The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [125]
It was as well the men were late, for they would undoubtedly have complained about the unnecessary fuss that ensued, as I inspected and approved the quarters Fatima had selected for the child and her attendant, unloaded and unwrapped my purchases, interviewed nannies, and greeted Kadija. Kadija was a very large, very dark-complected, very silent woman. At least she was usually silent with me; Nefret insisted she had a wicked sense of humor and could tell extremely amusing stories. On her mother’s side Kadija was of Nubian blood; from the women of her mother’s family she had learned the recipe for a certain magical ointment which she and Daoud smeared on everyone who required healing. Nefret had become a convert to its efficacy, so I had stopped objecting to it, though it turned the skin of the user a horrid shade of green.
I do not believe that child had set a foot on the ground since I left. Kadija was carrying her when I got there, and was only persuaded to put her down when I insisted she try on some of the garments I had purchased.
Sennia did not want to wear a dress. The little slippers were rejected even more forcibly. The enamel bath was well received, however, since splashing quantities of water about the room is a favorite occupation of the young, and so were several inconsequential objects I had just happened to acquire. We—Kadija, Fatima, and I and Basima, the proud winner of the contest for nursemaid—were sitting on the floor of the new nursery watching Sennia play when we heard voices down below. The child had been listening. She made a beeline for the door.
“Catch her, Kadija, she is unclothed!” I exclaimed.
Kadija’s big gentle hands intercepted the fugitive and held her fast. “Now that you have come to live with the Inglizi you must wear clothing,” she explained. “Put on a pretty robe. You want him to be proud of you, don’t you?”
Ramses came straight up, as I had thought he would. Kadija’s appeal had done the trick; we had barely time to get the anxious little creature into one of the new frocks before he appeared in the doorway. After he had admired the result she insisted on showing him her new possessions one by one. Every frock, every bit of underclothing, every ribbon and toy had to be examined and approved. Ramses was dusty and sweat-stained, but the lines of weariness in his face smoothed out as she trotted back and forth, and when she dragged the doll onto his lap he actually laughed.
“Mother, whatever possessed you? It is almost as big as she is.”
“None of them had dark hair,” I said disapprovingly. “It really is shameful. One would suppose flaxen curls and blue eyes are the only acceptable style of looks. Go and change, Ramses. Now that you have made your presence known, I presume she will allow you to absent yourself for a time.”
After he had slipped out I had a few words with Fatima. She wanted to know how “that worthless Karima” was getting on with the cleaning of the dahabeeyah, and assured me she would herself supervise the final arrangements. Realizing that I could do with a bit of tidying myself, I betook myself to my room, where I found that Emerson had finished his ablutions and gone to the courtyard. When I joined him he immediately handed me a whiskey and soda and led me to a settee. We had a great deal to say to one another, but for some reason neither of us felt like talking. Emerson pulled up a hassock and lifted my slippered feet onto it. Then he sat down next to me and put his arm round me. Whatever difficulties lay ahead—and there were sure to be many of them—we would face them hand in hand, side by side, and back to back.
I said as much to Emerson, who replied, “You are mixing your metaphors again, Peabody, but the sentiment is one with which I am in complete accord. Vandergelt told me Nefret was not with them; I take it you did not find her?”
“You may take it that I did not look for her. I didn’t know where