The Deeds of the Disturber (44 page)

"Who did this?" I asked.

There was no answer. I had not expected one. I turned my gaze upon Percy. He stiffened. Hands behind his back, lips tight, he met my eyes without blinking. "Did you do it, Percy?" I asked.

"No, Aunt Amelia."

"Then, if you did not, the culprit must have been Ramses. Was it Ramses, Percy?"

Percy might have stood for a portrait of Gallant Young England

Facing the Enemy. He lifted his chin and straightened his shoulders. "I cannot answer you, Aunt Amelia. I owe you the love and duty of a son, but there are some things even more important to an English gentleman."

"I see. Very well, Percy. You are excused. Please go to your room and stay there until I come."

"Yes, Aunt Amelia." He marched out.

By contrast to his cousin, Ramses made a poor showing. His narrow shoulders were hunched as if in expectation of a blow, and his eyes would not meet mine.

I held out my arms.

"Ramses, I owe you a profound apology. Come here to me."

Emotion overcomes me when I recall that moment, and draws a veil over the tender scene that ensued. Emerson was frankly sniffing and rubbing his eyes with his sleeve (he never has a handkerchief). Ramses sat between us on the bed; his father's arm was around him and he was—of course—talking. I interrupted him.

"You need not explain, Ramses, I understand everything now. Is it not fascinating, Emerson, to see how events that appear quite comprehensible at the outset can take on quite the opposite interpretation after a slight change in one's perspective? But who could have supposed that a boy of Percy's age could be so sly?"

"That," said Emerson, "is the pernicious public school training. The poor little brutes have to learn such tricks in order to survive. If I have said it once—"

"You have said it a hundred times," I agreed. "However, Percy finally overextended himself with this last accusation. Ramses' list of misdemeanors is quite extensive, in scope as in number; there are few things I would believe him incapable of doing. But to deliberately torture and mutilate an animal ... I would as soon believe the sun would rise in the west, or that you, my dear Emerson, would deceive me."

"Er—hmmm," said Emerson.

"Thank you, Mama," said Ramses. "Words fail me when I attempt—"

But I knew they did not, so I again interrupted. "My suspicions of Percy and his sister arose only recently and were confirmed by my reconsideration of early events. From the very beginning—the incident of the cricket ball in the midriff—yes, Ramses, I know you tried to tell me that a player of Percy's skill might well have been able to direct the ball in the desired direction . . . Unfortunately, I have been preoccupied with matters of life and death and had not the time to consider the
problem carefully. I suppose Violet told you that Miss Helen had given permission for you to ride her bicycle? Yes; Violet was a willing participant in the scheme and did her share of pushing and tripping and fibbing. Er . . . Ramses, your demonstrations of affection touch me deeply, but perhaps you might postpone further embraces until after you have washed. What is that substance on my skirt? It cannot be blood, it is too sticky . . . Well, never mind. I will make it up to you, Ramses, I promise. What would you like?"

"I would like to be allowed to pound Percy," said Ramses.

His father chuckled affectionately. "No doubt, my boy, no doubt. A most commendable and comprehensible desire. I too would like . . . But it can't be done, Ramses."

"I will rid us of the young man as soon as possible," I promised. "And Violet as well. You may take that as understood, Ramses. Something further is required, I believe. A little treat, or present ..."

Ramses' black eyes flashed. "May I have my disguises back, Mama?"

In fact, he had done very well without them. The shortness of his stature limited him, but the role of the street arab had served him admirably on a number of occasions, and the diabolical cunning that had prompted him to bribe a genuine specimen of the breed to distract me, so I would be less suspicious in future, left me torn between admiration and horror. The only other part he had attempted was that of the little golden-tressed girl; after I took away the first wig, he fashioned another out of the hair of Violet's doll. But this, as he was the first to admit, was more limiting. "I have never fully appreciated the disadvantages, not only of being female in this present society, but of being well-to-do," he explained in his pedantic manner. "The only way I could get about as a girl was to attach myself to some adult, and that was not satisfactory, for the adult in question, unless extremely preoccupied, very often was the first to notice I was unattended, and would inquire what had happened to my nurse. I also considered disguising myself as a dwarf or midget, but concluded I would attract an undesirable amount of attention in that role."

