The Ape Who Guards the Balance (38 page)

Though he had concealed his chagrin with gentlemanly courtesy, I thought Howard had been hurt by Mr. Davis’s employing another artist, one without his experience or his need. I found an opportunity later that evening to speak an encouraging word.

“Do not be discouraged, Howard. Contemplate the future with courage and optimism.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Howard sighed. “I’m trying. I do get discouraged at times, but I cannot complain when I have friends such as you and the Professor. You know how much I admire him.”

“Er—quite,” I said. Emerson is the most remarkable of men, but certain of his characteristics are better avoided. Howard’s stubbornness during the affair of the drunken Frenchmen had been only too reminiscent of the way Emerson would have behaved under those circumstances.

I patted Howard’s hand. “This is not the end of your career, Howard, it is only a temporary hiatus. Take my word for it. Something is going to turn up!”

With the tact I had come to expect of him, Sir Edward excused himself as soon as we got home. Yawning in an unconvincing manner, he declared he was excessively fatigued and would retire at once. In my opinion, several of the others looked as though they could do with a rest. Lia was not one of them. She announced she did not intend to waste her few precious hours sleeping.

“You must have some rest,” I said sympathetically but firmly. “Tomorrow will be another tiring day.”

“I don’t want to go to bed,” declared Lia, sounding like a spoiled child and looking, in the chin area, alarmingly like Emerson.

“Come and talk for a while,” Nefret said, slipping her arm through that of the other girl. “I haven’t shown you the new robe I bought in Cairo.”

With the hour of leave-taking so close upon us I was reluctant to part from my dear Evelyn, and I believe Emerson felt the same about his brother. They were deeply attached to one another, though their British reticence prevented them from saying so. At Walter’s request Emerson got out the papyrus again, and they began an animated and amiable argument about the reading of certain words. After a time I noticed that Ramses was not taking part. This was enough to arouse my maternal concern, so I went to him, observing that David had already slipped out.

“You don’t look at all well, Ramses,” I said. “Is your hand bothering you?”

“No, Mother.” He held out the member in question for my inspection. He had removed the bandage. There was still some swelling and discoloration, but when I bent each finger in turn, he endured it without visible signs of discomfort.

“Something to help you sleep?” I inquired. “You had a particularly unpleasant experience yesterday.”

“Unpleasant,” Ramses repeated. “You have a talent for understatement, Mother. Thank you for your consideration, but I don’t need any of your laudanum. I believe I will go to bed, though. Say good night to the others for me, I don’t want to disturb them.”

Evelyn’s golden head now rested upon a cushion, and her eyes were closed. I covered her with an afghan and tiptoed out. Though why I bothered to tiptoe I do not know, since Emerson and Walter were talking in loud voices.

Fatima was in the kitchen, her chin propped on her hands and her eyes fixed on some object on the table in front of her. So intense was her concentration that she started and squeaked when she realized I had come in. I saw that the object was a book—the copy of the Koran Nefret had given her.

“You shouldn’t read by candlelight, Fatima, it is hard on your eyes,” I said, putting my hand on her shoulder. “I am ashamed I have not been of more help to you with your studies.”

“All help me, Sitt Hakim. So kind. Shall I read to you?”

I could not refuse. She faltered once or twice, and I supplied the words; then I praised her again and told her to get some sleep.

Peeping into the parlor I saw the men were still at it and that Evelyn was sleeping sweetly. I decided I would check on my other charges. I went down the passageway and into the courtyard. My soft evening slippers made no sound on the dusty ground. I put my ear to Ramses’s door, thinking as I listened how quiet and beautiful the place looked in the pale moonlight. My little garden was flourishing, thanks to Fatima’s care. The hibiscus plant in the far corner was a good-sized tree now, almost as tall as I and luxuriant with foliage.

Then I realized I was not the only one to enjoy the moonlight. A gust of wind stirred the leaves of the hibiscus and I caught a glimpse of someone standing beside it. No—not one person—two persons, so close to one another that they appeared to be a single form. All I could see of her were the slender arms twined round his neck and the flowing lines of a full white skirt. His back was to me, but as the breeze moved the leaves and the pale light shifted across his form I saw the dark head bent over the girl’s, and the long length of him, and the way his shirt strained across his back. Nefret had worn emerald-green satin that night. The girl was Lia—in the ardent embrace of my son!

