Elizabeth Peters - A River in the Sky

Emerson pushed his plate away and planted his elbows on the table-a deplorable habit of which I have not succeeded in breaking him. “Is that so, Peabody? Perhaps you would care to cite a few examples.”

Though I would never have admitted it to Emerson, it had been some time since I had dipped into the Old Testament. I promised myself I would do so immediately after luncheon. “Do your own research, Emerson. You wouldn’t take my word anyhow. Nefret, my dear, you haven’t eaten a thing. You seem a trifle out of sorts these days. Is something worrying you?”

The disingenuous attempt to change the subject succeeded. Emerson, who adores his adopted daughter, glanced at her in alarm.

“No. Well…I miss the boys. Not that you and the professor aren’t splendid company,” she added quickly. “But with David in Yorkshire and Ramses off in the wilds of Palestine…”

“You have no one to play with,” I suggested.

Nefret returned my smile. “I suppose that was how it sounded. Oh, it is perfectly understandable that David would rather be with Lia; they’re madly in love and it will be some time before they can be married. But why did Ramses go haring off to Palestine? He might at least have the decency to write.”

“Mr. Reisner’s offer to work with him at Samaria was a splendid opportunity,” I said. “And you know Ramses has never been a good correspondent.”

“Well, sir and madam, I don’t understand it either,” Gargery declared, serving plates of custard. “Egypt is where we always work. Why did Master Ramses go off to that heathenish place?”

“The adjective is singularly inappropriate, Gargery, since we are speaking of the Holy Land, sacred to three great world religions. And,” I added, “I cannot remember inviting your comments on the matter.”

Unperturbed by my rebuke, for he had heard similar remarks so often they had ceased to make an impression, Gargery declared, “I worry about him, madam, and that’s a fact. You know how he is.”

I did know how he was. Ramses had a habit, a propensity, one might say, for getting into trouble. It would take too many pages of this journal to compile a list of his adventures, which included being kidnapped off the top of a pyramid, being temporarily entombed in another, stealing a lion…But as I have said, the list is long.

Candor compels me to admit that certain of Ramses’s escapades were due in part to the activities of his father and myself, for our dedication to truth and justice had occasionally brought us into contact with various criminal elements-tomb robbers, forgers, a murderer or two, and even a Master Criminal. To do myself justice, I must add that I had done my best to protect him as only a mother can. Certain of his narrow escapes were unquestionably the result of his own recklessness, and although he had settled down a bit as he approached the official age of maturity-which he had reached this past month-I had been forced to the conclusion that I was no longer in a position to control his actions. At least not when he was in a place where I could not get at him. It had occurred to me, upon occasion, to wonder whether Ramses had deliberately selected a place where I could not get at him.

“For your information, Gargery,” I said, “the site of Samaria was once the capital of the kings of Israel, after the united kingdom broke into two parts following the death of Solomon, Israel being the northern and Judah the southern. The city was subsequently conquered by…er…various conquerors, ending with the Romans. The Roman temple on the summit of the tell-as such sites are called, being the remains of one settlement atop another…”

As I had expected, my lecture succeeded in boring Gargery to such an extent that he cleared the table and removed himself. It also bored Nefret, who asked to be excused, and Emerson, who declared he knew that, Peabody, and left the room. I knew he was going to the library to look up the information I had given in the hope of finding me wrong. He would not. I had been careful to stick to generalities.

As a rule it is not difficult for me to read Emerson’s mind. However, speculate as I might, I was unable to account for his sudden interest in a subject that had hitherto roused only derision. I found time that day to refresh my memory of the biblical books I had mentioned. I did not doubt Emerson was reading them too, and I intended to be ready for him.

He did not refer to the subject again. When he informed me, the following morning, that he had invited two guests to join us for tea, my attempts to ascertain more information about them were met with evasion and, when I persisted, a flat-out refusal to say more. Rather than give him the satisfaction of demonstrating further interest, I did not pursue the matter, but I felt a certain foreboding. Emerson’s acquaintances include Arab sheikhs, Nubian brigands, thieves of various nationalities, and one or two forgers.

I was therefore pleasantly surprised when the guests proved to be unarmed and harmless. They were an odd pair, however. Major the Honorable George Morley appeared to be in his late thirties or early forties. Of medium height, with thinning brown hair, he carried himself like the soldier he had been, but his well-tailored clothes failed to conceal the fact that the life of a country gentleman had thickened his waistline and certain other parts of his anatomy.

In contrast to the solidity of Morley, the other man gave the impression that a strong gale would blow him off his feet and send him floating across the landscape. His receding hair might have been white or very fair. His beard was of the same indeterminate shade, so that his face looked as if it were framed by a halo that had slipped its moorings. His eyes were of that pale shade of blue that, if physiognomists are to be believed, are characteristic of mystics and fanatics.

His name was equally remarkable. Morley presented him as the Reverend Plato Panagopolous. His garments were of somber black and he wore a clerical collar. I asked, with my usual tact, to which particular church or denomination he belonged. I had to repeat the question before he replied: “I serve the Lord God of Hosts in all his manifestations.”

He contributed little to the conversation after that, except for murmurs of vague agreement when someone commented on the beauty of the August weather or the prospect of rain, but from time to time his gaze focused on me or Nefret, and a singularly sweet smile warmed his thin face.

Pouring tea and offering plates of biscuits and cucumber sandwiches, I wondered what the devil Emerson was up to now. As a rule he avoided English squires and otherworldly eccentrics like the plague. Nefret, as puzzled as I-and as bored-gave me a questioning look. I smiled and gave my head a little shake. “Be patient,” was my unspoken message. “Emerson is bound to burst out before long.”

I confess, however, that I was not prepared for the precise nature of the outburst.

“The Old Testament,” said Emerson, fixing Morley with a piercing stare, “is a tissue of lies from start to finish.”

“Really, Emerson,” I exclaimed. “That is very rude to our guests, who probably take quite a different view of Scripture.”

Morley laughed and waved a plump pink hand. “Not at all, Mrs. Emerson. I fully expected some such view from the Professor. I am here to change his views, if possible.”

“Proceed,” said Emerson, folding his arms.

But before Mr. Morley could do so, Panagopolous leaped to his feet and began speaking in tongues.

Genuine, actual languages, that is to say. I recognized Hebrew and Latin, and what sounded like Greek; but his speech was so disjointed and his voice so high-pitched I understood only a few words. He might have been the reincarnation of one of the Old Testament prophets: eyes blazing, hair and beard bristling, arms flailing.