The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [9]
‘We have been more fortunate than most families, dear sister,’ she said, with a set, rigid smile. ‘God has left us five healthy children. We must bow to His will.’
It would have been difficult to criticize this admirable demonstration of Christian fortitude, but as the summer went on I thought she was overdoing it. Tears and hysteria would have been preferable to that terrible smile. She would not wear mourning and became almost angry when I did so. And when, after anxious consultation with my husband and hers, I told her we had decided to remain in England that winter instead of going out to Egypt as we always did, she turned on me with the first bitter words I had ever heard from her. I should and must go. Did I have such a poor opinion of her that I believed she could not get on without my support? She did not need me. She did not need anyone.
Including her own husband. She and Walter now occupied separate sleeping chambers. Walter would not speak of it to me, he was too modest and too loyal to complain, but he was less reticent with Emerson – and Emerson is not reticent at all.
‘Confound it, Peabody, what the devil is she up to? She will kill Walter; he loves her devotedly and would never think of – er – going with another woman. Men have their needs –’
‘Oh, bah,’ I exclaimed. ‘Don’t talk such pernicious nonsense to me! Insofar as that is concerned, women have needs too, as you of all people ought to be well aware . . . Emerson, let go of me at once. I will not be distracted, not at this time.’
‘Curse it,’ said Emerson. ‘She is doing it to punish him. Like Lysistrata. Peabody, if you ever dared pull a trick like that on me –’
‘But my dear, it is not a trick on Evelyn’s part. I doubt she knows herself why she is acting as she is. I know, of course. She is angry – angry with heaven. She can’t get back at God, so she is punishing the rest of us, and herself most of all. She blames herself for the child’s death.’
‘Don’t spout your psychological mumbo-jumbo at me,’ Emerson shouted. ‘The notion is absurd. How could she blame herself? The physician said –’
‘The human spirit is not rational, Emerson,’ I said poetically. ‘I know whereof I speak; I myself have occasionally felt a pang of illogical guilt when Ramses got himself into some horrible scrape, even when it was entirely his own fault. Evelyn feels guilt and fear as well. She wants no more hostages to fate.’
‘Ah,’ said Emerson. He considered the idea. ‘But, Peabody, there are ways –’
‘Yes, my dear, I know. Leaving aside the efficacy of those methods, and the impossibility of raising them with Evelyn at this time . . . It’s all beside the point, Emerson; we don’t need practical solutions just now, we need a way of rousing her and I – I don’t know how to do it.’ I turned away. This time, when Emerson took me in his arms, I did not protest.
‘You’ll think of something, Peabody,’ he said gently. ‘You always do.’
But I had not, and four months had passed since that conversation. We had delayed our departure longer than usual, in the hope of seeing an improvement that did not, alas, occur, and because there were a number of new arrangements to be made this year. For the first time Ramses and Nefret were to accompany us and I was determined their education should not be interrupted. It proved to be much more difficult than I had anticipated to find a tutor of either sex. Most of the applicants I interviewed had declined the post after hearing that they would be expected to spend the winter in a tent or an Egyptian tomb. (A few hung on until after they had been interviewed by Ramses.)
So when, shortly after our arrival at Shepheard’s, I was approached by Miss Marmaduke, I could only regard it as an unexpected stroke of good fortune. Her credentials were excellent, her recommendations had come from the highest social circles, and her reason for seeking employment