Read Online The Deeds of the Disturber by Elizabeth Peters - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Peters
Tags: Fiction, General, detective, Suspense, Historical, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Mystery, Detective and Mystery Stories, Mystery Fiction, Political, Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, American, Women Detectives, Fiction - Mystery, Crime & mystery, Mystery & Detective - Series, Peabody, Amelia (Fictitious character), Mystery & Detective - Historical, Women detectives - England - London
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bones, and a high tolerance for pain.
I sympathized with my poor Emerson. He had had a bad day altogether, and the sight of my brother James, even more appallingly rotund in full evening kit, did not improve his temper. James seemed anxious to please; he laughed immoderately at Emerson's remarks, even those that were not meant to be humorous, and paid me extravagant compliments on my gown, my general appearance, and my qualities as a mother. As the dinner progressed, I began to get some inkling of his real purpose, but the idea seemed so incredible I could hardly credit it.
Not until after the meal did he get to the point. He kept waiting for the ladies to retire, and finally Evelyn felt obliged to explain. "Amelia believes, dear Mr. Peabody, that the custom is outmoded and insulting to the female sex."
"Insulting?" James stared at me.
"Ordinarily the gentlemen save the intelligent conversation—if they are capable of it at all—until the time for port and cigars," I said. "I like a drop of port myself, I am agreeable to intelligent conversation, and I have no objection to the aroma of a good cigar."
"Oh," said James, looking dazed.
"We generally discuss Egyptological matters," I continued. "If you find the subject tedious, James, you may retire to the drawing room."
Evelyn looked as if she thought I had gone a bit too far, but James decided to take it as a joke—which it was not. With a loud guffaw, he leaned across the table and patted my hand. "Dear Amelia. You haven't changed since you were a little girl. Do you remember the time ..."
There he stuck, probably because he could not recall any fond memories of our childhood. I certainly had none that included him. Abandoning this approach, he tried another. "Papa always said you had the best head of the lot," he said. "And he was correct. (Pass the port, please, Walter my boy.) How very well you have done for yourself, eh?"
"I have an excellent solicitor to advise me on my investments," I replied sedately.
Emerson had been studying him with the faint distaste of an anatomist confronting a new and unsavory organ; now he shrugged and, turning to Walter, continued a discussion on the Berlin Dictionary that hadbegun earlier. This suited James; he addressed me in a confidential tone, as he continued to help himself to port.
"I only wish I had your good sense, li'l sister. Not that it was m' fault. No. Not my fault that the cursed ships were cursed unseaworthy. Too many cargoes lost ..."
"Are you trying to tell me you are in financial difficulty, James?" I inquired. "For if you are hoping for money, you won't get it."
"No, no. No. Not to say difficulty. I can recoup." He laid one fat finger beside his nose and winked. "Secret. Great prospects. Only thing is ..."
"No, James. Not a penny."
James blinked. "Don' wan' money," he said in a hurt voice. "Wouldn't take it 'f you offered. Want your loving mother's heart for poor unfor-t'nate childr'n ..."
"Whose?" I inquired curiously.
"Mine. Who else's would I be asking for?"
"No one's, James. The very idea of your demonstrating disinterested compassion boggles my imagination. But why do yours need mothering? You have a wife, I believe? At least you had one . . . What have you done with—with ..."
I could not remember her name, and at first I thought James couldn't recall it either. She was the sort of woman one yearns to forget—heavy-set and doughy-faced, with a mind as narrow and inflexible as her lipless mouth.
“Lizabeth," James said. "Yes, that's the name. Poor 'Lizabeth. She suffers from a nervous complaint. Doctor's prescribed . . . course of treatment—the waters—that sort of thing. Needs complete quiet, rest, change. No kiddies. As for me, I'm off for the East. India. That private matter I spoke about. I'll come back a rich man, mark my words! So you see, dear sister, why I throw myself 'pon your mercy—not for me, but for my poor orphaned children. Will you watch over them, Amelia? Just for the
I sympathized with my poor Emerson. He had had a bad day altogether, and the sight of my brother James, even more appallingly rotund in full evening kit, did not improve his temper. James seemed anxious to please; he laughed immoderately at Emerson's remarks, even those that were not meant to be humorous, and paid me extravagant compliments on my gown, my general appearance, and my qualities as a mother. As the dinner progressed, I began to get some inkling of his real purpose, but the idea seemed so incredible I could hardly credit it.
Not until after the meal did he get to the point. He kept waiting for the ladies to retire, and finally Evelyn felt obliged to explain. "Amelia believes, dear Mr. Peabody, that the custom is outmoded and insulting to the female sex."
"Insulting?" James stared at me.
"Ordinarily the gentlemen save the intelligent conversation—if they are capable of it at all—until the time for port and cigars," I said. "I like a drop of port myself, I am agreeable to intelligent conversation, and I have no objection to the aroma of a good cigar."
"Oh," said James, looking dazed.
"We generally discuss Egyptological matters," I continued. "If you find the subject tedious, James, you may retire to the drawing room."
Evelyn looked as if she thought I had gone a bit too far, but James decided to take it as a joke—which it was not. With a loud guffaw, he leaned across the table and patted my hand. "Dear Amelia. You haven't changed since you were a little girl. Do you remember the time ..."
There he stuck, probably because he could not recall any fond memories of our childhood. I certainly had none that included him. Abandoning this approach, he tried another. "Papa always said you had the best head of the lot," he said. "And he was correct. (Pass the port, please, Walter my boy.) How very well you have done for yourself, eh?"
"I have an excellent solicitor to advise me on my investments," I replied sedately.
Emerson had been studying him with the faint distaste of an anatomist confronting a new and unsavory organ; now he shrugged and, turning to Walter, continued a discussion on the Berlin Dictionary that hadbegun earlier. This suited James; he addressed me in a confidential tone, as he continued to help himself to port.
"I only wish I had your good sense, li'l sister. Not that it was m' fault. No. Not my fault that the cursed ships were cursed unseaworthy. Too many cargoes lost ..."
"Are you trying to tell me you are in financial difficulty, James?" I inquired. "For if you are hoping for money, you won't get it."
"No, no. No. Not to say difficulty. I can recoup." He laid one fat finger beside his nose and winked. "Secret. Great prospects. Only thing is ..."
"No, James. Not a penny."
James blinked. "Don' wan' money," he said in a hurt voice. "Wouldn't take it 'f you offered. Want your loving mother's heart for poor unfor-t'nate childr'n ..."
"Whose?" I inquired curiously.
"Mine. Who else's would I be asking for?"
"No one's, James. The very idea of your demonstrating disinterested compassion boggles my imagination. But why do yours need mothering? You have a wife, I believe? At least you had one . . . What have you done with—with ..."
I could not remember her name, and at first I thought James couldn't recall it either. She was the sort of woman one yearns to forget—heavy-set and doughy-faced, with a mind as narrow and inflexible as her lipless mouth.
“Lizabeth," James said. "Yes, that's the name. Poor 'Lizabeth. She suffers from a nervous complaint. Doctor's prescribed . . . course of treatment—the waters—that sort of thing. Needs complete quiet, rest, change. No kiddies. As for me, I'm off for the East. India. That private matter I spoke about. I'll come back a rich man, mark my words! So you see, dear sister, why I throw myself 'pon your mercy—not for me, but for my poor orphaned children. Will you watch over them, Amelia? Just for the
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