He Shall Thunder in the Sky taps-12 Page 48

  Still on hands and knees, I turned my head.

  Leaning against the wall, drenched in blood, Sethos tossed my gun away and gave me a twisted smile. “As usual, I have been upstaged. Don’t waste a bullet on me, Radcliffe; I haven’t much time left.”

  “You shot Percy,” I gasped. “And he shot—”

  “I hit him first,” said Sethos, with a shadow of his old arrogance. “Twice, and both square on target. I don’t mean to sound critical, Amelia dear, but you might consider carrying a larger…”

  He swayed and would have fallen if I had not hastened to support him. Almost at once my hands were pushed aside and replaced by the strong arm of Emerson. He lowered his old enemy carefully to the floor. “It might be advisable for you to talk fast, Sethos. The Turks are advancing and ten thousand lives depend on you. When will the attack come, and where? Kantara?”

  “What in heaven’s name are you talking about, Emerson?” I cried. “The man is dying. He gave his life for—”

  “You? No doubt, no doubt, but what concerns me at this moment is the fact that he is an agent of British intelligence, and that he was sent here to get that information. Don’t stand there gawking at me, Peabody , raise his head. He is choking on his own blood.”

  Stupefied by disbelief, I sat down and lifted Sethos’s head onto my lap. Emerson opened his coat and ripped the bloody shirt away from his body. “Damn,” he said. “Nefret, come here. See what you can do.”

  She came, and Ramses with her; they were interwined like Siamese twins and both looked as dazed as I felt. After she had examined the gruesome wound she shook her head. “It has penetrated his lung. We must get him to hospital immediately, but I don’t think…”

  “Can he talk?” The man who had spoken was a stranger to me, one of General Maxwell’s aides, to judge by his uniform. “An ambulance is on the way, but if he can tell us where—”

  Sethos opened his eyes. “I don’t know. They burned the papers. I couldn’t find…” Then a spark of the old malicious amusement shone in the gray—brown—green depths. “You might ask… my nephew. I rather think he… got a look at them.”

  “Who?” Emerson’s strong jaw dropped.

  “Who?” I gasped, glaring wildly round the small chamber.

  “Me, I think,” said Ramses. “By a process of elimination. I had begun to wonder—”

  “Don’t try to talk, Ramses!” I cried. He was leaning heavily on Nefret, and under the bruises and streaks of blood his face was ashen.

  “I think I had better,” Ramses said, drawing a long, difficult breath. “Kantara is a feint only. The main attack will come between Toussoum and Serapeum, at half past three . They have steel pontoons to bridge the Canal. Two infantry brigades and six guns are to hold a position two miles northeast of Serapeum—”

  “ Half past three —today?” The officer broke in. “It is already after midnight . Damn it, man, are you sure? Headquarters expected the attack would be farther north. It will take at least eight hours to get our reserves from Ismailia to Serapeum.”

  “Then you had better get them started, hadn’t you?” said Ramses.

  “Damnation,” Emerson exclaimed. “The only troops near Toussoum are the Indian infantry, and most of them are Moslems. If they don’t hold—”

  “They will hold.” Ramses looked down at the man whose head rested on my lap. “As I was saying, I began to wonder about Major Hamilton earlier. His suggestion that they leave me alive was a bit too disingenuous. Double agent, I thought—prayed, rather—but it never occurred to me he was…” His voice cracked. “Uncle Sethos?”

  Emerson had gone white. “You were the boy in the snow. My father’s…”

  “Your father’s bastard, yes,” Sethos whispered. “Did you never suspect why I hated you so? The sight of you that night, the young heir and master, in your handsome coach, while I struggled to help a fainting woman through the drifts… She died a week later, in a charity ward in Truro , and was buried in a pauper’s grave.”

  “She loved you,” Emerson said, in a voice that cut me to the heart. “You had that, at least. It was more than I had.”

