Elizabeth Peters: The Golden One

“Perhaps ‘sir’ would be best,” said Sethos, wrinkling his brow. “What do you think, Sennia?”

I decided it was time to intervene. Emerson was biting his lip and muttering. “Speaking of names,” I said, “perhaps you would allow us – your old friends – to use your given name.”

“Call me anything you like, Amelia dear” was the smiling and uninformative response.

At least it got us off the subject of names, though Sethos continued to address his brother deferentially as ‘sir,’ which made Emerson swear under his breath.

“Do you know Mr. Vandergelt too?” Sennia asked.

“Oh, yes. One might say I know him as well as he knows himself.” He left Sennia to puzzle over this enigmatic remark, which the rest of us understood quite well. “I have not met Mrs. Vandergelt, though, or her son.”

“Can we have a party?” Sennia asked eagerly.

“We must certainly arrange something,” I remarked. “But it will have to wait until the tomb is locked up.”

“A wise precaution,” Sethos agreed gravely. “One never knows, does one?”

“We are glad to have you here, sir,” Nefret said. “You will stay, we hope, for Cyrus’s celebration.”

“He has good reason to celebrate,” Sethos said. “And I understand you and your husband have another cause for rejoicing.”

“How did you – how do you -?” Nefret gasped.

“I have my sources,” said Sethos. He held out his hand, and when he spoke the mockery was gone from his face and voice. “I wish you joy, Nefret. And you, Ramses. I suppose you’ll be returning to England before long?”

“Our child will be born in Egypt, as is fitting,” Nefret said. “Do you suppose I’d allow a pompous male English physician to take care of me, when there are two trained women obstetricians on the staff of my hospital?”

“What about you?” Emerson demanded of Sethos.

“I’m in no hurry to leave. England hasn’t much to offer me.” He smiled wickedly at his brother.

Emerson’s face reddened. “Neither has Luxor.”

“My dear fellow, I wouldn’t dream of interfering with your activities. In fact, I would be delighted to assist in any possible manner.”

“Ha,” said Emerson.

Nefret turned her chuckle into a cough.

After dinner the men went off to stand guard. Emerson declined, with thanks, Sethos’s offer to join them.

“Do you suppose he will ever get over suspecting my intentions?” inquired my brother-in-law, after we had retired to the sitting room.

“Perhaps,” Nefret suggested, “if you would get over teasing him…”

“I can’t resist, Nefret. He’s such an easy mark. I was teasing, though, when I implied I would stay on here. I must leave tomorrow.”

“So soon?” Nefret exclaimed. Impulsively she placed her hand on his shoulder. “You will miss Cyrus’s party. We want to keep you with us a while longer.”

“You really mean it, don’t you?” The strange gray-green eyes were, for once, very kind. “I’d like to, Nefret, but I can’t.”

“You are going back to the war, aren’t you?” I asked composedly. “I thought you had promised Margaret this would be your last assignment.”

“The job’s not finished yet, Amelia dear. I made a quick trip here because – well, for two reasons. I must be getting old; I did want to see all of you. The other reason is more… difficult.”

“Would you like me to leave?” Nefret asked.

“No. Please stay. Did Amelia tell you about a conversation we had recently concerning my daughter?”

Nefret’s eyes widened, and I said, “I considered it a private confidence. I have not even told Emerson.”

“Thank you, Amelia. I wasn’t quite myself at the time; what precisely did I say?”

“You said she held you accountable for her mother’s death, and that she had run away from home. You attempted to find her at that time, I presume. A girl of fifteen or sixteen should not have been able to elude a determined search.”

“She was sixteen. But very precocious in a number of ways. Like her mother. I did search, long and hard, without result. I believe she had help, from one of Bertha’s former friends – the same one who told Maryam – Molly – about her mother’s death. Recently I heard that she had found a – a protector, and was in Egypt. I’ve been playing with the Turks ever since; haven’t had time to look for her here.”

“I am very sorry,” Nefret said gently. “Can nothing be done to save her?”

“She doesn’t want to be saved. Especially by me.”

He had not given way, nor would he, but I knew he cared more for the girl than he would admit and that guilt as well as affection motivated his search. I began, “There is a chance that we might -”

“You may encounter her; our Egypt is a small world, in a sense. That is why I brought the subject up. But, Amelia dear, don’t assume that because you managed to reform me – up to a point – you can redeem the entire damned universe. If Maryam blames me for her mother’s death, how do you suppose she feels about you?”

He rose, rather heavily. “I’ll say good night, and good-bye. My regards to Ramses and – er – Emerson.”

“Won’t we see you again?” Nefret asked.

“Not this time. I have business in Luxor before I leave tomorrow. If you learn anything about Molly, a message to our mutual friend with the preposterous name will reach me eventually. He will notify you of any change in my situation.”

“Your death, you mean?” I asked steadily.

“Now, Amelia, it isn’t like you to look on the dark side. Who knows, it may be a wedding invitation!” His mocking smile faded and he said hesitantly, “If you should hear from Margaret -”

“I will write her tomorrow,” I promised. “Someone must know her current address.”

“Thank you.” He took my hand. “Turn your back, Nefret.”

She let out a gasp and so did I. Sethos laughed and caught me in his arms and kissed me – on the brow.

“You will always be the woman I love,” he said. “That doesn’t prevent me from loving Margaret as much. You understand, I think.”

“Yes,” I said. “Turn your back, Nefret.”

Cyrus was bitterly disappointed when he learned of Sethos’s departure, though the arrival of the steel door, a day ahead of schedule, distracted him temporarily. Selim assured him the men would bend their best efforts to have it in place the following day.

“Then I can send out my invitations to the fantasia,” Cyrus said. “Shame Ismail had to leave so soon, I was looking forward to seeing more of him.”

“Typical,” Emerson growled. “Comes and goes at his own convenience.”

“He has other duties,” I said reprovingly. “As you are well aware.”

We did hear from him once again, however. A letter, hand-delivered, awaited us when we got to the house that afternoon. It contained only two sentences: “There are strangers in Luxor. And my former customer is still in the market.”

“I can guess who that’s from, but what the dickens does it mean?” asked Cyrus, who had come back with us for tea.

Emerson glanced around to make sure Sennia wasn’t listening. He lowered his voice.

“It is confirmation of my suspicions, Vandergelt. Tonight is the last night the tomb will be open. I had a feeling Albion wouldn’t give up without a final attempt. He won’t get help from the Gurnawis, but strangers, hired criminals, might be willing to attack us if the rewards were high enough.”

“Good Lord!” Cyrus ejaculated. “We’d better get over to Luxor right away. Have the fellows rounded up and put the fear of God into Joe Albion.”

“I am surprised at you, Vandergelt. One cannot arrest people without evidence of a crime.” Emerson smiled. It was not a nice smile. “I weary of Mr. Albion and his family. We will arrange a little ambush and catch them red-handed.”