The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [109]
Another pitiful tale of man’s perfidy! I determined on the spot that she should not suffer for it. Seating myself next to her on the bench, I spoke quietly and firmly.
“No one else knows of this, Najia, and no one will ever learn the truth from us. Wipe your eyes . . .” I gave her my handkerchief. “And go home. We will tell the others you were taken ill.”
“But when my shame is known . . .” She faltered. “. . . no man will ever want me. My father will—”
“He will do nothing and no one will know unless you are fool enough to confess.” Distress had weakened her wits, which had never been very strong; I gave over trying to get her to see sense, and asserted the full force of a stronger will. “Say nothing to anyone. That is an order from me, the Sitt Hakim. We will take care of you—and find you a husband, if that is what you want. You know we can do what we promise.”
“Yes—yes, it is true.” She threw herself at Nefret’s feet. “How can you forgive me? You were so kind, and I betrayed you.”
“For pity’s sake, stop crying,” I said impatiently. My handkerchief was stained, not only with tears but with some brownish substance; the birthmark, wiped clean, stood out strong as ever. “Run along and remember that the word of the Sitt Hakim is stronger than another man’s oath.”
“That’s ‘the word of the Father of Curses,’ isn’t it?” Nefret remarked, as the girl scampered off, still swabbing at her face. “I don’t see how we can keep all of it secret, though. Someone is bound to suspect it was my clothing Jamil wore. They’d have been a tight fit, but not as tight as Jumana’s. Especially the boots. I hope they pinched horribly.”
“He probably cut the toes out or slit the heels,” I said absently. “Some people must be told some part of the truth, but it is the girl’s dishonor, as men call it, that we must hide. We may have to buy a husband for her,” I added in disgust. “That seems to be all she cares about.”
“She and a good many other women of all nationalities,” said Nefret. “Do you think she knows more than she told us?”
“Jamil is too wily to give away useful information. He even lied to his sister. What worries me,” I continued, as we strolled slowly back toward the kitchen, “is how many others he may have seduced from their duty—literally and figuratively. I fear, Nefret, that the wretched boy has caused a rift in his family that may never be mended.”
Emerson took a brighter view. I told him the whole sad story later, when we were alone, knowing his chivalrous heart would respond sympathetically to the girl’s plight. After cursing Jamil with admirable eloquence, he calmed down and said, “We’ve eliminated two of the boy’s allies. How many more can he have?”
“Some of the younger men, perhaps. There are a few who would see nothing wrong in a spot of tomb robbing. And he seems to have a way with women.”
“He selected a victim who would be particularly susceptible to flattery,” said Emerson with a curl of his lips. “Grrr! As for the men, yesterday’s events must end any influence he might have had with them. None of the Gurnawis would dare become involved with a murderous attack on us.”
“That is probably true,” I agreed.
“There’s another angle we haven’t considered fully,” Emerson went on. “He had made himself very comfortable. I cannot see our lad abandoning his cozy little den unless he had another hiding place prepared.”
“That is also true, and no help whatever,” I said.
“I thought you were the one who insists we must look on the bright side, Peabody. We are whittling away his assets, one by one, and his repeated failures to damage us will lead him, sooner or later, into a false move.”
“Such as trying to murder us again?”
Emerson let out a shout of laughter and threw his arm round me. “Precisely. It is time for tea. Let us go down. Are the children joining us?”
“If you mean