The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [162]
‘No, Aunt Amelia.’
‘Then, if you did not, the culprit must have been Ramses. Was it Ramses, Percy?’
Percy might have stood for a portrait of Gallant Young England Facing the Enemy. He lifted his chin and straightened his shoulders. ‘I cannot answer you, Aunt Amelia. I owe you the love and duty of a son, but there are some things even more important to an English gentleman.’
‘I see. Very well, Percy. You are excused. Please go to your room and stay there until I come.’
‘Yes, Aunt Amelia.’ He marched out.
By contrast to his cousin, Ramses made a poor showing. His narrow shoulders were hunched as if in expectation of a blow, and his eyes would not meet mine.
I held out my arms.
‘Ramses, I owe you a profound apology. Come here to me.’
Emotion overcomes me when I recall that moment, and draws a veil over the tender scene that ensued. Emerson was frankly sniffing and rubbing his eyes with his sleeve (he never has a handkerchief). Ramses sat between us on the bed; his father’s arm was around him and he was – of course – talking. I interrupted him.
‘You need not explain, Ramses, I understand everything now. Is it not fascinating, Emerson, to see how events that appear quite comprehensible at the outset can take on quite the opposite interpretation after a slight change in one’s perspective? But who could have supposed that a boy of Percy’s age could be so sly?’
‘That,’ said Emerson, ‘is the pernicious public school training. The poor little brutes have to learn such tricks in order to survive. If I have said it once –’
‘You have said it a hundred times,’ I agreed. ‘However, Percy finally overextended himself with this last accusation. Ramses’ list of misdemeanours is quite extensive, in scope as in number; there are few things I would believe him incapable of doing. But to deliberately torture and mutilate an animal . . . I would as soon believe the sun would rise in the west, or that you, my dear Emerson, would deceive me.’
‘Er – hmmm,’ said Emerson.
‘Thank you, Mama,’ said Ramses. ‘Words fail me when I attempt –’
But I knew they did not, so I again interrupted. ‘My suspicions of Percy and his sister arose only recently and were confirmed by my reconsideration of early events. From the very beginning – the incident of the cricket ball in the midriff – yes, Ramses, I know you tried to tell me that a player of Percy’s skill might well have been able to direct the ball in the desired direction . . . Unfortunately, I have been preoccupied with matters of life and death and had not the time to consider the problem carefully. I suppose Violet told you that Miss Helen had given permission for you to ride her bicycle? Yes; Violet was a willing participant in the scheme and did her share of pushing and tripping and fibbing. Er . . . Ramses, your demonstrations of affection touch me deeply, but perhaps you might postpone further embraces until after you have washed. What is that substance on my skirt? It cannot be blood, it is too sticky . . . Well, never mind. I will make it up to you, Ramses, I promise. What would you like?’
‘I would like to be allowed to pound Percy,’ said Ramses.
His father chuckled affectionately. ‘No doubt, my boy, no doubt. A most commendable and comprehensible desire. I too would like . . . But it can’t be done, Ramses.’
‘I will rid us of the young man as soon as possible,’ I promised. ‘And Violet as well. You may take that as understood, Ramses. Something further is required, I believe. A little treat, or present . . .’
Ramses’ black eyes flashed. ‘May I have my disguises back, Mama?’
In fact, he had done very well without them. The shortness of his stature limited him, but the role of the street arab had served him admirably on a number of occasions, and the diabolical cunning that had prompted him to bribe a genuine specimen of the breed to distract me, so I would be less suspicious in future, left me torn between admiration and horror. The only other part he had attempted was that of the little golden-tressed girl; after I took