The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog - Elizabeth Peters [155]
Kevin looked hurt. Before he could proclaim his courage and zeal, Bertha ran to him and caught his arm. “Do not go! Stay and protect us! This may be a ruse—”
“On Emerson’s part?” I inquired ironically. “It is broad daylight and most of the men are still on board. Do sit down, Bertha, and stop wailing.”
His male vanity soothed by the appeal of a helpless female, Kevin slipped his arm around the slight, trembling form and led the girl to a sofa. She sat staring at me, her eyes very wide and dark. Then she wrenched the veil from her face, as if it smothered her.
“He was there before you,” she said. “How is it that the dog attacked you instead?”
“I got in its way,” I said.
“By chance? I do not believe that. I saw how quickly you ran. How you must love him!”
“Anyone would have done the same,” I said shortly, for I am not in the habit of discussing my personal feelings with strange young women.
“Not I,” said Kevin frankly. “At least not if I had been given time to think before I acted.” He sighed deeply and patted Bertha’s hand. “Och, but that’s the curse of our confounded British moral code. It is drummed into us from childhood and is part of our nature. I’ve done me best to conquer it, but there have been times when even I have instinctively behaved like a gentleman instead of thinking first of my own precious skin.”
“Not many,” I said.
Bertha was trembling violently. Kevin seated himself beside her and began to croon reassurances in a particularly vile brogue. I paid them no further heed. My eyes were fixed on the wide windows of the saloon, through which I had beheld Emerson rushing full-tilt up the bank toward the village, hatless and coatless, his hair blowing wildly in the breeze. The others had followed him; but I paid them no heed either, even in my thoughts.
Long before I had dared hope they returned. I could have cried out with relief. Cyrus must have stopped him and persuaded him to listen to reason—or, more likely, Emerson had had second thoughts. He was not, as a rule, susceptible to persuasion, however reasonable.
He and Cyrus walked side by side, with the two young men trailing them at a respectful distance. It was pleasant to see such amity between them; they appeared to be engaged in serious conversation, and I would have given a great deal to overhear what they were saying. Never mind, I thought; I will get it out of Cyrus at a later time.
CHAPTER 14
“Men always have some high-sounding excuse for indulging themselves.”
THE snake, the crocodile and the dog—we had met and overcome them all! The last of the three fates had been the subtlest and most dangerous; if Emerson had not thought to examine the body of the dog, I might even now be in the clutches of our arch-enemy. I did not blame him for failing to think of it earlier. The idea—irrefutably logical though it was—had not occurred to me either. I had been somewhat distracted at the time. Only those who have faced it can fully comprehend the sick horror that fills the soul at the mere possibility of that ghastly infection. Cauterization is the most effective treatment, but it is not a certain cure.
Emerson had been a trifle distracted himself. I remembered his set, white face as he bent over me, the tightening of his lips as he prepared to lay the red-hot steel against my flesh. But there had been no tremor of those firm hands, no moisture in those keen blue eyes.
Naturally one expects such fortitude in a man of Emerson’s character. However, I would not have held it against him if he had wiped away a few manly tears.
The eyes that looked at me now were not brilliant sapphire but steely gray—my own, reflected in the mirror over my dressing table. We had dispersed to our rooms after luncheon. The others were napping; I was supposed to be doing the same. Cyrus had placed me on my bed and bade me rest; Emerson, passing by the door, had called out, “Try sleeping it off,