Tomb of the Golden Bird - Elizabeth Peters [84]
“But it was very romantic,” Margaret murmured pensively. “How is he?”
“Unharmed, so far,” I said, taking a seat on the bed. “We are keeping a close watch over him. As we are over you.”
Margaret started and turned her head. “There is someone at the window!”
I hadn’t heard or seen anything, but she appeared so alarmed that I went to look out. The window was so high I had to stand on tiptoe. Palm branches, the walls of nearby houses, warmed to umber by the light of the setting sun…
The light went out.
CHAPTER SIX
WHEN THE LIGHTS CAME ON AGAIN I SAW A TERRIFYING IMAGE: KADIJA’S face, distorted by horror, within inches of my eyes. “Alhamdullilah!” she exclaimed. “God be praised, you are alive. You are not dying.”
“So it would seem,” I replied, surprised to find that, in fact, I felt almost myself. My head ached, but my senses were functioning with their normal efficiency.
The sense of sight informed me that I was in the same room, reclining on the bed. Advancing dusk darkened the window. The lamp on the table burned bright, but the vase lay on the floor, the flowers scattered in a pool of water. Daoud stood in the doorway, gaping. Observing that my eyes were open, he retreated in haste, and I realized I was clad only in my undergarments. Fortunately I had never succumbed to modern fashion in that respect; my combinations, trimmed with lace and little pink bows, covered me from chest to knees.
Reason, putting these facts together, presented me with an unpalatable conclusion. “Curse it,” I cried. “She stole my clothes! How long has she been gone? Did you see her leave the house?”
“Not long, not long,” Kadija said, still agitated. “I did see her, Sitt, but she was walking quickly and did not stop when I called out. I took her for you! It was a while—not long, but a while—before I thought it was strange you did not say good-bye. So I came here, and found you. She had tied your hands and feet and put a cloth over your mouth, and you did not stir or open your eyes until I untied you, and I was afraid…”
“Never mind that,” I cried, pushing away the firm brown hands that tried to hold me down. “Go after her! Bring her back!”
I would have gone myself, but Kadija would not let me, nor would she leave my side. She sent Daoud instead. By the time he returned, empty-handed and apologetic, I had been forced to the realization that the search was hopeless. Margaret had taken the black, all-concealing habara—with which I had supplied her! Once she had put it on over my distinctive clothing, she became another anonymous Egyptian woman. No one would recognize, or even notice her if she kept her face covered. She had also taken her purse, with its ample supply of money, and her notebook. And my parasol!
Sipping the hot, sweet tea Kadija had brought me, I tried to console the disconsolate Daoud. “She needed only a few minutes, Daoud. I fear our chances of tracing her are slim. She knows her way about Egypt, and a few words of Arabic, enough to supply her immediate needs.”
“It was my fault,” Kadija muttered. “I should have known her.”
“In my clothing and in a dim light, her hair and figure resembling mine? No, Kadija, it was my fault. I know the lady well, and I ought to have been on my guard—especially after that pathetic appeal for a few little flowers! She had it all worked out before I got here: a heavy object to use as a weapon, strips torn from the bedsheet with which to tie me, a few essential possessions already packed. Oh dear. I suppose I had better go home and tell the family.”
In my effort to console my friends I had made light of my own feelings. To say that I was seething with repressed rage is to understate the case. Margaret had made a fool of me. I am not accustomed to being made a fool of.
Kadija insisted on going over me inch by inch. Once she was forced to admit I was uninjured except for a bump on the head, I