Amelia Peabody Omnibus 1-4 (32 page)

‘Ha,’ I said.

‘A few individuals may resent my justified criticism,’ Emerson said meditatively. ‘Yes; I daresay there are some individuals so degraded that they might respond to my well-intended suggestions with rancour – ’

‘If anyone murders you,’ I interrupted, ‘which seems quite likely, it will be in the heat of anger, with a club or some other convenient blunt instrument. I am only surprised it has not happened before this.’

‘My enemies are professional, not personal,’ Emerson insisted. ‘Walter has none, of either kind. His character is regrettably mild. Are you sure there are no discarded lovers pursuing you?’

The question did not deserve an answer.

After a moment, Emerson went on, ‘Then it must be Miss Evelyn who inspires such agitated activity on the part of our unknown enemy. If that is the case, the events of this evening must settle the question. His lordship, having received his
congé,
has departed – ’

The rattle of pebbles on the path below disproved his words as soon as they were spoken. I knew the step.

The moon was a spectacular silver orb, almost at the full, shedding a silvery radiance over the silent desert, the river, the cliffs. The light was not quite bright enough for me to distinguish Emerson’s expression. I much regretted that.

‘Lucas,’ I said, turning to welcome the newcomer with a warmth I had not heretofore displayed. ‘I am relieved you are back. I was worried about you.’

‘How kind of you.’ Lucas looked, betrayingly, into the shadows behind us, where Evelyn and Walter were sitting. Receiving no greeting from that quarter, his eyes returned to me. ‘I felt the need of a walk. I have walked; I have accomplished my purpose. You did not suppose I would desert you?’

‘I felt sure you would not,’ I said.

From Emerson, beside me, came no comment.

‘Of course not. Tomorrow I will endeavour to forget certain … personal griefs in hard work; it will be delightful to explore the cliffs for buried treasure. In the meantime, I remembered Emerson’s suggestion; I have brought a bottle of wine, in which to drink to my cousin.’

I could not help shooting a triumphant glance at Emerson. He sat in glum silence, his face in shadow; only his hand was visible, clenched whitely on the arm of his chair. I don’t know why I should have been so pleased to see Lucas behaving like a gentleman for a change. I never liked the man … But of course I do know why. I would have defended Satan himself if he had been in disfavour with Emerson.

Lucas was as good as his word; it was as if he had determined to humble himself as thoroughly as possible. He carried a tray with glasses and a bottle; putting this down, with a flourish that struck me as rather pathetic, he began to work at the cork.

‘Won’t you persuade Evelyn to join us?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘I dare not; to be candid, I am ashamed of myself for my behaviour this afternoon. I am of a passionate nature; I suppose dear old Grandfather would say it was my Latin blood.’

So I called Evelyn, and she came out of the deep shadow where she had been sitting, holding Walter by the hand and smiling shyly at her cousin. I found his excuses inadequate. Nothing could possibly excuse his reference to her misfortune in front of Walter. But, on the other hand, this very reference had brought about the present happy state of affairs, and I must say that Lucas made his apologies like a man and a Briton. Walter received them in the same spirit; to see the two young fellows clasp hands, there in the moonlight, was a touching sight.

Then Lucas handed us each a glass and raised his own.

‘To Evelyn’s future!’ he cried. ‘May it bring all that her closest kinsman could desire!’

We drank. Even Emerson took a sip. He made a face, like a nasty little boy taking medicine. He had moved his chair out near the table, and I could see him quite well; his expression of sour disapproval pleased me no end. Seeing that he was in no mood to do the proper thing, and realizing that it was a little too much to expect of Lucas, I proposed the next toast.

‘To Walter! May he make Evelyn as happy as she deserves – or I will deal with him!’

‘Spoken with characteristic tact,’ said Emerson under his breath.

Walter leaned forward and put his hand on mine.

‘You may deal with me as you see fit, Miss Amelia,’ he said warmly. ‘Don’t think I shall ever forget that it is to your encouragement, in large measure, that I owe my present happiness. I hope you will be often with us; you may keep your eye on me that way and make sure I measure up to your expectations.’

Emerson rolled his eyes heavenward.

‘I may take advantage of your invitation,’ I said cheerfully. ‘I have developed quite a taste for archaeology.’

