Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [40]
He slept lightly, knowing that any unusual noise would bring him to full wakefulness. Once a rustle of the bedclothes roused him; when he bent over his uncle, Sethos was sound alseep, or pretending to be, his breathing slow and even. Resisting the impulse to shake him, Ramses pulled the blankets up to his chin and returned to his cramped chair.
I woke just before dawn. The memory of the previous day’s events rushed into my mind, dispelling any temptation to further slumber. Without pausing to dress, I assumed a comfortable dressing gown and went through the courtyard to the servants’ wing.
Ramses woke when I opened the door. Seeing me, he relaxed, yawned, and rubbed his eyes.
“You look very uncomfortable, dear boy,” I said.
“I am.” He rose and stretched stiffened limbs. “He hasn’t stirred.”
“He is awake,” I said. “Go and have a wash and some food, my dear. I heard Fatima moving about in the kitchen.”
Sethos waited until Ramses had gone before he rolled over and addressed me.
“What, no chaperone? What would Emerson say if he found us like this, you in that very fetching dressing gown and me—”
“Not a sight to inspire amorous feelings in a female. You sound very chipper. Are you hungry?”
“That’s the way malaria works, as you know.” He stretched luxuriously. “Ah, there is Fatima with my breakfast.”
“Enjoy it,” I said.
“Why don’t you go and enjoy yours?”
“I have a few questions.”
“Amelia dear, I can’t eat and talk at the same time. Ramses and Nefret will want to be present when you interrogate me, so why don’t we wait until—”
“I only wanted to ask about your grandson. We haven’t heard from Maryam for a while.”
He hadn’t expected such a harmless question. His eyes narrowed. Then he shrugged. “As you know, my daughter and I are not on the best of terms these days. I disapproved of her choice of a husband and was foolish enough to tell her so.”
“I don’t understand what you have against Mr. Bennett. He is a respectable man with an excellent reputation.”
“You had him investigated, did you?”
“Naturally. I didn’t trust you to do it without prejudice. Are you sure you aren’t jealous?”
Sethos put his fork down. “You are spoiling my appetite, Amelia.”
“Painful truths often have that effect. You feel you have been supplanted, with daughter and grandson. It is only natural that you should feel resentment.”
“Are you always right?” Sethos said with sudden violence. “Maryam and I had become friends after years of estrangement, and I scarcely know the little boy.”
“Whose fault is that?”
I had seldom seen his countenance so unguarded. It was not a pretty sight; anger tightened his mouth and lit sparks in the strange pale eyes that could be brown or green or gray. I had obviously struck, not one nerve, but a bundle of them.
“Well, we will leave that for a future time,” I said, rising. “Have a good breakfast.”
I cannot say that I enjoyed mine. Maaman’s food was as good as always, but watching Kareem stumble in and out, dropping boiled eggs and spilling coffee, tried nerves already on edge. I hadn’t realized relations between Sethos and his child had become so strained. It was primarily his fault, of course. He had made some attempt to look after the girl, but her mother, his former mistress, hated Sethos as much as he detested her, and after Bertha’s death Maryam blamed her father and left him to join the group of criminals Bertha had founded. The birth of Maryam’s son and her subsequent reformation had reconciled father and daughter. Now Sethos had made a