The Serpent on the Crown - Elizabeth Peters [92]
“That isn’t necessary,” she assured him.
“I insist,” said Emerson, with heartfelt sincerity. “Don’t wait tea for me, Peabody, I won’t be long.”
“Before you go, Katherine,” I said, “tell me how Mr. Lidman is getting on. I neglected to ask after him; my excuse must be that I had a number of more compelling duties.”
“He arrived this morning, while you were at the funeral.” Katherine’s brow furrowed. “I would appreciate it, Nefret, if you could find time to have a look at him. He could scarcely walk—two of the suffragis from the hotel had to help him along—and he refused food.”
“That is a bad sign. We will come round later this evening,” I promised.
Nefret went off to help get the children ready for tea, and I invited Mr. Katchenovsky to go on with what he had been saying.
“I would not wish to bore you,” the Russian said politely. “I fear our discussion became somewhat technical.”
“Verb forms are wasted on me,” I said, laughing. “But I am sure you are finding some interesting texts.”
“That depends on what one considers interesting,” Ramses said with a smile.
“Letters,” I said promptly. “Prayers, like the ones you spoke of the other day.”
Ramses’s eyebrows tilted in surprise. “You remembered.”
“Certainly. I remember everything you say, my dear. Unlike some persons.”
Ramses grinned. “Well, so far we have been chiefly concerned with preserving the scraps of papyrus we found the other day. It’s a tedious process, and I’m afraid I’ve left most of it to Mikhail. The scraps have to be softened and then flattened and covered with blotting paper and pressed down until they are completely dry.”
“I am familiar with the process,” I said.
“Of course, Mother.”
“So when do you expect you will be able to start reading them?”
“They’ll have to be sorted and arranged in proper order first. That’s where Mikhail is so useful,” Ramses added, with a polite nod at the silent Russian. “It’s like piecing together a jigsaw puzzle when half the pieces are missing. One must be familiar with the language and with the varieties of handwriting.”
“Excellent,” I said vaguely, my attention having been distracted by merry childish cries.
“Here they come,” said Ramses. “Brace yourself, Mikhail. By the way, Mother, I take it you didn’t find anything of interest in the old clothes?”
“How did you arrive at that conclusion?”
“You wouldn’t have been able to keep it to yourself this long.”
As I had promised Katherine, Nefret and I went to the Castle after dinner. Emerson offered to drive us in the motorcar, but he had forgotten the confounded thing was still in pieces, so I was able to decline. Cyrus was good enough to send his carriage.
The doorman was on the watch for us. The great gates swung open as the carriage approached and closed with a metallic clang after we passed through. Torches made the courtyard bright as day.
Katherine’s concern about her patient was evident by her failure to offer us coffee. She led us directly to the elegant guest chamber where Lidman reposed.
“I am sorry to hear you are not feeling well, Mr. Lidman,” I said, approaching the bed while Nefret unpacked her stethoscope. “Without wishing to denigrate a fellow practitioner of the medical art, I must say that Dr. Westin’s methods are not always for the best. I would like to examine your injuries, if I may. Your lower limb, is it?”
I whisked the covers back. The leg was heavily bandaged, from ankle to knee. So were his left arm, his head, and his ribs.
“Well,” I said, after unwinding yards of bandage. “It appears to me that certain of your injuries would be all the better for being left exposed to the air. This abrasion on your left limb, for example. What do you think, Nefret?”
She had listened to his heart and taken his temperature.
“I don’t find any broken bones,” she said, running experienced hands over his arms and legs. “You were fortunate, Mr. Lidman, to escape with only bruises.”
Lidman raised a feeble hand to the bandage on his brow. “My memory…” he muttered. “I can’t remember…”
“Short-term