I suppose it was the wine that made me feel so giddy. We all waxed cheerful under its benign influence – all but Emerson, who sat brooding like a hard stone statue. Finally, when the bottle was empty, Lucas concluded the fete.

‘If all goes well, we shall have a busy day tomorrow. Rest is advisable. I suggest, gentlemen, that we stand watch tonight. Tomorrow may bring an end to the mysteries that surround us; let us make sure no mishap occurs tonight.’

‘Just what I was about to suggest,’ muttered Emerson, shooting a piercing glance at Lucas. ‘Which watch would you prefer, my lord?’

Lucas replied with a shrug. It was arranged that he should remain on guard for the first three hours of the night, Emerson for the second watch, and Walter for the remainder. I carried Evelyn off to our sleeping chamber; she was in such a fog her feet seemed not to touch the ground, and after a few incoherent exclamations of gratitude and joy, she quickly fell asleep.

I was drowsy myself, unusually so, for the hour was still early; yet my drooping eyelids obstinately refused to remain shut. Some indefinable nagging discomfort kept forcing them open. The discomfort was purely mental; I had become inured by then to the hard mattress and the other rugged accompaniments to camping out. There is nothing more abominable than being in a state of bodily exhaustion and mental irritation; I was too lethargic to get up and seek some means of occupying my mind, but I was too uneasy to fall asleep. Try as I might, I could not pin down the cause of my uneasiness. We were, of course, in danger of a nocturnal visit from a singularly unpleasant apparition, but that was not what bothered me; I was becoming accustomed to that worry, it was like a familiar ache in a particular tooth. I thought if it continued much longer I should probably become quite accustomed to it. No, this was another sort of twinge; I could not locate it. I ought to have been in a state of peaceful triumph; I had won out over Emerson and attained what I most desired for the girl who was so dear to me….

Had I won out, though?

The more I recalled Emerson’s behaviour and speech that day, the more I wondered. It was almost as if he had been working to attain the same end; everything he had said was a spur, a prick, a goad, to urge his brother on to a declaration.

I ground my teeth together. If Emerson wanted Evelyn for his brother, he must have some ulterior motive that escaped me.

There came a sound, at the entrance to the tomb chamber. The curtain was lifted.

I rolled over. The rough mattress crackled.

‘Who is it?’ I whispered. ‘Lucas, is that you?’

‘Yes. What is wrong, Miss Amelia? Can’t you sleep?’

With a gigantic effort I dragged myself from bed and assumed my dressing gown. Evelyn was still sleeping sweetly. I tiptoed to the doorway.

‘I can’t sleep,’ I said softly. ‘Perhaps I am too tired. And you, Lucas? Did you have some reason for looking in just now?’

‘I don’t know…. I am strangely uneasy tonight. I heard you stirring, and was afraid….’

‘I am uneasy too.’

I joined him on the ledge. The night was perfect. The world dreamed peacefully under the moon. The air felt cool; I shivered, and drew my dressing gown close around my throat.

‘You ought to sleep,’ Lucas said. ‘Perhaps another glass of wine is what you need.’

‘Lucas, you are not drinking more wine? Surely that is unwise.’

‘I am not made of iron,’ Lucas said; his voice was so savage I recoiled. ‘I will do what must be done; but allow me something with which to fortify myself. Come; I insist that you join me.’

Fool that I was! I felt sorry for him. His genuine emotion seemed more pathetic to me than the theatrics he had shown earlier. He was pouring the wine when Emerson came out of his chamber and advanced upon us.

‘A party, and you did not invite me?’ he said. ‘Or am I interrupting a more personal meeting?’

‘Don’t be any more foolish than you can help,’ I said. My last words were muffled in a huge yawn. ‘Oh, dear, I am so tired. I don’t know why I can’t sleep.’

‘Evelyn seems to be the only one with a clear conscience,’ said Lucas, snapping his teeth together. ‘Or is the lucky man sleeping too?’

‘Yes,’ Emerson said. ‘Walter is asleep.’

‘And why not you? It is too early for you to relieve me.’

‘Still, you may as well retire now that I am here. There is no point in all of us being awake. Sometimes I never go to bed at all. This seems to be one of those nights. I don’t know why they happen,’ said Emerson musingly. ‘It is unaccountable. But I feel just now as if I should never want to sleep again.’