  “I am mean enough to be glad of that,” Sethos said in a stronger voice. “You had everything else. We are more alike than you realize, brother. You turned your talents to scholarship; I turned mine to crime. I became your dark counterpart, your rival… I tried to take her from you, Radcliffe, but I failed in that as in all the rest…”

  “Listen to me.” Emerson leaned forward. “I want you to know this. I tried to find you that night. After my mother told me what she had done I went out to look for you. She sent two of the servants to drag me back and lock me in my room. If there is anything I can do to make it up to you—”

  “Too late. Just as well; we would all find it a trifle difficult to adjust to these new relationships.”

  Emerson said gruffly, “Will you give me your hand?”

  “In token of forgiveness? It seems I have less to forgive than you.” His hand moved feebly. Emerson grasped it. Sethos’s eyes moved slowly over the faces of the others, and then returned, as if drawn by a magnet, to mine. “How very sentimental,” he murmured. “I never thought to see my affectionate family gathered round me at the end… Fetch the light closer, Radcliffe. My eyes are dimming, and I want to see her face clearly. Amelia, will you grant me my last wish? I would like to die with your kiss on my lips. It is the only reward I am likely to get for helping to save your son’s life, not to mention the Suez Canal .”

  I lifted him in my arms and kissed him. For a moment his lips met mine with desperate intensity; then a shudder ran through him and his head fell back. Gently I lowered him to the ground and folded his bloody hands over his breast.

  “Bid the soldiers shoot,” I murmured. “And bear him like a soldier to the stage. For he was likely, had he been—”

  “Amelia, I beg you will leave off misquoting Hamlet,” said my husband through his teeth.

  I forgave him his harsh tone, for I knew it was his way of concealing his emotions. The scene did rather resemble the last act of the drama, with bodies here and there and soldiers crowding in to assist and to stare.

  Sethos and Percy were removed on litters and carried to the ambulance Emerson had commandeered—“just in case,” as he explained. Ramses kept insisting he could ride and Nefret kept telling him he could not, which was obviously the case; even Risha’s smooth gait would have jolted his back unbearably and the ropes had cut deep into his wrists. He was still on his feet and still arguing when Emerson and I left them, but two of the soldiers were closing in on him, and Nefret assured me they would get him to one of the motor vehicles, with or without her active participation.

  Emerson and I took the horses back, leading the one I had ridden. We went slowly, for we had a great deal to talk about. When we arrived at the house we found the others already there. Ramses had insisted on seeing David, who was still deep in a drugged slumber but, Nefret assured us, no longer in danger. After Emerson had left for Cairo , she and I got to work on Ramses, and a nasty job it was. None of his injuries was life-threatening, but there were quite a lot of them, ranging from bruises and cuts to the bloody marks of the whip.

  It was not long before Nefret told me to leave the room. She was very nice about it, but I could see she meant it, and the look I got from Ramses indicated he was of the same opinion. So I went to my own room and sat there for a time, feeling very odd. I supposed I would get used to it. There comes a time in every mother’s life…

  Ramses slept most of the day, and I snatched a little nap. It felt strange to lie down with a mind at ease, vexed to be sure by a number of unanswered questions, but free of the anxiety that had tormented every waking and sleeping moment. I do not believe Nefret slept at all. I managed to persuade her to bathe and change her crumpled, filthy, bloodstained garments. I had barely time to adjust the pillows that propped Ramses on his side, and inspect his back (it was, as I had expected, green), and indulge myself in a few sm
all demonstrations of maternal affection (which did not disturb him in the slightest, since his eyes remained closed throughout) before she was back. She had left her hair to hang loose, and she was wearing the pale-blue sprigged muslin frock which, I now realized, someone other than Emerson must have admired.

  So I took myself off again, without having to be told, and whenever I chanced to look in—which I did from time to time—she was sitting in the chair by the bed, her hands folded, her eyes fixed on his sleeping face. Since it was obvious I was not wanted, I went to sit with David, relieving Fatima of that duty. She was not at all keen on being relieved, but when I asked her to prepare a tray for Nefret she bustled off.

  David was awake. He gave me a smile and held out his hand. “Thank you for rescuing me, Aunt Amelia. Every time I opened my mouth she tried to shove a spoon into it.”

  He was full of questions. I answered the most important, knowing that nothing would better assist his recovery than the knowledge that those he loved were safe and the danger over.

