Lion in the Valley (39 page)

The
sheer lunacy of the request startled me so that I dropped my napkin. It fell on
top of the cat Bastet, who was crouched under the table, hoping (correctly)
that Ramses would slip tidbits to her. This upset her a great deal, and the
rest of the conversation was punctuated with growls and thumps as Bastet
wrestled with the napkin.

Emerson's
jaw dropped. He started to speak, or perhaps to laugh. Then a thought seemed to
occur to him, for his eyes narrowed and his hand crept to his chin. "That
would certainly solve some of our difficulties," he said musingly,
stroking the dimple. "Mrs. Emerson's obsession with chaperonage and
propriety ..."

"Emerson!"
I exclaimed. "How can you entertain such a notion for a split second? My
dear Ronald— excuse me, Donald—my dear Enid—whatever gave you the idea that
Professor Emerson is licensed to marry people?"

"Why,
I don't know," Donald said, looking confused. "The captain of a ship
has such privileges; I thought the leader of an expedition in a foreign
country-"

"You
thought wrong," I said.

Enid
lowered her eyes. Yet I had a feeling she had known the truth all along—and had
not cared. I should not wish it to be supposed that I ever approve of
immorality, but I must confess that my opinion of the girl rose.

"Sit
down, Donald," I said. "You look so very indecisive standing there
scratching your ear. Let us discuss this rationally. I thoroughly approve of
your decision, which will, of course, have to wait until the proper formalities
have been carried out. May I ask what led you to it?"

Donald
continued to hold Enid's hand. She smiled at him with (I could not help
thinking) the gentle encouragement of a teacher toward a rather backward child.

"Enid
has convinced me," Donald said. "We cannot continue to hide like
criminals who have something to be ashamed of. Surely she is in no danger from
the police; only a madman could entertain the notion of her guilt."

"That
is in fact the case," I said. "We learned today that the police have
abandoned any idea that she killed Kalenischeff. You, however—"

"I,"
said Donald, lifting his chin, "will face my accusers like a man. They
cannot prove I killed the fellow—though I was often tempted to punch him
senseless as I followed him and Enid around Cairo and saw him smirk and leer at
her."

"That
is the sort of statement I strongly advise you not to make to anyone
else," said Emerson. "However, I agree with you that there is little
evidence against you. But you have not explained this sudden surge of
gallantry. Was it love, that noble emotion, that strengthened your moral
sinews?"

His
satirical tone was lost on Donald, who replied simply. "Yes, sir, it was.
Besides, reluctant as I am to face the truth, Enid has convinced me that it was
Ronald who tried to kill me this morning."

"Well,
of course it was," Emerson said. "It has been
evident
from the first that the difficulties you two have encountered are purely
domestic in nature. Your brother, Mr. Fraser, appears to be a thoroughly
unprincipled person. It was he, was it not, who forged the signature and
persuaded you to accept the blame? Stupid, Mr. Fraser—very stupid indeed. For
that act had consequences far more dangerous to you than mere dishonor. Your
brother hoped that despair would lead you to death by accident or
self-destruction, thus giving him control of your estate. I suspect he has an
additional motive which has to do with the affections of Miss Debenham here. I
also suspect that had Miss Debenham been content to accept Donald's disgrace
and disappearance, not to mention the hand in marriage of Ronald, Donald (curse
it, these names are very confusing)—Ronald, I mean, would have gone no further.
By vigorously pursuing the search for Donald and denying his guilt, she
endangered Ronald's position and he was forced to take more direct action.

"He
hired Kalenischeff, not to lead Miss Debenham to Donald, but to mislead her.
But Kalenischeff would have betrayed Ronald for a price, and Ronald had to stop
him. It is not difficult to hire assassins in Cairo. Kalenischeff was lured to
Miss Debenham's room, not only because he was more vulnerable to attack there,
but because Ronald hoped to incriminate his 'delicate darling,' as he had the
audacity to call her, and keep her from pressing her search. I suspect, Miss
Debenham, that he resented your contemptuous treatment of him and his proposal
of marriage, and you may thank heaven you did not change your mind, for, once
in his power, you would have paid for your contumely in tears and anguish. He
is a vicious and vindictive man."

