The Deeds of the Disturber - Elizabeth Peters [71]
Ramses, of course, wanted to know what Mr Dickens meant by ‘the worst.’ On my advice, Emerson refused to answer.
Emerson never attends church services, since he is opposed to organized religion in any form. I always took Ramses when we were at home in Kent, though I did not suppose he profited from the sermons, since dear old Mr Wentworth, who had been vicar of St Winifred’s since time immemorial, was so extremely decrepit one could not understand a word he said. However, the murmur of his soft voice was very soothing, and the members of the congregation took advantage of the time to doze or meditate, according to their habits.
That Sunday I took the children to St Margaret’s in Westminister to hear Archdeacon Frederick William Farrar, who was one of the most famous preachers in the country. It was a most edifying discourse, and I hoped the subject, ‘Brotherly Love,’ would have its effect on my contentious companions, for the process of getting them to the church had taxed all my stock of patience. Violet had been the worst offender. Her shrieks of rage had disturbed me while I was dressing; when I reached the nursery, expecting to find that Ramses had offered her a mummified mouse or ancient femur (from his collection of treasures), I found the nurserymaid cowering in a corner and Violet standing atop a heap of discarded garments, screaming that they were all too ugly, too tight, or too crumpled. They certainly were crumpled by that time, for she had stamped on them. The topic of her attire was one of the few subjects that roused her from her simpering sluggishness; even before that episode I had begun to wonder if reforming Violet was beyond my capacities.
The sermon, for all that it was clearly audible, had no noticeable effect. Violet whined all the way home about her frock and Ramses called Percy a confounded coprolite.
‘Where did you learn that word?’ I demanded.
‘From a guide to London that is in the library,’ Ramses replied. ‘In accordance with your suggestion, I was attempting to broaden my interests, and I soon came upon a sentence that read, “The upper stratum of the Strand soil is composed of a reddish-yellow earth containing coprolites.” Naturally I consulted the dictionary, since I am always eager to expand my vocabulary, and I was interested to discover –’
I confined Ramses to his room for the remainder of the day. After brief reflection I confined Percy and Violet to their rooms as well. This was unfair, but necessary to my sanity.
Emerson had gone out, leaving a message that he would return about half past six. I spent the afternoon in the library looking over his manuscript and making a few little corrections, and then had a nice quiet tea all by myself, in my own snug room.
Shortly after the designated hour I was pleased to hear the well-loved footsteps. The door burst open, but instead of entering, Emerson lingered on the landing, and the first sentence I heard made it clear that he was not alone.
‘Now, Mrs Watkins, I cannot imagine why you are making such a fuss. This can is much too heavy for the girl, she is no bigger than a kitten. You should have sent one of the footmen to carry it.’
‘But, Professor, she offered –’
‘Very commendable. But she ought to have known better. Here – give it to me – now, if you will kindly step out of the way –’
Before he could proceed, he was halted by the arrival of Gargery. ‘This is for you, Professor. A messenger has just now delivered it.’
‘Well, don’t stand there brandishing it at me,’ Emerson replied. ‘How do you expect me to take it when both my hands are holding a water can? Give it to Mrs Emerson.’
He entered the room, bade me a cheerful ‘Good evening, Peabody,’ and went on to the bathroom. A thump and a splash followed; Emerson emerged, brushing vaguely at the wet spots on his coat and trousers.
‘Good evening, my dear Emerson,’ I replied.
Mrs Watson had retreated (shaking her head, I am sure, over the professor’s peculiar behaviour). The housemaid, head averted in understandable embarrassment, sidled into