Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (139 page)

‘No, of course not,’ Nemo said.

The man raised his hand. There was such dignity in the gesture that Nemo halted. The Egyptian said quietly, ‘I have failed my master. There is only one fate for those who fail him; but I feel no shame at losing to the Sitt Hakim, who is not a mere woman, but one who has the heart of a man, as I was told. I salute you, sitt.’ And he moved his hand from breast to brow to lips, in the respectful gesture of his people.

I was about to respond to this graceful compliment when a dreadful change came over the man’s face. His lips drew back in a hideous grin; his eyes rolled up until only the blank white of the eyeballs showed. His hands flew to his throat. He fell over backward and lay still.

Nemo rushed to him. ‘Its no use,’ I said, lowering my pistol. ‘He was dead before he struck the ground. Prussic acid, I suspect.’

‘You are right. There is a distinct odour of bitter almonds.’ Nemo straightened, white to the lips. ‘What sort of people are these? He took the poison rather than …’

‘Allow himself to be questioned. Curse it! I should have taken steps to bind his hands immediately. Well, I will know better next time.’

‘Next time?’ Nemo raised a trembling hand to his brow. His sleeve was drenched with blood and I said, recalling myself from my chagrin. ‘You are not yourself, Mr Nemo. Loss of blood has weakened you, and we must tend your injuries without delay.’

Dazed and shaken, Nemo allowed me to bind his arm with a strip torn from the hem of his robe. ‘That will stop the bleeding,’ I said. ‘But the wound requires to be cleaned and bandaged. Let us return to the house at once.’

‘What about–’ Nemo gestured.

I looked at the dead man. His empty eyes seemed to stare intently at the darkening vault of heaven. Already the vultures were gathering.

‘Turn him over,’ I said brusquely.

Nemo glanced from me to the birds circling overhead. Silently he did as I asked.

When we got back, the gates were open and Abdullah was standing outside. ‘Sitt,’ he began, as soon as we were within hearing range, ‘Emerson has been asking–’

‘So I imagine.’ I could hear Emerson rampaging around the house, yelling my name. I had nurtured the fond hope he might still be absorbed in his work; but now there was nothing for it but to admit at least part of the truth.

‘There has been an accident,’ I explained to Abdullah, who was staring at Nemo’s bloody sleeve. ‘Please take Ali or Hassan and go at once to the ridge behind the tents. You will find a dead body there. Carry it here.’

Abdullah clapped his hand to his brow. ‘Not a dead man, sitt. Not another dead man …’ A flicker of reviving hope returned to his stricken face. ‘Is it a mummy you mean, sitt? An
old
dead man?’

‘I am afraid this one is rather fresh,’ I admitted. ‘You had better fashion a litter or something of that sort with which to carry him. Get on with it, if you please; I cannot stand here
fahddling
with you, can’t you see Mr Nemo needs medical attention?’

Abdullah staggered off, wringing his hands and muttering. A few words were intelligible: ‘Another dead body. Every year it is the same. Every year, another dead body …’

‘Am I to understand you make it a habit to discover dead bodies?’ Nemo asked.

I drew him towards the house. ‘Certainly not, Mr Nemo. I don’t look for such things; they come upon me, so to speak. Now let me do the talking, if you will. Emerson is not going to like this.’

‘Before we reached the door, Emerson came bursting out. He stopped short at the sight of us. The blood rushed to his face. ‘Not again!’ he shouted. ‘I warned you, Amelia–’

‘Sssh.’ I put my finger to my lips, ‘There is no need to make such a fuss, Emerson. You will alarm–’

‘A fuss? A fuss?’ Emerson’s voice rose to a pitch I had seldom heard, even from him. ‘What the devil have you been up to? You disappear for hours and then return dishevelled and sandy, accompanied by a bloody–’

‘Emerson! Language!’

‘The adjective was meant literally,’ Emerson explained. ‘Mr Nemo, am I to understand that once again I have to thank you for saving a member of my immediate family from doom and destruction?’

‘It will be explained to you, Emerson,’ I said soothingly. ‘Mr Nemo does indeed deserve your thanks, and the first expression of our gratitude ought to be the tending of the wounds he courageously incurred in our service. Will you be so good as to fetch my medical equipment? I believe I will operate in the open air, where the light is better, and he won’t drip blood on my carpets.’