From the first Percy, ably abetted by Violet, had set out to get Ramses in trouble. It may seem incredible that there are individuals whose chief pleasure in life is making someone else suffer; but the annals of crime, not to mention the ordinary history of the human race, contain too many examples for the conclusion to be doubted. Initially Ramses had found himself unable to deal with these machinations; he was used to murderers and thieves, but he had never encountered anyone like Percy
before. His attempts to explain himself only seemed to make matters worse, and although he was wise enough not to say so, I could see he felt I had been a trifle too quick to assume he was at fault. I had to agree; but I would like to point out that Ramses' past history tended to confirm such an assumption. Percy had early on discovered that Ramses was creeping out of the house without permission and in disguise; Ramses had been forced (as he put it) to resort to bribery in order to keep his cousins silent. Percy had stripped him of all his pocket money and most of his valuables, including the watch and the knife, and then, having decided the cupboard was bare, had prepared his last trick.

I gave myself the satisfaction of returning Percy and Violet to their mama. She had been in Birmingham the whole time. That was just another example of my brother James's penuriousness, for if he had not been too miserly to send his wife abroad, it would have taken me longer to discover the plot. I found her squatting like a toad in her house; she had dismissed all the servants except for a single overworked housemaid, and when I forced my way past this poor creature I discovered Elizabeth in the drawing room with a novel and a box of chocolates. The sight of me caused her to choke on the one she had just popped into her mouth, and I had to smack her on the back several times before her color returned to normal.

"But what the devil was the point of it all?" Emerson demanded upon my return. "Just to save a few sovereigns on their food and care?"

"No doubt James would consider that worth the effort," I replied in disgust. "But there was more to it than that, Emerson; Elizabeth frankly admitted it when I demanded the truth, she is even stupider than James and has less gumption. It was those newspaper stories that spoke of Ramses' frail health and dangerous exploits. Percy was supposed to worm his way into our affections, so that if anything should happen to Ramses, we would make Percy our heir."

Emerson turned bright crimson. "What? What? Curse the murderous little—"

"No, no, Emerson, I don't believe for a moment that Percy was a precocious killer. Though some of the tricks he played might well have had fatal results ... He was only supposed to be engaging and adorable and lovable."

"A role quite beyond his powers," Emerson grunted.

"But James has not enough imagination to realize that, Emerson. He felt it was worth a try, at any rate."

Emerson thought it over. "Then it is Mr. O'Connell we have to thank
for those ghastly children being foisted upon us," he said in an ominous voice. "It was he who wrote that story—"

What a pity, I thought; just when Kevin and Emerson had been getting on so well. I decided this was not the time to tell Emerson about my hopes for the young people. There was no real barrier to separate them; she was an aristocrat, but poor as a church mouse; he earned a salary sufficient to support a wife in respectable style, and I had always suspected his antecedents were more distinguished than he let on. He spoke quite good English when he was not trying to behave like a stage Irishman, and the suit of evening clothes—which he had admitted he owned—had been cut by an excellent tailor. It looked very promising, and I felt sure that by the time the wedding took place, Emerson would have got over his annoyance and might even agree to give the bride away.

I was in the library, scribbling busily away at my paper on the Black Pyramid, and meditating (for when the subject is one with which I am thoroughly at home I can easily think of two or more things at once) on the tranquillity of family life. One never truly appreciates one's happiness until after one has lost it and then seen it restored; 1 had never fully appreciated Ramses until I met Percy. The house was blissfully quiet. Emerson was at the Museum; Ramses was in his room, mummifying a rat or manufacturing dynamite, or doing something of the sort. How peaceful it all was, and how devoutly I thanked Heaven for my manifold blessings!

There was only one little thing. I did not mention it to Heaven, since I fully expected I would be able to deal with it unaided, but at the moment I was not quite certain how to proceed. I had told Emerson I would never do anything to make him break a solemn promise—nor would I. But there had to be some other way of ascertaining the identity of that mysterious man in the turban ... He must be an Egyptian. An ally, or enemy, or business rival, or lover, of poor Ayesha's? Ahmet the Louse had been restored to his friends and his relations, but I knew how to reach him; he or some other of the opium addicts who had been poor unfortunate Ayesha's clients must know . . .

