Children of the Storm (23 page)

He bowed very politely, but instead of going on his errand he handed the card to another servant who had come up, soft-footed in felt slippers. “You will wait here, please,” he said.

He was a sturdy, muscular fellow, who was obviously prepared to stop us if we disregarded his request. I did not blame Mrs. Fitzroyce for taking such steps to prevent intrusion. As I knew from personal experience, some idle visitors had no scruples about forcing themselves on persons they believed to be important.

We did not have to wait long. When the second servant returned he was accompanied by a portly person wearing a fez on his large head. His hair was very black and very thick, and his face was practically spherical. It was a young face, fair-skinned and good-natured, and set off by a set of curling mustaches. He was formally attired in frock coat and striped trousers and an extraordinary waistcoat embroidered with pink roses.

“It is an honor to meet you, Sitt Hakim,” he said, nodding vigorously and smiling broadly. “I am Dr. Mohammed Abdul Khattab, Mrs. Fitzroyce’s personal physician.”

I presented him to Nefret, which brought on another round of nods and grins. “I trust Mrs. Fitzroyce is not ill?” I inquired.

“She is only old,” said the doctor nonchalantly. “She will receive you, but may I remind you that she tires easily.”

“You may,” I said. “We won’t stay long.”

The curtains of the windows of the saloon had been drawn to shut out the direct rays of the declining sun. There was enough light for me to see reasonably well, however. The room was elegantly furnished—over-furnished, in fact—with a pianoforte, rows of bookshelves, tables and chairs and sofas. It was reminiscent of the style of decoration popular before the turn of the century, and the lady who awaited us was also reminiscent of that era. She sat bolt upright in an armchair with her hands resting on the head of her stick, and her widow’s weeds were as black and enveloping as those of the late Queen, who had mourned her deceased husband for—in my opinion—far too long. Instead of gloves she wore black lace mitts, of a style I hadn’t seen for years. Dr. Khattab went at once to her and took her hand, his fingers pressed against the pulse in her wrist. She shook him off.

“I trust Mrs. Emerson will not be offended,” she said in a creaking voice, “if I say that welcome as her visit is, it is not likely to overexcite me.”

“Not at all,” I said, acknowledging her little jest with a genteel chuckle.

“Please take a chair,” she went on. “May I offer you tea?”

“No, thank you. We will only take a few minutes of your time. We called to—”

“Complain of my grandson,” she broke in.

She appeared to like plain speaking, so I decided to oblige her. “No, we came to complain about Justin’s manservant. He was responsible for my husband’s fall off a cliff yesterday.”

“I trust he was not seriously injured.”

It was not the words but the tone that I found somewhat irritating. Old age has its privileges, but in my opinion rudeness is not one of them.

“No thanks to François,” I retorted. “Do you consider him a suitable person to look after a gentle boy like Justin?”

“That is, I presume, a criticism couched as a question. Obviously I do, or I would not continue to employ him.” She went on in a less autocratic tone. “I regret the injury to your husband, and I have spoken to François. It won’t happen again. Why did you give my companion that hat?”

The abrupt change of subject left me speechless for a moment. I rallied instantly, of course. “She had lost hers and it was improper for her to appear in public without one.”

“It is a pretty hat,” said Mrs. Fitzroyce. “I had an even prettier one when I was a girl. It had on it a stuffed cockatoo with rubies for eyes.”

Her head bobbed up and down and she spoke in a soft, crooning voice quite unlike her earlier peremptory tones. I looked questioningly at the doctor. He smiled and shrugged. Evidently the old lady had “spells” too, sinking into senile reminiscence without warning.

“Is she here?” I asked.

“No, she has been dead for twenty years,” murmured Mrs. Fitzroyce. “She was a beautiful girl, but not so beautiful as I . . .”

“Miss Underhill has gone with Justin and François to Karnak,” said the doctor smoothly.

“Quite right,” said Mrs. Fitzroyce, snapping back into coherence. “Why do you take it upon yourself to answer questions addressed to me, Khattab?”

“Your pardon, madame.” The doctor’s grin appeared to be glued in place.

Not knowing how long the old lady would keep her wits, I said, “We discovered, Miss Underhill and I, that we had acquaintances in common. I wonder if she might be allowed to come to us, for dinner, or for the day, at some time.”

