The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [159]
“How far do you want to go?” Selim asked. “If it is more than five miles, we will need more petrol.”
“What else will we need?”
I made a little list. Our guest, who had not spoken except to bid us good morning, said, “Am I to go with you?”
I leaned back and gave her my full attention. A bath and a change of clothing, into one of “the favorite’s” silk robes, had improved her appearance considerably, and I had braided her hair myself. One could not have called her pretty, her features were too strong, but she was a handsome girl, in her way. Selim kept sneaking sidelong glances at her.
“We aren’t going anywhere just yet,” I replied. “As for taking you back to Cairo with us, that depends on a number of factors that are as yet unknown.”
“We can’t do anything else,” said Emerson. “She has placed herself in our hands and we owe her our protection.”
Esin’s admiring gaze indicated her appreciation of this noble sentiment, which was, I should add, entirely sincere. It wasn’t that simple, of course; men fix on words like honor and decency and noblesse oblige, and lose sight of the important issues. My chivalrous husband would never consent to an exchange, even if the life at stake was that of his own brother. I had not decided what I would do if the situation arose. We would not be selling the girl into slavery, only returning her to a father who had always treated her indulgently . . .
Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof, I reminded myself. We must hope that the hard decision did not arise. The likelihood of Sahin’s agreeing to an exchange of any kind was slight, I thought. Pride and duty—two more of those masculine catchwords—would forbid it, and he would not fear for her safety if we were looking after her.
“Speaking of that—I refer to my husband’s statement that you placed yourself in our hands,” I said. “Did you? Were you aware that you were being brought to us?”
“Oh, yes.” She transferred her admiring gaze to Ramses. “Did you not say you were in my debt—that you would protect me from my father’s wrath?”
“Did you?” Nefret inquired sweetly.
Ramses’s beleaguered gaze moved from the girl to Nefret and back. “I—uh—to be honest, I don’t remember what the hell I said!”
“If you did not say it, you meant it,” Esin declared. “No Englishman would leave a woman to suffer for a service she had done him.”
“But you said your father didn’t suspect you,” Ramses protested.
“He was beginning to. That is what Ismail Pasha told me.”
“Ah,” I said. “So he offered to help you.”
Her forehead wrinkled. “I think that is how it was. But I did most of it myself. I had to find my own way out of the house. That was not so hard, I know all the secret passages and cellars, but then I had to go to the place he told me about, the tomb of a saint that is outside the wall of the Serai. It is not far, but I was very frightened, and I had to wait a long time before the rug merchant came with his cart, and then he was stopped at the guard post and I could hear them talking and laughing and I was afraid they would search the cart. But they did not. It was a long bumpy ride and I could not breathe very well, and—”
“You were very courageous,” I interrupted, for I had heard enough. The essentials of the story had been told. It sounded as if Ramses had been correct about Sethos’s devious methods.
The various schemes I had proposed kept us busy all day. Selim spent a good deal of the time underneath the motorcar, surrounded by a fascinated audience, including the babies and the goats. From time to time he emerged, sweating and oil-stained, to report progress and bask in the admiration of the beholders. We could have got the petrol from an independent businessman—there was a thriving black market on all military items—but Emerson decided that we might just as well ask the authorities for it. It required only four hours for his request to be approved. Clearly, they were anxious to be rid of