The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [117]
Ramses dropped into a chair and reached for a cigarette. “He has no legal responsibility. Do you suppose he would admit any other kind?”
“Hmph,” Emerson said. “Peabody, my dear, let me get you a whiskey and soda.”
“No, it is too early. But I might try one of those cigarettes. They are calming to the nerves, I have heard.”
Ramses raised his eyebrows, but he provided the cigarette and lit it for me. It provided a distraction, at least. By the time I had got the hang of the business and had stopped coughing, I was ready to hear Ramses’s explanation.
“She approached me one day in the suk, tugging at my coat and asking for baksheesh. When I looked down at her I saw … You saw it too. Something of a shock, wasn’t it? Once I had recovered I asked her to take me to her house. She thought I wanted …” His even voice caught. Then he went on, “Her mother was under the same impression. After I had disabused her of the notion, we talked. She claimed not to know who the father was. She may have been telling the truth. Her clients don’t often bother introducing themselves by name.”
“Dear God,” I whispered.
“God has nothing to do with it,” said Ramses, offering me another cigarette. “The place was unspeakable—a single room, ankle-deep in refuse, swarming with flies and other vermin. I couldn’t leave her there. I moved them to more salubrious surroundings and paid Rashida a sum of money each week on condition that she—er—retire. I got in the habit of dropping by from time to time in order to make certain she kept her promise. When Sennia began calling me Father I didn’t have the heart to stop her. The other children with whom she played had fathers; she knew the word, and she was too young to understand, and …”
“You became fond of her,” I said.
“I am not entirely impervious to the softer emotions, Mother. After she had learned to trust me, there were times when she would gesture or laugh in a way that reminded me of—of someone else.” He smiled at me, and his face was so young and vulnerable I wanted to cry.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” I demanded.
“Should I come running to my mother with every difficulty? Oh, I would have told you eventually, but you had enough to worry about and this was no more your responsibility than it was mine.”
It would have been strange if he had acted otherwise, I thought. He had never been in the habit of asking for help.
“I wonder how Kalaan comes into this,” Emerson said thoughtfully.
“He is no more Sennia’s grandfather than you are,” Ramses said. “You know what he is. But he is a crafty old swine, and he set the stage well. Those rags she was wearing had been supplied in place of the clothes I had got for her, and I haven’t seen her so filthy for weeks. As for what he hoped to gain by this—”
“Money, of course,” I said. “No doubt he assumed we would want the business kept quiet. Though how anyone, even a—a vile creature like Kalaan—could suppose we would abandon that child—any child—to …”
“It’s all right, my love,” Emerson said, taking my hand.
Ramses put out his cigarette and stood up. “I must get back. She was trying not to cry, but I could tell she was frightened.”
“I will come with you,” I said. “The presence of a woman may reassure the poor little thing.”
Ramses looked at his father, who said quickly, “Where has Nefret got to? She is wonderful with children, and she will want to apologize for misjudging you when she learns the truth.”
“You didn’t know the truth either,” Ramses said. His face had hardened and there was a note in his voice that was new to me. “But you had enough faith in me to believe, even before I explained, that I was not a liar or a coward or a … Thank you for that. It means a great deal to me.”
He strode out of the room without waiting for a reply.
“Oh, dear,” I said. “Emerson, go to Nefret. She will be glad to learn she was mistaken, and anxious to make it up to him.”
I hastened to the bath chamber, from which I could hear cries of distress. Fatima had given it up; she stood watching