The Golden One - Elizabeth Peters [198]
“Well, perhaps she didn’t,” I conceded. “I assumed . . . So I neglected to give her my little lecture. You remember the one, Nefret?”
“Very well,” said Nefret, her tight lips relaxing. “I gave her the same lecture less than an hour ago. Evidently it didn’t make an impression.”
She went to Jumana and lifted her out of her chair by her shoulders. “Have I your full attention now, Jumana? Bertie behaved tonight as any decent man would, coming to the assistance of an inexperienced young girl who is about to be . . .” She glanced at me, and went on, “. . . taken advantage of by an unscrupulous scoundrel. He’d have done it for any girl, Jumana, so don’t preen yourself! The only mistake he made was in playing by the rules and expecting Sebastian to do the same. Now go to your room and think about what I’ve said, unless you want to apologize to Bertie and thank him.”
Red-faced and stuttering, Bertie exclaimed, “Oh, I say, she doesn’t owe me an apology. It was—well, it was—what one does, you know. Only I didn’t do it awfully well. I mean—”
Jumana burst into tears and ran out of the room. Bertie smiled apologetically. “I seem to have mucked it up, as usual. Shouldn’t have lost my temper.”
“You weren’t the only one,” Ramses said. He had also divested himself of his extraneous garments and was sitting on the floor by Nefret’s chair. “I made an even greater fool of myself, crashing through the shrubbery after him. I’ll probably get a bill from the hotel tomorrow for damaged plants.”
“One good thing has come of it,” I declared. “We now understand the reason for the Albions’ politeness to Jumana. That disgusting young man still had—er—designs on her. Your warning to him, Ramses, only spurred him on. Some men, I believe, would consider an innocent girl a challenge.”
“And safer than the brothels,” Ramses murmured.
“Please, Ramses.”
“I beg your pardon, Mother. I wouldn’t deny that one of Sebastian’s motives was seduction, but isn’t it somewhat strange that his father and mother would conspire with him? Especially his mother.”
“Bah,” Emerson declared. “She thinks the Albions, father and son, are entitled to use any means possible to get anything they want. They want Jamil’s tomb. They believe Jumana can help them find it. It isn’t difficult to understand why they are so keen. Jamil gave them enough to whet their appetites.”
He smiled provocatively at me.
“So that is where you were tonight,” I said. “I suspected as much.”
“No, Peabody, you didn’t suspect a cursed thing, or you would have insisted on going with me, and you’d have been caught in the act, as I almost was.”
“Tell us all about it,” said Nefret, her dimples showing.
“I have every intention of doing so, if the rest of you have finished chattering. It wasn’t my fault that I was almost caught,” Emerson went on. “One of the cursed sufragis turned up while I was trying my skeleton keys in the lock. He recognized me, of course, so I sent him on his way with a fistful of money and a few small curses. Once inside, I assumed my disguise.”
He paused—ostensibly to sip his whiskey. I didn’t ask why he had bothered with a disguise. A disguise is its own excuse as far as Emerson is concerned.
“You may well ask,” Emerson continued, smirking at me, “why I bothered with a disguise. It was a necessary precaution. If I had been found inside the room, by one of the Albions or a servant, the individual would only have caught a glimpse of a bearded Egyptian before I made my getaway, through the window or out the door. In fact, I was not disturbed. I had ample time to search all the rooms, which were interconnected. The loot, if I may so express it, was in Albion’s room. He and his wife occupy separate bedchambers.”
“That is an extraneous fact, Emerson,” I said. “And none of our business.”
“One never knows what may be relevant, Peabody. It is possible, though not probable, that she is unaware of Albion’s dealings with Jamil. He had a boxful of artifacts, including some fragments of the painting of Khonsu. Jamil must have sold him those and hinted that they were