The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [161]
As a result it was quite late in the afternoon before we finally emerged from our room. Owing to the inclement weather, the skies outside were quite dark and all the lamps had been lighted. As we proceeded arm in arm along the corridor, Emerson remarked, ‘I presume you will insist on having tea, Peabody.’
‘Have you any objections, Emerson?’
‘Well, yes, confound it, I do; and you know what they are, Peabody.’
‘I assure you, my dear, that I am about to turn my attention to the problem.’
‘Very well, my dear Peabody, I will leave it to you. But I warn you, I can’t stand it much longer. I need peace and quiet if I am to finish that confounded manuscript –’
Before he could continue, a horrendous shriek reverberated through the house. It came from the direction of the children’s rooms.
‘Curse it,’ Emerson exclaimed. ‘What now? That child has the most piercing voice of any female I have ever heard. What will she be like in ten years, after her lungs have expanded? I tell you, Peabody –’
‘That was not Violet, Emerson,’ I said. ‘If you will be quiet a minute . . .’ Sure enough, another scream confirmed my hypothesis; it had come, I felt certain, from a female older than Violet. ‘One of the maids, I believe,’ I continued. ‘Perhaps we had better go and see what is wrong.’
We met the maid in question – Mary Ann it was – in the hallway. She had both hands over her face, and ran full-tilt into Emerson, who politely caught her and propped her against the wall before proceeding on his way. ‘No use asking her,’ he remarked. ‘She appears to be in quite a state of agitation. I suppose that was Ramses’ room from which she emerged?’
‘That would be a safe assumption even if I had not seen her come out the door,’ I replied. ‘She must have gone to call him to tea and found . . . What, one wonders?’
We were soon to learn. The door was open. Somehow I was not surprised to find Ramses was not alone. He and Percy stood confronting one another across the table on which Ramses’ mummies were arranged. Their faces presented an interesting contrast in colour, for Percy was flushed and livid with anger, and Ramses was as pale as I had ever seen him. Owing to the natural darkness of his complexion and his deep tan, his cheeks had turned an odd shade of milky brown. On the table between them was what appeared to be a new specimen – very new indeed, for it was covered with gore that ran freely from its wounds.
The carcass was that of a rat. With their long, obscenely naked tails and sharp teeth, rats are not the loveliest of God’s creatures; but they are nevertheless God’s creatures. The mutilations inflicted on this one were of a sort that could only have been perpetrated, not by claws of cat or fangs of dog, but by a sharp knife held in a human hand. Worst of all, the faintest pulsation of the flayed body showed that the wretched thing still lived, though mercifully it was incapable of feeling pain.
Emerson was at my side, as he always was when danger or difficulty threatened. He carried the thing away; I did not look to see what he did, and after a moment he said quietly, ‘It is dead, Peabody.’
‘Thank you, my dear Emerson.’
I looked at the two boys. Percy was biting his lip and his eyes were luminous with tears he strove to hold back. The countenance of ‘Ramses’ Walter Peabody Emerson was its usual enigmatic mask; but my keen maternal eyes caught a flicker of emotion in his black eyes. Apprehension, I thought.
‘Who did this?’ I asked.
There was no answer. I had not expected one. I turned my gaze upon Percy. He stiffened. Hands behind his back, lips tight,