He was a tall man with a grizzled beard and a squint. The roll of carpet was slung over his shoulder. Taking hold of the door, he shut it in the doorkeeper’s face, lowered the rug to the floor, seized one end, and heaved.
A rich tapestry of crimson and azure and gold unrolled, and from the end rolled a human form – a female form, wearing a rather tasteless and very crumpled frock of bright pink silk. Coughing and choking, it raised dirty hands to its eyes and rubbed them.
“Christ Almighty,” said my son in a strangled voice.
I was too thunderstruck to object to this expletive, and the others were equally stupefied. Naturally I was the first to recover. I looked from the girl, who seemed to be suffering nothing worse than the effects of being bundled up in a rug smelling of camel, to the merchant, who stood with hands on hips staring at me.
“Back again, are you?” I inquired unnecessarily.
“Not from the dead this time,” said Sethos. “I have brought you a little gift.”
“In a rug?”
“It worked for Cleopatra,” said my brother-in-law. The unfortunate female sneezed violently. Automatically I handed her a handkerchief.
“I’m leaving her in your care for a few days,” Sethos went on. “Make certain no one gets to her.”
Without further ado, he turned and strode toward the door. Emerson made a leap for him, caught him by the arm and spun him round, so vigorously that he staggered.
“Not so fast. You have a lot of explaining to do.”
Instead of trying to free himself from the hand that gripped his shoulder, Sethos stared at Emerson’s left sleeve, which had fallen back, exposing the cast.
“How did that happen?” he asked.
“An encounter with a tomb robber in Luxor,” Emerson replied. “One of yours?”
“At present I have no business arrangements in Luxor. It’s like you,” he added in exasperation, “to go dashing into a war zone with a broken arm. Just sit tight for a few days, all of you. I can’t explain now; lowly merchants do not linger to chat with customers.”
“Then we will meet you elsewhere,” I said firmly. “Later this evening. Where and when?”
“For God’s sake, Amelia, be reasonable! There’s a noose round my neck and it’s getting tighter by the minute. If my absence is discovered… Oh, very well. I’ll try to meet you tomorrow night. Midnight – romantic, isn’t it? – at the ruined house in Dir el Balah. Ramses knows it.”
“What?” Ramses tore his horrified gaze from the “gift.” “Yes, I know it. What the devil -”
“Later. You shouldn’t have any trouble for another day or two. Oh – I almost forgot. You owe me four hundred and twenty piastres. That’s four and a half Turkish pounds,” he added helpfully. “Quite a bargain.”
After he had bowed himself out, I was at leisure to turn my attention to the young woman. Nefret had led her to the divan and was helping her smooth the tangled strands of her long hair.
“Would you like to freshen up a bit before we chat?” I inquired.
“For God’s sake, Mother, this isn’t a social encounter!” Ramses burst out. “You let him get away without answering any questions, let’s hear what she has to say.”
She raised reproachful black eyes to his face. “Are you angry? I thought you would be happy to see me.”
“He is,” said Nefret. A dimple appeared at the corner of her mouth. “He just has an odd way of showing it. Mother, get her something to drink.”
“Thank you, I would like that. And something to clean my face and hands.”
She had the instincts of a lady, at any rate. The requested objects having been supplied, she wiped her face, and drank deeply of the cold tea. I had to keep telling Ramses to be quiet; he was fairly hopping with annoyance, but we owed the girl a little time to recover from her unusual and uncomfortable trip.
“Now,” I said, after she had refreshed herself, “perhaps you can tell us, Miss… What is your name? Ramses didn’t mention it.”
“We were never properly introduced,” Ramses said through his teeth.
“Esin.”
“How do you do.”
“How do you do,” she repeated. “Are you his mother?”
Another one, I thought. Ramses has that effect on susceptible young women. I had suspected as much, even from Ramses’s expurgated version of their encounter; the way she pronounced the masculine pronoun was a dead giveaway.
“Yes,” I said. “And this is his father, Professor Emerson. And his wife.”
“How do you do,” the girl said, with only the barest nod for Emerson. She examined Nefret carefully, and her dirty face fell.
“Anyhow, I am glad to be here,” she said with a sigh. “My father has been very angry since you escaped.”
“Did he blame you?” Ramses asked.
“No, he thinks I am too stupid and too afraid of him.” She took another sip of tea. “He wanted to blame Ismail Pasha, but he could not, since they were together all that evening, and when Ismail Pasha went to his rooms, my father put guards at the door. To protect him from assassins, he said.”
“Then how did he -”
Nefret motioned Ramses to be silent. “How well do you know Ismail Pasha?” she asked.
“I talked often with him. He is an Englishman, you know. I liked talking to him; he treated me like a person, not a woman, and let me practice my English and told me I was a clever girl.” She finished her tea and leaned back against the cushions.
“I’m surprised your father let you talk freely with other men,” Nefret prodded.
“He could not stop me.” Her dark eyes flashed. “In Constantinople many women are working now because of the war. I helped with the Red Crescent, rolling bandages. It was wonderful! We talked about sensible things, books and what was in the newspapers, and many new ideas. And we wore corsets and short skirts!”
“I heard about that,” Nefret said. “Didn’t the government issue an order demanding that Moslem women lengthen their skirts, discard corsets, and wear thicker veils?”
“They had to take back the order,” said this young advocate of women’s rights complacently. “We made them do it. The girls at the telephone company and the post office threatened to strike, and the ladies said they would not work for the Red Crescent anymore. But my father said I was keeping bad company, and made me come to Gaza with him, and it was so dull there. He tried to make me stay in the harem, but I got out whenever I could; it was fun, hiding from the men and exploring places where I was not supposed to be.”
“The cellars,” Ramses murmured, visibly chagrined. He had underestimated her, and so had the rest of us. I had a sudden image of Esin face-to-face with Emmeline and Christabel Pankhurst.
Emerson had been listening in silence, his mouth ajar. Now he cleared his throat and said, “What about your father, child? He will be worried about you. Did you leave a message for him?”
“No, why should I? He doesn’t care about me, I am only a piece of property to him. I have lived in England; I won’t go back to the veil and the harem and the selling of women. When Ismail Pasha told me my father had captured an English spy, I wanted to see him, so I hid myself in the mandarah, hoping they would bring you there – and they did! My father told them to take off your filthy clothing so they would not stain his cushions, and when they did, I saw that you were very beautiful.”
Nefret choked. “I’m glad you find this amusing,” Ramses said sourly.
“It is not amusing,” the girl insisted. “It is sad and very romantic. I did not know who you were, and when my father said he would give me to you I was happy, because you were so beautiful and so brave, and then – then you said you were already married and my heart cracked in two, because I knew an English gentleman would never be unfaithful -”
“That’s quite enough of that,” said Ramses to his wife, who had covered her mouth with her hands in an attempt to muffle her laughter.