Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [175]
“He would sue you for every penny you own,” said her husband lazily. “I can’t afford it.”
“We may take satisfaction in the fact that Sir Malcolm has been thoroughly humiliated,” I said. “The word will get round. I doubt he will have the temerity to show his face in Egypt soon again.”
“If he does, I will give him the thrashing he deserves,” grunted Emerson. He turned his scowl on his brother. “Speaking of thrashings, I am inclined to give you one. Why did you tell us that rigmarole?”
“I had to tell you something,” said Sethos, stroking his mustache like a stage villain.
Emerson snarled. “Do not try my temper, I beg. I am willing to accept that you were acting under orders and that you had been misled about the nature of the conspiracy, but if you thought the code was a fake, why did you let Ramses waste days trying to decipher it? Why bring it here at all?”
“That was only an excuse,” I said. “He came to us because he was ill and alone and afraid.”
My words fell like stones into a sudden silence. Margaret caught her breath, and Emerson’s sapphirine eyes softened. Sethos bowed his head and looked down at his clasped hands, a slight flush staining his cheeks.
“Why be ashamed to admit it?” I demanded. “Anyone would do the same—yes, Emerson, even you.”
“But I wouldn’t admit it either,” Emerson muttered. “Leave the man alone, Peabody.”
“One more thing,” I said, taking out my list. The paper was somewhat worn with frequent handling, and almost all the items were crossed out. “The man in the suk.”
“What man?” Ramses asked.
“Had you forgotten? I had not. The nice man who gave Charla money the day she eloped with Ali. You,” I said, pointing at my brother-in-law, “were there, watching the hotel—watching for a sight of us. Your family.”
Sethos raised his head and threw up his hands. “You’ve won, Amelia. My humiliation is complete. Yes, I felt a contemptible need to see you, to know all was well with you. When Charla came dancing out with that useless suffragi I followed them.”
“Giving her enough money to make herself sick with sweets was one of your little jokes, I suppose,” Ramses said. There was no accusation in his voice, only a touch of amusement.
“I knew she wouldn’t be sick. I did it because…because I wanted to.”
Like his humiliation, my revenge was complete. He was finally, thoroughly reformed! I decided he had suffered enough, so I changed the subject.
“What are your plans?” I asked.
“Back to England and Home, accompanied by Beauty,” said Sethos, with a nod at his wife, who rolled her eyes and grinned. “I will humble myself to my daughter and learn to know my grandson. We will be leaving shortly. Contain your grief, I beg.”
“And I,” said Margaret, “will see to it that he does as he has promised. But I’ll be back in time to see Carter open the burial chamber. I am determined to get a story out of this, somehow!”
“The house seems very empty with everyone gone,” Emerson said with a sigh.
It was a perfect opening, but neither Ramses nor Nefret had the courage to take advantage of it. As usual, the chore was left up to me.
“I have been looking in the newspaper,” I said. “There are several nice houses to let in Roda and Maadi.”
Emerson sat up with a start. “What?”
“You have decided, haven’t you?” I prodded Ramses.
“Yes. Father, we—”
“Then you had better get at the task of finding the right house. You will want to be settled in before April.”
Ramses ran his hand through his tumbled curls. “You know. You knew!”
“Of course. I am very happy for you, my dears.”
“What—” Emerson is always a little slow to catch on, but this was something he had been yearning for. “What? Nefret is…You are…”
“Yes, Father.” Nefret knelt by his chair and took his hand. “Please say that you are happy too.”
His face working, Emerson carried her hand to his lips.
The child was a girl. I had spoken with Abdullah about it the previous night.
“Well, Peabody,” said Emerson, “I hope you are pleased with yourself.”
I was, rather. We had retired to our room after several celebratory whiskey and sodas (Nefret