Lion in the Valley (14 page)

"This
is too cursed much," Emerson declared emphatically. "You know,
Amelia, that I am the most tolerant and charitable of men; I don't mind lending
a helping hand to the unfortunate, but two in one day is putting a strain on my
good nature. Er—she is not dead, I hope?"

"She
appears to have fainted," I said. "Lift her feet, Emerson, if you
will be so good."

Emerson
wrapped one big brown hand round the girl's slim ankles and hoisted them with
such vigorous good will that her limbs formed a perfect right angle to her
body. I corrected this little error, uncapped my water bottle, and sprinkled
the girl's face.

"She
doesn't stir," said Emerson, the tremor in his manly tones betraying the
soft and tender side of his nature which few others besides myself are
privileged to behold. "Are you sure—"

"Perfectly.
Her pulse is steady and strong. You can let go her feet now, Emerson—no, no,
don't drop them, lower them gently."

His
anxiety relieved, Emerson reverted to his natural manner. "It really is
too bad of Petrie," he grumbled. "He doesn't care if his subordinates
drop like flies; oh no, he knows they will come running to us and interfere
with
our
work. I will have a word to say to him next time we meet. Of
all the infernal, inconsiderate—"

"You
think this is one of Mr. Petrie's assistants?" I asked.

"Why,
who else could it be? Quibell said the young ladies were ill; no doubt this
girl has had second thoughts about working with that maniac Petrie. Shows
considerable good judgment on her part. Why doesn't she wake up?"

"I
believe she is coming round now," I said. In fact, I was certain the girl
had been conscious for some time—and I had a good idea as to why she had wanted
to conceal that state.

"Good."
Emerson peered into the girl's face, breathing so anxiously that her spectacles
misted over. I had replaced them after sprinkling her face, though it was
doubtful that she could get any good from them; they appeared to be made of
plain window glass.

"Naturally
I am happy to assist any ill person," I said, watching the fluttering
lashes and little movements of the lips that were the signs of returning
consciousness. She really did it quite well; she must have taken part in a
number of home theatricals. "But I hope she doesn't expect to stay on with
us. Professor Petrie would probably consider we had deliberately lured away one
of his assistants—"

"Since
when have I cared about Petrie's absurd opinions? He thinks the worst of me
whatever I do. It will be her decision, of course, but we could use an extra
pair of hands. And it would be nice for you to have another woman about."

The
ridiculousness of this remark made me chuckle. "I am hardly the sort that
requires female companionship, Emerson. I have plenty to do as it is."

'
'No, Amelia, you do not. That active brain of yours is always seeking
employment; that is why you keep meddling in police investigations and
concocting nonsensical theories about master... about criminal conspiracies.
Perhaps if you have a young woman to train
in archaeology, you won't be
so ready to go off chasing murderers. Good Gad, I have never seen anyone take
so long to recover from a faint. Ought I not slap her cheeks or her
hands?"

The
girl took the hint. Having felt the vigor of Emerson's grasp, she was wise
enough to anticipate what the effect of a gentle slap on the face would be. Her
eyes opened.

"Where
am I?" she said, with a deplorable lack of originality.

"Just
where you hoped to be," Emerson exclaimed. "With me and Mrs. Emerson.
Miss... What is your name?"

I
waited with considerable interest for the young woman's reply. It was not long
delayed; her brief hesitation would have been imperceptible to one who had no
reason to suspect her motives. "Marshall. Enid Marshall."

Emerson
sat down on a rock and beamed at her. "Well, Miss Marshall, you made a
wise decision to leave Petrie; he is a fair enough scholar—I have known
worse—but no sane person can live as he does. Though I don't think you showed
good sense walking all the way from Sakkara in your condition."

"My—my
condition?" the girl gasped.

"Never
mind," Emerson went on. "Mrs. Emerson will fill you up with sulphur
and ipecacuanha and you will be on your feet in no time. I will just carry you
to our house—''

"No,
thank you; I can walk perfectly well." With my assistance, Enid—to give
her the name she had selected—rose to her feet. She looked a trifle dazed, and
no wonder; Emerson had labeled her and pigeonholed her and explained her
motives with such vigor that even a woman with less cause to conceal her true identity
might
have been left in doubt as to who she really was. I, of course, knew who she
was. Emerson had been misled, not only by his delight in playing a trick on Mr.
Petrie, but by the pitiable inability of the male sex to see beyond a frilly
frock and touch of lip rouge. The dark eyes that had snapped with laughter were
now shadowed and fearful; the delicate features were drawn and colorless; but
they were unquestionably those of the missing English lady, Miss Debenham.

Five

E
merson's
enthusiasm faded rapidly when he realized that the arrival of his new assistant
put an end to his plans for spending the night in a hole in the ground.

"Out
of the question, Emerson," I said, over his querulous objections.
"Miss Marshall must certainly spend the night with us, whatever she
chooses to do tomorrow, and obviously she cannot be left alone in the same
house with a young person of the opposite sex. You know, my dear, that no one
despises meaningless social conventions more than I, but some limits of
propriety cannot be ignored."

"Humph,"
said Emerson. "But, Amelia, Ramses will be at the house—"

"And
so will we, Emerson. I promise you," I added, smiling at him over the
girl's bowed head, "that first thing tomorrow I will take steps to ensure
we do not spend another night at the house."

"Humph,"
said Emerson. But he said it more cheerfully than the first time.

The
young woman said nothing. She walked between us with drooping head, but with
steps that were firm and steady. I had to commend her quickness; she must be in
considerable confusion as to what her precise status was supposed to be, but
she had the good sense to keep quiet and say nothing that would challenge
Emerson's assumption.

