The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [7]
“It is my Egyptian sobriquet, meaning Lady Doctor,” I said. “Dating from my early days in this country, when I endeavored in my humble fashion to alleviate the sufferings of the local people. You, however, are not entitled to use that name, since—”
“Peabody!” Emerson said in a loud voice.
“Nor that one,” I said. “Only my husband employs my maiden name as a title of affection and—”
“Amelia,” said Emerson even more loudly.
I know Emerson is out of temper with me when he employs my given name. I nodded, in acknowledgment of his implicit complaint, and said to the young woman, “You will address me as Mrs. Emerson, and apologize for your rude intrusion. You and your brother have probably spoiled our dinner. Fatima, will you tell Cook we will be a few minutes longer?”
“He will cry,” said Fatima darkly.
Our former cook had burned the food when we were late. This one wept.
“Tell him we will be as quick as we can. Young woman, I will give you ten minutes to explain, apologize, and remove your—er—impetuous brother. You might start by introducing yourself.”
“Harriet Petherick. This is my brother, Adrian.” Her eyes went back to Ramses. “I beg you will let go of him. He is quite calm now. Aren’t you, Adrian?”
“Yes, of course.” He gave a brief, embarrassed laugh. “I can’t think what came over me. Come along, Harriet, we mustn’t keep these people from their dinner any longer.”
“Not just yet,” said Emerson, removing his pipe from his mouth. “Ramses, let the fellow go. And pick up that damned gun. Excuse me for not rising, Miss Petherick; I do not consider that your behavior warrants your being treated like a lady. Sit down, both of you, and explain yourselves. I take it that you are the children of Pringle Petherick, whose widow called on us this afternoon.”
Miss Petherick nodded. She led her brother to a settee and sat down next to him, holding his hand in hers. Ramses scooped up the pistol and examined it.
“German,” he said.
“A war souvenir,” said Adrian Petherick, smiling.
Bertie let out a soft exclamation and came forward, staring at Petherick. If he had intended to speak, he was not given the chance; Miss Petherick at once launched into the explanation I had requested.
“Mrs. Petherick is our stepmother. We accompanied her to Egypt, at her request, on what she described as a sentimental pilgrimage in memory of her dear departed husband. We had no idea that she had the statue with her, or what she intended to do with it, until she returned to the hotel this evening and informed us she had given you one of the most valuable objects in Father’s collection. We are both fond of Mrs. Petherick, and Adrian is quite protective of her. He believed you had taken advantage of a grieving woman who is not, perhaps, as intelligent as she might be. His indignation explains his action, I believe.”
“No, it does not,” said Emerson. “Your high-handed manner may intimidate some persons, Miss Petherick, but I am not one of them. Does your brother often have attacks of dementia?”
She reacted as if he had struck her, with a loud gasp and a hand raised in protest. Emerson’s steady blue gaze did not alter. After a moment she said, “It is not what you think. He has never injured anyone. He would not have injured you.”
“Hmph,” said Emerson. “We will leave that aside for the moment. Mrs. Petherick told us that the object she gave us was accursed. That it had killed her husband, sucking the breath out of him.”
There was no reaction from young Mr. Petherick, who was staring off into space. His sister frowned. “I am not surprised she should say that. But her superstitious fantasy does not alter the