The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [9]
He broke off when I entered, and I studied him thoughtfully. He was extremely clean. Had I not known the reason I would have commended him, for the condition is not natural to him. I had determined not to mar the congeniality of the gathering by any reference to earlier unpleasantness, but something in my expression must have made Emerson aware of what I was thinking. He came quickly to me, gave me a hearty kiss, and shoved a glass into my hand.
“How lovely you look, my dearest Peabody. A new gown, eh? It becomes you.”
I allowed him to lead me to a chair. “Thank you, my dear Emerson. I have had this dress for a year and you have seen it at least a dozen times, but the compliment is appreciated nonetheless.”
Emerson too was extremely clean. His dark hair lay in soft waves, as it did when it had just been washed. I deduced that a quantity of water, and perhaps plaster, had fallen on his head. If he was prepared to overlook the incident, I could do no less, so I turned to my brother-in-law, who stood leaning against the mantel watching us with an affectionate smile.
“I saw your friend and rival Frank Griffiths today, Walter. He sends his regards and asked me to tell you he is making excellent progress with the Oxyrynchos papyrus.”
Walter looks like the scholar he is. The lines in his thin cheeks deepened and he adjusted his eyeglasses. “Now, Amelia dear, don’t try to stir up a competition between me and Frank. He is a splendid linguist and a good friend. I don’t envy him his papyrus; Radcliffe has promised me Meroitic inscriptions by the cartload. I can hardly wait.”
Walter is one of the few people who is allowed to refer to Emerson by his given name, which he detests. He flinched visibly, but said only, “So you stopped by the British Museum, Peabody?”
“Yes.” I took a sip of my whiskey. “No doubt it will come as a great surprise to you, Emerson, to learn that Budge also proposes to travel to the Sudan this autumn. In fact, he has already left.”
“Er, hmmm,” said Emerson. “No! Indeed!”
Emerson considers most Egyptologists incompetent bunglers—which they are, by his austere standards—but Wallis Budge, the Keeper of Egyptian and Assyrian Antiquities at the British Museum, was his particular bête noire.
“Indeed!” Walter repeated. His eyes twinkled. “Well, that should make your winter’s activities even more interesting, Amelia. Keeping those two from one another’s throats—”
“Bah,” said Emerson. “Walter, I resent the implication. How you could suppose me so forgetful of the dignity of my profession and my own self-esteem.… I don’t intend to come within throat-grasping reach of the rascal. And he had better stay away from me, or I will throttle him.”
Always the peacemaker, Evelyn attempted to change the subject. “Did you hear anything more about Professor Petrie’s engagement, Amelia? Is it true that he is soon to be married?”
“I believe so, Evelyn. Everyone is talking about it.”
“Gossiping, you mean,” said Emerson, with a snort. “To see Petrie, who was always wedded to his profession and had no time for the softer emotions, fall head over heels for a chit of a girl… They say she is a good twenty years younger than he.”
“Now who is engaging in ill-natured gossip?” I demanded. “By all accounts she is an excellent young woman and he is utterly besotted with her. We must think of a suitable wedding present, Emerson. A handsome silver epergne, perhaps.”
“What the devil would Petrie do with an epergne?” Emerson asked. “The man lives like a savage. He would probably soak potsherds in it.”
We were discussing the matter when the door opened. I glanced up, expecting to see that Rose had come to take the children away, for it was approaching the dinner hour. But it was Gargery, not Rose, and the butler’s face wore the frown that betokened an unwelcome announcement.
“There is a gentleman to see you, Professor. I informed him that you did not see callers at this time of day but he—”
“He must have urgent reasons for disturbing us,” I interrupted, seeing my husband