The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [24]
‘Oh, Emerson, don’t be so theatrical. If Ramses has had the audacity to revise your manuscript –’
‘Revise? The little scamp has practically rewritten it! He has corrected my dates, my analyses of historical events, my discussion of the origin of mummification!’
‘And your syntax,’ I said, unable to repress a smile. ‘Really, Ramses’ notions of English grammar are rather eccentric.’ Seeing that Emerson had turned red as a turkey cock, I obliterated the smile and said seriously, ‘It is too bad of Ramses, my dear. I will speak sharply to him.’
‘That seems inadequate punishment for the crime.’
‘You – you didn’t strike him, Emerson?’
Emerson gave me a look of freezing reproof. ‘You know my views on corporal punishment, Amelia. I have never struck a child or a woman – and I never will. Though I came as close, this evening, as I ever hope to come.’
I agreed with Emerson in opposing corporal punishment, though not for the same reasons; his were ethical and idealistic, mine were purely practical. A spanking would have hurt me more than it hurt Ramses, for he had extremely sharp, hard bones, and a high tolerance for pain.
I sympathized with my poor Emerson. He had had a bad day altogether, and the sight of my brother James, even more appallingly rotund in full evening kit, did not improve his temper. James seemed anxious to please; he laughed immoderately at Emerson’s remarks, even those that were not meant to be humorous, and paid me extravagant compliments on my gown, my general appearance, and my qualities as a mother. As the dinner progressed, I began to get some inkling of his real purpose, but the idea seemed so incredible I could hardly credit it.
Not until after the meal did he get to the point. He kept waiting for the ladies to retire, and finally Evelyn felt obliged to explain. ‘Amelia believes, dear Mr Peabody, that the custom is outmoded and insulting to the female sex.’
‘Insulting?’ James stared at me.
‘Ordinarily the gentlemen save the intelligent conversation – if they are capable of it at all – until the time for port and cigars,’ I said. ‘I like a drop of port myself, I am agreeable to intelligent conversation, and I have no objection to the aroma of a good cigar.’
‘Oh,’ said James, looking dazed.
‘We generally discuss Egyptological matters,’ I continued. ‘If you find the subject tedious, James, you may retire to the drawing room.’
Evelyn looked as if she thought I had gone a bit too far, but James decided to take it as a joke – which it was not. With a loud guffaw, he leaned across the table and patted my hand. ‘Dear Amelia. You haven’t changed since you were a little girl. Do you remember the time . . .’
There he stuck, probably because he could not recall any fond memories of our childhood. I certainly had none that included him. Abandoning this approach, he tried another. ‘Papa always said you had the best head of the lot,’ he said. ‘And he was correct. (Pass the port, please, Walter my boy.) How very well you have done for yourself, eh?’
‘I have an excellent solicitor to advise me on my investments,’ I replied sedately.
Emerson had been studying him with the faint distaste of an anatomist confronting a new and unsavoury organ; now he shrugged and, turning to Walter, continued a discussion on the Berlin Dictionary that had begun earlier. This suited James; he addressed me in a confidential tone, as he continued to help himself to port.
‘I only wish I had your good sense, li’l sister. Not that it was m’ fault. No. Not my fault that the cursed ships were cursed unseaworthy. Too many cargoes lost . . .’
‘Are you trying to tell me you are in financial difficulty, James?’ I inquired. ‘For if you are hoping for money, you won’t get it.’
‘No, no. No. Not to say difficulty. I can recoup.’ He laid one fat finger beside his nose and winked. ‘Secret. Great prospects. Only thing is . . .’
‘No, James. Not a penny.’
James blinked. ‘Don’ wan’ money,’ he said in a hurt voice. ‘Wouldn’t take it ’f you offered. Want your loving mother’s heart for poor unfort’nate childr’n . . .’
‘Whose?’ I inquired curiously.