The Deeds of the Disturber (4 page)

"Don't talk such blood—er—blooming nonsense, Amelia," Emerson growled, applying his handkerchief to my cheek and displaying a grimy smudge. "The very air is black."

Ramses stood between us—I held him by one arm, Emerson by the other—and of course he had to add his opinion. "Anatomical studies on the cadavers of Londoners prove that prolonged breathing of this
atmosphere turns the lungs quite black. However, I believe Mama was not referring to the physical environment, but to the intellectual—"

"Be still, Ramses," I said automatically.

"I am quite aware of what your mama meant," Emerson said, scowling. "What are you up to, Amelia? I will probably be obliged to spend more time than I would like in this filthy town if I am to finish my book—"

"You will
unquestionably
be obliged to spend a
great deal
of time in London if you are to finish it before we return to Egypt next autumn. Considering that the Oxford University Press announced its imminent publication a year ago—"

"Don't nag, Amelia!"

I shot a reproachful glance at Emerson and a meaningful glance at Ramses, who was listening with owl-eyed interest. Emerson put on a sugary-sweet smile. "Ha, ha. Your mama and I are joking, Ramses. She never nags; and I would not be so rude as to mention it even if she did."

"Ha, ha," said Ramses.

"As I was saying," Emerson resumed—turning his head away so Ramses would not see him scowl, "I cannot help but wonder, Amelia, if you are suddenly enamored of this pestilential ant heap of human misery because you—"

"Dear me," I said. "We are all becoming a trifle smutty. Ramses, your nose . . . There, that is better. Where is the cat Bastet?"

"In the cabin, of course," said Emerson. "She has better sense than to expose herself to this pernicious atmosphere."

"Then let us retire and complete our preparations for disembarking," I suggested. "Ramses, you have Bastet's collar? Remember, tie the lead to your wrist and do not allow her ..." But Ramses had departed, wriggling from my grasp with eellike agility.

The sullen skies were just as dark when we again stood on the deck, but for me they were brightened by the sight of those who awaited us on the dock: Emerson's dear brother Walter, his wife Evelyn, my sister in affection as well as in law; our faithful parlormaid Rose, and our devoted footman John. As soon as they saw us they began to wave and smile and call out greetings. I was particularly touched at Evelyn's braving the filthy weather. She hated London, and her fragile blond beauty looked quite out of place on the grimy dock.

As was so often the case, my dear Emerson's thoughts were the reflection of my own, though he did not express them quite as delicately
as I would have done. Squinting narrowly at his sister-in-law, he demanded, "She is not pregnant again, surely? It is unnatural, Peabody. I cannot conceive why a woman—"

"Hush, Emerson," I said, poking him gently with my parasol.

Emerson looked warily at Ramses. He had never fully recovered from a conversation the previous winter, during which he had been obliged to discuss with Ramses certain matters which do not ordinarily interest an English gentleman until he has reached the age of twenty-five or thirty.

Ramses stood stooped under the weight of the cat, who was lying across his narrow shoulders; but Ramses had been known to talk—at length—under even more adverse conditions. "I am eager to question Aunt Evelyn concerning that," he remarked. "The information you gave me, Papa, was inadequate to explain why any sensible individual would place himself—or, particularly, herself—in positions that are at best unnatural and at worst—"

"Be still, Ramses," Emerson shouted, crimsoning. "I told you never to discuss—"

"You are not to ask your Aunt Evelyn anything of the kind," I exclaimed.

Ramses said nothing. His silence suggested that he was working on ways to get around my prohibition. I had no doubt he would succeed.

Thanks to Emerson's imposing physical presence and loud voice we were among the first to disembark, and I rushed toward Evelyn with outstretched arms. Conceive of my surprise when, just as I was about to enter her fond embrace, I was seized by a tall, portly individual in a black frock coat and silk hat, who pressed me to his enormous stomach and planted a whiskery kiss on my forehead. Extricating myself instantly from his embrace, I was about to retaliate with a shrewd blow from my handy parasol when the man exclaimed, "My dear sister!"

I
was
his sister. That is to say, he was my brother—my brother James, whom I had not seen for several years (because I had taken considerable pains to avoid him).

