The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [179]
“We had better take the train tomorrow night,” I said.
Emerson grunted. He had not found the message he hoped for.
“What’s your hurry, Peabody? I thought you’d want to shop and do your usual social round.”
“Replenishment of certain supplies would be expedient,” I agreed. “But I can accomplish that tomorrow. What do you say, Nefret? Do you want to spend some time at the hospital?”
Nefret was watching Ramses, who had taken up the latest issue of the Egyptian Gazette. “I may run in for an hour or so, Mother, but I would just as soon go on to Luxor at once. Ramses?”
“I am ready whenever you are” was the reply.
“Is Ramses concealing something?” Emerson asked, when he and I were alone. “I expected he would be anxious to get back to work, but he sounded almost indifferent.”
“I am pleased to find you more sensitive to your son’s feelings, Emerson. In this case I can interpret them for you.”
“Pray do,” said Emerson coldly.
“He was only exhibiting his usual consideration for the opinions of others, particularly those of Nefret. In fact I believe he would like to put this whole business behind him. You know,” I continued, sorting garments that required washing, “that when he is in the thick of the action, he rather enjoys it. He doesn’t have time to think about what he is doing. Later, when there is leisure for introspection, his overly active conscience reproaches him for employing and even enjoying violence. He is—”
“I’m sorry I asked,” Emerson snarled. “I might have known you’d start talking psychology. When are you going to deliver the girl? I’m not sure I like that part of it. How do we know those bastards won’t bully or mistreat her?”
“That is another thing that is bothering Ramses,” I said. “And do not berate me for talking psychology—you are as sentimental about the girl as he is. As for me, I shall be glad to be rid of the responsibility. You may rest assured, however, that I will not leave her until I am certain she will be treated kindly. I will take her to Ismailiya first thing tomorrow morning.”
Emerson did not accompany us. He was afraid Esin would cry and plead. I thought she might too, so I did not attempt to change his mind. I could not dissuade Ramses from coming, however. He had that stubborn set to his mouth.
Esin was wearing one of Nefret’s frocks. She was somewhat stouter than Nefret, but this dress had a loose fit and an adjustable belt. It did not become her. I had not told her what was in store for her, in part because I do not believe in anticipating trouble and in part because I wasn’t certain myself. It all depended on what, and whom, we found at that address in Ismailiya.
It looked respectable, at any rate—a house set in its own gardens, built in the European style of the previous century. Esin let Ramses help her out of the cab and looked admiringly at the house.
“It is very modern. Are we paying a visit?”
“Yes,” I said.
The door was opened by a manservant, who led us into a nicely furnished sitting room. We were expected, it seemed; he had not asked our names, and we had only been waiting a few minutes before a lady entered the room—the lady Smith had introduced as his sister.
“Mrs. Bayes!” I exclaimed. “So you are—”
“Very pleased to see you again,” the lady cut in smoothly. “Mr. Emerson, a pleasure. And this is Miss Sahin? Welcome, my dear. Did Mrs. Emerson tell you you are to stay with me for a while?”
“Am I? Must I?” She gave Ramses an imploring look. “Am I a prisoner of war too?”
“Not in the least,” Mrs. Bayes said heartily. “You are an honored guest. Come along and I will show you your room. I think you will like it. I know you came away in a hurry, so perhaps later we can shop for some new clothes. There are many fine shops in the Muski.”
“I saw them,” Esin said slowly. She looked from Mrs. Bayes, who was holding out her hand and smiling sweetly, to me—I bared my teeth, not nearly so sweetly—and then to Ramses. “I am to go with her? Will I see you again?”
He had known it would be easier for her, and for me, if he was there to reassure