Lord of the Silent: A Novel of Suspense (3 page)

fish in a sea of black. The searchlights stabbed at them, and another series of explosions rattled the air. "Those aren't bombs, they are our guns," Ramses said. "From the batteries in Hyde Park. Father, will you allow me to drive? I hope you won't mind my suggesting that my night vision-" "This is no time for courteous debate," I exclaimed. "Where is the motorcar? Ramses, you drive." Emerson took my arm. "Yes, we may as well go on. There are only three of the confounded things and they seem to be well north of here. Once the Germans start getting their aeroplanes across in force it will be a different matter." "Emerson, will you please stop making pessimistic remarks and hurry?" The sky over the East End was red with reflected flames. They were aiming at the docks, and hitting them too, if I was any judge. I couldn't take my eyes off those pretty silvery shapes. Why the devil couldn't our guns bring them down? Guns in Hyde Park and on the Embankment . . . What would be next, aerial duels over Buckingham Palace? Inside my gloves my palms were sticky with perspiration. I despised myself for cowardice, but this was my first air raid and I hated it-not only the feeling of helplessness, but the remoteness of the business. If someone is going to kill me I want him to take a personal interest. Ramses drove with what seemed to me excessive slowness- until he came to a sudden stop just in time to avoid a dark form that wandered out into the roadway directly in front of him. "Drunk," he said, as the individual proceeded on his wavering path. "It takes some people that way," Emerson remarked. He turned, his arm over the back of the seat. "Sorry you didn't have that port, Peabody?" "No. But I will be ready for a stiff whiskey and soda when we get home." "So will we all. Cheer up, my love, it's almost over. They can't keep this up all night." I could no longer see the zeppelins and the guns were not sounding so often. I couldn't tell where we were; Ramses had taken a roundabout path. The neighborhood seemed to be one of small shops and warehouses. I was beginning to relax when there was a shout from Emerson and a weird whistling noise. Ramses's shoulders twisted and the car shuddered and spun and jolted over the curb. It came to a jarring stop, but the sound of the impact was drowned out by a violent explosion. I found myself on the floor of the vehicle, with Nefret on top of me trying to cover my head with her arms. "Nefret?" Ramses wrenched the door open and lifted her up. He added, rather as an afterthought, "Mother?" "Quite all right," I croaked. "What the devil was that?" Emerson's large hands untangled me and raised me to my feet. "Don't sit down yet, the seat is covered with debris, including broken glass. Steady, my dear. Any damage?" "Not to me. Nefret pushed me down and shielded my body with hers. Is she hurt?" "A few cuts on her arms," Ramses said. There was blood on his face and on Emerson's. The windscreen had shattered, spraying them both with glass. For a time we stood staring blankly at one another. Except for the gaping hole in the street and the crumpled bonnet of the motorcar, the entire incident might have been a horrible dream. The night was still, and only a tranquil half-moon lit the dark sky. The car was jammed up against a brick wall next to what appeared to be a factory. The moonlight was bright enough to enable me to read the sign. It stuck in my mind, as inconsequential facts do at such times: BRUBAKER'S BEST PATENTED BRACES. "Well, well," said Emerson. "Let's see if we can get the confounded thing to start, shall we? That was inspired driving, my boy." "Pure luck. If there hadn't been a brick wall handy . . ." He was still holding Nefret by the shoulders. "It was one of our own shells." We did not get home until two in the morning. One of the tires had to be changed, and although the engine had started at Emerson's first vigorous turn of the handle, it jerked and coughed whenever Ramses changed gears. Gargery, who had been waiting up for us, turned pale at the sight of the blood-streaked, disheveled crew and wanted to ring the doctor at once. "You see wot 'appens when you go off on your own," he exclaimed indignantly. Nefret reminded him that she was a doctor and Emerson shouted, "Hell and damnation, Gargery, not even you could protect us from an exploding shell. Serve the whiskey, and then go to bed." Soon thereafter, Nefret took Ramses off to their room, and I did the same with Emerson. He objected violently when I tried to apply iodine to his cuts, but I did it anyhow. Thanks to Nefret, I had got off without a scratch. "I have not had a chance to say this," I remarked, over Emerson's mumbled curses, "but that was a very eloquent speech, Emerson. Well done, my dear." "Bah," said Emerson. "It relieved my feelings, but it had not the slightest effect. People like Cecil and Salisbury are so swathed in self-conceit, common sense cannot penetrate." "Not to mention Mr. Smith. Obviously that is not his real name." "Obviously." Emerson swiped irritably at the iodine that was running down into his mouth. "We know what he is, at any rate. Curse these people, they so enjoy mystification and