Lord of the Silent: A Novel of Suspense (19 page)

"He heard a lot from Anna last year about Ramses's objections to the war," Cyrus continued. "He has a new sympathy for that point of view." "Yes, of course. Well, we will build up his strength and improve his spirits." "If anybody can do that, it's you," Cyrus said, smiling at me. "Quite right," said Emerson. "She never lets up until you do what she wants." Katherine laughed. It was almost her old laugh, and her drawn face had brightened. "I feel happier and more optimistic already. It is his mental state that worries me most, Amelia. He won't talk to me about his experiences at the front, and he hasn't said much even to Cyrus. He is bitter and angry, and he has no interest in anything. In living, even, I think." Her voice broke. His handsome face concerned, Emerson immediately poured her a whiskey and soda. Knowing that sympathy would cause her to break down completely, I said briskly, "We will find an interest for him. I have several ideas. On the whole, I believe it would be advisable for you to go on to Luxor as soon as possible. The Valley of the Kings is, of course, ready for you, but in my opinion the long, lazy voyage would be inadvisable. He needs to be stirred up mentally. He indicated some wish to talk with Ramses. That would be good for him, I think. Nefret is a qualified physician and can watch over his physical health. Yes. That is unquestionably the wisest course. A day or two of rest, then the train to Luxor. We will telegraph ahead, you to your majordomo at the Castle, and I to Ramses, informing them of your plans." I leaned back and raised my glass in salute. "So that is settled. Drink your whiskey, Katherine. I know you seldom touch spirits, but it will do you good. Cheers!" With unusual tact, Emerson waited until we had retired to dress for dinner before he expressed his opinion." 'Pon my word, Amelia, that was extraordinarily high-handed, even for you." "They agreed, didn't they?" I removed my frock and hung it up. "Katherine appeared to be in a much more cheerful frame of mind." "Both of them would walk off the edge of a cliff if you proposed it," Emerson muttered. "Do you want to bathe first, or shall I?" "I haven't time for a bath." I poured water into the washbasin and began my ablutions. "I will just freshen up a bit and then see if Bertie is fit enough to dress and come down for dinner. It would be good for him, in my-" The breath went out of me as Emerson wrapped his arms round my waist and squeezed. "Your opinion! By Gad, Peabody, if you ever failed to give your opinion on any subject whatever, I would have you put in hospital." After a few brief exchanges of affection-for, as I reminded him, we must not keep our guests waiting-we resumed the activities Emerson's impetuous embrace had interrupted, and I responded to his remark. "My reasons for suggesting they go on to Luxor are unarguable, Emerson, but there is an additional reason I could not mention to them. We cannot proceed with our investigation of Asad's death while they are with us. Cyrus would insist on taking a hand, and that might be dangerous." "He is already suspicious. He took me aside before we came up and asked how often we had been attacked since we arrived." "He was just making a little joke, Emerson. He cannot know about the body in the mastaba, and if we get them away within the next few days, there is little chance of his finding out. I warned Daoud and Fatima and Selim not to speak of it, and told Gargery I would send him back to England on the first boat if he said a word." "You seem to have thought of everything." "I believe I have. The only remaining problem is to find a new interest for Bertie." "You haven't solved that little difficulty yet? Good Gad, Peabody, what is wrong with you?" I turned. Emerson had removed boots, stockings, and shirt. Meeting his speculative eye, I said, "I have an idea or two. Do hurry, Emerson." "We ought to leave the bath chamber free for our guests," said Emerson, grinning. "Will you share the washbasin, my dear?" After I had dressed I hurried to Bertie's room, leaving Emerson looking for a clean shirt in every drawer but the one in which they were always kept. The door was ajar; as I approached I heard a small clear voice. "So the brave princess filled a saucer with beer and waited, while the prince slept; and soon the snake crept out from under the bed and started to bite the prince, but when it saw the beer it drank it and was drunk, and then the brave princess took her knife and cut its head off." "That was brave of her," said Bertie. I opened the door and went in. Sennia had dragged an armchair close to the bed and was sitting on the very edge of the seat so as not to crush her ruffles. She was wearing her best frock, of embroidered white dimity with a pink satin sash and matching pink hairbow. Horus was stretched out across the foot of the bed, forcing Bertie to pull his knees up, but he appeared fairly benevolent-for Horus. "I am