice was speaking.
‘Oh, sir, are you there? Oh, madam, are you all right? Don’t worry, sir and madam, we’ll have you out of there!’
I had started to stand up. I sat down again. ‘Gargery?’
‘Yes, madam, I am here, at your service. Oh, madam –’
I made an effort. ‘Ramses,’ I said, rising slowly to my feet and observing, in passing, that the water was now almost to my knees. ‘Even if you remove the bars, your papa cannot get out that window; it is too narrow. You will have to go around through the house.’
‘I am afraid that is out of the question, Mama,’ said Ramses. ‘Papa, if you will please stand away from the window? We have chisels, sledgehammers, and other tools, but we cannot employ them while you –’
‘Yes, my son,’ said Emerson. He got down – or Cuff collapsed, most probably the latter. In between the ear-shattering attacks on the narrow window and its