Silently, ominously, Emerson did as he was asked, and I led Nemo to the back of the house, where I had set up a primitive but efficient area of ablution. It was even possible to bathe behind a modest arrangement of woven screens, for a ditch served as a drain to carry off the water. Emerson and Ramses did so daily, Emerson of his own free will, Ramses because he was made to; but since the exercise involved having a servant pour jars of water over one from above, I did not consider it suitable for me to emulate them.

When Emerson joined me, I had persuaded Nemo to remove his tattered robe. It was beyond repair, and I directed one of the men, who had gathered round, to fetch one of his, promising, of course, to replace it. Under his robe Nemo wore the usual cotton drawers, reaching to his knees and tied around the waist with a drawstring. The bright flush of embarrassment that suffused even his bare breast assured me he had not lost as much blood as I feared.

I hastened to set him at ease. ‘I assure you, Mr Nemo, bare skin is no novelty to me. I have tended many wounds and seen many naked breasts – and yours is nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, your pectoral development is quite admirable.’

A growling sound reminded me of the presence of my irate spouse, and I hastened to add, ‘Though not as admirable as Emerson’s. Now, Emerson, as I work I will inform you of the latest occurrence–’

But that offer had to be delayed. Through the ring of interested onlookers burst a slight form, wild-eyed and agitated. Nemo made a violent movement as if to turn, but stopped himself.

For a moment they confronted one another in a silence fraught with emotion, their faces matching one another’s in snowy pallor. Enid raised a delicate hand to her throat. ‘You,’ she choked. ‘You …’

I said sharply, ‘Do not for a moment entertain any notion of fainting, Enid. I cannot attend to both of you.’

‘Fainting?’ The hot colour rushed back into her face. She darted forward. She raised her hand – and struck Nemo full across the face! ‘You bloody idiot!’ she cried.

Even I was taken aback. Such behaviour and such improper language from a young lady left me momentarily incapable of speech. It was my dear Emerson who rose to the occasion as only he can. Enid turned and ran, her hands over her face. The men gave way before her, but not Emerson; his mighty arm swept out and wound round her waist, lifting her clean off her feet. As she hung in his grasp, kicking and – I regret to say – swearing, he remarked calmly, ‘This has gone far enough. I have resigned myself to being the pawn of those vast impersonal powers who guide the destinies of humanity; but I am cursed if I will submit to being manipulated by mere mortals, and kept in ignorance even by that individual whom I believed united to me by the strongest bonds of faith and affection, not to mention trust.’

The eloquence of his speech – aye, and the justice of his complaint – brought an unaccustomed flush to my cheeks. Before I could respond, Emerson went on in a less literary vein. ‘Sit down,’ he bellowed. ‘You too, young lady–’ And he deposited Enid onto the nearest stool with a thump that made two combs and a number of hairpins fly into the air. ‘No one is moving from this spot until I have received a full account of this astonishing affair.’

‘You are quite right, Emerson,’ I murmured. ‘And I will sit down – I really will – the instant I have finished washing–’

‘You can wash him just as easily in a sitting position,’ thundered Emerson.

I sat.

Appeased by this gesture of compliance, Emerson lowered his voice to a fairly endurable level. ‘Pray confine your attentions to the young man’s injury, Amelia. If the rest of him requires washing, he can do it himself.’

‘Oh, quite, Emerson, I was only–’

‘Enough, Amelia.’ Emerson folded his arms and surveyed us with a masterful air. The men had collapsed onto the ground at the instant of his command, and now formed a fascinated audience, mouths ajar and eyes wide. Enid clutched the sides of the stool with both hands, as if she were expecting to be plucked off it; Nemo sat with bowed head, the mark of the girl’s fingers printed crimson on his cheek.

‘Ha,’ said Emerson, with satisfaction. ‘That is better. Now, young lady, you had better begin. I address you in that manner since I am certain your name is not Marshall.’

I could not but admire my husband’s cleverness; for his statement was admirably composed so as not to give away the fact that – as I firmly believed, and believe to this day – he was still ignorant of her true identity. Only the briefest flicker of his lashes betrayed his surprise when she admitted who she was, and repeated the narrative she had told me.

‘Most interesting,’ said Emerson. ‘Of course I recognized you immediately, Miss Debenham. I was merely – er – biding my time before challenging you.’

He fixed his stern gaze on me, where I sat next to Mr Nemo. I started to speak, but thought better of it.

‘Ha,’ Emerson said again. ‘However, Miss Debenham, you have omitted something from your most interesting story. You have, in fact, omitted everything of importance. I assume you are intimately acquainted with Mr Nemo here, or you would not have addressed him so informally. Who is he? What is your relationship?’