  “So it was Nefret—and you—who saved the day,” he murmured.

  I shook my head. “It might be described as a joint enterprise. If you had not made a heroic effort to reach us—if Nefret had not known where to go—if Emerson had not convinced Russell he must not delay…”

  “And if Sethos had not acted when he did! I don’t understand that part, Aunt Amelia. Who—”

  “Later, my dear. You must rest now.”

  It was late when Emerson returned. He refused my offer of dinner with a shake of his head. “I had a bite with Maxwell. Let us see if Ramses is awake and fit for conversation. He and Nefret will want to hear the news too, and there is no sense in repeating myself.”

  Ramses’s door was ajar, as I had left it. I tapped lightly before looking in. He was awake; whether he was fit for conversation was another matter. Nefret knelt by the bed. He held her hands in his, and they were looking into each other’s eyes, and I do not suppose they would have cared if the Turks had been shelling the city.

  However, I felt certain they would be anxious to hear Emerson’s news. I coughed. I had to cough several times before Nefret tore her eyes from his. Until I saw her do it, I had always thought that a somewhat exaggerated figure of speech.

  “A touch of catarrh, Mother?” Ramses inquired.

  “Very amusing, my dear. I am glad to see you yourself again.”

  “Near enough. Nefret won’t let me get up.”

  “Certainly not.” I settled myself comfortably in the chair Nefret had left, since it did not appear that she intended to return to it.

  “I want to see David again,” Ramses insisted.

  “Perhaps in the morning. What he needs now is rest. So do you, but your father thought you might want to know what has been going on.” I added pointedly, “He wouldn’t tell me anything.”

  “How inconsiderate,” Ramses said. “Please sit down, sir. I presume the Canal is safe, or you would have mentioned it.”

  “They got across,” Emerson said. “At Serapeum and at Toussoum. Our reserves didn’t arrive until a few hours ago, but by then a counterattack had cleared most of the enemy off the East Bank. It was the Indian infantry brigades who saved the Canal. You knew they would, didn’t you?”

  “I thought they would. Well, that is good news. Have they had any luck tracking the Turk and his friend?”

  Emerson shook his head. “No, they got clean away. Presumably Percy made such a nuisance of himself that they abandoned him and headed for Libya . They won’t want for help along the way. You were right about the chap in the yellow robe; it was the Sherif el Senussi himself.”

  “I cleverly deduced that after the Turk called him by name,” said Ramses gravely.

  “They’ve got a line on the Turk too,” Emerson said. “He fits the description of Sahin Bey, who has been missing from his usual haunts recently.”

  “Good God.” Ramses’s eyes widened. At least one of them did; the other was half-closed by purpling bruises. “He’s become something of a legend in Syria . One of their top men, and high in Enver’s favor. I can’t believe he’d take a personal hand in our little affair.”

  “Little?” Emerson’s brows drew together and he spoke with considerable vehemence. “The entire Turkish strategy was based on their expectation of an uprising in Cairo . Without it, they hadn’t a prayer of crossing the Canal. You and David… What are you smiling about?”

  “Something Sahin Bey said to me. It doesn’t matter. So, are we in line for parades, the cheers of the populace, and the personal thanks of the sovereign? David deserves all of it.”

  “Ha,” said Emerson eloquently. “However, David will be on his way to England , vindicated and pardoned, as soon as he can travel. I was sorely tempted to telegraph Lia this evening, but I didn’t want to raise her hopes until… The boy will be all right, won’t he?”

  “The prospect of seeing her and being present at the birth of his son is the best medicine he could have,” I said.

  No one spoke for a while. Emerson got out his pipe and made a great business of filling it. Nefret had settled down on the floor beside the bed. She was still holding Ramses’s hand. He didn’t seem to mind.

  I suppose we were all reluctant to talk about the rest of it. Great issues of battle and war are remote, almost impersonal, but the other unanswered questions cut too close to the bone.

  Nefret was the first to break the silence.

  “Percy?”

  “He died on the way to hospital,” Emerson said. “Nefret, it wasn’t you who killed him.”