subterfuge." "I can't help being a little curious as to what he had in mind." "I am not at all curious," Emerson said. "And I hope to heaven Ramses isn't either. He meant it, didn't he? He has done his part. He wouldn't change his mind-would he?" "No, my dear," I said firmly. "But they may not give up so easily. Smith is an underling, a go-between. I feel certain he was sent by someone higher up. Perhaps Kitchener himself." "I don't care if he was sent by the King or the Prime Minister or God Almighty. They cannot force Ramses to take on another assignment and he knows as well as I do that it would be foolhardy in the extreme. If he doesn't," Emerson added, with a snap of his teeth, "I will have Nefret point it out to him in terms he can't ignore." FROM MANUSCRIPT H The voices came floating out of the darkness. "Tie his arms and feet and let's get out of here." "Leave him alive? Are you mad? He knows who I am." "Kill him, then. Or shall I cut his throat for you?" "Oh, no. I've looked forward to killing him for a long time. Take him downstairs." Down to the filthy little room in the cellar, where the greasy coils of the whip hung from a hook on the wall and old bloodstains darkened the floor. Suddenly he was there, sight and feeling restored: the air clammy against his bare back, the ropes tight around his wrists. Once he had believed he feared the kurbash more than death itself. Now, watching his enemy lift the heavy length of hippopotamus hide, he knew he'd been wrong. He was sweating with terror, but he didn't want to die, not yet, not like this, without a chance of fighting back. He closed his eyes and turned his face away ... and felt against his cheek, not the rough stone of the wall, but a surface rounded and warm and gently yielding. "It's all right," she said softly. "I'm here. Wake up, my love. It was only a dream." He had reached out to her in his sleep and she had moved instantly to meet his need, drawing his head to her breast. Ramses let his breath out and relaxed the arm that had gripped her. There would be bruises on her fair skin the next day, where his fingers had closed over her side. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep." "Don't be an idiot," said his wife. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have brought the subject up tonight." "How did you know that was what-" "You talked." "Oh." He knew he was being even more of an idiot when he pulled away and turned onto his back. They had been married a little over six months, and he still hadn't got over the wonder of winning her, of a closeness of mind and body and spirit greater than he'd ever dared imagine. He no longer minded admitting his weaknesses-not to her ... not much-but whimpering like a frightened child with a nightmare . .. Nefret got out of bed. Surefooted and silent in the dark, she found the candle that was standard equipment in case the electricity failed. Ramses wondered what unfailing instinct had told her he couldn't have endured the abrupt glare of electric bulbs. The gentle candlelight left his face in shadow and sent shimmers of gold through the tumbled masses of her hair. She had left it to hang loose, as he loved to see it and touch it. "You're still shutting me out," she said, sitting down on the side of the bed. "I know why. You want to spare me. You can't. I saw what he'd done to you. Do you suppose I don't think of it, dream of it? I wish he were still alive so I could do the same to him." She meant it. Her face had the remote, inhuman calm of a goddess delivering judgment. Sometimes he forgot that his sophisticated, beautiful English wife had been High Priestess of Isis in an isolated region where the old gods of Egypt were still worshiped. "At least you had the satisfaction of killing him," he said, and then wished he had bitten his tongue off before he spoke. "Oh, God, I'm sorry. Of all the filthy things to say!" "Why? It's true. That's what has been preying on your mind, isn't it? After all those years of being tormented by him, hating him as much as he hated you, you never got the chance to pay him back. You wouldn't be human if you didn't resent me just a little." "That's bloody nonsense. Resent you for saving my life?" "Thereby adding insult to injury." She was smiling, but her lips were tremulous. "I'm glad we can talk about it now. Dear heart, don't you realize you couldn't have punished him as he deserved, even if he had been in your power, with no one to see and no one to stop you? You're too damned decent even to gloat over a fallen enemy." "You make me sound like the most ghastly prig," Ramses muttered. He could feel his taut muscles relaxing, though. Maybe she was right. As she frequently reminded him, she knew him better than he knew himself. Nefret leaned over him and took his face between her hands. "You do have a few faults." "Thank you. That makes me feel a great deal better." "And one of them," said Nefret, turning her head as he raised his, so that his lips came to rest on her cheek instead of her mouth, "is being too hard on yourself. Don't do that, I haven't finished." He took her by the shoulders and pulled her down till she was lying across him. She was laughing or crying-he couldn't tell which, he