He Shall Thunder in the Sky (13 page)

     But el-Gharbi’s disclosure had to be true, it had come straight from Percy himself. Unless the procurer was lying, for some obscure reason of his own. . . .

     True or false, the story had been told him for a reason, and he doubted el-Gharbi’s motives were altruistic.

     Could it be true, though? He knew Nefret too well to doubt that it might have happened that way. Five minutes before they came downstairs that morning, she had been in his arms, returning his kisses. Then to be faced with the diabolically constructed web of evidence that branded him guilty of a crime she held to be worse than murder . . . He could remember only too well the sickening, breath-stopping effect of that accusation on himself, innocent though he knew himself to be.

     And he had let her go. He’d had other responsibilities — the child, his parents, the imminent danger to the child’s mother — but he had reacted as irrationally as Nefret had done, and for the same very childish and very human reasons: hurt and anger and a sense of betrayal. They had both behaved like love-struck lunatics, but it would have come out all right in the end, if Percy hadn’t taken a hand.

     What had el-Gharbi tried to tell him about Percy?

     He handed the servant a few coins and slipped out into the alley behind the brothel. Gradually his steps slowed until he was standing stock-still. A single phrase had lodged in his mind. “. . . he would make no demands on her. . . .”

     No demands
of any kind
? Was it possible? It would explain so many things. Losing the baby had been the final blow that had broken her spirit. If that brief, miserable marriage had not been consummated — if she had discovered, too late, that she was carrying his child — if she still loved him, and believed her lack of faith in him had destroyed his love for her . . .

     A flood of pity and tenderness and remorse filled him. I’ll make it up to her, he thought. If it’s true. If she’ll let me. If it’s not too late.

     First, though, there was the other business.

:

T
he Yuletide season was fast approaching, but I was unable to work up much in the way of Christmas spirit. Small wonder, with the family scattered, and rumors of Turkish troops approaching the Sinai, and the casualty lists from the Western Front appallingly high. When I thought of those two handsome sensitive lads, whom I loved so dearly, in the mud of the trenches facing death, my spirits sank. It was even harder for their parents, of course, and for the girl to whom Johnny was engaged. What agonies she must be suffering!

     However, I am never one to shirk my duty, and in my opinion the general gloom made it all the more imperative to celebrate the season and enjoy the company of those friends who were still with us. There were, alas, fewer than in other years. M. Maspero had retired as head of the Antiquities Department; he had been ailing for some time, and the wounding of his son Jean earlier that autumn had been a bitter blow to him. The young man, a fine scholar in his own right, was now back in the trenches. Howard Carter had remained in Luxor for the winter; his patron, Lord Carnarvon, had been awarded the firman for the Valley of the Kings after Mr. Theodore Davis gave it up. Howard did not agree with Davis that there were no more royal tombs in the Valley. He was itching to get at it.

     Our closest friends, Katherine and Cyrus Vandergelt, were working nearby, at Abusir. Katherine would need comforting too; her son had been among the first to enlist. Bertie had been slightly wounded at Mons, but was now back in action.

     So I sent out my invitations and accepted others. Emerson complained of taking time away from his work, as he always did, and when I inquired whether he would care to attend a costume ball at Shepheard’s, his indignation reached such a pitch I was obliged to close the door of my study, where the conversation was taking place.

     “Good Gad, Peabody, have you forgotten what happened when last we attended a masked ball? Had I not arrived in the proverbial nick of time, you would have been carried off by a particularly unpleasant villain whom you took for me! Nobody knows who anybody is in those costumes,” Emerson continued, abandoning syntax in the extremity of his passion.

     He looked so handsome, his sapphirine eyes blazing, his teeth bared, the cleft in his chin quivering, that I could not resist teasing him a bit. “Now, Emerson, you know you enjoy wearing disguises. Especially beards! It is most unlikely that any such thing could happen again. Anyhow, I had a more revealing costume in mind for you. You have such well-shaped lower limbs, I thought a Roman centurion or a kilted Scot, or perhaps a pharaoh —”

     “Wearing nothing but a short skirt and a beaded collar?” Emerson glowered. “And you in one of those transparent pleated robes, as Nefertiti? See here, Peabody . . . Oh. You are joking, aren’t you?”

