Ramses the Damned

by Anne Rice

  “A plot?” Julie said. “Sounds intriguing.”

  “You see, we do feel a bit sheepish about having invited ourselves to this little gathering, so we thought we’d purchase a gift for the countess.”

  “I’m sure Edith will be delighted,” Julie said.

  “Indeed, but we’d like it to be for her husband as well, although I’m told he’s occupied currently with business on the Continent.”

  Mustn’t discuss Elliott with these, or any, strangers. Not until she had some greater awareness of what he was up to.

  “What sort of gift?” Julie asked.

  “We were told there’s a replica of a Roman temple on the property designed by the Earl of Rutherford himself. We thought we might give him a bit of statuary to go with it. If you can give us a tour of it, it will help us select something suitably regal.”

  “But we’d like to keep our intentions a secret for as long as we can, you see,” Jeneva added.

  “And if you ask Edith to give you a tour, you’re afraid you’ll tip your hand,” Julie said.

  “Exactly!” Jeneva exclaimed, with a bit too much enthusiasm.

  “Well, I’d be delighted to—”

  A hand gripped her elbow with surprising strength. She expected to find Ramses behind her. It was Samir. He looked dashing in his white suit, but his expression was a mask of concern.

  “If I may have a moment, Julie,” he said quietly.

  “Yes, just one second while I—”

  “If you please, Julie. It’s a matter of some urgency.”

  “Yes, of course.” To Mr. and Mrs. Worth, Julie said, “If you’ll excuse me. And later, perhaps after the toast, I shall be happy to arrange what we just discussed.”

  “Oh, that’s lovely. Just lovely. And thank you for…” But Samir was already guiding her away.

  “What is it?” Julie whispered.

  “I beg forgiveness ahead of what I’m about to tell you. The men in my employ, they are not professional spies, you understand. They are assistants at the museum, university students. They’ve done heroically well so far, but—”

  “Samir, of course I will forgive you. But you must tell me at once what has you so frightened.”

  “A ship arrived yesterday from Port Said. But my men, they became confused. They went to Southampton instead of the Port of London. By the time they realized their mistake, it was too late. The passengers had already disembarked. And then, these boys, they spent the rest of the day squabbling over whether or not to tell me. If I hadn’t telephoned them this morning for a report, I might never have—”

  “I see. But they’ve watched every arrival since our return, have they not? And it’s been weeks and we’ve seen no sign of them.”

  “These particular men were new to the game. University students, as I said. Perhaps I should have monitored them more closely but—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Samir. You all have done an excellent job for weeks now. It’s foolish of us to assume you’ll be able to guard us forever. Ramses is right. If Cleopatra had wished to—”

  “No, Julie, no. Wait. Please. I wanted to be sure, you see, so I telephoned the inns in the area. And a man and a woman matching their descriptions checked into the Red Crown Inn last night. And this woman left the inn only moments ago.”

  Because so many fears had been removed for her, Julie was paralyzed by the feeling now.

  “She is here, Julie. She is here in Yorkshire, and I believe she is on her way to this party.”

  Amazing how the terror returned to her. The feeling of being trapped as Egypt’s last queen threatened to snap her neck. But this was a memory, nothing more. A memory of something that could never happen again. Immortal.

  She would not give Cleopatra this party.

  Or Ramses.

  Or…

  “Alex,” she said before she could stop herself. “Come with me, Samir. We will send Alex and Edith to mingle and we will greet the guests.”

  “But, Julie. She is—”

  Julie began to walk; Samir followed.

  “I am no longer a mortal woman who quakes at the sight of Cleopatra. She will not lay claim to this event, Samir. She is a queen no more.”

  Clearly startled by her resolve, Samir nodded and followed her inside the house.

  A few guests reached out to her as she passed. She did her best not to notice their attentions without seeming abominably rude. Let them follow her to the front door. Let them greet her there. For she realized now what had quickened her steps.