The library door burst open with the impetuosity that marks my beloved spouse. I greeted him with a smile; he greeted me with a fervent embrace. "Hallo, Peabody. How is the paper coming along?"

"Very well, my dear."

"Good. Then you can take a few minutes' respite from your labors."

"Certainly, my dear Emerson."

He threw himself down on the sofa and indicated the seat next to him. I took it, and studied him with considerable curiosity. He seemed in excessively high spirits; his whole body was bubbling with laughter that now and again escaped his smiling lips in a cheery chuckle. His eyes sparkled and his cheeks were handsomely flushed.

"What do you say to a whiskey and soda, Peabody?"

"My dear, not at this hour. It is too early."

"Well, I must do something to celebrate." He pursed his lips and blew out his breath in a long whistle. "What a narrow escape! I really feared for a time ..."

"What is it, Emerson? Have you finished your manuscript?"

"Oh, that. Something much more important, Peabody. I tell you, I have narrowly escaped a horrible fate. Aren't you going to ask me what it was?"

An inkling of the truth had begun to dawn. I smiled demurely. "Why, no, Emerson, not if it is something you have sworn never to tell. 'Eternal silence' was, I believe—"

"Peabody, you can sometimes be very annoying. You are supposed to nag and scold and bully me into speaking."

"Consider it done, Emerson."

Emerson burst out laughing. "Thank you. Let me see, how can I put this . . . Peabody, would you like to be the wife of Sir Radcliffe Emerson, Knight?"

"Why, no, Emerson, that would not suit me at all," I replied calmly. "To be addressed as Lady Radcliffe—"

Emerson interrupted me with a hearty kiss. "I thought you would feel that way. So I declined. I was forced, however, to accept a small token of esteem."

He handed me a little velvet box. Inside was an emerald of astonishing size and clarity, set in a ring and encircled with small diamonds.

"My dear, now vulgar," I said, examining it. "How could she possibly suppose you would wear such a thing? She is a rather common little woman, I know, but—"

"Curse you, Peabody," Emerson shouted. "You knew all along, didn't you? That night, when I came back from Windsor, and you accused me of seeing another woman, but you put it in such a way that I wasn't sure whether you meant Ayesha or ... Peabody, you ought to be ashamed of yourself!"

If I had been the arrogant, conniving female some people believe me to be, I would have let him preserve his delusion, for it certainly gave
me credit for almost superhuman omniscience. Instead I laughed and laid my head against his shoulder.

"No, Emerson, I did not have the least idea. Not until this moment. But when you spoke of being knighted—well, there is only one individual in England who can bestow that honor. So the mysterious Indian was her intimate servant, the Munshi?"

"Quite right." Emerson's good humor was restored; he likes me to admit I was wrong, and he likes even more to have me put my head on his shoulder. "She summoned me, Peabody, after it was apparent that young Liverpool was deeply involved in an affair which might well end in a charge of murder. It was Cuff who gathered the evidence against him; and now perhaps you can forgive the good Inspector for concealing some of the facts, even after the case had been officially concluded. Like me, he was sworn to secrecy. Unlike me, he stands to lose a great deal if he breaks his word."

"It is not your fault, my dear. I nagged and bullied and scolded you."

"Quite right." Emerson grinned. "Since I have succumbed to your underhanded wiles and cruel threats I may as well tell you the rest of it; for in telling you, my dearest Peabody, I confide only in the better half of myself, and I know you will consider yourself bound by the same oath."

"Naturally, my dearest Emerson. And may I say how much I admire the Jesuitical subtlety of your reasoning? It is worthy of Ramses at his best."

"Thank you, my dear. You mustn't blame yourself for failing to follow Cuff's deductions, since he had information you did not—to wit, a long dossier on the activities of Liverpool and his set. He knew Oldacre was one of them, and he also knew they were habitues of Ayesha's establishment. Being fully aware of Liverpool's illness and its symptoms, he came to the logical conclusion that Liverpool was a prime suspect in the murder case. But when he took his suspicions to his superiors he met with precisely the response experience had told him to expect: consternation and skepticism."