telling him a story," Sennia explained. I tried to look severe-for I had not given Sennia permission to join us that evening, or to visit the invalid-but when I saw the smile on Bertie's face I decided to let the little minx off the scolding she deserved. She knew she had won; giving me a smug grin, she added, "I washed his face too." Her son's laughter was the first sound Katherine heard when she came along the hall. As she told me later, she had not heard him laugh for weeks. Sennia was in her element: a sick person to be fussed over and an attentive audience. At her invitation Katherine sat down to listen to the rest of the story. Before long, Emerson and Cyrus had joined us, and Fatima had taken it upon herself to bring the decanters and glasses and plates of sandwiches, and glasses of lemon water for Bertie and Sennia, and everyone was talking at once. Bertie declared he had never heard such an interesting story. "It was 'The Doomed Prince,'" Sennia explained to Emerson and Cyrus, who had come in at the end. "The one Aunt Amelia translated. She translated lots of other stories. I will tell them too, if you want." "Another time," I said firmly. "One story a day, like Scheherazade," Bertie suggested. She liked that idea, but was quick to point out that Scheherazade had left off in the middle of her stories-"so the Sultan wouldn't chop her head off next morning"-so perhaps she should start another one. "Bertie is not going to chop your head off," I said. "And it is time you went up to the nursery for supper. Say good night-and take Horus with you." She gave Bertie a kiss, which he returned. There was no need to carry Horus away; he jumped down off the bed and followed her, snarling at Cyrus as he passed him. We chatted for a while longer, while Fatima bustled about clearing away the plates and glasses, and then left Bertie to rest. "He has had quite enough excitement for one evening," I explained, as Katherine and I went arm in arm along the corridor. "Sennia is getting to be as Machiavellian as Ramses used to be. She knew that if she asked permission to visit Bertie I would say no, so she simply neglected to ask." "She did him so much good, though," Katherine said. "Perhaps she could be that new interest he needs just now." "I think not. We will administer small doses of Sennia for a few days, but she will wear him out if we let her. An individual must be in excellent physical condition to deal with a small energetic child." "So you still recommend our going on to Luxor immediately?" Cyrus inquired. "My opinion on that matter is unchanged." Emerson gave me a quizzical look but remained silent. He knew, as did I, that it was imperative to get our friends away from Cairo. They would be safe in Luxor. Everything was quiet there. FROM MANUSCRIPT H The man was his uncle. Sethos, the Master Criminal, the War Office's most valued secret agent, his mother's ardent admirer, his father's deadliest enemy-and illegitimate half-brother. They had learned that astonishing bit of information only the previous winter, and Ramses still hadn't fully adjusted to the idea. Even more unbelievable was the fact that the man he had last seen on a stretcher bleeding from a bullet hole through the lung was still alive. He had attacked a man who was not only old enough to be his father, but who had suffered a near-fatal injury less than a year ago-and he'd had to use several of his "filthier" tricks to come out ahead. He caught Nefret's cold blue stare, and wondered whether an apology was in order, and if so, to which of them it ought to be addressed. "You promised you wouldn't hurt him," she said accusingly. The bloody wad of cloth Sethos was holding to his nose was her handkerchief. He lowered it and sniffed experimentally. The bleeding had stopped. "I hurt him first," he pointed out, with visible satisfaction. "My apologies, Ramses. One reacts instinctively, as you know. May I sit up now, Nefret? I hope you don't mind the familiarity. It's all in the family, after all." She had inspected him from head to toe to make sure a bloody nose was his only injury. He'd enjoyed it too, flinching theatrically when she touched one spot or the other and then bravely denying it hurt. Ramses rubbed his aching wrist and winced. There was no reaction from Nefret. He decided he would be damned if he would apologize. "So what are we to call you?" he demanded. " 'Uncle Sethos' doesn't sit trippingly on the tongue." "Never mind the Uncle," the other man said with a grimace. "It's rather late to acknowledge a relationship of that sort. Sethos will do. I haven't used my real name for so long, I wouldn't respond to it." He had declined Nefret's invitation to return with them to the dahabeeyah. Now he sat up, crossed his legs, and, with a courtly gesture, offered them a seat on the coffin. It was a coffin. Yet the smell of wood shavings and varnish gave the room a homely feel, and Nefret had placed the torch so they could see one another. Ramses stared. He had seen Sethos