The Ape Who Guards the Balance (33 page)

The others had hastened to the doorway. For once even Ramses appeared to be struck dumb. Nefret’s appeal roused David from his paralysis of astonishment; stepping forward, he lifted the swaying little figure. She nestled in his arms like a kitten and hid her face against his breast. Following Nefret, he carried her into the house.

“If ever there was a time for whiskey and soda,” said a deep voice behind me, “this is that time. Sit down, Peabody, before you fall over.”

Daoud had begun to suspect something was amiss. A look of apprehension rippled slowly across his face, taking several seconds to complete the process because of the size of that countenance. “Did I do wrong, Sitt Hakim? You said to me, if one wishes to come—”

“You did not do wrong,” Ramses said, glancing at me. “Mother, get him a cup of tea. Now, Daoud, my friend, sit there and tell us all about it, from the beginning to the end.”

I had been told Daoud was the best storyteller in the family, but I had found it hard to believe; he was usually a silent man. Now, with an audience as rapt as any raconteur could wish, he came into his own. His voice was deep and musical, his metaphors were poetic, the movements of his hands hypnotic. In fact, his metaphors were so poetic I believe I had better summarize the story, and add a few interpretations that had completely eluded the innocent man.

I would never have supposed that inexperienced girl was capable of such cold-blooded, calculating manipulation! While her parents debated and argued, she had instantly determined on a course of action. There was one sure way to get them to go on to Luxor: to go herself. She had had sense enough—thank God!—to know she ought not attempt the journey alone, and it had not taken her long to realize she could never convince Selim to take her. Daoud—poor Daoud, the gentlest and kindest and not the most intelligent of men—was easy prey. And then there was my own careless statement—I could have kicked myself when I remembered! “If any of them decides to come on, he or she . . .” Ah, yes, I had said it, or something like it, and Daoud had taken it literally. Why not? He had seen me and Nefret, and even Evelyn, make our own decisions and act independently of men. It was not the way of the women of Egypt, but we were a different breed. And how could there be any danger if he was with her?

The whiskey and soda helped a great deal. I settled down to listen with interest to Daoud’s animated account of the journey. He had had the return tickets—first class, for we do not allow our men to suffer unnecessary discomfort—and plenty of money. Lia had met him outside the hotel, after pretending to retire. Exchanging her muffling cloak for the robe and veil she had asked him to purchase, she had accompanied him to the station and onto the train. It had been a long, tiring trip, but he had done all he could to make her comfortable, purchasing fresh fruit and food at various stops and bringing her water to bathe her hands and face. She had slept a good deal of the time, in the respectful shelter of his arm.

“And so we came,” Daoud concluded, “like a dove fluttering home to its nest she came, and I watched over her, Sitt Hakim, I let no bird of prey come near her.”

Darkness had fallen by the time he finished. Fatima had brought out the lamps, and had lingered to listen.

Emerson drew a deep breath. “Well told, Daoud. And—er—well done. I understand how it came about, and you are not to—that is, you acted for the best. You too must be weary. Go home and rest now.”

Nefret came out in time to add her thanks, in the form of a hearty hug, and Daoud went off looking as if he had received a medal. “She is asleep,” Nefret said, before I could ask. “David is with her; I thought it would be good for her to see a familiar face if she woke and could not remember where she was. Should we not go in? I think dinner is ready; Mahmud is banging his pans around, the way he does when we are late.”

Fatima let out a hiss of dismay and darted into the house. I could not blame her for forgetting her duties; we had all forgot everything except the interest of Daoud’s narrative.

“Well!” I said, after we had taken our places round the table. “I had believed myself an excellent judge of character, but I confess Lia has shaken that opinion. To think she is capable of such slyness!”

“And such courage,” Ramses said quietly.

“Yes,” I admitted. “When I think of that dainty little creature braving the shouting, shoving mob at the train station, and that long, uncomfortable trip—all of it new and strange and frightening. What did she have to say, Nefret?”

“Not a great deal.” Nefret planted her elbows on the table, a rude habit she had got from Emerson and of which I had been unable to break her. “She was so tired she kept falling asleep while I bathed her and got her into bed. She kept insisting we were not to blame Daoud, that it was all her doing. She left a note for her parents—”

“Good Gad!” I cried. “How could I have forgot about them! Poor souls, they must be beside themselves.”