I don’t suppose they would have heard me if I had screamed aloud. I could not have done so, in fact; astonishment—for I had not had the least notion that any such thing was going on—kept me mute. I must have made some sound, however, or leaned against the door; for it opened suddenly and I would have toppled over backward if hands had not caught and steadied me.

The hands were those of Ramses. There could be no doubt of that, for the rest of him was there too, standing just behind me—not in the courtyard with Lia in his arms.

He saw them too. I heard his breath catch and felt his hands tighten painfully on my ribs, and then at last I was able to speak.

“Good Gad!” I cried.

The guilty parties broke apart. He would have moved away from her, but she caught hold of his arm with both hands and held him fast. My outcry had not been loud; Nefret must have been awake and listening. Her door opened. She looked from me to the miscreants, and then back at me.

“Damn!” she said.

“What is the meaning of this?” I demanded.

“Now, Aunt Amelia, please remain calm,” Nefret said. “I can explain.”

“You knew of this? For how long, pray tell?”

“Don’t be angry with her.” David put the girl’s hands gently away and came toward me. “It is my fault.”

“No, it’s mine!” Lia exclaimed. She caught David up and tried to put her arms round him. “I—I seduced him!”

“Oh, God,” said Ramses. There was such a strange note in his voice that I swung round to look at him. His face was alive with an emotion as strong as any I had beheld on that enigmatic countenance.

“Did you know?” I demanded.

“No.”

I turned back to David. “I presume Lia’s parents do not suspect this—this—”

“I am going to tell them now,” David said quietly. “No, Lia, don’t try to stop me; I ought to have done the decent thing long ago.”

“I’m going with you,” Ramses said. He picked me up, as if I had been a life-sized doll, and set me down out of his way.

“No, my brother. Let me have the courage for once to act without your help.”

He passed into the house. Lia started after him, and Nefret said with a gusty sigh, “Well, that’s done it. We may as well join in, Ramses, family arguments are the favorite form of amusement here and this looks like being a loud one.”

•

Twelve

•

L
oud it most certainly was. I was ashamed of Walter. He behaved like an outraged papa in a stage melodrama, and I half-expected him to point a quivering finger at David and thunder, “Never darken my door again!”

David had been too nervous to break the news gently—but then I suppose it would not have mattered how he broke it. “Lia and I love one another. I know I have no right to love her. I ought to have told you at once. I ought to have gone away. I ought—”

He was not allowed to say more. Walter caught hold of his daughter, who was clinging to David’s arm, and dragged her out of the room. I do not suppose he had ever laid an angry hand on her, or any of his other children; so taken aback was she that she went unprotesting. We all stood like pillars of salt, avoiding one another’s eyes, until he returned to announce that he had locked her in her room.

“I must go to her,” said Evelyn.

It was the first time she had spoken since David had made his announcement. Her pale, silent look of reproach hurt David even more than Walter’s angry words. He bowed his head, and Ramses, who had been watching with the strangest expression, went to him and put his hand on David’s shoulder.

Walter turned on his wife. “You are not to go near her. Pack your things. We will take the morning train. As for you, David—”

“That will be enough, Walter,” Emerson said. His pipe had fallen from his mouth when David spoke. He picked it up from the floor, examined it, and shook his head. “Cracked. A perfectly good pipe ruined. That is what comes of these melodramatic scenes. Young people tend to be overly excitable, but I am surprised, Walter, to see a grown man like you lose your temper.”

“It runs in the family,” said Nefret. She went to David and took his other arm. “Professor darling, you won’t let Uncle Walter—”

“I will not allow any member of this family to behave in a manner unbecoming his or her dignity.”

Considering its source, this was an outrageous statement, but of course Emerson was sublimely unaware of that. He went on, “David, my boy, go to your room. Sit quietly and don’t do anything foolish. If I discovered that you had polished off your Aunt Amelia’s laudanum or hanged yourself with a bedsheet I would be seriously put out with you. Perhaps you had better go with him, Ramses.”