     “Yes, my dear,” I said, laughing. “We needn’t attend if you don’t want to, the affair is several weeks off. You had better run along now; I will just finish these notes before I join you.”

     Believing the discussion was at an end, I turned back to the desk and picked up my pen.

     “I would like to see you as Nefertiti, though.” Emerson came to stand behind me, his hand on my shoulder.

     “Now, Emerson, you know I do not resemble that elegant lady in the slightest. I am too — my dear, what are you doing?”

     In fact, I knew very well what he was doing. Raising me to my feet, he drew me into a close embrace. “I would rather have you than Nefertiti, Cleopatra, or Helen of Troy,” he murmured against my cheek.

     “Now?” I exclaimed.

     “Why not?”

     “Well, for one thing, it is eight o’clock in the morning, and for another, they are waiting for you at Giza, and . . . and . . .”

     “Let them wait,” said Emerson.

     It was like the old days, when Emerson’s tempestuous affection was wont to display itself in places and under circumstances some might consider inappropriate. I had never been able to deny him then; I was unable to deny him now. When he left me I was in a much improved state of mind. Humming under my breath, I returned to my study to finish my letters.

     Not until the euphoria of the encounter had begun to subside did I begin to harbor certain suspicions. Emerson’s demonstrations of affection are often spontaneous and always overwhelming. He knows very well how they affect me, and he is not above employing them for purposes of distraction.

     Putting down my pen, I reconsidered our conversation. Had there not been something unusual about his willingness to incur delay? As a rule he was impatient to get to the site, nagging the rest of us to hurry. We had talked about costumes and disguises, and now that I thought about it he had had a somewhat shifty look when I mentioned beards. . . . Curse the man, I thought, he is up to something! His disclaimers notwithstanding, I knew he yearned to play some part in the war effort. He sympathized with Ramses’s pacifist sentiments, but did not entirely share them, and I suspected that what he really wanted was a chance to prowl the streets of Cairo in disguise, looking for spies and exposing foreign agents. I had no strong objections, so long as he did not try to prevent me from doing it too.

At Emerson’s request I had written to Major Hamilton inviting him and his niece to tea. The following afternoon I was in receipt of a brief communication from him. Nefret was reading her own messages; the one she was presently perusing appeared to contain something of particular interest.

     We were on the roof terrace waiting for the others to return from the dig. For the past several days I had been the one to sort through the messages and letters that had arrived in our absence. Naturally I would never have opened a letter addressed to Nefret; I only wanted to know whether Percy would have the audacity to correspond with her. Thus far she had received no communication that aroused suspicion, but today she had got to the post basket on the hall table before me.

     “Not bad news, I hope?” I inquired, seeing a frown wrinkle the smooth surface of her brow.

     “What?” She looked up with a start. “Oh. No, nothing of the sort. Only an invitation I shan’t accept. Is there anything of interest in your letters?”

     “I have heard from Major Hamilton — you know, the uncle of the young lady who was here the other day. It is a rather curious communication. What do you think?”

     I handed her the letter, thinking it might inspire her to return the compliment. It did not. She folded her own letter and slipped it into her skirt pocket before taking the paper from my hand. As she read it her lips pursed in a silent whistle.

     “Curious? Rude, rather. The terms in which he declines your invitation make it clear he doesn’t care to make our acquaintance, and has no intention of allowing his niece to visit us. He doesn’t say why.”

     “I think I can hazard a guess.”

     Nefret looked at me in surprise. “I didn’t think you knew.”

     “Knew what?”

     She looked as if she were sorry she had spoken, but my unblinking gaze silently demanded a response. “About Ramses having cut the Major out with Mrs. Fortescue.”

     “What a vulgar way of putting it. Do you mean that Ramses and that woman are — er — associating? She is old enough to be his mother. What about her other admirer — that French count?”

     Nefret’s delicate lips curled. “I detest this sort of gossip, but I do wish you would speak to Ramses. The Major probably won’t do anything except snub him, but the Count has threatened to call him out.”