“I expect they are already on their way here,” said Ramses.

This proved to be the case. We located the messages Mustafa had brought over from the telegraph office; finding us engaged when he returned, he had left them on the table in the parlor. The first had been sent early that morning, after Walter and Evelyn discovered Lia was missing. The second announced that they and Selim were taking the next express. It would arrive in Luxor around midnight. The next question was who would meet them. Emerson settled that at once.

“Ramses and David and I. No, Peabody, contrary to your opinions on the subject, we do not need you to protect us. Need I caution you to remain in the house? Should you receive a message written in blood asking you to rush to my rescue, you may assume it did not come from me.”

Then followed a period of rushing about, as on the eve of Waterloo. Lia had certainly disrupted our plans to an amazing degree; but when I saw the tumbled curls and pale little face I could not find it in my heart to be angry with her. She was curled up in Nefret’s bed, sound asleep. David had pulled a chair close to the bed. When I saw how drawn and anxious his face was, I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“Go and have something to eat, David. There is nothing to worry about now, she is safe, and Evelyn and Walter are on their way. Selim is with them. Emerson wants you to go with him to meet the train.”

“Yes, certainly. You won’t—you won’t scold her, will you, Aunt Amelia?”

“Perhaps just a little,” I said with a smile. “Your brotherly affection does you credit, David, but don’t be concerned; I am too relieved to be angry. One must admire her courage, if not her good sense.”

After observing her color and listening to her quiet breathing, I concluded there was nothing wrong with the child that rest would not put right. My medical experience informed me that she would sleep through until morning unless she was disturbed, so, leaving the lamp alight and the door ajar, I went in search of the others. The sitting room was deserted except for Fatima—and Sir Edward, who listened with an expression of intense interest as she spoke.

She broke off when she saw me and bustled out, muttering about bed linen and towels and water in the basins.

“She has been telling me about your niece,” said Sir Edward. “I look forward to meeting Miss Emerson; she appears to be as adventurous and independent as the other ladies in the family.”

“A little too independent for a girl of seventeen,” I replied. “However, all’s well that ends well. If you will excuse me, I must go and see that the guest room is got in order.”

“And I will clear my belongings out of my room.”

“There is no hurry about that. Lia will share Nefret’s room tonight, and it may be that Walter and Evelyn will turn right round and take her back to Cairo tomorrow.”

“It might be advisable for them to do so. Mrs. Emerson—”

But he was interrupted by Emerson bellowing my name, and I exclaimed, “Good Gad! He will wake the child. Excuse me, Sir Edward.”

Another had had the same thought; when I went to Nefret’s room I met David coming out. “She is still sleeping,” he reported.

“Good. Now go along, Emerson is waxing impatient. And don’t forget to tell Selim he must not be hard on Daoud.”

Emerson had wanted my assistance in locating his coat, which was hanging on a hook in plain sight. I helped him into it and smoothed the lapels and bade him take care; and indeed, the sober faces of Emerson and the lads more resembled those of a rescue expedition than a group of gentlemen going to meet friends. I suggested Sir Edward might accompany them, but Emerson shook his head.

“He had better stay here with you. Now, Peabody, remember what I told you . . .”

I cut the lecture short and sent them off with a cheery smile. The train might be late, it often was; but they wanted to be on the platform when it came in. My dear Evelyn would be in a fever of anxiety for her child. She must learn at the earliest possible moment that Lia had arrived safe and sound.

There would be no sleep for any of us that night. Nefret had gone back to Lia, but I was too restless to settle down. I asked Fatima to make coffee and followed her into the kitchen.

“I see you and Sir Edward have become friendly,” I said casually.

“He is very kind,” Fatima said. She reached for a tray. “Should I not talk with him, Sitt Hakim?”

“Of course you may. What do you talk about?”

“Many things.” Her busy hands arranged cups and saucers, sugar bowl and spoons. “What I do, and what my life was like before, and what it is now; about . . . Oh, all little things, Sitt Hakim; I cannot speak of great matters, but he smiles and listens. He is very kind.”

