The Curse Of The Pharaohs by Elizabeth Peters

Author:Elizabeth Peters
Language: eng
Format: epub

The Curse Of The Pharaohs

Nine

MILVERTON had gone out of his mind. That was my first thought. Guilt and remorse take strange forms; wishing to deny the vile deed, his conscience had persuaded the young man that Lord Baskerville yet livedÑ and that he was he (Lord Baskerville, to be precise).

“I am glad to make your acquaintance,” I said. “Obviously the reports of your death were greatly exaggerated.”

“Please don't joke,” Milverton said with a groan.

“I was not joking.”

“But... Oh, I see.” Again came the stifled laugh that was more like a cry of pain. “I cannot blame you for thinking me mad, Mrs. Emerson. I am notÑnot yetÑthough I am not far from it at times. Let me make myself plain.”

“Please do,” I said emphatically.

“I call myself Lord Baskerville because that is now my title. I am the nephew of his late lordship, and his heir.”

The explanation was as unexpected as my original idea. Even my agile brain required several seconds to assimilate the fact and its sinister connotations.

“Then what on earth are you doing here under an assumed name?” I asked. “Did Lord BaskervilleÑthe late Lord BaskervilleÑknow your true identity? Good Gad, young man, don't you realize what a suspicious position you have placed yourself in?”

“Of course I do. I have been in such distress since my uncle died that I verily believe it added to the severity of the fever I caught. Indeed, but for that I would have taken to my heels long ago.”

“But, Mr. Milverton... What am I to call you, then?”

“My name is Arthur. I would be honored to have you use it.”

“Then, ArthurÑit is just as well you could not flee. That would have been tantamount to an admission of guilt. And you claim, if I understand you, that you had nothing to do with your uncle's death.”

“On my honor as a British nobleman,” came the tense, thrilling whisper from the darkness.

It was hard to doubt that impressive oath, but my reservations lingered. 'Tell me," I said.

“My father was his late lordship's younger brother,” Arthur began. “When only a boy he incurred the displeasure of his stern parent because of some youthful peccadillo. From what I have heard, the old gentleman was a tartar, who would have been more at home in the Puritan Commonwealth than in the present century. Following the precepts of the Old Testament, he promptly cut off the right hand that had offended him and cast the prodigal son out in the cold. My poor father was dispatched to Africa with a small monthly stipend, to live or die as Fate decreed.”

“Did not his brother intercede for him?”

Arthur hesitated for a moment. “I will hide nothing from you, Mrs. Emerson. The late Lord Baskerville was in complete agreement with his father's cruel behavior. He came to the title only a year after his brother had been sent into exile, and one of his first acts was to write Pater informing him that he need not waste time applying for assistance, for

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