  Alex. He could not see Cleopatra. He could not fall prey to Cleopatra. Not now, not at this party. Not at the very moment when he was making himself so vulnerable by humbly and publicly releasing Julie to her new husband-to-be.

  Alex turned at the sound of her footsteps.

  The stream of guests had thinned. He and his mother stood chatting next to the open front door. His eyes lit up when he saw her. This party had cheered him, it seemed. He wasn’t simply going through the motions of it, as she’d feared he might. His new sensitivity, it allowed him to take more joy from the presence of others than he had previously. The smile he gave her now seemed utterly genuine.

  She would not see this day ruined. Not for Alex. Not for any of them.

  “Let us trade duties,” Julie said, as jovially as she could. But her aggressiveness startled Edith into silence. “I insist. I shall greet the new arrivals here for a time. That way, you can both take time to enjoy this marvelous party you’ve put together.”

  “But Mr. Ramsey…,” Edith began.

  “Mr. Ramsey is being quite charming on the lawn, and I don’t wish to draw him away from his admirers. Samir and I shall relieve you of your duties. Please. I insist.”

  Had she given too much of her fear away with this request? Edith studied her for a bit, then looked to Alex. “Well, I am rather parched.”

  “It’s settled then,” Alex said, taking his mother’s arm. “We’ll be back shortly.”

  “Don’t rush on our account,” Julie said.

  And then they were gone.

  Breath returned to her lungs. Blood returned to her heart.

  Next to her, Samir whispered, “She’s got a bit of a point, Julie. Ramses. Should he be here when—”

  “Where Ramses goes, the party follows. Let us draw no further attention to Cleopatra’s arrival than is absolutely necessary. Besides, if she’s come here today, it is in part to see him; I cannot grant this request until her full motives are clear.”

  “I see, Julie. I see.”

  Just then, the guests she’d hurried past on her way to the front door appeared with hands extended and polite smiles. She was lost suddenly in a sea of chatter as Samir stared past her out the front door.

  It was agonizing, this little charade. Every cell in her body wanted to turn towards the front walk as if Cleopatra’s imminent arrival might be magically foretold by a rustling of the hedges, a strange wind though the branches overhead.

  “Julie…”

  When Samir seized her elbow, she was in midconversation with a charming young Swedish couple with whom Edith often vacationed.

  “Julie,” he said again.

  Julie turned and saw her.

  She was halfway up the front walk. She was alone. She had tilted her head only slightly so those wide, expressive blue eyes were visible under the great, feathered brim of her hat. Her dress was several shades too dark for the occasion, a deep blue with slashes of gold running through it. But she was striking in it, devastatingly beautiful, in fact.

  When she saw Julie, she went so suddenly still it seemed as if she were preparing her body to take flight. Some of her old poise was there, the poise and fluid grace of a woman once schooled by the best tutors in Alexandria. But it was strained now.

  “If you will excuse me,” Julie heard herself mutter.

  Samir distracted the young couple with a burst of conversation as Julie descended the front steps.

  It seemed to last forever, this short wa
lk towards the woman, the creature, who had almost taken her life. With each step she could see more clearly that Cleopatra stood with a slight bend in her upper back, and that her breathing seemed labored. Forced.

  “Why have you come?” Julie asked.

  “Take me to him. Take me to Ramses.”

  “First you must tell me why you’ve—”

  “Take me to him or I shall snap your neck like a reed.” Desperation in the way she’d said these words. The desperation of an injured animal, not a powerful one.

  In response, Julie reached up and removed her sunglasses, revealing her blue eyes.

  “Do your worst, last queen of Egypt,” Julie whispered. “Do your worst.”

  Difficult to discern the emotions in Cleopatra’s expression now. A strange, leering smile. Almost as if she were relieved to have been spared the possibility of a physical confrontation. And there was sadness there too, sadness so deep it was sorrow. But it was the labored breath and strange stance that captured Julie’s attention again.

