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It wasn't reproach; it wasn't condemnation; she couldn't do anything else. She had explained it a thousand times in those same few words.
Finally the noise again, the awful engulfing sound. With uneven chugs, the string of windowed cars began to move forward; he saw her face at the window. She pressed her hand to the glass and looked down at him again, and again he tried to interpret the look in her eyes. Was there a moment's regret?
Dully, miserably, he heard Cleopatra's voice. I called out for you in those last moments.
The train was sliding by; the window was suddenly bright silver as it moved into the sunlight; he couldn't see her anymore.
It seemed the Earl of Rutherford led him out of the station to where the motor cars waited, with the uniformed chauffeurs at their open doors.
"Where will you go?" the Earl asked him.
Ramses was watching the train disappear, the last car with its little iron gate growing smaller and smaller, the noise entirely manageable now.
"Does it matter?" he answered. Then as if waking from a spell, he looked at Elliott. Elliott's expression surprised him almost as much as Julie's. No reproach; only a thoughtful sadness. "What have you learned from all this, my lord?" he asked suddenly.
"It will take time to know that, Ramses. Time, perhaps, which I do not have."
Ramses shook his head. "After all you have seen," he asked, dropping his voice so that only Elliott could hear him, "would you still ask for the elixir? Or would you refuse as Julie has refused?"
The train was gone now. Silence reigned in the empty station. If one did not count the low hum of conversation here and there.
"Does it really matter now, Ramses?" Elliott asked, and for the first time Ramses saw a flash of bitterness and resentment in Elliott.
He took Elliott's hand. "We shall meet again," he said. "Now I must go, or I will be late."
"But where are you going?" Elliott asked him.
He didn't answer. He turned and waved as he crossed the train yard. Elliott acknowledged it with a polite little nod and a scant movement of his hand, then moved on to his waiting car.
Late afternoon. Elliott opened hi
s eyes. The sun fell in slashes through the wooden blinds, the fan churning slowly overhead.
He lifted his gold pocket watch from the bedside table. Past three. Their ship had sailed. He enjoyed the relief for a long moment before thinking of anything else that he must do.
Then he heard Walter open the door.
"Have those damned people from the governor's office called yet?" Elliott asked.
"Yes, my lord. Twice. I told them you were sleeping and I had not the slightest intention of disturbing your rest."
"You're a good man, Walter. And may they burn in hell."
"My lord?"
"Never mind, Walter."
"Oh and Your Lordship, the Egyptian fellow's been by."
"Samir?"
"Brought the bottle of medicine from Ramsey. It's right there, my lord. Said you'd know what it was."
"What?" Elliott rose on his elbows. Then, slowly, he turned his gaze away from Walter to the table on his right.
It was a flask bottle, the kind used for vodka or whisky, but with no color to the glass. And it was filled entirely with a milk-white liquid, which gave off strange, almost luminescent glints in the light.
"I'd be careful of that, my lord," Walter said, opening the door, "if it's some kind of Egyptian thing, I'd watch my step."