It was no wonder I had not recognized him immediately. Once he had been stout. Now the only words that could begin to do justice to his size were words such as corpulent, obese, and elephantine. Limp whiskers framed a face as round and red as a hunting moon. Instead of retreating into a normal neck, his chins advanced, roll upon roll, until they met a swelling corporation uninterrupted by any hint of a waistline. When he smiled, as he was smiling now, his cheeks swelled up and squeezed his eyes into slits.

"What the devil are you doing here, James?" I demanded.

From my dear Evelyn, standing to one side, came a gentle cough of remonstrance. I directed a nod of apology to her, but I did not feel obliged to apologize to James for my blunt but understandable language.

"Why, I am here to welcome you, of course," was James's smooth reply. "It has been too long, dearest of sisters; the time has come for familial affection to mend the rents of misunderstanding."

Emerson had wasted no time in clasping his brother's hand and pumping it with the hearty force that is the Englishman's manner of displaying affection in public. Placing a brotherly arm around Evelyn's slim shoulders, he remarked, "Is that James? Good Gad, Peabody, how fat he has become. So much for the roast beef of old England, eh? And the port and the Madeira and the claret! Why doesn't he go away?"

"He says he has come to welcome us home," I explained.

"Nonsense, Peabody. He must want something from you; he never comes to see us unless he wants something. Find out what it is, tell him 'no,' and let us be off."

James's forced smile trembled in the balance, but he managed to hold on to it. "Ha, ha! My dear Radcliffe, your sense of humor . . . Upon my word, it is the most . . ."He offered his hand.

Emerson eyed it for a moment, lips pursed, then seized it in a grasp that brought a squeal of pain from my brother. "Soft as a baby's," said Emerson, flinging the member aside. "Come along, Peabody."

However, we were not to be rid of James so easily. He stood his ground, smiling and nodding, while the rest of us exchanged those charmingly inconsequential bits of domestic news that mark the meeting of friends after a long absence.

Rose continued to hold Ramses (and the cat) in a close embrace. She had a quite unaccountable attachment to the boy and was one of the few people who defended him on all occasions. Such cases are not unknown, I believe; Rose had no children of her own. Though her official position was that of parlormaid, she was the mainstay of our household and cheerfully performed any service requested of her. She had come up to London for the express purpose of watching over Ramses for the few days we intended to remain in town. Not that she was really capable of controlling him; but then, as Emerson said, no one was.

John—who could not control Ramses either—had been out to Egypt with us one winter, and he was full of questions about his friends Abdullah and Selim and the rest. The look of surprise and contempt on James's face at seeing us so friendly with a mere footman was very amusing; but at last a slight cough from Evelyn reminded me of the
damp weather, and we took an affectionate leave of John, who was returning immediately to Kent with our baggage.

There were too many of us for the carriage, so Walter suggested the ladies make use of it, while he and his brother followed in a cab. I did not hear him mention
my
brother; that did not prevent James from joining them. Emerson was already inside the cab, so I was spared seeing his reaction.

Ramses and Rose went with us in the carriage. He immediately launched into one of his interminable monologues, describing his winter's activities, to which Rose listened with a fatuous smile. I turned to Evelyn, who was seated beside me.

"How long do you mean to stay in London, my dear?"

"Only long enough to welcome you, dearest Amelia, and persuade you to spend the summer with me in Yorkshire, at Chalfont Castle. I have missed you and dear little Ramses so much; his cousins constantly ask for him—"

"Ha," I said skeptically.

Ramses interrupted his speech long enough to give me a long, direct stare; before he could comment, I continued, "I am not certain of Emerson's plans, Evelyn, but I expect he will have to be in London a great deal of the time. I am trying to help him finish the first volume of his
History of Ancient Egypt;
the Oxford University Press has become quite insistent, and no wonder, since he promised them the manuscript a year ago. Then there is our excavation report to prepare for the printer—"

"That is what Walter said," Evelyn remarked. "So I have concocted a little scheme I hope will please you. We mean to keep the town house open, so that Radcliffe can stay there instead of at a hotel. But I had hoped you—"

"Oh, Emerson cannot get on without my help," I said. "Much as I would prefer to rusticate in the tranquillity of the country, and greatly as I enjoy your companionship, my dear, I cannot—I never will— abandon my dear Emerson at such a time. Without my assistance and my little reminders he will never finish that book."

