The Hippopotamus Pool (5 page)

"Really, Emerson, you ought to be ashamed of yourself," I said. "If you think you can distract me from my maternal obligations in that crude, unsubtle fashion—"

"Unsubtle? My dear Peabody, you don't know what you are saying. Now if I had done this ... or this ..."

Leaving the cat Anubis in the sitting room, we retired to our own.

The air was still cool and fresh when we left the hotel the following morning. I am always an early riser, and my curiosity about the surprise Emerson had promised made me all the more anxious to be up and about. But never believe, Reader, that curiosity, or Emerson's interesting attentions, had made me neglect my duty as a parent.

I had gone to Nefret's room immediately upon arising. She was the picture of girlish innocence as she slept, tendrils of red-gold hair framing her face, lips sweetly curved. The name her father had given her well became her, for in ancient Egyptian it meant "beautiful."

I stood watching her for a while with mingled appreciation and foreboding. I would be the first to admit that my maternal instincts are not well developed—though in my own defense I must add that the raising of Ramses would have discouraged any woman. Having got him, as I hoped, through the most perilous period of life, I had found motherhood thrust upon me once again, and I believe I will not be accused of exaggeration when I claim that no mother ever faced such a unique challenge as Nefret. Only her quick intelligence and her desire to please had enabled her to adjust to a way of life so different from the one to which she had been accustomed.

She had not done it without argument. As her confidence grew and her trust in us increased, her criticism of civilized conventions intensified. Why should she swathe herself in layers of heavy, uncomfortable garments? Why should she not talk openly and freely to young men, without the presence of a chaperone? Why must she lower her eyes and blush and remain silent in company, when her opinions were as interesting as those of anyone else?

These rules
were
absurd. I admitted as much, but I had to insist she follow them. Young and inexperienced, at a time of life when certain physiological developments render a female susceptible to masculine blandishments, she was fair game for men like Sir Edward Washington, and the fortune she would inherit when she came of age would bring suitors swarming around her. We were her only protectors—effective protectors, to be sure, for few men, however infatuated, would risk the wrath of Emerson by taking advantage of his ward. I pondered, as I had done before, about the advisability of adopting her legally. Could we do it? Would she want us to? She was fond of us, I felt certain, but perhaps that degree of intimacy would not please her.

With a sigh, I abandoned these musings and turned my attention to the issue at hand. Gently I shook her awake.

She answered my questions without dissembling and accepted my lecture in silence, but she was still pouting when Emerson helped her into the carriage.

Emerson did not observe the pout. He would not have observed it (men being what they are) even if something had not distracted him. A series of sounds like the honking of a giant goose heralded the appearance of a monstrous object before whose advance the crowd of beggars, vendors, tourists and donkeys scattered. Motorcars were still a rarity in Cairo, and this one was being driven at quite an excessive speed—a good fifteen miles per hour, if I was any judge. It was bright red in color, and an equally brilliant crimson jacket adorned the chauffeur, whose face glowed with pride and pleasure.

"A Stanley Steamer," Emerson breathed. "Peabody, what would you think of—"

Leaning forward, I jabbed the coachman with my parasol. "Drive on, if you please."

However, he was unable to do so since the motorcar was blocking the way. Instead of objecting to the delay, as would have been his normal custom, Emerson leaned forward, studying the vehicle with greedy eyes. Thus far I had managed to resist his suggestion that we purchase one of the horrid things, but I feared I was losing ground.

Other guests were less tolerant than Emerson. The occupants of the carriage behind us raised their voices in loud complaint, and several ladies waiting for their carriages put handkerchiefs to their faces and backed away as the vehicle emitted an explosive popping sound and a burst of evil-smelling smoke.

The owner of the motorcar, identified as such by his long coat and visored cap, had emerged from the hotel. All eyes turned toward him, some in angry reproach, some (female) in interested appraisal. Smiling, he offered his arm (and, one may assume, his apologies) to a lady who had stumbled over her long black skirts as she retreated. After handing her over to her attendant, he sauntered slowly down the steps and took his place behind the wheel.

"Who is that young jackanapes?" Emerson demanded, jealousy (of the machine) making him neglect to finish the sentence my instruction to the driver had interrupted. "He looks familiar."

Nefret had slumped down in the seat and turned her face away. It was Ramses who replied, with a suspicious glance at his sister. "That is Sir Edward Washington, Father, and he is not so very young. Thirty years of age if he is a day."

"Quite elderly, upon my word," said Emerson. "As I was saying, Peabody, what would you think—"

"Where are we going, Emerson?" I asked.

"Confound it, Peabody, I wish you would leave off—"

"The coachman is awaiting instructions, my dear."

The motorcar having driven off, Emerson consented to give those instructions, standing upright on the seat and mumbling into the fellow's ear in order to prevent me from hearing. I said with a smile, "So this is part of the secret, is it? Would I guess the truth if I knew our destination?"

"Not likely," Emerson declared. "But you are devilish keen in such matters, my dear, and you always claim afterward that you knew all along. Perhaps if I blindfolded you—"

"Not likely," I assured him, taking a firm grip on my parasol.

Emerson laughed. He was in high good humor, the motorcar forgotten, and I realized that the children must be in on the secret too. Ramses's narrow countenance looked almost affable, and Nefret's silvery laughter blended with Emerson's deep chuckle. I will say for the girl that she had not a sulky disposition. She had got over her annoyance with me; though, if truth were told, I was not altogether over my annoyance with
her.

She had been with Sir Edward—and in the Moorish Hall!

"But he was a perfect gentleman, Aunt Amelia. He did not even try to kiss me, though he wanted to."