  “No? I meant to, you know.” A shadow of that remote, inhuman look passed over her face. Her blue eyes were clear. Guilt over Percy’s death would not come back to haunt her. She had stopped him in the only way she could, and if ever an individual deserved death, it was he.

  Women are much more practical about these things than men.

  “Oh,” Emerson said. “Er. Well, he’d been hit twice in the chest. A heavier-caliber bullet would have killed him outright. One of the twenty-twos must have nicked an artery. He bled to death.”

  “And Sethos.” I sighed. “He redeemed himself in the end, as I had hoped he would. A hero’s death—”

  “For the second time!” Emerson’s well-cut lips curled in a snarl. “It’s getting monotonous.”

  “Why, Emerson,” I exclaimed. “It is not like you to play dog in the manger.”

  “Yes, it is!” Emerson got a grip on himself. “ Peabody , please don’t provoke me. I want to do him justice. I am trying my damnedest to do him justice. I discovered the truth only three days ago, and it hasn’t sunk in yet.”

  “But you must have known earlier that Sethos was Major Hamilton,” Ramses said. I thought I detected a certain note of criticism in his voice. Emerson looked uncomfortable.

  “I didn’t know for certain, but my suspicions of Hamilton were aroused by the letter he wrote us.”

  “Curse it,” I exclaimed. “Don’t tell me you recognized the handwriting. After all these years?”

  Emerson grinned. “If it makes you feel happier, Peabody, and I am sure it does, that was a clue you never possessed. I was the only one who saw Sethos’s farewell letter to you.”

  “Yes, you ripped it to shreds after you had read it aloud. I told you at the time you shouldn’t have done that.”

  “It was an extremely annoying epistle,” said Emerson. “You were right, though. I couldn’t be certain the handwriting was the same, since it had been a long time, but when I remembered how assiduously Hamilton had avoided us, my suspicions increased. Having better sense than some members of this family, I took those suspicions to Maxwell instead of acting on them as I might once have done.

  “You can only faintly imagine my astonishment when I learned that Sethos has been, for several years, one of the War Office’s most trusted secret agents. He was sent to Cairo by Kitchener himself. He knew about your little side show, Ramses, but his primary mission was to stop the leaks of informat
ion and identify the man responsible for them. It was he who exposed Mrs. Fortescue, whom he had been cultivating in his characteristically flamboyant fashion.

  “Maxwell told me all this—he had to, to keep me from going after Sethos myself—but he coolly informed me that Sethos was considerably more valuable than I, and that he would have me put up against a wall and shot if I breathed a word to a living soul. I knew the truth when we stopped by the barracks on our way into the desert. Maxwell had told me Sethos would be there, and ordered me to stay away from him, but—er—well, damn it, I was curious. He’s good,” Emerson admitted grudgingly. “I’d never have recognized him. Of course I had not the intimate knowledge of the scoundrel that some persons—”

  “Nil nisi bonum, Emerson,” I murmured.

  “Ha!” said Emerson.

  “It is a pity,” said Ramses, who had been watching his father closely, “that there wan’t time for him to satisfy our curiosity about other things. How did he find out about Percy?”

  “He didn’t.” Emerson’s face was transformed by a look of paternal pride. “That discovery was yours, my boy, and yours alone. Russell wasn’t entirely convinced by your reasoning initially, but after he had had time to think about it he concluded that you had made a strong case. He decided he had no right to take the full responsibility, so he went straight to Maxwell. I gather it was not a pleasant interview! Russell stuck to his guns, though, and after storming and swearing, Maxwell agreed to cooperate until the matter could be settled one way or the other. Maxwell informed Sethos, who volunteered to have a look round the place himself.”

  “Lucky for me he did,” Ramses said.

  “Yes,” Emerson agreed. “I—er—I owe him for that. And for other things.”

  “If you’d rather not speak of it,” Nefret began.

  “I would rather not, but I must. I had believed that that part of my life was over, forgotten, obliterated. I was wrong. One never knows when a ghost from the past will come back to haunt one.”

  He was silent for a time, however, his head bowed and his countenance grave but calm. He had not been so unmoved when he told me part of the story early that morning, as we rode back to the house.