The Snake, the Crocodile, and the Dog - Elizabeth Peters [7]
This uncharacteristic affability, and the use of my maiden name—which Emerson employs when he is feeling particularly affectionate or when he wishes to persuade me into some course of action to which I am opposed—aroused the direst of suspicions.
“There is nothing you can do,” I retorted. “What do men know of women’s affairs?”
“Hmmm,” said Emerson, retreating in haste to the library.
I confess that I enjoyed fitting the girl out with a proper wardrobe. When we arrived in London she had hardly a stitch of clothing to her name, except for the brightly colored robes worn by Nubian women, and a few cheap ready-made garments I had purchased for her in Cairo. An interest in fashion, I believe, is not incompatible with intellectual ability equaling or exceeding that of any man; so I wallowed (the word, I hardly need say, is Emerson’s) in tucked nightgowns and lace-trimmed petticoats, frilly unmentionables and ruffled blouses; in gloves and hats and pocket handkerchiefs, bathing costumes and cycling bloomers, wrappers and buttoned boots, and a rainbow assortment of satin sashes with matching ribbons.
I indulged in a few purchases for myself, since a winter in Egypt always has a deplorable effect on my wardrobe. The styles in vogue that year were less ridiculous than in the past; bustles were gone, the balloon sleeves of the past had shrunk to a reasonable size, and skirts were soft and trailing instead of bunched up over layers of petticoats. They were particularly suited to persons who did not require “artificial additions” to assist in delineating certain areas of the body.
At least I thought the styles were less ridiculous until I heard Nefret’s comments on them. The very idea of a bathing costume struck her as hilarious. “What is the point of putting on clothes that will get soaking wet?” she inquired (with some reason, I had to admit). “Do women here wear washing costumes when they take a bath?” As for her remarks on the subject of underdrawers… Fortunately she did not address them to the clerk, or to Emerson and Ramses. (At least I hope she did not. Emerson is easily embarrassed by such matters—and Ramses is never embarrassed by anything.)
She fit into our household better than I had expected, for all our servants have become more or less accustomed to eccentric visitors. (Either they become accustomed or they leave our service, usually at their own request.) Gargery, our butler, succumbed at once to her charm; he followed her as devotedly as did Ramses, and never tired of hearing the (revised) story of how we had found her. Gargery is, I am sorry to say, a romantic person. (Romanticism is not a quality I despise, but it is inconvenient in a butler.) His fists would clench and his eyes would flash as he declared (forgetting diction in his enthusiasm), “ ‘Ow I wish I could ‘ave been with you, madam! I’d ‘ave thrashed those treacherous servants and fought those beastly Bedouins! I’d ‘ave—”
“I am sure you would have been a great help, Gargery,” I replied. “Another time, perhaps.”
(Little did I know when that careless comment passed my lips that it was in the nature of prophecy!)
The only member of the household who did not fall victim to Nefret was dear Rose, our devoted housemaid. In Rose’s case it was jealousy, pure and simple. She had helped raise Ramses and had a wholly unaccountable affection for him—an affection that was, or had been, reciprocated. Now Ramses’s offerings of flowers and interesting scientific specimens (weeds, bones, and mummified mice) were bestowed upon another. Rose felt it, I could see she did. I found Rose a great comfort whenever the combined adulation of the male members of the household got too much for me.
The cat Bastet was no comfort, though she was female. She had been somewhat slow to discover the attractions of the opposite sex, but she had made up for her delay with such enthusiasm