"Good Gad! How do you know that? Did he have the audacity to—"

"No, certainly not. But I could tell. I did my best to encourage him— in a ladylike manner, of course—but perhaps I have not yet learned how—"

"Nefret!"

"You always tell me I must be receptive to broadening experiences. That would have been a broadening experience. And, from what I have observed, a very enjoyable one."

I did not doubt where, and under what circumstances, the little minx had had the opportunity to observe
that.
Emerson is an impulsive individual, and he is sometimes careless about closing doors. A certain degree of selfconsciousness made my lecture on ladylike behavior milder than it might otherwise have been.

Nefret certainly looked like a little lady that morning, in a pale-green gingham frock and a charming bonnet of blue and green straw woven to resemble feathers. Broad-brimmed hats or boaters were in vogue for young ladies that year, but this hat had taken her fancy and I saw no reason to discourage a moderate degree of individuality in matters of dress.

Ramses was fairly presentable too, though I knew that condition would not endure. We had left Anubis at the hotel, but the cat Bastet, on the carriage seat between Ramses and Nefret, stared interestedly around her, like any tourist. I emulated the cat; Not that I would have spoiled Emerson's innocent pleasure by claiming I had anticipated his surprise, but I was curious to know whether I could do so.

I began to get a glimmer of an idea when we crossed the Kasr en-Nil Bridge and saw, on the farther bank, the pennants and flags and funnels of various vessels. That vista had changed since my early days in Egypt; tourist steamers and tugs had largely replaced the graceful sailing vessels called dahabeeyahs. From what I had heard, the Cook's steamers were comfortable enough, providing everything from a proper English breakfast of eggs and bacon, oatmeal and marmalade, to an army of servants in red tarbooshes. The steamers made the run from Cairo to Luxor in five and a half days.

Only imagine, I thought, when I heard someone boast of that speed. Five days and a half for the wonders of Egypt; five and a half days in the society of shallow-minded, frivolous individuals, who "did" Egypt at top speed and in determined isolation from the country and its "dirty natives." I was in full accord with Emerson; if we wanted to get somewhere in a hurry (which he usually did), better the railroad, which made no pretense at instilling culture.

Yet, as the carriage proceeded along the bank fond memories overcame me, and though I knew it to be folly my eyes sought a vanished shape— that of my dear dahabeeyah the
Philae,
on which I had traveled during my first, never-to-be forgotten visit to Egypt. A few of the graceful vessels were still to be seen. Some of our friends clung to the good old customs, and I was pleased to see the
Istar,
which belonged to the Reverend Mr. Sayce, and just beyond it, Cyrus Vandergelt's boat,
The Valley of the Kings.

"Is Cyrus arrived, then?" I asked, for I fancied I had solved Emerson's little mystery and wondered why he had made such a fuss about lunching with an old friend. "Is that the reason ... Oh! Oh, Emerson!"

For a vision had appeared to me; a dream had taken on reality. I knew her with the knowledge of the heart, as some poet has said (probably in quite another context), though she was singularly changed, shining with fresh paint and bright new awnings, and though the name on the bow was not the one that had been hers. The name . .. The name was ... My own.

I burst into tears.

"Good Gad, Peabody, don't do that!" Emerson gathered me into his arms. "You never used to do that. This makes twice in two days! What has come over you?"

"I am so happy," I said between sobs.

"Hmph," said Emerson. "I don't recall that you reacted in that manner to my proposal of marriage, or to—er—certain other incidents that I remember with an intensity of emotion corresponding to the one you claim to feel."

"It is not the same thing at all, Emerson."

"Indeed? Well, we can discuss that at another time. Sit up and straighten your hat and blow your nose and tell me that you are pleased."

Ramses offered me a handkerchief. It was very nasty, like all Ramses's handkerchiefs, so I declined with thanks and found my own.

"Speechless with delight would be nearer the mark, Emerson. Is it really the dear old
Philae?"

"Not any longer. She is now the
Amelia Peabody Emerson
—yours in name and in fact."

With an effort I conquered my emotion. "It was a noble gesture, my dear. That you should sacrifice yourself—for I know how you dislike traveling in this manner—"

"It was the most sensible course of action," Emerson declared. "You know we are still arguing about where we plan to excavate for the next several years; until we settle on a particular site, we cannot construct permanent quarters. The boat will serve in that regard until we do. It is an infernal nuisance having to pack up our books and papers every year, and now we won't have to stay at that bloo—blooming hotel."

"Yes, Emerson, of course," I murmured, conscious of a faint qualm. "But you know, my dear, it will require some time to get our staterooms in proper order."

"All done," said Emerson, beaming with obtuse satisfaction. "I have been working on this for months, Peabody; I began searching for a boat last spring, before we left Egypt, and when I saw the
Philae,
I knew it was just the thing. She was in sad condition, to be sure, but I ordered the proper repairs to be made, and as you can see they are complete."

"Bedding," I began. "Linens, dishes—"

"All supplied. I had a quantity of articles shipped out this past summer. But why are we sitting here talking? Come and inspect your new domain, Peabody." He jumped lithely from the carriage and helped me out. "No doubt you will want to make a few small changes, women always do— hurry along, Ramses, give Nefret your arm, the bank is cursed slippery— but I am sure you will find everything to your satisfaction."

The bank
was
cursed slippery, littered with a variety of unpleasant objects from rotting fruit to dead rats. I clung to Emerson's arm and nerved myself to ask the question whose answer I dreaded. "Who was in charge of the arrangements, Emerson? Was it ... Surely it was not..."

"Why, Abdullah, of course," Emerson answered, steadying me as I staggered. "Watch where you step, Peabody."

"Abdullah," I repeated faintly. "Of course."