The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [61]
Tea was rather late that evening, but I was determined to go through with the ritual since my theories of child-raising required that we all be together as a family for one hour a day, if possible. It was a sacrifice, but one I felt morally obliged to make. Emerson did not feel morally obliged to make it, but he did it anyway, because I insisted.
Violet sat playing with her favourite doll, a simpering waxen-headed thing almost as large as she, and (truth compels me to remark) bearing a striking resemblance to her in its porcelain simper and fat yellow curls. She pretended to feed it bits of sandwich and sips of tea (heavily laced with milk, as I am sure I need not mention). Observing Ramses’ fixed stare, she smiled and invited him to join her and her ‘friend Helen,’ adding, ‘I am sorry I was rude about the flowers, Cousin Ramses. But you know, they were very, very nasty.’
I expected Ramses would respond with courteous disdain, but he accepted the invitation, and went so far as to ride the doll on his knee and smooth her golden curls. No further reference was made to his misadventure; I do not hold with endless recriminations, and Ramses had already accepted his punishment – the confiscation of all the bits and pieces of disguise which, against my better judgment, he had been allowed to remove from the secret headquarters of the Master Criminal. These consisted for the most part of paints, powders, and dyes designed to change the colour of hair and skin. There were also some ingenious pads which could be inserted in the mouth in order to change the shape of the face; several sets of false teeth; moustaches, beards, and wigs, all cunningly constructed of human hair. Among the wigs was one any lady of fashion might have envied: masses of golden waves and curls, soft as silk and smooth as honey. Ramses had rather cleverly altered this to fit his own head, trimming the hair and padding the interior.
Emerson manfully tried to chat with Percy, but found sensible conversation impossible with a lad who knew nothing whatever of predynastic pottery or the principles of stratification, so he soon gave it up. Picking up the evening newspaper, he turned through the pages, and I remarked, ‘You will not find any mention of today’s adventure, Emerson; that edition must have gone to press before it happened.’
‘Adventure, Aunt Amelia?’ Percy exclaimed. ‘What adventure, if I may ask, sir?’
I would have preferred to keep the children – particularly Ramses – in the dark, but Emerson, who has not my sensitive understanding of the juvenile mind, at once launched into a spirited narrative. His sarcastic comments about Mr Budge were wasted on Percy, I fancy, but the lad listened openmouthed to Emerson’s description of the lunatic priest and the near riot.
‘I say, sir, how exciting!’
‘Nasty,’ Violet murmured.
‘Nasty?’ Emerson repeated indignantly.
‘She means the mummies, sir. You know how girls are, sir. I think you were frightfully brave, sir. What a pity you couldn’t catch the fellow.’
Ramses cleared his throat. ‘The individual in question would appear to have an excellent sense of timing and an appreciation of what might be called the habits of the mob. He anticipated a large crowd and counted on being able to make use of it in order to elude pursuit. It makes one wonder whether the word ‘lunatic,’ which has been carelessly applied, really suits a man as clever as that.’
He continued to stroke the doll’s curls as he spoke. I found the spectacle as alarming as it was ludicrous; for if Ramses would sink to such folly, his infatuation with his cousin must be greater than I had supposed.
‘An interesting idea, Ramses,’ said his father thoughtfully. ‘However, so-called lunatics are not feeble-witted. They have one mental quirk or aberration, and their overall intelligence need not be diminished thereby.’
‘Like that Jack the Ripper chap,’ suggested Percy. ‘They never caught him either, did they, sir?’
‘Good heavens, Percy,’ I exclaimed. ‘I am