Emerson
is an ebullient person by nature; his fits of temper are brief, and as soon as
they are over he immediately looks on the bright side. This was the case at the
present moment. "Upon my word, Peabody, I am pleased about this," he
declared. "In case Nemo does not suit, we have a substitute at hand. Miss
Marshall surely can have no objection to giving us a hand with Ramses. It is
remarkable how neatly things work out."

"I
quite agree, Emerson. It is remarkable." In order to obtain tents, it
would be necessary for me to make a trip to Cairo. I would then have an
opportunity to make my inquiries into the murder of Kalenischeff. I had
intended to do this all along, but now I had a reasonable excuse.

"Quite
remarkable," I said.

The
shades of night were falling fast by the time we reached the compound. The men
had retreated into their hut; despite their superior education, none of them
remained outside in the darkness if he could help it, for, as every Egyptian
knew, night was when the demons were out in full force. We found Ramses alone
in the sitting room, except for his ever-present feline companion. He had been
writing at the table, but it was clear that our approach had not gone
unnoticed, for he pushed
his writing materials aside when we
entered and rose, with no sign of surprise.

"Good
evening, Mama; good evening, Papa; good evening, Miss—"

"Where
is Mr. Nemo?" I asked.

"He
was here a moment ago. I presume he has gone to his room." Ramses stepped
forward, his hand extended. "We have not had the pleasure of meeting, I
believe. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Mr. Walter Peabody Emerson."

"More
familiarly known as Ramses," said Emerson, laughing. "This is Miss
Marshall, my boy. She is a distinguished archaeologist, so you must treat her
with respect."

"Hardly
distinguished, Professor," the girl said quickly. "I am the merest
beginner. So this is your son. What a fine little chap!"

She
took Ramses' hand. A curl of the lip expressed Ramses' opinion of her
description; feeling my gaze fixed upon him, he kept that opinion to himself,
saying instead, "I was unaware of your academic qualifications, miss. May
I inquire at what learned institutions you have studied?"

"No,
you may not," I said. "Will you light the stove, Emerson? I am sure
Miss Marshall would like a cup of tea. While the water is heating, I will show
her to her room."

"I
am afraid I am putting you to a great deal of trouble," the false Miss
Marshall began. She broke off with a shriek and jumped back. The cat Bastet,
who had been coiling her sinuous form around the girl's ankle, emitted a
reproachful mew and butted her furry head against one scuffed little boot.

"It
is only Ramses' cat," I said.

"The
cat Bastet," Ramses elaborated. "She seems to
have
taken a fancy to you, miss. That is unusual, and in my opinion you should be
flattered by the attention, for animals, as it is well known, have a sixth
sense that gives them—"

"Be
quiet, Ramses," I said. The girl had raised a trembling hand to her brow,
and I took the liberty of putting a supportive arm around her. "Miss
Marshall is exhausted and can't be bothered with your unorthodox theories. Come
into the next room, my dear. When you see your accommodations, you won't
apologize for putting us out, I assure you."

Only
a curtain separated the small adjoining chamber from the sitting room, and thus
far the sole furnishings were a few empty crates. I assisted the young lady to
one of them and sat her down.

"You
will not be as comfortable here as in the sitting room," I said in a low
voice. "But I could see your nerve was ready to give way, and believed you
would be better alone."

"You
are very good. Please don't let me keep you from your family—"

"Oh,
I have no intention of leaving you." I took a seat on another crate.
"There are a number of matters we must discuss without delay, if you
expect to continue your masquerade."

The
room was illumined only by the moonlight. The girl had shrunk back into the
darkest shadows, but I heard her gasp sharply. She made a valiant effort to
recover herself. "What do you mean, Mrs. Emerson?"

"My
husband, though the most intellectual man of my acquaintance, is singularly
naive about some things," I said. "But surely you did not suppose you
could deceive me, did you—Miss Debenham?"

For
a few seconds the silence was unbroken even by the sound of her breathing. Then
a long sigh quivered
through the air. "I knew I could
never sustain the deception, Mrs. Emerson. I hoped only for a few days'
respite, in order to decide whether to cast myself upon your mercy or take
flight again. When the professor assumed I was someone else, I felt Fate had
approved my venture."

Her
voice was weary but calm, with no trace of the incipient hysteria it had
displayed before. Obviously it was the strain of deceit that had unnerved her;
her relief at finding herself free to speak candidly proved to me that she was
essentially an honorable person.

"You
read my letter, then," I said.

"Yes.
I must admit, Mrs. Emerson, that my first reaction upon reading it was anger. I
am a very headstrong and stubborn person. I was overindulged by doting parents
who made no attempt to curb my faults of character; I am impatient of
criticism, and too set on having my own way. It is a grievous flaw—"

"What
one person terms 'headstrong,' another may call 'determined.' Strength of
character is not a flaw. You sound as if you were quoting someone, Miss Debenham—no,
excuse me, I must accustom myself to calling you Miss Marshall."

"Then—then
you mean to allow me to continue my masquerade? You are willing to deceive your
husband?"

"Oh,
as to that, I would never deliberately deceive Emerson. If he chooses to
deceive himself, it would be tactless in the extreme for me to correct his
misapprehension, particularly since there is a distinct possibility that in the
heat of the moment he might be moved to rash actions and/or expressions he
would later regret. But, much as I would enjoy discussing the complexities of
matrimony, a subject about which I have decided opinions, we must not stay here
too long or even my
dear Emerson will begin to wonder why we
continue to sit in the dark. And Ramses ... I will warn you about Ramses in due
time. First it is essential that you tell me, as briefly but accurately as
possible, precisely what happened on the night of the murder."

"I
dined with Prince Kalenischeff," the girl said quietly. "We went to
see the moonlight over the pyramids—''