"Amazing,
Professor," Donald exclaimed. "You are right in every particular; you
have even made me see
painful truths I was unwilling to admit to
myself. How did you know all that?"

"Only
an idiot would fail to see it," Emerson grunted.

"Or
a brother, blinded by fraternal affection," I said, more charitably.

"Or,"
said Emerson, fixing me with a hideous scowl, "an individual obsessed by
master criminals."

When
we sought our couch in the desert, we did not go alone. To Emerson's poorly
concealed fury, Donald had insisted Enid occupy the other tent. "Now, of
all times," he had said, pressing the girl's hand, "it is important
that not the slightest shadow of reproach rest upon Enid."

"Humph,"
said Emerson.

I
was against the idea myself, though not entirely for the same reason. Emerson's
analysis of the case had been cogent, as his analyses always were. That is not
to say it was correct. I felt in my bones that my two young friends were
entwined in the invisible strands of Sethos' filthy web. My arguments had
little effect, however. Donald supported Emerson (men always stick together),
and Enid supported Donald. The only one who showed an ounce of sense was
Ramses. His offer to stand guard outside Enid's tent was unanimously rejected, but
when he offered the cat in his stead, Enid laughed and said she would be
delighted to have a nice cuddly kitty curl up with her.

I
looked at the great brindled cat. Her topaz eyes had narrowed to slits and her
lip curled, as if she were smiling contemptuously at the ludicrously
inappropriate description. It seemed even more ludicrous when Ramses took her
off into a corner, squatted down, facing her,
and began mumbling
at her. It was enough to make one's blood run cold to see them staring into one
another's eyes, the cat quiet and intent, her head tilted and her tail
twitching.

Whatever
Ramses said had the desired effect. Bastet accompanied us when we left the
house. Donald had declared his intention of escorting his beloved and seeing
her safely to her tent. They followed at a discreet distance, whispering in the
starlight. It was a perfect night for lovers—as indeed most nights in Egypt
are— and I would have been content to walk in dreamy silence, with Emerson's
hand holding mine. However, Emerson was being stubborn.

"If
they are determined to go to Cairo and give themselves up tomorrow, it is
essential that some responsible person accompany them," I insisted.

"Absolutely
not, Peabody. We will be shorthanded as it is once they have gone—although
she
was never much use, and
he
is too distracted by
her
to carry
out his duties. I don't know why you keep encouraging people like that. You
always have a few of those vapid young persons hanging about, interfering with
our work and complicating our lives. I have nothing against them, and I wish
them well, but I will be glad to see the last of them."

I
let Emerson rant, which he did, scarcely pausing to draw breath, until we had
reached our tent. I stopped to call a pleasant good night to the two shadowy
forms behind us. Emerson took my hand and pulled me inside. For a long time
thereafter, the only sounds that broke the stillness were the far-off cries of
jackals.

When
I woke in the pre-dawn darkness, it was not, for once, a burglar or an assassin
who had disturbed my
slumber. I had dreamed again—a dream so
vivid and distinct that I had to stretch out my hand to Emerson in order to
reassure myself that I was really in the tent with my husband at my side. The
contours of those familiar features under my groping fingers brought a great
sense of relief. Emerson snorted and mumbled but did not wake up.

I
could have wished just then that he did not sleep so soundly. I felt a
ridiculous need for consultation—even, though I am reluctant to confess it, for
comforting. It was not so much the scenario of the dream that made me tremble
in the darkness, but, if I may so express it, the psychic atmosphere that had
prevailed. Anyone who has wakened shrieking from a nightmare will know what I
mean, for in dreams the most innocuous objects can arouse extraordinary
sensations of apprehension. I yearned to discuss my sensations with Emerson and
hear his reassuring "Balderdash, Peabody!"

