The Falcon at the Portal - Elizabeth Peters [18]
Since there were fewer ladies than gentlemen present, we females were much in demand. During the course of the afternoon I danced with most of the men, including Gargery and, to my amused surprise, Selim, who was looking very pleased with himself and very handsome, despite the beard he had grown in order to command more respect from his men. He explained he had got Margaret to instruct him, and meant to get in all the practice he could while in England, for he liked this new activity very much and meant to teach his wives how to do it.
I cannot recall a happier day. Later, I wondered if some shadowy premonition had touched us all, inducing not the pain of future loss but a greater joy in the present. Had we but known this was the last time we would all be together.
It was late in the afternoon before the newly married couple retired in order to change into their traveling attire. We got them off at last, with much laughter and more tears and the usual ceremonies of farewell; and after the carriage had driven off through the foggy darkness to “an unknown destination,” we returned to the Hall.
“Rather like a funeral, isn’t it?” said Emerson. “As soon as the body or bodies of the participants have been sent away, everyone starts to have a good time.”
The only person who heard this inappropriate remark was Cyrus Vandergelt, who had known Emerson too long to be surprised at anything he said. His lined, leathery face stretched into a broad smile. “I’ve already had a real good time. Never attended a wedding that was so much durned fun! I’ll never forget Selim dancing Egyptian-style, with the bridegroom beating on a kettle and the best man blowing a toy whistle and the rest of us gathered in a circle clapping our hands.”
“Neither will I,” I said ruefully. “Perhaps we all had a little too much champagne.”
“Have a little more, then,” said Cyrus. “And let’s finish up the occasion in style. Strike up the band! Whee!”
FROM MANUSCRIPT H
Ramses had no difficulty persuading his parents they should not tell Nefret about the scarab until after the wedding. They left it to him to break the news; Selim and Daoud and Fatima had returned to Amarna House with them, and his mother and father were fully occupied with entertaining their guests and completing the preparations for departure. At least that was their excuse. They knew how Nefret would react to an accusation against her friend. So did Ramses. He decided it would be better to get her away from the house when he told her, in case she started shouting, so he suggested they take two of the horses out.
It was a gray, blustery day, and the wind whipped color into Nefret’s cheeks. They turned an even brighter shade as she listened to what he had to say.
The explosion was less intemperate than he had expected, though she employed several expletives she had learned from Emerson and a few more Ramses hadn’t realized she knew. Then her eyes narrowed in a look he had learned to dread even more than her fits of temper. “Have you spoken with the bloody damned dealer?”
“There hasn’t been time. I thought I’d run up to London tomorrow.”
“Not tomorrow. I promised to take Fatima to the shops.”
“But—”
“You’re not going to London without me, Ramses. We’ll go the day after tomorrow.”
It was late morning before they got off. Nefret didn’t complain once about how slowly he was driving. That was a bad sign, and so were her furrowed brow and tightly clasped hands. She was off on one of her crusades, and when she got the bit in her teeth she could be as passionately illogical and unreasonable as his mother. They were in the city and across the bridge, heading for Bond Street, when Ramses felt obliged to remind her of something he knew she wouldn’t like.
“You did promise you’d let me do most of the talking.”
“I did.” A flash of blue eyes. “But I wish to go on record as remarking that I do not agree with the method you have decided