With a start of repugnance I remembered the role I must play. Evelyn was trying to brush past me. I put my hands on her arms and leaned heavily against her.
"I am feeling ill," I muttered. "I really think I must lie down…"
Evelyn responded as I had known she would. She assisted me to my cabin and helped me loosen my dress. I pretended to be faint; I am afraid I did not do a convincing job of it, what with shame at betraying her trust and the odd exhilaration that bubbled inside me; but poor Evelyn never suspected me of false dealing. She worked assiduously to restore me; indeed, she waved the smelling salts so ardently under my nose that I went into a fit of sneezing.
"Leave off, do," I exclaimed between paroxysms. "My head will fly off in a moment!"
"You are better," Evelyn said eagerly. "That was your old strong voice. Are you better, Amelia? Dare I leave you for a moment? I will run after Mr. Emerson and tell him to wait- "
I fell back on the pillow with a heartrending groan.
"I cannot walk, Evelyn. I think-I think I must stay here tonight. Of course," I added craftily, "if you feel you must go-and leave me here alone-I will not try to keep you…"
I closed my eyes, but I watched Evelyn through my lashes. The struggle on the girl's face made me feel like Judas. Almost I weakened. Then I remembered Emerson's look, and his words. "There is not another woman alive whom I would- " What had he meant to say? "Whom I would trust, as I am trusting in your strength and courage?" Would the sentence, interrupted by Lucas, have ended in some such wise? If so- and there could hardly be any other meaning- it was an accolade I could not fail to deserve. The triumph of converting that arrogant misogynist into an admission that Woman, as represented by my humble self, had admirable qualities… No, I thought, if I must choose between Evelyn or Emerson- or rather, between Evelyn and my own principles- I must betray Evelyn. It was for her own good.
Still, I felt rather uncomfortable, as I watched her fight I her silent battle. Her hands were pressed so tightly together that the knuckles showed white, but when she spoke her voice was resigned.
"Of course I will stay with you, Amelia. How could you I suppose I would do otherwise? Perhaps a quiet night's sleep j will restore you."
"I am sure it will," I mumbled, unable to deny the girl that much comfort. Little did she know what sort of night I half expected!
I ought to have stayed in my bed, refusing food, to carry out my performance; but as the day went on, I began to be perfectly ravenous. Darkness fell, and I felt I was safe; not even Evelyn would insist that we make the journey by night. So I admitted to feeling a little better, and agreed that nourishment would do me good. I had a frightful time trying to pick at the food and not bolt it down like a laborer. The cookhad outdone himself, as if in celebration of our return, and Lucas had fetched several bottles of champagne from his dahabeeyah.
He was attired in evening dress; the austere black and white became his sturdy body and handsome face very well.
He had become exceedingly tanned. I felt as if he ought to be wearing the crimson sashes and orders of some exotic foreign emissary, or even the gold-embroidered robes of a Bedouin sheik.
We dined on the upper deck. The canopy had been rolled back, and the great vault of heaven, spangled with stars, formed a roof finer than any oriental palace could boast. As we sipped our soup, a feeling of unreality swept over me. It was as if the preceding week had never happened. This was a night like the first nights on the dahabeeyah, surrounded by the sights and sounds and olfactory sensations that had so quickly become dear and familiar. The soft lapping of the water against the prow and the gentle sway of the boat; the liquid voices of the crewmen down below, as mellow and wordless as music to our untrained ears; the balmy night breeze, carrying the homely scents of burning charcoal and pitch and unwashed Egyptian; and under them all the indefinable, austere perfume of the desert itself. I knew I would never be free of its enchantment, never cease to desire it after it was gone. And although the strange events of past days seemed remote and dreamlike, I knew that in some indefinable way they had heightened the enjoyment of the journey, given it a sharp tang of danger and adventure.
Lucas was drinking too much. I must admit he held his wine like a gentleman; his speech did not become slurred nor his movements unsteady. Only his eyes showed the effect, becoming larger and more brilliant as the evening wore on; and his conversation became, if possible, quicker and more fantastical. One moment he declared his intention of returning to the camp, for fear of missing another encounter with the mummy; the next moment he was ridiculing the whole affair- the Emerson brothers, their shabby way of life, the absurdity of spending the years of youth grubbing for broken pots- and declaring his intention to move on to the luxuries of Luxor and the glories of Thebes.
Evelyn sat like a pale statue, unresponsive to the jeers or to the increasingly soft glances her cousin directed at her. She had not dressed for dinner, but was wearing a simple morning frock, a faded pink lawn sprigged with tiny rosebuds.
Lucas kept looking at the gown; finally he burst out, "I don't mean to criticize your choice of costume, Cousin, but I yearn to see you in something becoming your beauty and your station. Since that first night in Cairo I have not seen you wear a gown that suited you. What a pity I could not bring your boxes with me!"
"You are too conscientious, Lucas," Evelyn replied. "It may relieve you to know that I am not looking forward to unpacking those boxes. I shall never wear the gowns again; their elegance would remind me too painfully of Grandfather's generosity."
"When we return to Cairo we will burn them unopened," Lucas declared extravagantly. "A grand auto-da-fe of the past! I want to supply you with a wardrobe fitting your station, my dear Evelyn- with garments that will have no painful memories associated with them."
Evelyn smiled, but her eyes were sad.
"I have the wardrobe befitting my station," she replied, with a loving glance at me. "But we cannot destroy the past, Lucas, nor yield to weakness. No; fortified by my faith as a Christian, I will look over Grandfather's gifts in solitude. There are trinkets, mementos I cannot part with; I will keep them to remind me of my errors. Not in any spirit of self-flagellation," she added, with another affectionate look at me. "I have too much to be thankful for to indulge in that error."
"Spoken like an Englishwoman and a Christian," I exclaimed "But indeed, I have difficulty in hearing you speak, Evelyn; what is going on down below? The men are making a great deal of noise."
I spoke in part to change a subject that was clearly painful to Evelyn, but I was right; for some time the soft murmur of voices from the deck below had been gradually increasing in volume. The sound was not angry or alarming; there was considerable laughter and some unorganized singing.
Lucas smiled. "They are celebrating your return. I ordered a ration of whiskey to be served out. A few of them refused, on religious grounds; but the majority seem willing to forget the admonitions of the Prophet for one night. Moslems are very much like Christians in some ways."
"You ought not to have done that," I said severely. "We ought to strengthen the principles of these poor people, not corrupt them with our civilized vices."
"There is nothing vicious about a glass of wine," Lucas protested.
"Well, you have had enough," I said, removing the bottle as he reached for it. "Kindly recall, my lord, that our friends at the camp are still in danger. If we should receive a distress signal in the night- "
Evelyn let out a cry of alarm, and Lucas glared at me.