The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [20]
I could see the butler plucking at Emerson’s coattails, trying to calm him; but ’twas of no avail. Sans hat, coat, scarf, or umbrella, Emerson plunged down the stairs and ran to the gate. In his passion he was unable to deal with the latch; he clung there, bellowing and banging on the railings. ‘Peeeeeea-body! Devil take it, where are yooooooou?’
‘I must go,’ I said. But I spoke to empty air; a rapidly fading shadow was the only sign of Kevin O’Connell.
I called to my agitated spouse, but his irritable iterations drowned out my voice. By the time I reached him, the yellow umbrella had pounced. Emerson confronted it head-on, with only the gate between them. He had fallen silent; I heard another voice, high-pitched and rapid. ‘And what is your opinion, Professor . . .’ it was asking.
‘Emerson, what the – what are you doing out in this fog without a hat?’ I demanded.
Emerson glanced at me. ‘Oh, there you are, Peabody. The most extraordinary thing . . . Only have a look.’
Whereupon he seized the umbrella and spun it like a wheel. The person under it, who seemed to be attached to it in some fashion I could not make out, spun with it, and the lamplight fell full upon her face. Yes, dear Reader – her face! The journalist – was a woman!
‘Good Gad,’ I exclaimed. ‘I was under the impression that you were a man.’
‘I am as capable as any man,’ was the fierce reply, as a notebook was brandished in my face. She had attached her umbrella to her belt in order to leave her hands free for writing, and I had to admire the ingenuity of the concept even as I deplored her forward behaviour. ‘Tell me, Mrs Emerson,’ she went on, with scarcely a pause to draw breath, ‘are you working with Scotland Yard on the murder case?’
‘What murder case? There is no indication –’
‘Amelia!’ Emerson had recovered from his surprise at discovering that the assiduous reporter was female – for that was my interpretation of his mention of the word ‘extraordinary.’ Now he seized me by the arm and attempted to draw me inside the railing. Since the gate was still closed, this did not succeed. ‘Don’t talk to that – that person,’ he insisted. ‘Don’t speak a word. Even a “yes” or “no” will be misquoted by these vultures – excuse me, young lady – and you know your unfortunate tendency to babble –’
‘I beg your pardon, Emerson!’ I exclaimed. ‘But we will go into that at another time. I have no intention of permitting an interview; I particularly object to being waylaid and accosted at my front door. However, let me point out that I cannot enter until you open the gate.’
I moved as I spoke, edging in between Emerson and Miss Minton. She was forced to retreat in order to avoid being jabbed by the spokes of my open parasol, but once out of its range she stubbornly stood her ground and repeated her question. I could make out her features more clearly now. She was younger than I had expected. One could not have called her pretty. Her features were too strongly marked, her chin positively masculine in outline, her brows heavy and forbidding. The pins and combs that attempted to confine her thick black hair had lost the struggle; jetty locks straggled damply over her ears.
Cursing (but, let me do him justice, cursing under his breath), Emerson fumbled with the latch. Miss Minton stood poised on tiptoe, as if ready to leap forwards, and I verily believe she would have done so, following us to the very door of the house, if something had not happened to distract her.
It was I who first caught sight of the weird, the unbelievable vision, and my exclamation of astonished incredulity caused Miss Minton to turn and Emerson to look up. For a moment we all three stood frozen in disbelief; for the form we saw, advancing with measured strides along the pavement opposite, was that of an ancient Egyptian priest clad in long white robes and a leopard-skin cloak. Long wisps of pale fog clung to his garments like trailing mummy wrappings, and the lamplight glimmered in the ebon waves of his curled wig. He passed into the clustering mist and vanished.
III
MISS Minton