The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [62]
‘The servants are still talking about it, Aunt Amelia. You know how servants gossip.’
‘Nasty,’ said Violet. She added pensively, ‘Dead.’
‘Good Gad!’ said Emerson, contemplating the child with open horror.
‘She doesn’t know what she is saying, Emerson,’ I assured him, hoping I spoke the truth.
‘Let us trust,’ said Ramses, ‘that this is not a parallel case. For if the murderer is a homicidal maniac with an obsessive hatred of one particular profession, no one connected with the Museum will be safe.’
This statement raised so many hideous possibilities that I rang the bell and ordered the tea-things to be removed. I had no desire to hear Ramses explain how he happened to know of Jack the Ripper, and most especially how he had found out that the homicidal slaughterer of unfortunate young women had an obsessive hatred of what could only loosely be called a particular ‘profession.’
Having observed Emerson’s reaction to Ramses’ mention of the phrase ‘homicidal maniac’ (a term that affects him almost as painfully as ‘Master Criminal’), I decided to give him time to cool off before I raised the subject again. I waited until we were midway through dinner before I did so.
‘Much as I deplore Ramses’ interest in such things, he does have a certain (possibly inherited) flair for crime,’ I remarked. ‘You observed, Emerson, that he proposed the same theory I did?’
Emerson was in the act of attacking a rather tough slice of beef. The knife slipped, and the beef slid onto the floor.
‘A pity the cat Bastet is not here to tidy up,’ he remarked, watching Gargery crawl under the table to retrieve the food. ‘Has there been any word of her, Peabody?’
‘Not yet. I instructed Rose to send a telegram as soon as she returns. Don’t try to change the subject, Emerson. I won’t have it. The situation is too serious.’
‘You are the one who is always telling me not to discuss serious matters before the servants,’ Emerson retorted. ‘A nonsensical rule, I have always thought. Gargery here is just as interested in sensible conversation as any other man, isn’t that right, Gargery?’
‘Er – certainly, sir,’ the butler replied, retreating to the sideboard.
‘I long ago abandoned any hope of converting you to correct behaviour, Emerson,’ I said. ‘And under the present circumstances, rules of that sort need to be relaxed. When I consider the danger that threatens you –’
‘Oh, nonsense, Peabody,’ Emerson shouted. ‘The idea of a homicidal maniac makes no more sense coming from Ramses than from you. Two deaths, one of them natural, do not constitute a crime wave!’ Then he added, glancing at the butler, ‘Don’t pay any attention to Mrs Emerson, Gargery. She is always going on like that. I am in no danger at all.’
‘I am – I am relieved to hear it, sir,’ Gargery said earnestly. ‘Will you have more roast beef, sir?’
Emerson helped himself. ‘The priest had nothing to do with the murder of Oldacre,’ he announced. ‘A man like that must have had dozens of enemies. I didn’t like him either. As for the goings-on at the Museum, they are either the product of a deranged mind, or a peculiar practical joke.’
‘Ah,’ I murmured. ‘So that possibility had occurred to you?’
‘Now you are going to claim you thought of it first,’ Emerson grumbled. ‘You always do. But you couldn’t have done, Peabody, it did not occur to me until after I realized Lord St John was mixed up in the business. It is the sort of thing a depraved degenerate like him might find amusing. You know who he is, don’t you?’
Since the question was obviously rhetorical, I did not bother to answer, and Emerson proceeded to deliver a brief biographical sketch of his lordship. Even allowing for my spouse’s prejudices and circumlocutions, it was an ugly picture, and in one sense a tragic one. Gifted with good looks, ample wealth, and above-the-average intelligence, Lord St John had been regarded as a young man of great promise. His university career had been without blemish, except for those escapades and crude practical jokes (most