on several occasions in various disguises-an elderly American lady, a priest, an effete young aristocrat, and, most recently, a Scottish engineer with red hair-but this was the first time he had been able to study the man's actual features. He was wearing native dress, but his head and feet were bare. At the moment his hair was black, which didn't signify much, but at least Ramses knew it was his own, thick and slightly waving. His eyes-what the hell color were they? An ambiguous shade between gray and brown, with a hint of green, according to Ramses's mother, who had been in closer contact with Sethos than anyone else in the family. Ramses couldn't tell, the light wasn't strong enough. He had peeled off the loosened beard and attached mustache. Chin, jaw, and mouth were undistorted, and since this was to have been a quick raid under cover of darkness, he hadn't bothered to stain his square white teeth. The nose was au naturel too, now that Nefret had removed the squashed lump of putty. The contours of that nose were strangely familiar. Sethos was well aware of his intent scrutiny. With an amused smile, he said, "Do you have a cigarette? The trouble with these garments is that they are limited as to pockets." Wordlessly Ramses offered the tin and a packet of matches. "Be careful with those matches," Nefret said. "You don't want to start a fire." Sethos blew a perfect smoke ring. "Is she always this highhanded?" "No worse than Mother," Ramses said. Sethos turned to look at the portrait. "Clever of you to use that to lure me out of hiding. Nothing else would have done it. I've taken considerable pains to avoid you. Please don't tell me you went to all this trouble to get me to return Queen Tiy's jewelry. I won't, and that's flat." "I didn't suppose you would," Ramses said. "You're back in business, then?" "I never left it. My recent activities on behalf of a government that rewards its servants rather poorly did not interfere with the practice of my principal profession." "Such as the time you relieved Ibn-Rashid of his diamonds?" "How do you know about that?" He sounded surprised and a little angry. Pleased to have cracked that bland facade, Ramses was tempted to keep him in suspense, but time was passing and they had a good many things to discuss. "Margaret Minton is in Cairo. She told Mother what really happened in Hayil. She's not told anyone else." "Ah." Sethos took his time about selecting and lighting another cigarette. "Why?" "Why did she tell Mother? One can only suppose-" "That she realized Mother was the woman you had mistaken her for, and she wanted to find out what had happened to you," Nefret said impatiently. "Don't be disingenuous. You deliberately set out to make her fall romantically in love with you." "Of course. I wasn't sure I had succeeded, though. Women are so unpredictable. Well, well. What's she after now?" "Not you," Nefret snapped. "Mother told her you were dead." "I hope that's all she told her." His faint smile had vanished. "It wouldn't do me any good if a journalist found out about my noble sacrifices on behalf of dear old England." "She told Minton you were a thief and a swindler," Nefret said bluntly. "Ah." Seeing his downcast eyes and tight lips, Ramses was conscious of an unexpected feeling of sympathy. He knew what it was like to have people misjudge you and despise you because of it. Sethos was a thief and a swindler, but Ramses didn't doubt that his business in Hayil had been on behalf of the War Office. He'd have left the Emir's jewels untouched if he hadn't been interrupted while he was examining that devious young man's private correspondence, and if he had been as cold-blooded and pragmatic as he pretended to be he would have ignored Margaret's call for help. "One more person for me to avoid," said his uncle, so coolly that Ramses wondered if he had imagined that fleeting expression of regret. "I appreciate your telling me. Was that why you arranged this meeting?" "Not entirely," Ramses said. "There's been a leak. Wardani's people know I took his place last winter. At least one of them is free. We had a brief encounter in an alley in Cairo not long ago." "Who?" "Asad. He was one of Wardani's lieutenants." "I know who he was. That explains it." "Explains what?" Ramses demanded. "Why you are in Luxor. Mama and Papa and your loving wife thought you'd be safer here." "Damn it," Ramses began, caught himself, and started again. "I had another reason for wanting to see you. I never got the chance to thank you-" "Let's not descend into sentimentality, please. I didn't do it for you." "You tricked the others into leaving before they finished me off," Ramses said, sticking doggedly to the point. "You didn't take that risk for Mother; you didn't even know she was there." "Ah, but your death would have distressed the dear woman. I got my thanks," he added, with a smile that certainly would have driven Emerson to violence. "When she kissed me. It was quite a touching scene, I believe." "She thought