Nemo rose to his feet. ‘I can answer those questions and others. If I can spare Enid – Miss Debenham – that shame, in recounting a history replete with–’

‘Never mind the rhetoric,’ Emerson snapped. ‘I am a patient man, but there are limits to my patience. What the devil is your name?’

‘My name is Donald Fraser.’

I started up. ‘Ronald Fraser?’

‘No, Donald Fraser.’

‘But Ronald Fraser–’

The vibration of the dimple in Emerson’s chin warned me that he was about to roar. I stopped, therefore, and Emerson said, with the most exquisite courtesy, ‘I would be grateful, Mrs Emerson, if you would refrain from any comment whatever – refrain, if possible, even from breathing loudly – until this gentleman has finished. Begin at the beginning, Mr Fraser – for of your surname at least I feel fairly confident – and do not stop until you have reached the end.’

Thus directed, the young man began the following narrative. ‘My name is Donald Fraser. Ronald is my younger brother. Our family is old and honourable; never, until recently, did a blot of shame darken the name of Fraser–’

‘Humph,’ said Emerson sceptically. ‘I take leave to doubt that. The ancient Scot was a bloodthirsty fellow; wasn’t there some tale about an ancestor of yours serving up the severed head of an enemy to the widow of the deceased at a dinner party?’

I coughed gently. Emerson glanced at me. ‘Quite right, Amelia. I did not mean to interrupt. Continue, Mr Donald Fraser.’

‘It will not take much time, Professor. The story is only too familiar, I fear.’ With an attempt at insouciance, the young man started to cross his arms, but winced and let the injured member fall back. For an instant the girl’s face mirrored the pain on his and she made as if to rise. Almost immediately she sank back onto the stool. Ha, I thought, but did not speak aloud.

Donald – as I shall call him, in order to prevent confusion with his brother – proceeded. ‘Being the elder, I was the heir to the estate upon the death of our parents a few years ago. Our family was not rich, but thanks to my father’s prudent management, we were left with enough to maintain us in modest comfort. I say we, because morally, if not legally, half of what I had inherited was Ronald’s.

‘My father had purchased a commission for me in – in a regiment of the line… . There is no need, I believe, to mention which one. After his death my brother nobly offered to take over the management of the estate so that I might pursue my military career. I had … I incurred debts. Allow me the favour of refusing to be specific about their nature; they were … They were not the sort one likes to mention, especially before …’

He gazed at Enid. I was as intrigued by the silent interchange between them as by his halting speech. She never looked at him, he never took his eyes off her; and the air between them fairly crackled with emotion. When his voice faltered, she started to her feet. Her cheeks were flaming.

‘You lie!’ she cried. ‘Despicably, stupidly–’

Emerson put one big brown hand on her shoulder and gently but inexorably returned her to her seat. ‘Be silent, Miss Debenham. You will have your chance at rebuttal. Sir – finish your story.’

‘It is quickly told,’ Donald muttered. ‘The regiment was gazetted to Egypt. Being in need of funds, I had forged a signature on a bill. My crime was discovered. The person I had attempted to defraud, a fellow officer, was generous. I was given the choice of resigning my commission and – and disappearing. I did so. That is all.’

He had come to the end, but so abruptly, that Emerson and I were both left staring. Assuming my husband’s prohibition ceased to have effect at that time, I exclaimed, ‘Upon my word, Mr Fraser, that is a rather curt narrative. I think, though, that I can fill in some of the details you have omitted. Your brother is in Egypt–’

‘I know. I saw him yesterday.’

‘I presume he came to find you and extend a brother’s hand in forgiveness and affection.’

Nemo’s drooping head sank lower. From Enid, squirming under Emerson’s hand, came a scornful laugh. I turned to her. ‘And you, Miss Debenham, also came here on an errand of mercy and redemption, to save your old playfellow?’

‘I came to tell him what I thought of him,’ the girl cried. She twisted away from Emerson’s grasp and jumped to her feet. ‘He is a stupid fool who deserves everything that has happened to him!’

‘No doubt,’ said Emerson, studying her with interest. ‘But if you will forgive me, Miss Debenham, I am determined to push doggedly onward – against the opposition of everyone present – to some understanding of the facts themselves. Is that how you became involved with Kalenischeff? For I do you the credit to assume you would have better taste than to take up with such a villain for his own sake.’