“Yes,” I said thoughtfully. “Thank you, Fatima. Why don’t you go to bed? It is late.”

“Oh, no, Sitt, I could not do that.” She turned to me, her eyes wide. “They will want food when they come, and they will be tired, but so happy to see their child. It will make me glad to see their happiness. Will they be very angry with Daoud, Sitt Hakim? He meant no harm. He is a good man.”

“I know.” I patted her shoulder. “I believe I can make them understand, Fatima. They are both very fond of Daoud.”

My questions about Sir Edward had not been prompted by suspicion, for even my fertile imagination could not think of any sinister motive for his interest in Fatima. It was unthinkable that her loyalty could be shaken by bribe or threat, and anyhow, she knew nothing that could be used against us. His kindly interest displayed a new side of his character. Perhaps, I mused, it had been his association with us that had broadened and softened that character.

I carried the tray to Nefret’s room, where I found her sitting by the bed reading. She said she did not want coffee, and would stay with Lia. I had the distinct feeling that I had been dismissed, though I could not have said why; so I let my restless feet take me to the courtyard, where moonlight spilled through the leaves of the trees and the night breeze cooled my face. I made out the motionless form of the guard, a pale shape in the shadows, and wondered if he had dropped off to sleep. When something stirred along the wall to my right, I started. A soft voice was quick to reassure me.

“Don’t be alarmed, Mrs. Emerson, it is only I.”

I made my way to the bench where he was sitting. “I thought you had retired, Sir Edward.”

He rose and took the tray from my hands. “One of your valiant guards is already dozing,” he said lightly. “I could not sleep anyhow. But coffee would be welcome. May I give you a cup?”

I accepted, and watched his well-groomed hands move deftly among the implements on the tray. “Is there some particular reason why you are wakeful tonight?”

He was silent for a moment. Then he said, “I was trying to decide whether to tell you. Far be it from me to add to your concern, but—”

“I prefer facts, however unpalatable, to ignorance,” I replied, taking the cup he offered me.

“I suspected as much. Well, then, I did not tell you the whole truth about my plans for this evening. I did dine at the Winter Palace, but afterward I paid a visit to a certain establishment of which you have heard. Purely for purposes of inquiry, of course.”

I didn’t doubt his assurance. A man of such fastidious tastes would not be tempted by what “the establishment” in question had to offer.

“I will spare you a detailed description,” he went on. “Except to say that I was somewhat conspicuous in that ambience, and that my motives were immediately suspect. I came away with my inquiries unanswered; and yet, Mrs. Emerson, I sensed that the denials given me were due to fear, not ignorance.”

“What about the girl Nefret mentioned?”

His lips set in a thin line of distaste. “Several were very young, but her description was too vague to enable me to identify which one she meant. All in all, it was a singularly unpleasant and absolutely unproductive visit. I would not have mentioned it to you if I hadn’t felt it necessary to warn you. You see, Mrs. Emerson, I know you well, and I know Miss Forth; she must not go there again. Must not!”

Such vehemence, from a man of his temperament, was strangely disturbing. “I agree she must not,” I said slowly. “But aside from the general impropriety of such an act, you seem to feel there is a particular reason—a particular danger. I beg you will be more specific.”

“Don’t you see?” He put his cup down and turned to face me. “Her first visit there caught them unawares. They had not expected she would come; who would?”

“Presumably they had not expected Ramses and David either.”

“No; but it was her behavior, her open-hearted, generous appeal to those miserable women, that may have suggested to someone a means of luring her into a trap. I never believed that message was genuine. If you had not intercepted it—might she not have gone alone to the rendezvous? Might she not respond to another such appeal, or brave the horrors of that place if she believed the writer of the note was threatened? You must convince her such an act would be madness!”

His voice was tremulous with emotion. Did he care for her that much? Perhaps I had misjudged him.

“Do you care for her that much, Sir Edward?”

After a few sounds suggestive of strangulation, Sir Edward remarked, “I ought to be accustomed to your forthright manners, Mrs. Emerson. You warned me once I would never succeed in winning her regard.”