The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [7]
‘I believe your hearing is not deficient, Ramses,’ I remarked.
Ramses’ countenance resumed its normal impassivity. ‘No, Mother, it is not, as I am sure you are aware. I will of course obey your command, for such I take it to be despite the manner in which it was couched, though I cannot but regard the use of the word “please” in this context as a meaningless –’
‘Ramses,’ I said loudly, for I knew perfectly well what he was up to; he was quite capable of continuing the sentence until it would be too late to lead the unfortunate Miss Marmaduke onto the floor.
‘Yes, Mother.’ Ramses turned on his heel.
Her good humour restored, Nefret laughed and gave my hand a conspiratorial squeeze. ‘It serves him right for being so impertinent, Aunt Amelia. Miss Marmaduke is a perfect old maid!’
I had to admit the accuracy of the description. Miss Marmaduke was, by her own admission, still under the age of thirty, but she looked years older. Being taller than the average, she had acquired a habitual stoop; her mousy-brown hair stuck out in wisps from the pins and combs that attempted to confine it. However, the comment was rude and unkind, and I felt bound to point this out.
‘The comment was rude and unkind, Nefret. She cannot help being plain, poor thing. We were fortunate to find her, since you and Ramses must not neglect your education this winter, and we were unable to hire a suitable tutor before we left England.’
Nefret made a face. I went on, ‘I would not have said so in Ramses’ presence, since he is already too inclined to think himself omniscient, but in this case I am forced to agree with him. Sir Edward has an unsavoury reputation with regard to women – especially very young women. You are only fifteen and peculiarly vulnerable to such attentions.’
‘I beg your pardon, Aunt Amelia.’ She was out of temper with me now; her eyes snapped. ‘I believe I know more about the matters to which you refer than an English girl of fifteen.’
‘You are an English girl of fifteen,’ I replied. ‘And yet, in some ways, you are barely two years of age.’ I paused, considering this striking analysis. ‘How interesting! I had never thought of your situation in quite those terms, but they are correct. The customs of the strange society in which you spent the first thirteen years of your life were so unlike those of the modern world that you have had to begin all over again – and forget a good deal of what you had learned, especially about – er – certain dealings with persons of the opposite gender. I am only trying to protect you, child.’
Her lovely face softened and again she took my hand. ‘I know that, Aunt Amelia. I am sorry if I was rude. I was angry with Ramses, not with you; he treats me as if I were a child and he a stern guardian. I will not be bullied by a little boy!’
‘He is younger than you, to be sure,’ I said. ‘But he has only your best interests at heart. And you can no longer look down at him, can you?’
I was unable to repress a smile as I watched Ramses doggedly guiding Miss Marmaduke through the mazes of the dance. She was trying to minimize her height by drooping and bowing her head, so that her high pompadour kept brushing his face. The contortions of that face, as Ramses heroically controlled his need to sneeze, made me feel more kindly towards my son. He would not have behaved like a gentleman if I had not made him, but now that he had taken the bit between his teeth, he was performing gamely against considerable odds. Miss Marmaduke had no more sense of rhythm than a camel, and her long-sleeved, high-necked black gown was inappropriate for a ball.
My ball gowns are usually crimson, since that is Emerson’s favourite colour. The one I wore that evening was of quite a different shade. Nefret saw my expression alter; quietly she said,