"Of course." A smile played about the corners of Evelyn's delicate lips. "I understand."

"Aunt Evelyn." Ramses leaned forward. "Aunt Evelyn, I am in particular need of information, so I beg you will excuse me for interrupting you and Mama—"

"Ramses, I forbade you to discuss the subject," I said firmly.

"But, Mama—"

"You heard me, Ramses."

"Yes, Mama. But—"

"Not under any circumstances, Ramses."

"Now, Amelia, do let the dear child speak," Evelyn said with a smile. "I cannot imagine that he could say anything that would distress me."

Before I could refute this absurdly naive remark, Ramses took quick advantage. In a rush he cried, "Uncle James is staying at Chalfont House."

"Ramses, if I have told you once, I have told you a hundred—What was that?"

"Rose says that he came there with his valet and his luggage, and is staying. I thought you would want to know that, Mama, having observed the decided lack of cordiality with which you and Papa greeted—"

"Ah. Without admitting the necessity of a prolonged explanation of your reasons for introducing the subject, Ramses, I confess that I am grateful for the information and for the opportunity to discuss its implications without your father's being present. I am afraid he will not be at all pleased."

"You mustn't blame me, Amelia," Evelyn began, her hands twisting in her lap.

"My dearest girl! How can I possibly blame you for a weakness so engaging as a kind heart? Knowing James, I am sure he simply moved in, bag and baggage, presuming upon a relationship which is as distant as the affection he purports to feel for me." Across from me I saw Rose nodding like a marionette, her lips primped and her cheeks pink. I gave her a kindly nod. "The question is, what is James up to? For, as Emerson so wisely remarked, he must want something."

"You are very cynical, Amelia," Evelyn said reproachfully. "Mr. Peabody has been open with me; he regrets the sad estrangement between his family and yours and yearns to restore loving relations—"

"Restore, bah," I said. "There never were loving relations between me and James, much less James and Emerson. However, you are far too unworldly to recognize a hypocrite when you see one, and too well-bred to treat him as he deserves. Never mind, I will get rid of him— if Emerson has not already done so."

However, as it turned out, Emerson had not been informed of James's presence in the house, probably because he had talked the whole time without allowing Walter or James to get a word in. Indeed I was somewhat relieved to see James descend from the cab (with what huffings and puffings I will not attempt to describe), for Emerson was perfectly capable of throwing him bodily out of it if displeased. Jumping lithely
to the ground after him, Emerson seized his hand, wrung it fiercely, dropped it, and turned away. Seizing Evelyn in one hand and me in the other, he escorted us rapidly through the gate and along the path toward the house.

Before Emerson bustled me indoors I saw something that took my mind off my brother's machinations. It had begun to rain harder, and there were not many people abroad. Only one head was uncovered to the elements. It belonged to an individual standing by the park railings across the street, and it was crowned by a mop of fiery red hair.

Catching my eye, the individual in question stood on tiptoe and went through a series of extraordinary gesticulations, first raising a hand with the thumb folded under, then bringing an invisible vessel to his lips, as if drinking, then pointing, holding up his forefinger, and pointing again. These gestures were performed with great vigor and intensity, before he clapped a shabby cap on his head and glided rapidly away.

With a tact I had not expected from him, James absented himself from the luncheon table. Afterward Emerson and Walter retired to the library to revel in conversation of an Egyptological nature until teatime. I persuaded Evelyn to lie down for a little rest (Emerson's random surmise as to her delicate condition having been verified by no less an authority than Evelyn herself); and, having left Ramses lecturing Rose on various subjects that did not interest her in the slightest, I was able to concentrate on the peculiar behavior of Mr. Kevin O'Connell.

Why he had not left a written message instead of following us from the dock and carrying on like a maniacal mime, I could not imagine. Possibly—I speculated—he feared Emerson might intercept or inquire about such a letter. Well, I was no more anxious than he to involve Emerson, but I was very anxious indeed to talk with Mr. O'Connell. I had a few things to say to him.