I knew then that something was badly wrong, and that Emerson was aware of it. His idiotic speech was an unconvincing lie; his lids were half closed, his shoulders drooped; and now that I looked at him more closely, I saw that his thick black hair was damp, as if he had been pouring water on it … to keep awake? I had employed a similar trick myself, the preceding night. All my senses prickled in alarm.

‘Oh, very well,’ Lucas said sulkily. ‘Since I am of no use, I may as well remove myself and finish my bottle in private – unless I can persuade you two to join me in a glass? No? Good night, then. I have no desire to go into that stifling hole of a tomb; I shall sleep in the tent down below, and you, my gallant Emerson, can waken me with a shout if we have unexpected visitors.’

Cradling the wine bottle in his arms, he staggered down the path. I had not realized he was so intoxicated. Was that what Emerson feared – that Lucas would fail as a guard because of his drinking?

The moment he was out of sight, Emerson turned on me and dragged me up out of the chair into which I had slumped. He shook me till my head rolled and my hair came loose from the net.

‘Wake up, Peabody! If you fall asleep, I shall slap you till you howl. Curse it, don’t you understand that we have been drugged?’

‘Drugged?’ I repeated stupidly.

‘I have been fighting sleep myself for an hour, and a hard fight it was. Have you nothing in that medicine box of yours to counteract the effects of laudanum?’

I tried to think. Something was certainly dulling my mind.

‘My smelling salts,’ I said, with an effort. ‘They are extremely strong….’

‘Oh, damnation,’ said Emerson. ‘A pretty picture that will be! Well, it’s better than nothing. Go fetch them. Hurry.’

To hurry was impossible. I could barely drag myself along. But I found the smelling salts, and then had a look at Evelyn. A single glance told me Emerson was right. She was sleeping too soundly. I shook her, without effect. Either she had received a larger dose of the drug, or her delicate constitution was more susceptible to it than mine. It would be difficult to awaken her.

I applied the bottle to my own nose. It was certainly effective. Feeling much more alert, I hastened back to Emerson, who was leaning up against the cliff with his arms and legs at strange angles and his eyes slightly crossed. I thrust the bottle at him. He started back, banging his head against the rock, and made several profane remarks.

‘Now tell me what is wrong,’ I said, recapping the bottle. ‘What is it you fear will happen? If your reasoning is correct –’

‘My reasoning was damnably, stupidly, fatally wrong,’ Emerson replied forcibly. ‘I am missing a vital clue – a piece of information that would make sense of the whole business. I suspect you hold that clue, Peabody. You must tell me – ’

He stopped speaking; I suppose the expression on my face struck him dumb. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck rising. I was facing the lower end of the path; and there, barely visible, round the corner of the cliff, something moved. A low moan echoed through the air.

Emerson spun around. The moaning cry came again.

It was a frightening sound, but I knew, after the first moment, that it did not come from the throat of the mummy. This cry held human anguish and pain; I could not have resisted its appeal if a thousand gibbering, gesticulating mummies had stood in my way.

Quickly as I moved, Emerson was before me. He went more cautiously than I would have done, his arm holding me back, and when we reached the bottom of the path he thrust me away while he went on to investigate. The object I had seen, whatever it was, had disappeared from sight; Emerson followed it into invisibility, and for a moment I held my breath. Then I heard his low exclamation – not of fear, but of horror and distress. Rounding the rock corner, I saw him kneeling on the ground beside the prostrate body of a man. I knew the man, although, God forgive me, I had almost forgotten him. It was our vanished servant – the dragoman, Michael.

‘Oh, heavens,’ I cried, flinging myself down beside the recumbent form. ‘Is he dead?’

‘Not yet. But I fear…’

Emerson raised his hand, which had been resting on the back of Michael’s head. The stains on his fingers looked like ink in the moonlight.

Michael was wearing the same faded blue-and-white striped robe that he had worn the day of his disappearance. It was now torn and crumpled. I reached for his wrist, to feel his pulse, but a closer sight of his outflung arm made me exclaim aloud. The bared wrist was swollen and bloody.

‘He has been a prisoner,’ I said, forcing my fingers to touch the torn flesh. ‘These are the marks of ropes.’

‘They are. How is his pulse?’

‘Steady, but feeble. He must have medical attention at once. I will do what I can, but my skill is so small…. Can we carry him up to the tomb? Perhaps Lucas will help.’