  Sick, Julie realized. My God, she is sick. Is this even possible? Can one who has absorbed the elixir actually fall ill?

  She was not prepared for this, this strange sense of both kinship and pity that welled within her at the sight of another immortal struggling to stay upright and focused.

  “Come,” Julie said. “We’ll speak privately first. And then I shall bring Ramses to you. But whatever we must do, you and I, we cannot do it in front of all these people.”

  Without thinking, she extended her hand, as she would to anyone elderly or ailing. Only when Cleopatra stared down at it in astonishment did Julie also realize how strange the gesture was, given their tortured history. But there was that sadness in Cleopatra’s eyes. Sadness and yearning, as if the comfort offered by this hand were a cool drink of water after a long desert journey.

  But she did not take Julie’s hand. Instead, she turned a suspicious glare upon the grand house behind her, upon the sight of Samir staring at her from the front porch.

  Again Julie pitied her. For it seemed she was imagining the embarrassment of appearing amidst all those people in her hobbled, weakened state.

  “We are equals now, whether we wish to be or not,” Julie said. “Whatever has brought you here, we must discuss it as such.”

  “Equals…,” Cleopatra whispered, as if this word disgusted her. “What foolish notions this modern world draws from old Roman laws.”

  “Surely you did not come this far solely to disrupt this gathering. Am I mistaken in this, Cleopatra?”

  “You are not. You are not mistaken.”

  “Very well, then,” Julie said.

  With one outstretched arm, she gestured to the eastern wing of the house, opposite from where the party was currently taking place. They’d round it and then proceed straight to Elliott’s beloved Roman temple. It was a good distance from the western lawn and would offer them all the privacy they could ask for.

  After what felt like an eternity, Cleopatra began to walk.

  Julie followed. They walked silently in between an empty, manicured garden and the side of the main house, before they emerged onto the great expanse of rolling green. As they walked, Cleopatra turned her head at the distant sounds of the party, at the brief glimpse of guests standing on the western lawn before the high wall of hedge concealed the party entirely.

  Impossible for Julie to read her expression.

  Suspicion? Longing?

  With each step, Julie had to remind herself that it was safe to be alone with this creature now. That she could not be overpowered, and if she could not be overpowered, then there was no need for her to be afraid. And every second she kept her away from Alex felt like a victory.

  The temple stood atop a grassy swell in the landscape, tucked against a dense wall of oak and ash trees. Its heavy steel door stood open.

  Inside, shadows and statues awaited them.

  24

  He would save her.

  He would show her his value once again.

  He would rescue her from some terrible scene in front of all these aristocrats and then she would declare him her protector and guardian and she would use him for something more than sensual release and guidance in the modern world.

  She would call him dear Teddy again and they would go back to traveling the world.

  Teddy was sure of this.

  He was sure of this because he was drunk.

  But not so drunk he couldn’t scale the service gate he’d found the night before.

  Liquid courage. That was all. What he’d come to do would require a sip or two of brandy, and so he’d had several dozen before leaving the inn. Why he’d brought the small sharp knife he’d stolen from the inn’s kitchen, he wasn’t sure. Which immortal did he plan to use it on? The one he’d come to threaten or the one he’d come to save? It wouldn’t work on either. But this hadn’t mattered to him as he left the inn.

  Because he was drunk.

  Was he more drunk now than when he’d left?

  Mustn’t be distracted by these senseless calculations. Must instead get the lay of the land so he could avoid a receiving area and the possibility of a guest list.

  What mattered now was that he was on the property, and that he had finally stopped crying like a humiliated little boy.

  The night before he had walked the perimeter of the estate. Learned its gates and access doors and the various points at which the height of its stone wall varied. He’d assumed she might want to enter in some secret fashion. With him, of course. And so he’d mapped out several ways in.