only felt the tremors that shook her body. "Sweetheart, don't cry. What's the matter?" She raised herself, planting her elbows painfully on his chest. Two tears, one from each eye, slid with exquisite slowness over the curve of her cheeks. "I didn't mean to," she said with a gulp. "I was determined not to. But I'm too frightened to play fair. Promise me-" "Anything, my dearest. What are you afraid of?" "You! Promise me you won't give in to Smith and Salisbury and the rest of them." "You heard me refuse. I hated the whole bloody business, Nefret-the deceit and the lies, the betrayal of people who trusted me, the worry I caused Mother and Father. You can't suppose I'd do it again." She shook her head vehemently. "I know you too well, Ramses. If they convinced you that there was a job only you could do, and that innocent people would be injured or killed if you didn't do it, you'd agree. I won't let you. I couldn't stand it. Not now, when we've only had a few months together. Swear to me-" "Please don't cry," Ramses said desperately. "I can't stand that. I'll swear by anything you like." "Thank you." She brushed a last tear from her face and leaned closer. "Have you ever wondered why I'm so desperately in love with you? Not because you're tall and handsome and-ooh." She let out a breathless giggle as his wandering hands settled into place. "Well, that has a little something to do with it. Darling, I know I can't keep you safe and out of trouble. I love your courage and your strength and your maddening habit of taking unnecessary risks, and the way you champion the underdog. All I'm asking is the right to share the danger. If you won't let me fight for you as you would for me-" The sentence ended in a gasp of expelled breath as he caught her to him. "Do you have the faintest idea how much I love you?" "Tell me. Show me."

The air raid had been an enlightening experience. It was by no means the first of the war-there had been a number of attacks, on London and various towns on the east coast-but it was the first for me, and it had reminded me of a truth I knew well, but sometimes forgot: that perfect safety is not to be found in this imperfect world and that facing danger is sometimes less dangerous than trying to avoid it. Or, to put it as Emerson did: God has a peculiar sense of humor. It would be just like Him to drop a bomb on our house in Kent after we had decided to avoid the perils of travel by sea. The incident had not changed my opinion about Sennia's coming with us, however. After the earlier raids, Evelyn had suggested we send her to them in Yorkshire, and this seemed to me the most sensible solution. I feared Sennia would not see it in that light. Since I am not in the habit of postponing unpleasant duties, I decided to speak to her next morning. Sennia was in the day nursery, so busy with some private game that she did not hear me approach. I stood in the doorway watching for a while. The room was cheery and bright; toys and books filled the shelves, pretty rugs covered the floors, and a fire burned on the hearth. The day was not cold, but Basima, Sennia's Egyptian nursemaid, found our English weather chilly. There was even a cat stretched out on the hearth rug. Horus did not resemble an amiable domestic puss even when he was asleep. Like all our cats, he was the descendant of a pair of Egyptian felines; his brindled coat and large ears were reminiscent of the large hunting cats shown in Egyptian wall paintings. He opened one eye, identified me as (relatively) harmless, and closed it again. There was another thing, I thought; if Sennia came with us, Horus would have to come too. He behaved like a fiend with everyone in the family except the child and Nefret, who had been his former- one could hardly say owner, not with Horus-associate until he abruptly transferred his loyalties to Sennia. Sennia was building with her blocks. The towering structure was obviously intended to represent a pyramid, and I was not left long in doubt as to the identities of the small doll shapes she moved up and down the slopes. "Uncle David and the Professor and Aunt Amelia and Aunt Nefret and Aunt Lia and baby Abdullah-no, baby, you cannot climb the pyramid, you must lie here on the sand and wait for us, it is very boring, but babies are very boring-and Ramses and"-her voice rose to a triumphant squeal-"and me!" They were on the summit, of course. This did not bode well. She called almost everyone by the courtesy titles of Aunt or Uncle, since her precise relationship to us would have been hard to define. It was not hard to explain, but a number of people still believed, despite our denials, that she was Ramses's illegitimate daughter. The resemblance between them was primarily one of coloring-brown skin and curling black hair. Her resemblance to me was stronger; she had the steely-gray eyes and determined chin I had inherited from my father. Sennia had got them, not from Ramses but from my brother's son. My nephew was one of the few truly evil men I had ever encountered. He had abandoned his child to a life of poverty and eventual prostitution, and for years he had been Ramses's bitter enemy. I could only thank heaven that Sennia had forgotten him, and that he was