The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [126]
“She certainly left of her own accord.” Emerson took his pipe from his pocket. “Ali the doorman said she had a small valise with her. He asked if she wanted a cab but she said no. She set off on foot, in the direction of the tram station. If she doesn’t come home tonight, we will begin tracing her tomorrow; but I cannot believe she is in danger. At least,” he added glumly, “I wouldn’t believe it if I could make any sense whatever of what is happening.”
The howls of Narmer proclaimed the arrival of our friends. Katherine did not waste time. “Did the frocks fit? How did she like the doll? May I see her?”
“You women,” Emerson growled. “Is that all you can think of, frocks and toys and babies? Er—suppose I just go and fetch her.”
I persuaded him to serve beverages to our guests instead, and before long Ramses came down the stairs carrying the child. She was wearing one of the frocks I had bought—a nice little white garment with just a touch of broderie anglaise on the collar—and the red leather slippers. At the sight of so many people she burrowed into Ramses’s shoulder.
I went to sit with Katherine and Cyrus, who had tactfully withdrawn some little distance, leaving Emerson to make a complete idiot of himself as he tried to persuade Sennia to talk to him. The deep rumble of his voice blended oddly with her brief, high-pitched replies. She really did sound like a little bird. At last she condescended to perch on Emerson’s knee while he fed her bits of biscuit.
It was not until that moment that Katherine got a good look at her face. She sucked in her breath. “I begin to understand Nefret,” she whispered. “The resemblance is uncanny, Amelia. She even has your chin.”
“I fear she will one day, poor unfortunate child. Emerson, no more biscuits. They will spoil her appetite.”
“What are you going to do with her?” Cyrus asked.
“There can hardly be any question of that, Cyrus. Even if Percy admitted his responsibility, he is no fit person to take charge of a child. He would hand her over to a randomly selected Egyptian family, pay them a small sum of money, and stroll away.”
“She might be better off with an Egyptian family,” Cyrus argued. “You could with complete confidence let Selim or Daoud or any one of them adopt her.”
“They will be part of her family, Cyrus, as they are part of mine. Kadija would take her in a second. But she is half English, and I will not be a party to the sort of irresponsible callousness so many English persons of the male gender demonstrate toward the infantile victims of their brief encounters. It is a matter of principle.”
Cyrus raised his glass in salute. His eyes were twinkling. “And a certain amount of bullheaded-ness? You’re gonna outface the gossips and tell them to go to the devil? We’re with you every step of the way, Amelia, but—well—isn’t this going to be a little hard on Ramses?”
“I have given that full consideration, of course. Ramses is of my opinion, I know; he is even more bull—er—determined than I. There is no concealing her existence now, and you may be sure gossip will spread whatever we do. Cyrus, would you be good enough to get me another whiskey and soda? Thank you. Emerson, I said no more biscuits! I do not approve of bribing a child with sweets. It is time she went to bed. Growing children need a great deal of sleep. No, Ramses, do not take her up, she must learn to go with Basima.”
A certain amount of protest followed this decision. It ended when Emerson slipped a biscuit to Basima and she held it in front of the child as she carried her off, as one leads a donkey with a carrot. I pretended not to see.
Katherine, chuckling, said, “She has quite a will of her own, hasn’t she? Remarkable for an infant who has lived as she has. Amelia, what are you going to do about her mother?”
“That is a difficulty,” I admitted. “The unfortunate creature seems to have disappeared; Ramses has been looking for her, without success thus far. If we can find her, we will of course protect and assist