The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [21]
I started to follow. Emerson’s fingers clamped over my shoulders and slammed me against the iron bars of the gate.
‘Move on your peril, Peabody,’ he hissed. ‘Take one step – just one – and I will . . .’ The gate finally yielded to his efforts, so I never heard the remainder of the threat. Firmly he drew me to him; briskly he marched me to the door of the house. He maintained an ominous silence, and discretion would have suggested I do the same; but I am proud to say discretion has never yet prevented me from doing what was right.
‘Emerson,’ I cried, attempting to free myself from his steely grip. ‘Emerson, think! She has qualities I would not like to see in a daughter of mine, but she is young – impulsive – a woman! Can you abandon her to what may be grave danger? I cannot believe it – you, the most gallant of your sex!’
Emerson’s steps slowed. ‘Er – hmmm,’ he remarked.
I had known my appeal would not be in vain. Emerson is himself somewhat impulsive (indeed, it is a distinctly masculine trait, unjustly attributed to women), but he is the kindest of men. He had rushed me off without stopping to consider the young woman, but once reminded he was ready, as always, to do an Englishman’s duty.
‘I intended to go after her as soon as I had got you indoors,’ he grumbled. ‘I cannot trust you, Amelia, indeed I cannot.’
‘But by then it may be too late,’ I exclaimed. ‘Who knows what that ill-omened figure portends? Once in its vile clutches –’
Emerson had come to a stop at the bottom of the steps. He shook me absent-mindedly. ‘Amelia, I beg you will not go on in that fashion. Certain citizens of this metropolis enjoy wandering about the streets and the museums in bizarre costumes. No doubt the climate has addled their brains. Lunatics, who ought to be confined –’
‘Precisely, Emerson. Miss Minton may even now be in the power of an escaped lunatic. Let us not waste time arguing, but instantly pursue –’
Emerson’s face relaxed. He turned me around. ‘Your concern is needless, Amelia.’
Miss Minton was no longer alone; facing her was a tallish, thin young man wearing a long overcoat and a silk hat. They appeared to be arguing; two voices, one baritone, the other a piercing alto, blended in passionate duet.
Emerson called out. ‘Are you in need of assistance, Miss – er – or is that a friend of yours?’
The young lady abandoned her companion and darted across the pavement, splashing recklessly through puddles. Emerson had taken the precaution of closing the gate behind him; she could advance no further, but stood clutching the bars and peering between them like a prisoner in gaol.
‘Please, Professor and Mrs Emerson – a brief interview? It will only take a few moments –’
Emerson let out a roar. ‘Curse it, young woman, have you no sense of decency? We delayed only to make certain your rash action had not led you into difficulty, and you reward our charitable concern with –’
‘Now, Emerson,’ I interrupted. ‘You have made your point and I am sure it has been taken.’
‘Quite,’ said the young man, who had joined Miss Minton at the gate. He was wearing eyeglasses; they kept slipping, perhaps because of the damp, and throughout the ensuing conversation he was perpetually adjusting them. ‘Good evening, Mrs Emerson – Professor. I had the pleasure of meeting you last year in Mr Budge’s office at the Museum. My name is Wilson. I don’t suppose you remember me.’
‘Vaguely,’ Emerson replied. ‘What the devil are you –’
‘Emerson, you can be heard clear across the square,’ I said. ‘If we were to join the young people at the gate, it would not be necessary to shout.’
‘Not on your life, Peabody,’ my husband replied, taking a firmer grip on me.
‘I am a friend of Miss Minton’s,’ the young man went on. ‘Thank you for your concern, but you need not worry about her. I did my best to keep her from bothering you and Mrs Emerson, but could not prevail; naturally I felt obliged to accompany her, though at her request I kept at