Decline in Prophets Read Online Free PDF Page A

to keep an eye on us… well, me anyway.” Rowland looked back and tipped his hat to the crewman who followed them. “Can’t blame him really—they did
find my stick in a man’s neck.” He put his arm around Edna. “You all right, Ed?”
    “Of course I am,” she snapped. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
    “Well, you had a lot more to do with him… I thought you might…”
    “I didn’t like him!” She sounded angry. Rowland left it.

    Edna pulled idly at the fingertips of the long black gloves that clad her arms. A wide silver bracelet with Egyptian motif fell loosely around her wrist, and a long scarab bead
necklace hung below the low neckline of her evening gown. The latest popular revival of all things Egyptian had begun in the last decade with the excavation of Tutankhamen’s tomb, but Edna
had only just discovered the fashion. In her usual way, she embraced the craze with childlike zeal.
    She knew Rowland was watching her, sketching. It didn’t trouble or embarrass her. She was a life model who lived with artists—she had long become accustomed to scrutiny. Rowland drew
her often and, she thought, rather well.
    “You know, it would be rather fun to paint you against the sea… a nod to Botticelli’s Venus …,” he murmured, almost to himself.
    Edna laughed, knowing well the nude painting to which he referred. “No, Rowly, it’s too cold.”
    Clyde was struggling with his bow tie, cursing under his breath. Milton was rifling through drawers, searching for cufflinks.
    “Rowly,” he shouted from the other room, “do you mind if I…?”
    “Go ahead. Try to choose ones that match this time.”
    They were about to dine at the captain’s table. A crewman had been posted discreetly in the corridor outside the Reynolds Suite and another followed them about the Aquitania .
Officially, Orville Urquhart’s death was an accident, but rumours were rife. The atmosphere on board was tense.
    “You going to be all right without your stick, mate?” Clyde asked, as he emerged with his bow slightly askew, but tied.
    “I’ll be fine.” Rowland replied, determined that he would be so.
    Clyde raised his brows sceptically, but he did not argue.
    “Oh Rowly,” Edna sighed. Rowland had already set back his recuperation a couple of times by refusing to give his injury time.
    “I’m fine,” Rowland repeated without looking up.

    In time, they were all ready, and proceeded to the dining room where they were ushered to Madding’s table. The captain stood to greet them, gazing appreciatively at the
young sculptress.
    “Miss Higgins,” he said as she sat down. “You are without doubt a shining ornament to the Aquitania .”
    Edna accepted the tribute with the practised grace of one who often received such compliments. She even managed to blush a little.
    Madding introduced the other guests at his table. They were dining with an American couple, the Hickmans, whose well-coiffed, obviously unmarried daughters seemed excessively pleased to see
them. Also present was the clergyman who had taken such offence at Jiddu Krishnamurti the previous evening. Bishop Hanrahan was accompanied by two lesser-ranked men of the church. The taller was a
fair-haired, bespectacled priest, introduced as Father Murphy. The second, clean-cut and square-jawed, was Father Bryan.
    Rowland sighed as he regarded the trio of black-cassocked men standing by their chairs like rigid sentinels of virtue—the company promised to be awkward.
    Bishop Hanrahan glared at them. Milton already looked belligerent, and Clyde nervous.
    Edna was ushered to the chair between the Bishop’s young frocked offsiders. She smiled devastatingly at each, ignoring their holy status and treating them as men. Rowland smiled as he
observed the effect.
    Milton and Clyde were each seated with a Miss Hickman to their left, and Rowland directed to the chair on Milton’s right, beside the captain. He assumed it was so that Madding could just
reach out and grab him