The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog - Elizabeth Peters [161]
“Squeamishness,” she repeated thoughtfully. “I think I might do that.”
“It is only a suggestion. You ought to give the matter some thought, however. I will be sending you back to England as soon as this situation is settled. I would do it now—for candidly it would be a relief to have the responsibility for you off my hands—if I thought you would consent to go.”
“I would not consent. Not until the… situation is settled.” Hands folded in her lap, face composed, she studied me with considerable attention for a time and then said, “You would do that for me? Why should you?”
My eyes shifted under her steady gaze. The change in her was quite remarkable, but my reluctance to answer was due to quite another cause—one which did me no credit. I overcame that reluctance, as I hope I always overcome weaknesses of character. “I saw what you did, Bertha, that night I came for Emerson. If you had not flung yourself at the door and tried to hold it against the man who meant to murder him I might not have got my pistol out in time. It was the act of a true, courageous woman.”
A faint smile touched the corners of her lips. “Perhaps it was as O’Connell said—I did not have time to think before I acted.”
“All the more credit to you, then. Your instincts are sounder than your conscious acts. Oh, I confess I have had some doubts about you. You will laugh,” I said, laughing, “when I tell you that at one time I suspected you might be a man.”
Instead of laughing she raised her eyebrows and ran her hands slowly over her body. The tightened fabric clung to it in a way that left no room for doubt. “The man you call Sethos?” she asked. “Even veiled and robed, only a very clever man could carry off such a masquerade.”
“He is a very clever man. You ought to know.”
“I don’t think it was he.”
“It must have been. Though I would not have believed he could use a woman as he did you… Ah, well, it only goes to show that even so astute a judge of character as I can sometimes be deceived. He chose a proper pseudonym in this case—the sly, creeping serpent, the deceiver of Eve.”
Bertha leaned forward. “What does he look like?”
“Ah, but you see, that is the difficulty. His eyes are an indeterminate shade; they can appear gray or blue or brown, or even black. His other features are equally susceptible to alteration. He explained to me some of the devices he uses to disguise them.”
“So you have spoken with him—been in his presence.”
“Er—yes,” I said.
“But surely,” Bertha said, watching me, “no man can disguise himself entirely from the eyes of a woman who… who is as keen an observer as you. Was he young?”
“It is easier to counterfeit old age than youth,” I admitted. “And in his attempt to … In his consummate vanity he did display certain characteristics that are probably his own. He is almost of Emerson’s height—a scant inch shorter, if that—and well-built. There was the elasticity of youth and physical strength in his step, his … I think I have told you all I can. From what I saw of your erstwhile master, those characteristics would fit him.”
“Yes.” We sat in contemplative silence for a while, each occupied with her own thoughts. Then she rose.
“You should rest. May I ask you one thing before I go?”
“Certainly.”
“Does he remember you?”
“He has good cause to… Oh. Emerson, you mean?” I was weary; a sigh escaped my lips. “Not yet.”
“He cares for you. I saw his face when he held the knife to your foot.”
“No doubt you mean to cheer me, Bertha, and I appreciate the thought, but I fear you do not understand the British character. Emerson would have done the same for any sufferer and he would have felt the same pity for—for Abdullah. Especially Abdullah. Run along now, and do think seriously about the nursing profession.”
I wanted to be alone. Her words, kindly though they had been meant, had cut deep. How desperately I yearned to believe Emerson’s distress on my behalf was more than that any English gentleman would have betrayed