“She is a good girl,” Mrs. Fitzroyce murmured. I was not sure whether she was referring to the long-dead beauty or to Maryam, until she went on, “Very faithful. She has not missed a single day since she came to me.”

She raised a limp hand, which was promptly grasped by Dr. Khattab. “Faint,” he announced portentously. “Too faint, dear lady.”

“We are tiring you,” I said, rising. “Good day.”

“Has not the pretty Mrs. Emerson something to say?” the old lady inquired.

“Only good day,” said Nefret, on her feet.

“You are very pretty,” said Mrs. Fitzroyce judiciously. “But not as pretty as she was.”

The doctor remained with his patient, and one of the crewmen escorted us to the gangplank.

“You didn’t tell her about Maryam,” Nefret said in a low voice.

“There is a limit to the degree of interference even I consider appropriate,” I replied. “I do not have the right to expose Maryam’s secret to her employer. Mrs. Fitzroyce is an interesting individual, isn’t she?”

“She must have been quite a commanding character before her mind began to go. No wonder they need such a large staff, with Mrs. Fitzroyce increasingly feeble in mind and body, and Justin utterly unpredictable.”

Since it was still early, we strolled back along the corniche toward the suk. Luxor is not a large town; it was not long before we ran into Lia and Evelyn. At my suggestion we joined forces and went looking for Walter and David, who were likely to lose track of the time in their search for antiquities. We located them in the shop of Omar, drinking tea and inspecting the old rascal’s collection of dubious papyri and questionable ushebtis. Omar’s shop was always worth a look, since he occasionally mixed a few genuine articles in with his spurious artifacts. I believe he enjoyed testing the knowledge of his buyers, for he always gave in with good grace and no shame at all when his duplicity was exposed. David was particularly skilled at recognizing fakes, since he had made a number of them in his youth.

“What, is it time for tea already?” he asked when we entered the shop. “I am at your disposal, ladies; Omar has nothing of interest except this amulet of Isis, for which he is asking too much.”

His eyes twinkling, Omar let out a heartrending groan. “Too much? I let you have it for nothing, for less than I paid!”

“I presume you have been asking about jewelry in general and bracelets in particular,” I said, after we had bade Omar farewell—without purchasing the amulet.

“I put out a few feelers,” David admitted, offering me his arm. “Cyrus seems to be resigned to his loss, but I am mystified at how Martinelli and his loot could have disappeared without a trace.”

“It is not difficult to lose oneself in the teeming tenements of Cairo, my dear, as you ought to know. I do not doubt that he went there. If he had remained in Luxor we would have located him by now.”

The Winter Palace enjoyed an unparalleled view from its raised terraces, straight across the river to the cliffs of the West Bank. They shone pink in the rays of the declining sun, and the river blazed all shades of crimson and scarlet with reflected sunset. Ramses was waiting for us.

“Where is your father?” I asked.

“He stopped off at Cook’s.” He resumed his chair and beckoned a waiter. “They handle most of the tours, so perhaps they can be more effective than the police at controlling the hunters in their parties.”

Nefret chuckled. “Lia, what do you say we run down and listen at the door? I do love hearing Father read someone the riot act.”

Lia laughed, and Ramses said, “You are in a cheerful mood this evening, Nefret. What have you and Mother been doing?”

Nefret began regaling them with a vivacious description of our visit to Mrs. Fitzroyce. She was interrupted after a few sentences by the arrival of Emerson, and, at his request, began again at the beginning.

“I knew you went there,” said Emerson to me.

“No, you didn’t.”

“I ordered you a whiskey and soda, Father,” Ramses said, in what he must have known was a vain attempt to prevent Emerson from continuing the argument. “I trust that is satisfactory.”

“Thank you, my boy. Yes, I did. And,” said Emerson triumphantly, “I will tell you how I knew. We met Daoud outside the zabtiyeh, on his way to his cousin’s house, and—”

“He saw us go to the Isis or someone who had seen us reported to him,” I finished. “Daoud is better than a newspaper at disseminating information. By now all of Luxor knows where we have been, and where we mean to be for every minute of the remainder of the evening!”

“What’s the harm in that?” David asked.

We were soon to find out.