“No, sir,” Ramses said quietly. “He wouldn’t do anything like that.”

“I’m not leaving either,” Nefret announced.

“Do you believe he needs advocates here, to ensure fair play?” Emerson inquired.

“Yes!” Nefret exclaimed passionately.

“Yes,” said Ramses.

Nefret’s slim shoulders were thrown back and her eyes blazed. Ramses’s eyes were half-veiled by his lashes, and his face was no more expressive than usual, but his pose was as defiant as Nefret’s. They looked very handsome and very touching and very young. I wanted to shake both of them.

“Thank you, my friends,” David said softly. With a firm stride, not looking back, he left the room.

“Well now,” Emerson began.

He got no farther. Nefret turned on me. I had gone to Evelyn and was sitting beside her, patting her hand.

“What have you got to say, Aunt Amelia? Aren’t you going to speak up for them?”

“My dear, it is out of the question. I am sorry.”

“Why?”

“She is only seventeen, Nefret.”

“He would wait.”

“
He
would wait?” Walter burst out. “The slyness of it! I welcomed that boy into my home, treated him like a son, and he took advantage of a child who—”

“False!” Nefret’s voice pealed like a bugle. She looked like a young Valkyrie as she spun round to face Walter, cheeks flushed, hair as bright as a bronze helmet. “Lia made the first advance; do you think David would have dared, shy and modest as he is? He wanted to confess but she wouldn’t let him. Why are you all behaving as if he has done something shameful? He loves her with all his heart and he wants to marry her—not now, when she comes of age and he has established himself.”

“They cannot marry,” Walter said. “Not now or ever.” He passed his hand over his eyes. “I spoke in the heat of anger, and I regret it. I will tell the boy so, for I don’t believe he did anything dishonorable. But marriage . . .”

Ramses had followed David to the door and closed it after him. Lounging against the wall, his hands in his pockets, he said, “He’s Egyptian. A native. That’s it, isn’t it?”

Walter did not answer. Ramses was not looking at him; he was looking at me.

“Certainly not,” I said. “You know my feelings on that subject, Ramses, and I am offended you should think me capable of such prejudice.”

“Then what is your objection?” my son inquired.

“Well—his family. His father was a drunkard and his mother—”

“Was Abdullah’s daughter. Is it Abdullah to whom you object? Daoud? Selim?”

“Stop it, Ramses,” Emerson ordered. “I will not have you addressing your mother in that accusatory tone.”

“I beg your pardon, Mother,” said Ramses, not meaning a word of it.

“This business is too serious to be settled in a single evening of recriminations and accusations,” Emerson went on. “You may remove your family tomorrow evening, Walter, if you insist, but I will be cursed if I am going to lose another night’s sleep getting you to Luxor in time to catch the morning train. No, Nefret, I don’t want to hear any more from you either. Not tonight.”

“I was only going to ask,” said Nefret meekly, “what
you
think, Professor?”

“I?” Emerson tapped the ashes out of his pipe and rose. “Good Gad, is someone asking my opinion? Well, then, I do not see what all the fuss is about. David is a talented, intelligent, ambitious young man. Lia is a pretty, spoiled, engaging little creature. They must wait, of course, but if they are of the same mind three or four years from now she could do worse. Now off to bed with you all.”

Nefret ran to him and threw her arms around him.

“Hmph,” said Emerson, smiling fondly. “Bed, young lady.”

We dispersed in silence. Walter looked rather shamefaced. He was a kind, gentle man, and I could see he regretted his behavior, but I did not suppose he would change his mind. It was an unfortunate development. Walter had thought of David not only as a gifted pupil but as an adopted son; this disclosure must change that relationship forever. It was even more difficult for Evelyn, who had taken David to her bosom.

She kissed me good night, looking sad enough to break my heart, and went to Walter. He put a comforting arm round her and led her out. Nefret caught Ramses by the hand. “Come to David,” she said, and led him out. Neither of them looked at me.

“So, Peabody,” said my husband. “Another pair of cursed young lovers, eh?”

I believe in the efficacy of humor to relieve awkward situations, but I could not smile at this old joke. “They will get over it, Emerson. ‘Hearts do not break; they sting and ache for . . .’ I forget the rest.”