The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [175]
“I saw Ramses go, which was what I intended. I don’t want him to hear this.”
“What, for heaven’s sake? You alarm me, Emerson.”
“There is no cause for alarm, Peabody—not for us, at any rate. It is that poor child, for whom I feel the same loving concern that Ramses, to his infinite credit, has displayed.”
“Not quite the same sort of concern,” I murmured.
“I beg your pardon, Peabody?”
“Never mind. Go on, my dear.”
“I don’t think you quite grasp all the implications, Peabody. Remember Willoughby Forth’s innocent raptures about his pure young bride, and a certain phrase in his letter to his father. Consider again what you said to that poor woman just before she flew into a rage. Recall the date of Nefret’s birth— Forth’s rejection of his former life—the infanticidal madness of his wife—the reputation of that old rip his father…”
“Oh, no, Emerson,” I gasped. “Surely not!”
“We may never know for certain,” Emerson said, “and I, for one, would prefer not to know. But I will not hand that shining child over to her old villain of a … whatever he may be. He is no fit guardian for an innocent young girl. If what we suspect is true he might even be cad enough to tell her; and I would never sleep soundly again if I had been a party to such a dreadful thing. It would shatter the child. She has had anguish enough. What she needs … But I needn’t tell you, Peabody, you know.”
I had to clear my throat before I could speak. “No, Emerson, I don’t believe I do. That is—what do you think it is she needs?”
“Why, a normal, ordinary, loving home, of course. The tender care of a mother, the protection of a strong yet gentle father, playmates of her own age and intellectual capacity… Ah, but I can safely leave all that to you, my dear. I have every confidence in your ability to make the proper arrangements.”
He did not seem to expect a reply, which was just as well. I do not believe I was capable of articulation.
When Tarek came for us, we were ready and waiting. The servants had brought a fresh shirt for Emerson, and robes, like those of the Beduin, for us all. There was nothing more we could do to prepare, but I must say that Ramses was as clean as I have ever seen him.
Tarek was dressed like a soldier, with sword and dagger, bow and quiver. His only insignia of rank was a narrow fillet of gold, with the twin uraeus serpents on his brow. He sank wearily into a chair. “The moon has not yet risen. There is a little time before you must go; let us talk together, for my heart tells me we shall not meet again.”
“Bah,” said Emerson. “Don’t be such a pessimist. We will honor our promise to keep the Holy Mountain a secret, but life is long and full of surprises.”
Tarek smiled. “The Father of Curses speaks wisely.” He placed an affectionate hand on the shaven pate of Ramses, who had sat down on the floor beside his chair. “The stonecutters have already started to work on the great pylon which will honor you and your noble parents, my young friend.”
“Thank you,” said Ramses. “What about my notebooks?”
“Ramses!” I exclaimed. “Is that any way to talk to His Majesty?”
“The servants have brought them,” said Tarek, laughing. “And also the things you left in your rooms.” He reached into the pouch at his belt and took out a book, which he handed me. “I return this in person, Lady, since it was I who stole it from you.”
I glanced at the title, smiled, and handed it back. “It is yours, Tarek. I can easily get another copy. Mr. Haggard’s books are very popular in England.”
Tarek’s face lit up; for the first time he looked as young as he really was. “It is mine to keep? A great gift, a noble gift. It will be one of the treasures of my house.”
“Oh, good Gad,” growled Emerson. “Amelia, if you have finished corrupting the literary tastes of a royal house, I would like to ask a few sensible questions.”
“Ask,” said Tarek, tucking the copy of King Solomon’s Mines carefully into his pouch.
“We know now why you were so anxious to bring us here, and some of the tricks you used,” Emerson began. “But