The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [197]
“Oh, dear. I’m sorry, I rather lost track of her, what with . . . one thing and another. Perhaps she stepped out into the garden for a breath of fresh air.”
“The Professor just came in from the garden. He said he hadn’t seen her. But he wouldn’t have, would he, if they were off in a dark corner somewhere.”
“There is no reason to suppose they are together, Bertie,” Nefret said. “But we’ll have a look round.”
The gardens were one of the showplaces of Luxor, planted with exotic trees and shrubs. They, too, had been decorated for the occasion; colorful lanterns hung from the branches, and benches and chairs were scattered about. A number of the guests were enjoying the cool air and the scent of night blossoms. Winding paths led in and out of the shrubbery.
“You go that way,” Bertie said. “I’ll go the other.”
Nefret would have been the first to admit she had been remiss, but she couldn’t believe there was any real danger to Jumana. Not here, in the public gardens, with so many people about. If the girl had let Sebastian bring her here, she was guilty of nothing worse than indiscretion. Nefret had a sinking feeling she wasn’t going to convince Bertie of that. His jaw was set.
“I’m coming with you,” she said. “Wait for me.”
He had already plunged into the nearest path. She picked up her skirts and ran after him.
They had almost reached the end of the path, where it curved back toward the hotel, before Nefret heard a man’s voice, low and intimate, the words indistinguishable; and Jumana’s reply, high-pitched and quavering. “No, I am not afraid, but I want to go back now.”
Sebastian laughed softly. “Not yet.”
Nefret filled her lungs and shouted, “Jumana!”
Jumana came flying out of the shadows. Bertie went flying into them. He dragged Sebastian out into the light and raised his fist.
“Stop them,” Nefret exclaimed. “They’re going to fight!”
“It looks that way,” said Ramses, behind her. “Go ahead, Bertie, give him a good one.”
Bertie let go of Sebastian’s lapel and stepped back. “He’s wearing eyeglasses. I can’t hit a chap who—”
Sebastian’s fist connected neatly and scientifically with Bertie’s jaw, knocking him over backward.
13
“Really,” I said in exasperation, “I cannot decide which of this evening’s outlandish activities to discuss first.”
“I can,” said Emerson. “Good Gad, Bertie, don’t you know better than to fight like a gentleman?”
We had left the party somewhat precipitately. I had known the moment I set eyes on him that Emerson had been up to something, but before I could interrogate him Nefret had run in to tell me Jumana was in hysterics and Bertie was nursing a lump on his jaw and a bump on his head and that Ramses was chasing Sebastian Albion through the gardens and that—in short, we had better go at once. We collected the others, including Ramses, who had cooled off enough to be tractable, and took them away. Since our house was nearer than the Castle, we had all gone there. Having removed coat, waistcoat, and tie, with a glass of whiskey and soda in his hand, Emerson felt in a proper frame of mind to lecture.
“Bear in mind, my boy,” he went on, “that there is no purpose in fighting unless you mean to win. Never mind all that nonsense about fair play.”
“I’ll remember that next time, sir,” Bertie said.
“I sincerely hope there will not be a next time,” Katherine exclaimed. “Nefret, are you certain he doesn’t have a concussion, or a fractured skull, or—”
“He did not fall very hard,” said Jumana.
We all turned to look at her. She had wept on Nefret’s shoulder—Ramses having refused to offer his—all the way back, but whether from distress or pure excitement I would have hesitated to say.
“I am sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean . . . But why is everyone angry with me? Why did Bertie want to fight with Sebastian? He was very polite, he only—”
“Kept you there after you had said you wanted to go,” Nefret cut in. “Would he have continued to be polite, do you think, if we hadn’t arrived when we did?”
Jumana’s lips trembled.
“It wasn’t her fault,” Bertie muttered.