The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog - Elizabeth Peters [178]
“She carried your message to Vincey, then,” I said. “When you informed him you would be at the rendezvous tonight.”
“Rendezvous,” Emerson repeated throughtfully. “It certainly was, wasn’t it? You are correct, Peabody. She had never lost touch with him. Several of the villagers were in his employ; all she had to do was slip a note to Hassan or Yusuf when we passed through the village. While we were in the royal wadi she communicated with him by leaving messages in a selected spot not far from our camp. One of the villagers served as post-boy; those rascals know every inch of the cliffs and can creep in and out and up and down unobserved.
“I did not succeed in convincing her that she would be better off with us than with Vincey until after we returned to the dahabeeyah yesterday. She… What are you smirking about, Peabody?”
“Nothing, my dear. Do go on.”
“Hmmph,” said Emerson. “I laid the whole case before her and promised her immunity if she joined us, and imprisonment if she did not. The message she passed on this morning did not incriminate her; it was only a notification to Vincey that I would be along the northern cliffs this evening.”
“But,” said Abdullah, who was not especially interested in the evil machinations of women, much less their reformation, “why did the men who were supposed to defend you take me prisoner instead? Were they also in the evil man’s pay? For surely Vandergelt Effendi would not—”
“That is right, Abdullah,” I said. “Emerson, I believe we had better go now. You have not eaten, and you must be very tired.”
Emerson took my hint. It was not a subject I cared to discuss. With the memory of Cyrus’s sacrifice so fresh in my mind I would not, could not, think of how close he had brought us to disaster. I knew the motive that had prompted him to commit the one ignoble gesture of his noble life, and I blamed myself for failing to realize the depth of his feelings for me. It must have been my rejection that had driven him to madness. Temporary insanity was the kindest and most likely explanation for his betrayal of Emerson—which he had redeemed with his life.
Bertha did not come to dinner. When we went to look for her, we found her room empty and her few possessions missing. Inquiry produced the information that a woman of her description—which would, I admit, have fit most of the women in the village—had hired a boat to take her across the river several hours earlier.
To my surprise Emerson was not—or at least he put up a good pretense of not being—surprised. If I must be candid, which I always endeavor to be (at least in the pages of this private journal), it was a relief to have her off my hands. How much of an obligation we owed her was questionable; if one balanced the evil against the good, I doubted the debt would have been in her favor. She was a woman and she had been much tried; but really, as I pointed out to Emerson, it would have been hard to find a suitable career for such a person.
“Hmmm,” said Emerson, fingering the cleft in his chin. “I rather suspect, Peabody, that she has found a suitable career by herself.”
He refused to elaborate on this enigmatic remark, so I did not pursue it for fear of provoking sentiments that might mar the activities I had planned for the remainder of the evening.
Thanks to the assiduous assistance of Cyrus’s steward, we were able to catch the afternoon train the following day. He salaamed profoundly when we thanked him and bade him farewell, and I assured him that if he required a recommendation I would be happy to render him the praise his excellent service deserved. It was sad to say farewell to the Nefertiti. I doubted I would see her like again, for as I have said, such elegant sailing vessels were fading from the scene.
Emerson slept a good deal of the way, with Anubis curled up on the seat beside