The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [80]
‘Then you should not stumble around in a dark room in your stocking feet.’ He had not answered my question, so I asked again. ‘Where are you going?’
‘For a healthy morning stroll.’ Emerson sat down and began pulling on his boots.
‘An excellent thought. I will join you.’
Nefret still slept, her cheek pillowed on her hand. I slid out of bed and went behind the screen to dress. I did so with even greater celerity than is my habit because I feared he would try to leave without me, but when I emerged I found him standing by the bed.
‘Will she be all right?’ he asked anxiously.
‘Oh, yes. The young have amazing powers of recuperation, and she was not hurt, only frightened.’
‘You are certain?’
‘Yes, my dear. The fellow barely touched her. I believe she was more distressed about Ramses than about herself. How is he?’
‘If there had been any cause for concern I would have told you at once,’ Emerson replied. ‘Selim is with him.’
‘Selim? But he was not here, he was . . .’
‘Not so loudly, Peabody. You will wake her.’
‘I am awake.’ The blue eyes, their colour now discernible in the strengthening light, popped open. ‘How is Ramses?’
‘As I was telling your aunt Amelia, sound asleep, with no sign of fever.’
‘You are going somewhere, aren’t you?’ She scrambled out of bed, displaying in her haste a long stretch of slender limbs. ‘I will sit with Ramses.’
The nightgown was my own; I had bundled up her torn garment and put it out of sight. Mine covered her, once she was on her feet, from shoulders to floor. Nevertheless, I felt it necessary to administer a little reminder. ‘Put on your clothes first.’
‘Such nonsense,’ Nefret muttered. ‘Oh, very well. Don’t worry about Ramses, I will take care of him.’
‘I am sure you will,’ I said, hoping that Ramses would refrain from mentioning his heroic rescue every five minutes, and that Nefret’s grateful affection would prevent quarrelling for a few hours at least.
‘Sir?’
Emerson, on his way out the door, turned. She looked him straight in the eye and said slowly, in her best Arabic, ‘Good fortune attend thy purpose, O Father of Curses.’
Emerson gave me no time for more than a glance at my son, who was indeed sleeping quietly. When we left the dahabeeyah, Anubis materialized out of somewhere, as cats do, and followed us down the gangplank.
‘Emerson,’ I said. ‘What did Nefret mean?’
‘You understand Arabic, don’t you?’
‘Yes, but . . . It sounded to me as if she were encouraging – approving, at least – some action that . . .’
‘I needed no encouragement, my dear,’ said Emerson mildly.
If I had not already known he was in no mood to trifle I would have deduced as much from the fact that the animals awaiting us were horses, not the little donkeys. Abdullah was waiting too, his face unusually forbidding. Emerson tossed me onto one of the horses and swung into his own saddle.
‘Don’t propose washing the cursed horses, Peabody, you will have time to fuss with them later. I have hired them for the remainder of the season and sent one of the men across to Luxor to buy saddles for us. These are, I confess, a trifle worn. Confound it, Abdullah, make haste or I will leave you behind. You, too,’ he added, glancing at the cat, who responded with an agile leap onto Emerson’s knee.
‘Emerson, did you sleep at all last night?’
‘I entertained myself instead by planning what I mean to do to Hamed.’
‘But you cannot be certain it was –’
He was off before I could finish the sentence and I had to urge my steed to the best pace the poor creature could attain in order to keep up with him. I dared not let him get ahead; in his present state of mind he was capable of thrashing the old man within an inch of his life – an action he would probably regret, once he had cooled off – and Abdullah was not the man to prevent him. Family honour as well as the affection Abdullah hid from all eyes but mine would demand retaliation for the suspicion cast upon his grandson.
The necessity of restraining two infuriated male persons would be a challenge even to me, but