The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [130]
‘He will maintain this pace until we have finished, you know. Can you keep up?’
‘I will drop in my tracks before I admit defeat,’ was the laughing response. ‘I am concerned about Mr Walter Emerson, though. If there is anything I can do – with the utmost tact, of course – to relieve him . . .’
‘A considerable degree of tact would be required. But I thank you, and I will bear it in mind. Have you decided to accept Mr Vandergelt’s invitation to stay with him?’
My knees buckled as I stepped onto the ground. It was not fatigue; I had trod on a pebble. His hand was quick to steady me.
‘I would prefer to remain at the hotel, if you and the Professor do not object.’
‘I do not object,’ said Emerson. ‘If you need a hand, Amelia, take mine.’
Sir Edward hastened towards the water bucket and I said, ‘Emerson, you must stop creeping up on people like that. It is not only rude, it is unnerving.’
‘I wanted to hear what he was whispering so tenderly into your ear,’ said my husband.
‘He was not whispering, and it was not tender. It was interesting, though. I had expected he and Gertrude would want to remain together.’
‘You were mistaken, Peabody. It does happen occasionally.’
I had observed earlier that Walter did not look well, but I did not take it seriously until after Sir Edward’s concerned comment. Even I had been affected adversely by the strenuous effort and bad air and the sickening stench from the bottom of the steps. He looked better – so did we all! – after a bathe and change of clothing, but when we met for an early supper I took a closer look at my brother-in-law and was not pleased at what I saw. I refrained from comment, however, until Emerson informed us that he meant from now on to spend the nights at the tomb, and Walter insisted on sharing the duty with him.
‘You will not wish to be away from . . . away from the boat every night,’ he said, carefully not looking at me. ‘We will do it in turn, Radcliffe, as we used to do.’
‘I don’t see why either of you has to be there,’ I said. ‘Abdullah will not be tricked a second time and it is sheer arrogance and prejudice to suppose the presence of a single Englishman will prevent what five loyal Egyptians cannot.’
I had hoped this would be convincing and that I would not have to voice my belief that Walter was not up to the job, since that would only make him more determined to prove he was. Oblivious to my subtle intent, Emerson foiled my plan by announcing loudly that he was not talking about Englishmen in general but himself in particular, and that if anyone doubted his effectiveness he could produce affadavits from most of the residents of Egypt.
So I was forced in the end to tell Walter he was not fit, and Walter indignantly denied it, and I sent him straight to bed.
After Emerson had gone off, carrying the manuscript he meant to leave with Miss Marmaduke before going on to the tomb, I returned to the saloon. I was alone; Nefret and Ramses were in his room, with David – giving him a lesson in English or ancient Hebrew or astronomy, I supposed – and Evelyn had taken Walter a tray. I had thought to distract myself by working on my translation, but the words never penetrated my head and finally I gave up, watching the moon rise over the silhouetted cliffs and trying not to think about Emerson.
I had arranged with Ibrahim, one of Abdullah’s nephews, or cousins – it was difficult to keep track of them all – to stand watch some little distance from the camp and to report instantly to me if anything untowards occurred. (I had not mentioned it to Emerson; he would have made indignant remarks about nursemaids.) I felt a little easier after doing this, but not much. Our foes were cunning and unprincipled.
The door opened and Evelyn slipped in. ‘If you are working I will not disturb you,’ she said softly.
‘You are the person I want most to see,’ I said, realizing, with some surprise, that this was true. ‘Or at