Rita ran to obey. Julie took Ramses' hand.
"Come with me, upstairs, immediately," she said to him. "Rita, put the lid on that coffin. It weighs almost nothing. Close it up fast and come."
No sooner had Rita slid the bolt than they were knocking and pulling the bell. The shrill clanging from the back of the house startled Ramses. His eyes moved quickly over the ceiling and to the back of the house as though he had heard the sound traveling the wire to the kitchen wall.
Julie tugged him gently but urgently, and to her amazement he followed easily as they made their way up the stairs.
She could hear little cries of distress coming from Rita. But Rita was doing as she had been told. Julie heard the thump as the lid of the coffin slid into place.
And Ramses, he was staring at the wallpaper, at the framed portraits, at the knickknack shelf nestled in the corner at the top of the stairs. He was looking at the stained-glass window. He looked down at the wool carpet with its pattern of feathers and twisted leaves.
The pounding was becoming quite impossible. Julie could hear her uncle Randolph calling her name.
"What shall I do, miss?" Rita called out.
"Come up at once." She looked at Ramses, who was watching her with a strange mixture of patience and amusement. "You look normal," she whispered. "Perfectly normal. Beautiful, but normal." She pulled him on down the hallway. "The bath, Rita!" she shouted as Rita appeared, quivering and tentative, behind him. "Quick. Run the bath."
She brought him on towards the front of the house as Rita hurried past. They had stopped their pounding for a minute. She could hear the grind of a key in the lock. But the bolt, thank God for that! The pounding started again.
Ramses was truly smiling at her now, as if he were about to laugh. He peered into the bedrooms as he passed them. Suddenly he saw the electric chandelier hanging on its dusty chain from the ceiling rose above. The tiny light bulbs looked dull and opaque in the daylight, but they were burning, and he narrowed his eyes to study this, gently resisting her for the first time.
"Later you can see it!" she said in panic. The water was roaring into the tub. The steam was pouring out of the door.
He gave her another decorous little nod with a slight lift of his eyebrows, and followed her into the bath. The shining tile seemed to please him. He turned slowly to the window and stared at the sunlight sparkling in the frosted glass. Gently he examined the latch and then he opened the window, pushing out on the two sides until he could see the rooftops spread out before him and the brilliant morning sky above.
"Rita, Father's clothes," Julie said breathlessly. They were going to break down that door any minute. "Hurry, get his robe, slippers, a shirt, whatever you can lay hands on at once."
Ramses lifted his chin and closed his eyes. He was drinking in the sunlight. Julie could see his hair moving ever so slightly; tiny tendrils at his forehead curling. The hair seemed to grow thicker. It was growing thicker.
Of course. This is what woke him from the dream-filled sleep, she realized. The sun! And he had been too weak to do more than struggle with Henry. He had had to crawl into the sunlight before he could gain his full strength.
There were shouts of "Police" from below. Rita came running with a pair of slippers in her hand, and a pile of clothing over her arm.
"There's reporters out there, miss; a whole crowd of them, and Scotland Yard and your uncle Randolph ..."
"Yes, I know. Go down now and tell them we'll be right there, but don't draw back the bolt!"
Julie took the silk bathrobe and white shirt and put them on the hook. She touched Ramses' shoulder.
He turned and looked at her and the immediate warmth of his smile astonished her.
"Britannia," he said softly, his eyes moving from right to left as though to encompass the spot on which they stood.
"Yes, Britannia!" she said. A sudden lovely giddiness took hold of her. She pointed to the bath. "Lavare!" she said. Didn't that mean wash?
He nodded, his eyes taking in everything around him--the brass taps, the steam billowing up from the deep tub. He looked at the clothing.
"For you!" she said, pointing at the robe and then at Ramses. Oh, if only she could remember the Latin. "Vestments," she said desperately.
And then he did laugh. Softly, gently, indulgently. And she found herself petrified again, staring at him, at the smooth shimmering beauty of his face. Lovely even white teeth he had, flawless skin and such an oddly commanding manner as he gazed at her. But then he was Ramses the Great, wasn't he? She was going to faint again if she didn't stop this.
She backed out the door.
"Reste!" she said. "Lavare." She made pleading gestures with both her hands. Then she went to leave, and quite suddenly his powerful right hand closed on her wrist.
Her heart stopped altogether.
"Henry!" he said softly. His face took on an air of menace, but not towards her.