Enjoying one another’s companionship and exchanging greetings with friends, we passed a carefree evening; but shortly before ten I reminded the others that we had agreed to meet Daoud at that hour. He did not own a watch, but he could tell time quite accurately by the sun and the stars (and by asking other people), and he was punctilious about keeping appointments. Sure enough, he came hurrying to meet us as soon as we reached the dock. Several other boats bobbed at their moorings, but there was no one in sight except for our party. The night air was cool, and there was a rather stiff breeze. After we had crossed into the boat and taken our places, Daoud pulled in the gangplank, which was nothing more or less than a plank, approximately eight inches wide and as many feet long.

It was a lovely night for a sail. The moon, near the full, cast silvery ripples across the water, and the stars were very bright. We were several hundred yards from shore when I became aware of an uncomfortable coolness on the soles of my feet. Before I could comment, the coldness rose over instep and ankle.

“Dear me,” I remarked, “I do believe we have sprung a leak.”

“I do believe you are correct,” said Emerson calmly, as water enveloped our ankles. The others drew their feet up with exclamations of alarm, and Daoud, who had been preoccupied with sail and tiller, let out a loud cry.

“It is not possible! The boat is sound!”

Since this was clearly no longer the case, no one bothered with a verbal contradiction. Ramses bent over and began pulling back the soaked rugs. He found the trouble almost at once, and announced his discovery aloud.

“There are three holes drilled through the bottom. Daoud, turn back at once, we’ll never make it to the other side. Nefret, give me your scarf.”

“No use,” said Emerson curtly. He was kneeling, feeling about with his hands under the rapidly rising water. “They are each over an inch in diameter. Must have been plugged with some substance that would slowly dissolve or be knocked out by the motion of the waves.”

David had joined Daoud in the bow and was helping him with the sail and the tiller, but the boat moved slowly and sluggishly. It was clear that we were going to sink before we could make it back to shore. Emerson pulled off his coat and waistcoat. Ramses had already done so. Raising the long heavy plank, he pitched it over the side and then lowered himself into the water. “Nefret!” he called.

She followed him without an instant’s hesitation. Water had reached the seats and was still rising. “Give it up, David,” Emerson shouted. “Help me with the others.”

He turned to me. I knew I had to get out of the long skirts that would encumber my limbs, but I was having a hard time with my buttons, for my hands were not as steady as I would have liked. I am not skilled at aquatic exercise. I was not the least worried about myself, however, since my dear Emerson was at my side. He was completely at home in the water, and so were Ramses and David. It was the others, especially Evelyn and Walter, who were the objects of my concern. It was somewhat reassuring to see Walter carefully removing his eyeglasses and tucking them into his inside pocket, Evelyn slipping out of her velvet evening wrap, Lia crawling along the bench toward her mother. I could only thank God this had not happened when the children were with us.

As I continued to fumble with my buttons Emerson caught hold of the neckline of my frock and ripped it down and off, picked me up, and tossed me over the side. I came sputtering back to the surface, supported by my son’s firm hands, and saw that the others had abandoned ship as well. Emerson had seized his brother and sister-in-law, one in each arm, and was guiding them toward the plank to which Nefret clung. David had Lia in tow. I pushed the wet hair out of my eyes and rapidly took stock of the situation. Yes; everyone was present and accounted for, safe for the moment at least. Everyone except . . .

A thrill of horror ran through me. A dark shape against the silvery ripples, the boat went down, and with it went Daoud, sitting bolt upright in the bow. The last I saw of him was his large, calm face, eyes wide open and mouth tightly closed, as the water rose up and over it. Only then did I remember he could not swim a stroke.

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CHAPTER SIX Daoud!” I shrieked. “Save him! Hurry!”

That is what I meant to shriek. Unfortunately, a wave washed over my head and only a prolonged gurgle expressed my sentiments. Clinging one-handed to the plank, I blinked the water out of my eyes in time to see Ramses’s feet disappear under the water. My admonition had been unnecessary; he had gone to Daoud’s rescue as soon as he was certain I was safe.

“Hang on, Peabody!” Emerson bellowed directly into my left ear. “And for God’s sake close your mouth!”

His hands hoisted me up till my arms rested across the splintery surface of the plank. Then they were gone, and I knew that Emerson too was gone, down into the dark depths after Daoud.