now out of our lives forever. The unfortunate baby doll, pushed off to one side, gave me a new insight into Sennia's real feelings about Lia and David's son. She behaved impeccably with him, but it was not surprising that she would be jealous of him and the attention he got from the rest of us. (It is quite a normal response, so psychology tells us, and I am a firm believer in psychology when it agrees with my own opinions.) Sennia was the only one who called him by his full name, which was that of his great-grandfather, one of the finest men I had ever known. One day he would be worthy of it, but it was far too formal an appellation for such a fat, jolly little creature. The rest of us employed various pet names, some of which were so silly I hesitate to repeat them. Emerson was one of the worst offenders; he relapsed into babbling idiocy with infants. The infants seemed to like it, though; little Dolly (my name for him) broke into a broad toothless grin whenever Emerson came near him. I announced my presence with a slight cough, and Sennia came running to me. She threw both arms around my waist and squeezed as hard as she could. "Goodness gracious," I exclaimed. "I believe you are even stronger than you were yesterday." "And taller. See?" I patted the curly black head pressed against my midriff, but felt obliged to point out that she was standing on tiptoe. Sennia grinned. She had very pretty, even, little white teeth. At the moment two of them were missing, which gave her smile a childish charm. "You always catch me, Aunt Amelia. Ramses never does." "He wouldn't. All right, my dear, we must get to work. Where is your reading book?" She had it and her other books ready, neatly arranged on the desk. She enjoyed her lessons, in part because they gave her the opportunity of being with the people she loved. Eventually she would have to have tutors for music and languages and other advanced subjects, but she was still very young and we took it in turn to teach her what we-and she!-felt she should learn. The curriculum was admittedly somewhat unorthodox. It included not only reading and writing and simple arithmetic, but hieroglyphic Egyptian and archaeology. Sennia had insisted on studying both. If Ramses had been a plumber, she would have demanded to learn about drains. We were deep in the adventures of little Polly and little Ben and their dog Spot when Basima bustled in. She had been late returning the breakfast tray to the kitchen, she explained, because Sennia had had to be persuaded to eat her porridge. "I do not care for porridge," said Sennia, in Ramses's very tones. "It is boring." I stifled a laugh. It would not have done to encourage her, but it was amusing to hear her imitate her hero's speech patterns and accent. She was bilingual, speaking Arabic and English with equal facility, and in her haughtier moods she brought back fond (and not so fond) memories of the little boy who had acquired his nickname of Ramses because, to quote his father, he was as swarthy as an Egyptian and as arrogant as a pharaoh. "Porridge is good for you," I said firmly. "I don't want to hear of you refusing your healthy breakfast again, or talking back to Basima." "I did not talk back. I would never be rude to Basima. I only pointed out-" "Enough," I exclaimed, as Basima nodded and beamed fatuously at her charge. She and the other servants, including Gargery, would have let Sennia skin them alive if she had indicated an interest in doing so. We finished the lesson without further interruption; but when it was over, Sennia had another complaint. "I find little Ben and little Polly very boring, Aunt Amelia. Can't we read a more interesting book?" "You find too many things boring," I said (though secretly I was just as bored with little Ben and little Polly, to say nothing of the dog). "Sometimes it is necessary to suffer boredom in order to be educated and learn manners." Sennia, who had heard this before and was not at all impressed with my argument, shifted ground. "It is time for my hieroglyph lesson. Where is Ramses?" "In hiding" was the correct answer, which I did not give. He wouldn't appear until the storm had passed. The sooner I got it over, the better. "Come here and sit by me," I said. "We must have a serious conversation." A quarter of an hour later I left the room, feeling like a villain and a murderer. Sennia lay flat on the rug next to the cat, her face , buried in her arms and her body shaking with sobs. Horus alternated between licking her hair and snarling at me. I was in no greater favor with Basima; she had not dared intervene, but the looks she shot me expressed her feelings quite well. Emerson was waiting for me at the top of the stairs. "How did it go?" "I am surprised you need ask. Everyone in the house must have heard her initial reaction." Emerson passed his sleeve across his wet forehead. The house was not especially warm; it was sheer nerves that made him perspire. "But it has been quiet for some minutes," he said anxiously. "You convinced her?" "I informed her of our decision," I corrected. "You cannot suppose I would allow a child to overrule me." In late October we sailed from Southampton. Horus shared the cabin of Basima and Sennia.