The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [110]
She sank down upon the stone from which she had risen in her alarm. “You may go home now girls,” I said. “Class is over.”
One of the youngsters began the old cry of baksheesh, but cut it off after glancing at Charity. I took a seat beside the girl. “I apologize for startling you,” I said.
Emerson made an impatient gesture. “We are wasting time. Peabody. Heaven knows how soon we will be interrupted. What are you afraid of, child?”
He knelt beside her. I expected she would flinch away, but something in the stern face so near her own seemed to give her courage. She even smiled faintly. “I was absorbed in that wonderful story, Professor. I was not expecting anyone—”
“Bah!” Emerson exclaimed. “Doesn’t your creed tell you that lying is a sin, Miss Charity?”
“It was the truth, sir.”
“A half-truth at best. This village is no longer safe, child. Can’t you persuade your brother to go elsewhere?”
The girl lifted her head. “You see what we are doing here, sir. Can we admit defeat—can we abandon these helpless infidels?”
I caught the eye of one of the infidels, who was peeking at us from behind a tree trunk. She gave me a wide impudent grin. I shook my head, smiling.
Emerson shook his head, frowning. “You are in danger, and I believe you know it. Is there no way…What is it, Peabody?”
“Someone is watching from the window of the house,” I reported. “I saw the curtain move. Yes, curse it—the door is opening; he is coming.”
“Curse it,” Emerson repeated. “Don’t get up, Miss Charity; listen to me. There may come a time when you need our help. Send to us, at any hour of the day or night.”
Charity did not reply. Brother Ezekiel was almost upon us.
“Well, if it isn’t the professor and his worthy helpmeet,” he said. “What are you setting there for, Charity? Why don’t you invite them to come in?”
Charity rose like a puppet pulled by strings. “I am neglectful,” she said. “Forgive me, brother.”
“Not at all,” said Emerson, though the apology had not been intended for him. “We were just—er—passing by.”
“You will come into my house,” Brother Ezekiel said solemnly. “We will break bread together. Charity, summon Brother David.”
“Yes, brother.” She glided off, hands clasped, head bowed, and we followed her brother into the house.
I had always thought the expression “painfully clean” a figure of speech. The small parlor into which we were ushered made me wince, it was so bare, so blazingly whitewashed, so agonizingly spare of comfort. A few straight chairs, a table upon which were several candles and a Greek New Testament; no rug on the floor nor cloth on the table nor picture on the wall, not even one of the hideous religious chromos I had seen in homes of other religious persons. The Brethren of the Holy Jerusalem appeared to take the Bible literally, including the injunction against graven images. The only attractive piece of furniture in the room was a bookcase; I was drawn to it as a person coming in from the cold is drawn to a fire. Most of the books were ponderous theological tomes in several languages, or collections of sermons.
We were soon joined by Brother David. I had not seen him for some time, and the change in him made me stare. His black suit hung loosely on his frame; the glowing marble of his skin had a sickly cast, and his eyes were sunk in their sockets. My inquiries after his health were sincere. He smiled unconvincingly. “Indeed, I am quite well, Mrs. Emerson. Only a little tired. I am not accustomed to the—to the heat.”
I exchanged an expressive look with Emerson. We were now well into the winter season, and the climate was superb—cool enough after sunset to make a wrap necessary and pleasantly warm during the day.
Brother Ezekiel appeared to be in an unusually affable mood. Rubbing his hands, he declared, “Charity is getting the food ready. You’ll have a bite with us.”
“We cannot stay,” I said. “We found the entrance to the pyramid this morning and our men are at work shoring up parts