The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [158]
“Now, Mother,” Ramses protested. “She was bored and restless, and annoyed with her father for dragging her off to Gaza, and fascinated by Sethos. It wouldn’t have required more than that.”
“Hmm,” I said. “Admittedly her motives are less important than his. Why did he do it? Surely not to rescue a damsel in distress.”
“Not Sethos,” said Emerson—who might have been fool enough to do just that. “He means to use her against her father, somehow or other. It would be confounded embarrassing for Sahin Bey—oh, very well, Pasha—to admit he had lost his daughter to the enemy. What would he be willing to give to get her back?”
“We cannot be party to any such scheme,” I declared. “I will not force a young woman against her will, no matter what is offered in exchange.”
“Not even Sethos?” Ramses’s eyes were on the unlit cigarette he was rolling between his long fingers.
“Oh, good Gad,” I said.
11
The night passed without incident, but in some discomfort. I felt it incumbent upon myself to keep the girl with me. She had been removed suddenly from her home and was in the company of strangers; a motherly presence would comfort her—and prevent her from leaving us, in case she changed her mind. Emerson attempted to convince me to change my mind, declaring that my habit of foreseeing difficulties that never arose had become, as he put it, deuced inconvenient. Unable to prevail, he went off to one of the small sleeping chambers in a considerable state of aggravation.
Esin proved to be a noisy companion, breathing heavily through her nose and changing position every few minutes. However, there is a silver lining to every cloud; wakefulness gave me ample time for reflection. The situation had become even more confusing than before, and the possible permutations were manifold. If we did not make preparations to depart, Cartright might decide to place us under house arrest or remove us by force—for our own good, as he would explain. I did not trust him one inch, or believe in his protestations. Heaven only knew what Sethos would do next. I had never believed he was a traitor; I did not believe it now, though his real purpose was still a mystery. He had not exaggerated, however, when he spoke of a noose round his neck; a turncoat is automatically under suspicion, and Sahin, an old hand at the Game, was probably watching his every move. Ramses’s suggestion that Sethos had taken the girl as a possible bargaining counter, in case he was arrested, made a horribly convincing theory; in fact, it was the only reason I could think of why he might have taken that risk. Sahin Pasha was another unpredictable factor. What would he do when he discovered his daughter was missing?
By morning I had formulated my plans. I explained them to the others over breakfast.
“I am having serious doubts as to the advisability of our remaining here. Let us at least behave as if our departure were imminent.”
“Start packing, you mean?” Nefret asked, her brow furrowed.
“It would certainly do no harm if each of us made up a little bundle of basic necessities. What I meant, however, was that we should shop for items we would need on a journey and inspect the motorcar to make certain it is in good order.”
“It is in good order,” Selim declared, in some indignation.
“I am sure it is, Selim. But you could pretend it was not, couldn’t you—that some repairs were needed? That would give us a reasonable excuse to stay on for another day.”
“Yes, I could do that,” Selim agreed. His eyes shone in anticipation of an interesting vehicular challenge. “These people know nothing of motorcars. I could take off the—”
“No, no, you mustn’t take anything off! I want to be ready to leave at a moment’s notice, if we have to.”
“Not having one of your famous premonitions, are you?” Emerson inquired, his eyes narrowing. “Because if you are—”
“You don’t want me to tell you about it. I am only trying to anticipate every contingency, Emerson. That is not superstition, it is simply good sense. We must stay