The Hippopotamus Pool - Elizabeth Peters [98]
It was a surprisingly cynical statement from that source. I decided not to pursue it.
‘But what was it you wanted to tell me, Amelia?’ Evelyn asked. ‘Are we private enough now?’
I slowed my mount to a walk, allowing Selim, who had escorted us, to draw ahead. ‘Yes, and we may not have another such opportunity in the immediate future. This is between ourselves, Evelyn. I don’t want Emerson or Walter – and certainly not Ramses – to know what I am planning.’
By the time we reached the Amelia I had explained my intention and the reasons for it. Evelyn’s gentle countenance reflected a variety of emotions, but her only comment, as I had anticipated, was an assurance that she would do precisely as I asked.
We hastened, therefore, directly to the chamber Gertrude occupied. The door was not locked; there were bars on the insides of the doors but no way of securing them from the outside, and, under ordinary circumstances, no need to do so.
It was the first time since her illness that I had entered Gertrude’s room. It was certainly a good deal neater than it had been. She had packed her belongings except for toilet articles and a change of clothing; two cases stood at the foot of the bed.
‘What a nuisance!’ I exclaimed. ‘I suppose she has locked them; look through the dresser drawers for her keys, Evelyn. I don’t suppose she left them here, but I would rather not pick the locks unless I must.’
Evelyn complied, though with visible reluctance. The task violated all her principles – and, I hardly need say, my own. However, I never allow my principles to interfere with common sense.
‘Nothing,’ she reported, closing the drawer with her fingertips.
Expecting this, I had already extracted two hairpins from the knot at the nape of my neck. Ever since a certain memorable occasion when I had found myself with no more formidable weapon than those hairpins, I had made a point of selecting the longest and stiffest available. One had to take care when jabbing them into a chignon or braided coronet, since they did not bend at all, but the other advantages far outweighed that little difficulty.
Evelyn stood by, glancing from me to the door. ‘How long –’
‘I have no idea, my dear,’ I replied. ‘Curse it! This is proving more difficult than I had expected. I ought to have asked Ramses to give me a lesson.’
‘Perhaps,’ Evelyn said timidly, ‘you might allow me to try.’
I sat back on my heels and stared at her in surprise. Blushing, she continued, ‘Ramses always enjoys showing me his new skills. No, dear Amelia, I do not know how he acquired this one and I thought it wiser not to ask.’
I handed her the hairpins, and watched interestedly as she deftly opened the locks.
She left the task of searching the cases to me. I carefully inspected each garment in turn. Searching a case or drawer without leaving evidence of that activity takes a certain knack – and a good deal of time.
‘What are you looking for?’ Evelyn asked.
‘I have not the least idea. But I am sure I will recognize it when I see it.’
I emptied and repacked one case without finding anything out of the way except a remarkable and voluminous garment of thin crimson silk embroidered with ancient Egyptian symbols. My understanding of human psychology reminded me that people who are shy and modest in public often indulge in romantic fantasies when alone. The robe was not evidence of guilt, nor were the books on Eastern religion. I had already deduced from her conversation that she had a leaning towards esoteric philosophies.
‘Hurry,’ Evelyn begged.
‘I am making as much haste as I dare, Evelyn. Lock the first case again, will you please, while I examine the second?’
The second case contained a number of interesting items, including the source of the strange scent – sticks of incense and a bronze holder for them. Most informative of all was a slim volume wrapped reverently in a square of gold velvet.
‘Well!’ I exclaimed. ‘This explains a number