The Mummy Case - Elizabeth Peters [81]
Then I realized that in his own peculiar way Ezekiel had exhibited a variety of self-control comparable to that of my husband. Emerson’s final insult cracked the missionary’s calm facade. A thunderous scowl darkened his brow. But before he could express in words the outrage that filled him, another sound was heard—the sound of a low, menacing growl. I thought Ramses might have let the lion cub out, and looked around. But the source of the growl was Bastet, who had appeared out of nowhere in that unnerving way of hers. Crouched on the table near Emerson, she lashed her tail and rumbled low in her throat, sensing the anger that filled the room and prepared to defend her master.
Charity let out a thin cry. “Take it away—oh, please, take it away.”
“You must conquer this weakness, Charity,” said Brother David, shaking his head. “There is nothing more harmless than an amiable domestic cat….” He put out a hand to Bastet. She spat at him. He stepped hastily back. “An amiable domestic cat,” he repeated, less confidently.
Charity retreated, step by stumbling step, her wide eyes fixed on the cat’s sharp white snarl. “You know I would do anything to please you, brother. I have tried. But I cannot—I cannot—”
Observing her pallor and the perspiration that bedewed her brow, I realized her terror was as genuine as it was unusual. No wonder the mere mention of the lion had caused her to lose consciousness!
I glanced at Ramses, who was sitting quietly in a corner. I had fully expected a comment—or, more likely, a long-winded speech—from him before this. No doubt he knew I would order him out of the room if he ventured to speak. “Take the cat away, Ramses,” I said.
“But, Mama—”
“Never mind, we’re leaving,” snapped Ezekiel. The look he gave Bastet showed that he found Charity’s fear as hard to comprehend as Brother David’s affection for such creatures. Then he turned to Emerson. “Don’t concern yourself about my sister, Professor, she’s been taught right; she knows a woman’s place. I remind you, sir, of First Corinthians, fourteen, Verses thirty-four and thirty-five: ‘Let your women keep silence…for it is not permitted unto them to speak…. And if they will learn any thing, let them ask their husbands at home.’ You’d best apply that in your own household, Professor, before you start interfering with them that knows better.”
When he and his entourage had gone, Emerson burst into a great roar of laughter. “Henpeckery!” he shouted cheerfully. “The old charge of henpeckery. Will I never live it down?”
I stood on tiptoe and threw my arms about his neck. “Emerson,” I said, “have I had occasion in the recent past to mention that my feelings for you are of the warmest nature?”
My husband returned my embrace. “You mentioned it in passing a few hours ago, but if you would care to enlarge upon the subject…”
But after an all-too-brief interval he gently put me aside. “All the same, Peabody,” he said seriously, “we cannot let those fools rush headlong to destruction without trying to stop them.”
“Are matters that serious, do you think?”
“I fear so.” He added, with a refreshing touch of malice, “You have been too busy playing detective to notice what has been going on. Already there is a visible division among our workers; the converts are shunned by their fellows, and Abdullah has reported several cases of fisticuffs. I really believe that wretched preacher wants to achieve martyrdom.”
“Surely there is no danger of that, Emerson. Not in this day and age.”
“Let us hope not. What the devil, we have wasted too much time on the creature. The men will be on the dig. I must go.”
With a hasty embrace he departed, and I sat down to have another cup of tea. Scarcely had I taken a seat, however, before a cry of outraged fury reached my ears. I recognized the beloved voice and hastened to rush to his side, fearing I know not what—some fresh outrage from Brother Ezekiel, perhaps.
The pastor had gone, and Emerson was nowhere in sight. The volume of his complaints led me to him, on the far side of the house. I do