Part 8 (2/2)
”And to me,” said Emerson, who, as I hardly need mention, had stood motionless as a rock when I dismissed the children.
”Quite,” Sethos agreed. ”Let us find a cozy corner.”
We found one, in the Moorish Hall. The surroundings were seductive, shadowy nooks and dim lamps, but Sethos did not waste time in idle conversation. ”If you will take my advice, you will get out of Cairo as soon as possible.”
”I had come to the same conclusion,” I informed him.
”Curse it,” exclaimed Emerson, who was, in the vernacular, spoiling for a fight, it didn't much matter with whom. Being around Sethos for any length of time has that effect on him. ”When did you conclude that, Peabody? Don't tell me you've been talking to Abdullah again.”
Sethos's well-shaped eyebrows shot up. ”I beg your pardon?”
”She dreams about him,” Emerson said. ”I am a reasonable individual; I have no objection to my wife having long intimate conversations with a man she-er-greatly admired. What the devil, I was fond of the old fellow too. I do object to her pa.s.sing off her own opinions as those of a dead man.”
”I am surprised to find you so dogmatic, Radcliffe,” said Sethos. ” 'There are more things in heaven and earth-' ”
”Bah,” said Emerson. ”And don't call me Radcliffe.”
Sethos's lips twitched. ”I will endeavor not to do so. But I expect Amelia, like myself, came to her decision after rational consideration. I've been thinking about that strange adventure of Ramses. It worries me.”
”You gave the impression of being amused and incredulous, not worried,” Emerson said, scowling.
”I couldn't resist teasing the boy a little. He does take life so seriously! It is conceivable that some-shall we say 'lady'?-has developed a tendresse for him and has taken a somewhat unorthodox method of getting his attention. Like certain other members of the family-modesty and consideration for the feelings of my dear brother prevent me from naming them-he appears to have a considerable attraction for women.”
”Balderdas.h.!.+” Emerson exclaimed.
Sethos shrugged and became serious. ”The alternative isn't so harmless. Your son hasn't been idle these past few years; he has annoyed almost as many people as I have-the Turks, the Senussi, the Nationalists, even a few people in our own service. David isn't in the clear either; he is known to the police as a member of one of the nationalist groups. Civil unrest could break out again at any time, and if it does, he'll be one of the first to be suspected.”
”Surely not!” I exclaimed. ”His services to England during the war-”
”Put him at additional risk. Though his activities are not known to the rank and file, they are known to high-ranking members of the service, and it wouldn't surprise me to learn they hope to make use of him. Some of the members of his former organization are at large, and they regard him as a traitor to the cause. Is it only a coincidence, do you suppose, that Ramses was abducted the day before David was due back in Egypt?”
”It cannot have been a case of mistaken ident.i.ty,” Emerson protested.
”I said I couldn't explain it. There may be no connection. In any case, the boys will be safer in Luxor.”
Emerson fingered the cleft in his chin, and looked enviously at his brother's beard. He still resented my refusal to allow him to have one. ”I sincerely hope so,” he grunted. ”But-”
”I will follow you in a few days,” Sethos said.
”Your word on it?” I asked.
”My word on it. Barring unforeseen accidents.”
”What are you-”
”Good night, Amelia. Good night, brother.”
I HAD INDEED ARRIVED AT my conclusion by strictly rational means-for I include in that category the deductions of the unconscious mind, which some persons (I name no names) dismiss as intuition. My occasional dreams about Abdullah, who had sacrificed his life for mine, might have been regarded as products of the unconscious; but they were strange dreams, as vivid and consistent as encounters with a living friend. I had not dreamed of him for some time, but I did so that night.
We met always at the same place-the heights above Deir el Bahri, on the path that leads to the Valley of the Kings-and at the same time-daybreak, as the rising sun drives away the darkness and fills the valley with light.
He had not changed since I began dreaming of him (which I suppose is not surprising). Tall and stalwart, his beard black as that of a man in the prime of life, he greeted me as if we had met only recently, and in the flesh.
”You must go to Luxor at once.”
”I intend to,” I said somewhat irritably. ”I would waste my breath, I suppose, by asking you to explain. You enjoy your enigmatic hints too much.”
