The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [167]
“If there were, where would they be? Come,” I said in a kindly manner, “let’s just have a look. It won’t take long.”
The others declared they would stretch out on the divans, and Sir Edward and I went off on what he clearly believed was a hopeless quest. Eventually we found a cupboard that contained linens of various kinds. I selected a few. Sir Edward, always the gentleman, took the pile from me. I allowed him to do so, though he had a little difficulty getting hold of it.
“I was sorry to see that,” I said, with the lightest possible touch of his arm. “It was in France that it happened, I suppose.”
“Ypres.” He spoke curtly, avoiding my eyes. Pity he would not accept; acknowledgment of his sacrifice was owed him, and I felt obliged to make it.
“It must have been dreadful. I am so sorry.”
“What, womanly sympathy from you, Mrs. Emerson? A touch out of character, isn’t it?”
“It is sincere.”
“I know.” His rigid features relaxed. “I am sorry too, for speaking rudely. It’s not so bad, you know. It got me out of the army, which was all to the good. I had become somewhat disenchanted.”
“Can nothing be done about an artificial limb?”
“Oh, yes. I’ve got quite a good one. It broadens my repertoire of disguises to a remarkable extent. I’m thinking of attaching a bayonet, or perhaps a hook.”
I patted him on the shoulder. “Splendid,” I said heartily.
“Or a parasol,” said Sir Edward. His smile was that of the charming debonair gentleman I had known.
I was to remember that smile for a long time. When I woke from a brief but refreshing nap, he was gone—from the house and from the grounds and, I feared, back into the powder keg that was Gaza.
It took me a while to discover this. I had decided to sleep on one of the divans rather than go to the trouble of making up a bed which, if events continued to unfold, I might never occupy. When I went to look in at Esin, I almost fell over Selim, who was stretched out across her threshold. I left him there, since that was where he had chosen to be, and went back to the saloon. Ramses and Nefret lay side by side, his arm round her and her head on his shoulder. I stood for a moment watching them. One of Ramses’s eyes opened and regarded me quizzically.
“All’s well,” I reported, and tiptoed toward the divan where Emerson lay.
I did not mean to sleep for more than an hour, but even as I reclined the skies were darkening, and the gentle murmur of rain must have lulled me. It was the sound of heavy footsteps that woke me—the running steps of a person in haste. I sat up with a start and reached into my nearest pocket. It was the wrong pocket. I was fumbling in another, trying to locate my little pistol, when a man burst into the room and came to a stop. He was breathing heavily and water poured from his soaked garments.
Emerson was thrashing around and muttering, as he always does when he is suddenly aroused, but Ramses was on his feet, alert and ready. The newcomer, too breathless to speak, held out empty hands in the universal gesture of conciliation. I could not see him clearly, the room was rather dark. I knew him, though.
“Ah,” I said. “So here you are at last. It is all right, Ramses.”
“No—it—isn’t.” Sethos got it out one word at a time. “Where’s—Edward?”
“He isn’t here?” I asked.
“No.”
Emerson had finally got his wits together. “It’s you, is it?” he demanded, squinting through the gloom. “High bloody time.”
“Bloody too late,” said Sethos, beginning to control his breath. “Did Edward tell you where—”
“We were not even aware of his departure,” I replied. “Please compose yourself so that we can converse rationally.”
“And get out of those wet clothes,” Nefret said.
“What, here and now?”
Ramses had lighted several of the lamps. Sethos threw his shoulders back and tried to look as if he were in command of the situation, but he was a wretched figure, every garment saturated and even his beard dripping.
“A chill can bring on malaria,” Nefret said calmly. “Get them off at once. I’ll ask Mustafa to make tea.”
“And something to eat,” I called after her, as she hastened from