The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [84]
Miss and Mr. Petherick were dining in her room. As soon as we were shown in, Miss Petherick rang for the waiter to remove the table. I observed that one of them had only picked at the food, while the other had made a good dinner. It was not difficult to guess which was which. Adrian Petherick seemed to have shrunk in the past hours; his clothing hung loosely on his body and his face was pasty-pale. Was it guilt or grief?
I broke the news with merciful bluntness. Adrian let out a cry and covered his face with his hands. His sister’s expression did not change. “We anticipated this. I presume you want to question us?”
“Not tonight,” said Sethos soothingly. He had gone to the table and was examining the floral displays. There were several more, including a vase of lovely white roses. “Allow sleep to knit up the raveled sleeve of care. And think of the dear lady at rest in the arms of Jesus.”
“Yes,” Adrian murmured. “Yes. Thank you.”
Emerson choked. He must have swallowed the wrong way.
“I have a question,” said Harriet Petherick. “What about the statue?”
“What about it?” Emerson inquired gruffly.
“There can now be no doubt as to its legal ownership. I would think you would wish to get it off your hands.”
“I would not suppose you would want it in your hands,” said Emerson. “No, no, Miss Petherick, I will not have it on my conscience that I gave such a deadly object to innocents like you and your brother.”
“You would prefer to bring the curse on your own family?” She added, with what I could only view as deliberate malice, “We were told of your remarkable performance the other night. It wasn’t particularly effective, was it?”
Emerson refused to be provoked. “You and I know such—performances, did you say?—affect only the superstitious. The curse of such objects is the violence they provoke in unprincipled persons. I am capable of protecting my family in more practical ways, and I intend to do the same for you and your brother.”
The logic of this silenced the lady. I confirmed the arrangements I had made for the service on the following morning, and she had enough courtesy to thank me. Adrian said nothing. He had taken one of the white roses from the vase and was removing the petals, one by one, and arranging them in a pile on the table.
Curious glances and whispers followed us as we passed through the lobby, but my parasol and Emerson’s scowls kept even the journalists back.
“Good Gad,” said Emerson to his brother. “I have never heard such hypocritical blather in my life, not even from you. The arms of Jesus, indeed!”
“It made the boy feel better,” Sethos said.
“Nor have I known pity to motivate your actions,” grumbled Emerson. “Taking advantage of his weak-mindedness is a contemptible method of winning his confidence.”
Sethos grinned, and I said severely, “Speaking of blather, did I hear you nobly promising to protect Harriet and her brother? From what and in what manner, may I ask?”
Emerson stopped short in the middle of the street. I shoved him out of the way of a horse-drawn calèche, and Emerson said, “Do not impugn my motives, Peabody, if you please. We need to settle this distraction so that I can get on with my work.”
“And bring a murderer to justice.”
“That, too.”
Sabir had returned for us after taking Ramses and Nefret across. Emerson helped me up the gangplank and went on, frowning, “Though at the present moment I haven’t the faintest notion who it might be. Don’t tell me you do, Peabody, or I will regret my candor.”
“The Pethericks, brother and sister, are certainly the most obvious suspects,” I replied, settling myself onto the bench.
“They are the only suspects,” Emerson retorted.