  The service road on which he now stood traveled towards the back of the property. There were fresh tire tracks in the dirt, probably from one of the catering vehicles. Although why it had ventured so far from the house was beyond him. Where had it parked? Next to the pond he’d glimpsed the night before, the one behind the small replica of the Pantheon and its accompaniment of trees? That was a great distance from where it sounded like the party was taking place.

  Directly ahead was a small manicured garden. Just beyond it, the main house. This area was positively gloomy with shade at this hour. No wonder they’d chosen to host the party on the western lawn. The stone terrace on this side was also smaller. And through its multi-paned windows, he saw no shadows or movement in the house.

  If the doors were unlocked, this would be his way in, for sure.

  Victory!

  He slipped through them, found himself inside a small sitting room–cum–library. Heard instantly the clop and clatter of servants rushing up from the basement with their silver trays of steaming hors d’oeuvres. This side of the house was almost entirely devoid of guests, and if he lingered here, he would draw attention.

  He moved on.

  He stepped into the hallway and was almost run down by a tall, tuxedoed man who offered a brusque smile and said, “Party’s this way, sir.”

  Teddy nodded and gave him a dumb smile. The servant continued on, consumed with his business.

  He was a footstep away from entering the house’s front hallway when he heard a name that stopped him in his tracks.

  “Sibyl Parker!” a woman’s voice cried.

  * * *

  Sibyl froze.

  The woman walking towards her now with her arms out in welcome was surely the hostess of this party, and she was greeting the sight of an uninvited guest as if it were a joyous occurrence.

  How many scripts had Sibyl prepared and rehearsed for this moment? Now it seemed as if none of them would be necessary.

  She managed her best smile.

  “You are Sibyl Parker, are you not?” the woman said. She took Sibyl’s hands gently in hers. Nothing less than delight in her smile. “There’s been an illustration or two of you in the Daily Herald. Do tell me I’m not mistaken or I’ll be horribly embarrassed. You are Sibyl Parker, the author?”

  “I am, indeed, and you must be the Countess of Rutherford.”

  “Please. Call me Edith. I’m a great admi
rer of your books. I must confess I prefer them to actual travel. Oh, of course, you must meet our mysterious Mr. Ramsey!”

  “Mr. Ramsey, yes.” It left her breathless to say the man’s name in such an ordinary exchange. For in her mind, it had taken on connotations almost mythic.

  “Do come inside. A glass of wine is waiting for you in the drawing room and then you’ll find Mr. Ramsey on the western lawn right outside. What a privilege,” Edith said, drawing Sibyl up the front steps with a hand against the small of her back. “What an absolute privilege! If I had my copies of your books here, I would ask you to autograph them. But I’m afraid I’ll have to settle for your signature on a napkin, if that’s quite all right.”

  “It’s absolutely all right,” Sibyl whispered, so relieved by this turn of events she felt near tears. “Whatever you would like, Edith…I am sure it would be absolutely all right. I cannot thank you enough for your hospitality.”

  “Say nothing of it. Alex, my dear boy. This is Sibyl Parker, the Egyptian novelist. You have your memories of your recent trip to Egypt. I have her delightfully entertaining books. And so it shall remain, as I have no desire to travel to any Egypt that does not resemble the one depicted in her novels.”

  Her son was youthful and handsome. But there was a sadness to his eyes that seemed to intensify as he studied her.

  “I must say, Miss Parker,” he whispered, “you do look familiar to me.”

  “Well, of course she does. She’s a world famous novelist.”

  “I’m not much for books, I must confess. Certainly not fiction. Most of what I tend to read is rather…dry.” He spoke this as if it were a realization he’d only recently come to, and his embarrassment over it was fresh. “Is this your first time in Yorkshire?”

  “It is my first time in England after many years.”

  “Ah, well…perhaps you simply remind me of someone, then.”

  She felt these words, and the intensity with which he’d said them, might be the first sort of clue to what had brought her here. But it was impossible to question him now, on the front steps of the house.

  Edith glanced quickly over Sibyl’s shoulder, a sign that more guests were arriving behind her.