”Because,” said Abdullah, ”there is trouble there.”
”I am well aware of it.”
Abdullah waved this away with an impatient gesture. ”Not the theft of Vandergelt Effendi's treasure. That is part of it, but only the least part. Watch over the children.”
I reached for him, gripping his arms tightly. ”Good G.o.d, Abdullah, don't be enigmatic about that, of all things. If the children are in danger, I must know how they are threatened and why.”
He smiled, his teeth white against the blackness of his beard. ”If I knew I would tell you, even if it meant breaking the commandments that control me here. I see danger to all of you-there is nothing new in that!-and they are unable to protect themselves. Guard them closely and they will be safe.”
”You may be certain I will. And you-you will watch over them too?”
”Over all of you. You have not visited my tomb recently.”
”Why, no,” I said, surprised at the change of subject. ”When we get back to Luxor-”
”Yes, you will go there and bring the others. Take my grandson's son, my namesake, to pay his respects. I think you will be surprised at what you find, Sitt.”
Gently he removed my clinging hands and turned away. His final words were not addressed to me; they were the old querulous grumble, as if he were thinking aloud. ”She is not careful. She takes foolish chances. I will do my best, but she would tax even the powers of a sheikh.”
I stood where he had left me, watching him stride along the path toward the Valley. ”What do you mean?” I called, knowing I would receive no answer. Nor did I. Abdullah looked back at me and smiled. Raising one arm, he beckoned me to follow-not then, along that well-known path, but back to Thebes.
THE REST OF THE FAMILY readily accepted my decision, which, of course, I framed as a suggestion. Before we left, we made arrangements to send the youthful nurserymaid back to England. Even on the voyage out she had admitted she was homesick, and she did not like Egypt at all. It must have been the hurly-burly and shouting at the railroad station that frightened her, since she had seen almost nothing else of the country. So I found a respectable family who were returning to England and who were happy to have her care for their children. The last thing we needed was another helpless innocent on our hands, and as soon as we reached Luxor, Lia would have all the enthusiastic help she wanted. Every woman in the family-I speak of our Egyptian family-was itching to get her hands on David's little ones.
We took the evening train. All those who travel with small children prefer this schedule, since there is a chance they will sleep through part of the journey. From the haggard looks of her parents next morning, I deduced that Evvie had not. It hadn't taken me long to realize she was something of a handful, with an explosive temper that belied her dainty looks. No doubt she had been badly spoiled; her parents and her grandparents on the maternal side were gentle souls. I looked forward to seeing how she would get on with the twins. Neither of them could be called a gentle soul. I was a trifle concerned about Dolly, who had taken on the role of protector of his little sister and whose equable temper would no doubt be sorely tried in the days to come. Such is life, however. I would do all I could to defend him.
I had not reported Abdullah's warning to the others. They would not have taken it seriously, and indeed some might consider it only the expression of the natural concern felt by an adult who is responsible for the weak and irresponsible. It was infinitely rea.s.suring to see the entire family waiting for us at the station in Luxor. Daoud and Selim were there, Kadija's loving impatience had overcome her timidity, Basima hovered in the background. Sennia and Gargery waved and shouted greetings. With those stalwart aides and the others who awaited us at the house, the children's every movement would be watched.
”Where are the twins?” was Evelyn's first question.
”We don't take them anywhere unless we have to, madam,” said Gargery gloomily.
Evelyn looked a little shocked. ”Certainly not into a mob like this,” I added. ”Goodness, what a crush. I have never seen so many people here.”
My first impulse was to put an end to the demonstration for fear of its upsetting the children. I reminded myself that I was not in charge of them. They were being pa.s.sed round from eager hand to eager hand, but they seemed none the worse for it. Evvie was giggling at an obviously infatuated Daoud, and Dolly, solemn and wide-eyed, shyly returned Kadija's embrace. So I stood a little aside and found myself next to Bertie, who had come to represent his family.
”Mother and Cyrus decided not to add to the confusion,” he said with a smile. ”They hope you will dine with us this evening-a simple gathering of old friends, nothing formal.”
”I believe I can speak for all when I accept with pleasure, Bertie.” I lowered my voice and then had to repeat the question in louder tones, the noise was so great. ”Has there been any news of-er-”
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