Free The Deeds of the Disturber by Elizabeth Peters Page B

afraid of the dark, or anything else that I had been able to discover, but he took advantage of the light in order to read in bed. As soon as we entered he dropped the heavy tome he had been perusing and sat up.
    "Good evening, Mama, good evening, Papa. I had feared Papa's well-justified resentment might prevent you from coming to say good night;I am happy to learn I was mistaken. Though I was attempting to distract myself with this latest volume from the hand of Mr. Wallis Budge, even his absurd statements concerning the process of mummification could not wholly soothe my—"
    "You should not be reading in this poor light, Ramses." I sat down on the side of his bed and took the book from him. "You should be asleep, or searching your conscience. Papa's resentment was well founded. You owe him an apology."
    "I have already apologized," Ramses replied. "Several times. But, Mama—"
    "No buts, Ramses."
    "I thought I was helping Papa. Knowing how busy he is, and that the Oxford University Press has several times demanded the manuscript, and hearing your frequent remarks to Papa on the subject of completing the book—"
    "Good Gad!" I jumped to my feet. I had been feeling sorry for Ramses; in the soft light he looked almost like an ordinary child, his small face sober and his black curls tumbling over his infantile brow. How like the little wretch it was, to blame me for his action! "You will do better to admit your fault and promise never to do it again," I said severely. "You are never to touch a manuscript of your father's again, Ramses. Do you understand?"
    "Not even to rescue it in the eventuality of a fire, or one of the dogs happening to get hold of it, or—"
    I stamped my foot. I am sorry to say that Ramses often drove me to this childish extremity. "Enough, Ramses. You know what I mean. You are not to write on your father's manuscript, amend it, correct it, or change it in any way."
    "Ah," said Ramses thoughtfully. "Now that you have made your meaning clear, Mama, I will certainly obey your command."
    "Good." I turned to go. A small voice behind me said, "Will you not kiss me good night, Mama?"
    The rigid form of Emerson, arms folded, brow thunderous, sagged visibly. "Don't you want Papa to kiss you, my boy?"
    "That would please me more than I can say, Papa. I had not ventured to ask because I believed your anger—your well-merited anger—might inspire a refusal which would have wounded me to the quick. I might have expected you would demonstrate the quality of forgiveness which marks a noble character and is, according to the Koran—"
    At this point I fell upon Ramses and gave him the kiss he had requested, though I am bound to confess I was moved as much by thedesire to stop his talking as by affection. Emerson succeeded me; his embrace was as fond as any parent could provide, and after we had hastily left the room—to prevent Ramses from starting another monologue—I said, "You did not tell Ramses about the children."
    "Time enough for that tomorrow," Emerson grunted, opening the door of our room and stepping back to let me precede him. He looked rather sheepish. I had expected he would; Emerson is devoted to Ramses and he usually repents harsh words as soon as they have been uttered.
    "Perhaps we ought not take them, Emerson."
    "I have not changed my mind, Peabody. Ramses is a good little chap—in his way—I am sure he really was trying to be helpful, and perhaps I was a trifle harsh. But he is ... He sometimes ... He really is a trifle odd, Peabody, don't you think? He has been too much in the company of adults. It will do him good to join in the innocent games of ordinary youngsters. Cricket and—er—that sort of thing."
    "Did you ever play cricket, Emerson?"
    "I? Good Gad, no! Can you picture ME wasting my time with what is probably the most infernally illogical and pointless activity ever conceived by the human brain?"
    And when he put it in that light, I had to confess that I could not.
    Four
    D O NOT