The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [120]
‘What’s your hurry?’ Cyrus gestured at a passing waiter. ‘The ladies are just as entitled to a holiday as the workers. If you won’t take a day off, I would be delighted to act as escort. Temples, tombs or shops, ladies – whatever your pleasure, Cyrus Vandergelt, U.S.A., is your man. What about the Valley of the Kings, eh? I believe I may claim that is my particular bailiwick, and Miss Nefret tells me she has not seen it.’
We had not been debating the matter long when the others returned. They were all three together. O’Connell was showering Gertrude with smiles and Irish compliments. Had she managed to work him in too? I decided I had better have a little chat with Gertrude.
In all fairness to myself, I must make it clear that my concern was dictated by simple duty. Emersonisal ways complaining about my weakness for young lovers, as he terms it, and I would be the last to deny that I take an interest in promoting alliances of a romantic nature. (Marital alliances, that is.) In this case there could be no question of marriage, but there might be a question of conspiracy. I owed it to my family to learn whether Sir Edward and Gertrude were in cahoots, as Cyrus might say, or whether the gentleman was only amusing himself. And in the latter instance my sense of moral responsibility demanded that I speak a word of kindly warning to a woman who had obviously not my experience with the masculine sex.
I explained this to Emerson later, after we had returned to the Amelia. I am sorry to say that he responded with remarks of the most frivolous nature, and proposed another theory which I prefer not to quote literally. To employ terms less vulgar than the ones he had used: Gertrude was not so inexperienced as she appeared. Sir Edward (ready as men always are to believe themselves irresistible) had been seduced by a cunning adventuress. Emerson added – let me think how to put it – that men may be violently attracted by attributes that are not immediately apparent.
It was difficult to deny the truth of this. I managed to counter it rather neatly, I believe. ‘I am in complete agreement, Emerson. In fact, it was I, if you recall, who first pointed out that Gertrude is not what she seems. She may be more than a simple adventuress. She may be a spy and a criminal! In fact – yes, the snatches of conversation I overheard strongly suggest that she is trying to enlist him in the conspiracy!’
‘They strongly suggest to me the sort of idiotic verbal games males and females play when they are establishing a – er – romantic relationship.’
‘Possibly,’ I said magnanimously. ‘But it is our duty to ascertain the truth and warn poor Sir Edward if he has been taken in.’
‘He wouldn’t thank you for it,’ muttered Emerson. ‘Oh, dam-nation. I don’t know why I waste time arguing with you, Peabody, you will go your own way whatever I say. Ply Miss Marmaduke with tea and sympathy and pry into her innermost feelings. I would attempt to prevent you if I thought there were the slightest possibility that she is anything but a sentimental, rather stupid woman who would faint dead away if she ever encountered a criminal or a spy.’
He was mistaken, of course. He had not heard the woman’s voice – confident, amused, murmurously seductive – the voice of an experienced woman of the world.
We had settled on the Valley of the Kings for our excursion next day. Emerson had agreed to join us, though he complained about cursed tourists and missing a day of work.
‘At least Ramadan is almost over,’ I said consolingly. ‘One cannot expect the men to work at their best when they fast all day.’
‘And gorge themselves all night,’ Emerson grumbled. ‘Then we must endure three days of overindulgence and distraction, while they celebrate the end of Ramadan. Religion is a confounded nuisance!’
Of course he insisted on stopping by the tomb first. The rest of us rode directly to the Castle, where