     “Challenge him, you mean? How absurd.”

     “Not to the Count. He is quite a gallant, in the European style. Kisses hands, clicks heels.”

     “You know him?”

     “Slightly. Oh, well, I daresay nothing will come of it. There is another reason why the Major might not care to improve his acquaintance with us. What responsible guardian would allow a young girl to associate with a man who is not only a pacifist and a coward, but a notorious seducer of women?”

     “Nefret!”

     “I’m sorry, Aunt Amelia! But that’s what they say about him, you know. They know the stories are all lies, and yet they continue to repeat them, and there’s not a damned thing we can do about it!”

     “They will be forgotten eventually,” I said, wishing I could believe it.

     The angry color faded from her cheeks, and she smiled and shook her head. “He does bring it on himself, in a way. One can hardly blame the child for being swept off her feet.”

     “Literally as well as figuratively, I believe,” I said. “My dear Nefret, he didn’t bring this on himself; once appealed to, he had to rescue the child.”

     “It’s not what he does, it’s the
way
he does it!”

     I couldn’t help laughing. “I know what you mean. Well, my dear, he won’t do it again — at least not to Miss Hamilton. The Major’s letter, though discourteous, relieves me of a responsibility I am happy to avoid. Emerson will be disappointed, though.”

     When Emerson turned up he was accompanied by Cyrus and Katherine Vandergelt, who were to dine and attend the opera with us that evening. I deduced that they had come in their car, since both wore appropriate motoring costumes. Cyrus was something of a dandy; his dust coat was of fine white linen and his cap had attached goggles, now pushed up out of the way. Katherine began the task of unwinding the veils in which she was swathed, and after greeting me affectionately, Cyrus explained, “We stopped at Giza to collect Emerson.”

     “And a good thing, too, or he would still be there,” I said. “Where is Anna? You didn’t leave her at home alone, I hope. She has, I believe, a tendency to brood. That is unhealthy. Perhaps she should spend more time with us. We will keep her busy and cheerful.”

     “You are an incurable busybody, Amelia,” said my husband, settling himself comfortably in a chair and picking up the little pile of messages. “What makes you suppose Katherine needs your advice on how to manage her daughter?”

     “Amelia’s advice is always welcome,” Katherine said with an affectionate smile. She looked as if she could use a little cheering up too. Her plump cheeks were thinner and there was more gray in her hair now than there had been only a year earlier.

     “We left Anna with Ramses,” she went on. “He hadn’t quite finished, and she decided to stay and keep him company.”

     “We will not wait tea for them, then,” I declared. “Emerson, will you call down to Fatima and tell her we are ready?”

     There was no response from Emerson, who had tossed most of the letters onto the floor, in his impetuous fashion, and was staring fixedly at one of them. I had to repeat his name rather loudly before he looked up.

     “What are you shouting at me for?” he asked.

     “Never mind, Professor, I’ll tell her,” Nefret said, rising.

     “Tell who what?” Emerson demanded.

     “Both questions are now irrelevant,” I said. “Really, Emerson, it is very rude of you to read the post when we have guests present. What is that letter that absorbs you so?”

     Silently Emerson handed it to me.

     “Oh, the note from Major Hamilton,” I said. “You are not going to lose your temper over it, I hope.”

     “I am in no danger of losing my temper,” my husband retorted, transferring his piercing stare to me. “Can you think of any reason why I should?”

     “Well, my dear, it is a rather brusque communication, and I know you were looking forward to seeing —”

     “Bah,” said Emerson. “I don’t want to discuss it, Peabody. Where is — ah, there you are, Fatima. Good. I want my tea.”

     Fatima and her young assistant were arranging the tea things when a lithe brindled form landed on the parapet, so suddenly that Cyrus started.

     “Holy Jehoshaphat,” he ejaculated. “How did she get up here? Not by way of the stairs, or I’d have seen her coming.”

     Seshat gave him a critical look and began washing her face. “She climbs like a lizard and flies through the air like a bird,” I said, laughing. “It is quite uncanny to see her soar from one balcony to another eight feet distant. Our cats have always been clever creatures, but we’ve never had one as agile as this.”