Children of the Storm Read Free

of thing. An unprovoked attack, and by two against one! I claim the right to defend myself.”
    He scooped them up and settled into a chair with one on each knee. How much of his nonsense they had understood I would not be prepared to say, but they were both giggling wildly.
    Fatima came out with the tea tray.
    “Will you pour the tea, Sitt Hakim?” she asked.
    Emerson twitched at the sound of my Egyptian sobriquet, “Lady Doctor.” He always does, since he has no high opinion of my medical skills. I would be the first to admit they were not the equal of Nefret’s—she had actually qualified as a surgeon, no small feat for a woman in those days—but during my early years in Egypt, when the Egyptian fellahin had almost no access to doctors or hospitals, my efforts had been deeply appreciated and—if I may say so—not inadequate.
    “Yes, thank you,” I replied. “Put the tray here, please.”
    Fatima lingered for a while, her plain but kindly face warm with affection as she watched the children close in on the plate of biscuits. Like the other members of what I may call our Egyptian family, she was more friend than servant. They were all close kin of our dear departed reis Abdullah, and through the marriage of his grandson David to our niece Lia, kin of ours as well.
    We were soon joined by other members of the household: Sennia, our ward, and her two followers, her cat Horus and her self-appointed bodyguard, Gargery. Strictly speaking, Gargery was our butler, but he had taken on additional duties as he (not I) determined them to be necessary. These included eavesdropping, proffering unasked-for advice, and squabbling with Horus.
    I must be fair to Gargery; Horus did not get on with anyone except Nefret and Sennia. He followed the child wherever she went, even into the dangerous proximity of the twins. He immediately got under the settee and hid behind my skirts.
    Now nine years of age, Sennia was believed by some evil-minded persons to be Ramses’s illegitimate daughter, which was not the case. She was living proof of the fact that proper rearing can overcome heredity, for hers could hardly have been worse: her mother an Egyptian prostitute, her father my unprincipled and deservedly deceased nephew. Her coloring was Egyptian, her manners those of a well-brought-up little English girl, and her nature as sunny as that of any happy child. She was absolutely devoted to Ramses, who had rescued her from a life of poverty and shame, and I had been a trifle apprehensive as to how she would react to the babies. If she felt jealousy, she concealed it well; and if she was sometimes inclined to order the little ones around, that was only to be expected.
    Having dispensed the genial beverage, I leaned back in my chair and watched the animated, cheerful group with a smile which was not without a touch of smugness. I believe I may be excused for feeling complacent. We had been through troubled times in the past; even before the war involved Ramses in several perilous secret missions, we had encountered a number of thieves, murderers, forgers, kidnappers, and even a Master Criminal. I could scarcely remember a season when we had not faced danger in one form or another. For the first time in many years, no cloud hung over us, no old foe threatened vengeance.
    I will not claim that I had not enjoyed some of these encounters. Matching wits with experienced criminals and persons intent on doing one harm lends a certain spice to existence. However, facing danger oneself is not at all the same as having loved ones in peril. A number of my gray hairs (concealed periodically by the application of a certain harmless concoction) had been put there by Ramses. It had been bad enough when he was a child, getting into one scrape after another. Maturity had not made him more cautious, and after Nefret and David joined the family, they were usually up to their necks in trouble too.
    But it was different now, I told myself. Ramses and Nefret were