The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [70]
I glanced over my shoulder at the tea table, where both children were busy with the plum cake and caught the inquiring eye of David John. Ramses can, as Daoud’s saying has it, “hear a whisper across the Nile,” and I feared his son was following in the paternal footsteps. I lowered my voice.
“He had gone for a walk, a long walk, along the river toward Karnak. He remembers seeing a shadowy form approach him.”
“A shadowy form?” Sethos echoed. “Oh, please, don’t tell me…”
“I fear I must, since that is what he said. He even employed the term…You know the one.”
“‘The black afrit’?” Cyrus exclaimed.
“Keep your voice down,” I said sharply. “David John, I believe you are eavesdropping. When I wish to include you in the conversation I will invite you to join us.”
“Yes, Grandmama,” said David John. No cherub could have looked more innocent.
“The newspapers are going to be all over this,” said Sethos.
“I made it very clear to Mr. Lidman that he was not to repeat the—er—phrase in question to anyone else, including Dr. Westin. I took the liberty of intimating that he stood the risk of losing his position with you, Cyrus, if he were indiscreet.”
“Well, that’s all right,” Cyrus said. “What do you make of his story, Amelia?”
I helped myself to a second cup of tea and sipped it reflectively. I knew everyone was hanging on my words, so I chose them with care. “This event has forced me to revise my tentative theory. There are only three possible explanations for his seeming accident. One, it was an accident. He wandered off the road while intoxicated and fell off the bank, hitting his head and losing consciousness. However, there are only a few places along the route that offer the necessary combination of deep water and a rocky shore. Two, he faked an attack in an effort to turn suspicion away from himself. Risking death seems an extravagant expedient, though.”
“It might have been a trick that went wrong,” Sethos suggested. “He jumped in the river and accidentally hit his head.”
“No such risk would have been necessary,” I retorted. “All he had to do was give himself a bump on the head and arrange himself in a picturesque position of collapse. No, I fear we must admit the third possibility. He was telling the truth. He did encounter the—er—you know—the other night, and the same person pushed him into the river. And that means—”
“We know what it means,” Emerson said. “Or what you think it means. Confound it, Peabody, I weary of meaningless speculation. Is anyone going to Luxor to meet the train?”
We had received a telegram from David explaining he would arrive that evening.
“Nefret and I are,” Ramses said.
“Quite proper,” I said. “We cannot have dear David arrive in Luxor without a welcoming committee. Perhaps I should come along too.”
The reaction to this was unanimously negative, though the nature of the objections varied. Emerson said he refused to let me on the loose in Luxor with Lidman and the Pethericks. The other remarks were more tactfully phrased and I finally agreed with Nefret’s suggestion that I make sure everything was in readiness for David.
Shortly after midnight the welcoming committee, which included Emerson, returned with our long-awaited guest. David’s room was in order (including the rose petals in the wash water), but though he looked a little tired he declared he could not sleep until he had heard all about our activities.
“I told you about them,” said Emerson, settling down with his pipe and glass.
“About your archaeological activities,” David corrected. “At the risk of incurring your scorn, sir, I want to hear about the black afrit and the statue and the strange disappearance of Mrs. Petherick.”
He was sitting next to me on the settee, my hand in his. I gave his a squeeze and returned his fond smile. He and Ramses were almost of a height, with the same black hair and well-shaped frames, but David’s amiable countenance expressed emotion more openly than that of his friend, and his soft brown eyes were warm with affection.
“I read the Cairo newspapers,” David went on.