My
better nature prevailed, as I hope it always does, and, creeping closer to his
side, I sought once again to woo Morpheus. The fickle god would not be seduced,
though I tried a variety of sleeping positions. Through all my tossing and
turning Emerson lay like a log, his arms folded across his breast.

At
last I abandoned the attempt. As yet no light penetrated the heavy canvas of
the walls, but an indefinable freshness in the air told me that dawn could not
be far off. Rising, I lighted a lamp and got dressed. As those who have
attempted to perform this feat in the narrow confines of a tent can testify, it
is impossible to do it gracefully or quietly, yet Emerson continued to sleep,
undisturbed by the light or by my inadvertent stumbles over his limbs, or even
by the jingling of my tool belt as I buckled it on. I had to pound gently on
his chest and apply a variety of tactile stimuli to his face and
form
before his regular breathing changed its rhythm. A smile tugged at the corners
of his mouth. Without opening his eyes he put out his arm and pulled me down
upon him.

As
I believe I have mentioned, Emerson dislikes the encumbrance of sleeping
garments. The vigor of his movement brought my belt and its fringe of hard,
sharp-edged objects in sudden contact with a vulnerable portion of his anatomy,
and the benevolent aspect of his countenance underwent a dreadful change. I
clapped my hand over his mouth before the shriek bubbling in his throat could
emerge.

"Don't
cry out, Emerson. You will waken Enid and frighten the poor girl out of her
wits."

After
a while the rigidity of Emerson's muscular chest subsided, and his bulging eyes
resumed their normal aspect. I deemed it safe to remove my hand.

"Peabody,"
he said.

"Yes,
my dear Emerson?"

"Are
we surrounded by hostile Bedouin on the verge of a murderous attack?"

"Why
no, Emerson, I don't think so."

"Did
a shadowy figure creep into the tent, brandishing a knife?"

"No."

"A
mummified hand, perhaps? Slipping through the gap between the tent wall and the
canvas floor, groping for your throat?"

"Emerson,
you are particularly annoying when you try to be sarcastic. There is nothing
wrong. At least nothing of the sort you mention. It is almost morning, and I...
I could not sleep."

I
removed my elbows from his chest and sat up. I said no more; but Emerson then
demonstrated the sterling qualities that have won him the wholehearted
affection of a woman who, I venture to assert, insists upon the highest
standards in a spouse.

Once
again his sinewy arms reached out and drew me into a close embrace—not quite so
close, and with some degree of caution. "Tell me about it, Peabody,"
he said.

"It
sounds foolish," I murmured, resting my head against his breast.

"I
love you when you are foolish, Peabody. It is a rare event—if by foolish you
mean gentle and yielding, timid and fearful...."

"Stop
that, Emerson," I said firmly, taking his hand. "I am not fearful;
only puzzled. I had the most peculiar dream."

"That
is also a rare event. Proceed."

"I
found myself in a strange room, Emerson. It was decorated in the most luxurious
and voluptuous fashion—rosy-pink draperies covering the walls and windows, a
soft couch strewn with silken pillows, antique rugs, and a tiny tinkling
fountain. Upon a low table of ebony and mother-of-pearl was a tray with fruit
and wine, silver bowls and crystal glasses. A dreaming silence filled the chamber,
broken only by the melodious murmur of the fountain.

"I
lay upon the couch. I felt myself to be wide awake, and my dreaming self was as
bewildered by my surroundings as I myself would have been. My eyes were drawn
to a fringed and embroidered curtain that concealed a door. How I knew this I
cannot say; but I did, and I also knew something was approaching—that the door
would soon open, the curtain lift—that I would see..."

"Go
on, Peabody."

"That
was when I woke, Emerson—woke in a cold sweat of terror, trembling in every
limb. You know, my dear, that I have no patience with the superstition that
dreams
are portents of things to come, but I cannot help but believe there is some
deeper meaning in this dream."