An Egyptian Affair (The Regent Mysteries Book 4)

by Cheryl Bolen

  Jack, uncomfortably hot, looked up from the notes he’d made on the most commonly uttered Arabic phrases. On the banks of this fertile Nile Delta, sinewy brown men tended the fields. As their boat drew closer, Jack’s eyes rounded. Good Lord, were those men completely naked?

  Before he could react to the sight, Daphne shrieked. “Close your eyes, Rosemary!”

  Rosemary, who had proclaimed this part of the journey boring, looked up from her book to face her sister. “Why must I close my eyes?”

  “Because there are naked men not forty feet away. Two, three, four . . .” Daphne squinted toward the river bank. “Five of them!” In spite of her own warning, Daphne was incapable of peeling her eyes from the sight.

  Rosemary quickly squeezed her eyes shut. "Oh, dear."

  Would that his wife would do the same. Daphne acted as if she’d never before seen a naked man. But then, what English woman would ever have seen five naked men in broad daylight?

  “I daresay one becomes accustomed to the nude male body if one spends much time in Egypt,” Maxwell said as calmly as if he were commenting on the weather. Jack was not sure which shocked him the most—the naked Egyptians or meek Mr. Maxwell’s compliant acceptance of the nudity. In his wildest imagination, Jack could not imagine the modest scholar ever condoning disrobing in public. That the man even peered at such was surprising.

  “Will somebody tell me when I can open my eyes?” Rosemary asked.

  “Yes, dear. Keep them closed for the present.” Daphne was still eyeing the lithe tillers of the soil. Every exposed piece of their dark flesh. “I will let you know.”

  Jack scooted closer to Maxwell and dropped his voice. “Will there be nudity in the Cairo bazaar?” He knew his investigation would have to originate there, and he knew Daphne would not allow him to go to the bazaar without her.

  Maxwell spoke in a low voice the ladies in front of them could not hear. “No, but I once witnessed a copulation there in the Kahn el Khaliti. It was performed without the slightest effort to be discreet.”

  Jack grimaced. “I bloody well wish I hadn’t allowed the ladies to come.”

  Maxwell flicked a glance at Lord Sidworth's youngest daughter—something he was too shy to do were the girl facing him. “It would be easier going without them.”

  Rosemary should not be permitted to go to the bazaar, but Jack would have the devil of a time keeping her from it.

  It wouldn't do for a maiden to witness . . . a copulation. In spite of the prurience of the act Maxwell had witnessed, Jack nearly burst out laughing. Copulation? Only a socially inept scholar would use such a word. The soldiers Jack had served with spouted a stream of far more colorful words for the deed.

  “I presume Khan el Khaliti is the Arabic name for the bazaar?”

  The scholar nodded. “It’s easy to get lost there. It’s a labyrinth of crooked, narrow streets where one can find anything.”

  Jack swatted at the flies that continuously pestered them. “Would one be able to procure antiquities at such a place?”

  “One can procure almost anything at Cairo’s Khan el Khaliti. Cairo's a termination for the great caravans coming from as far away as China. You’ll find any manner of food, tobacco, spices, along with fine silks, other fabrics, Chinese pottery, jewelry—and Egyptian antiquities.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d know where in that labyrinth I could find the most reputable antiquities dealer?”

  Maxwell nodded solemnly. “I’ve only been to Cairo once and didn't spend much time in the bazaar or in Egypt. I’m afraid I’ve no good connections here, but I daresay Arbuthnot must know everybody.”

  “How long have you been in Cairo, Arbuthnot?” Jack asked.

  The attaché turned away from the ladies and faced Jack and Maxwell. “It will be seven years in September.”

  “Then you must know everyone,” Jack said. It couldn’t hurt to feed the man’s vanity. In the short time Jack had spent with the jolly Englishman he had come to realize Arbuthnot had a great fondness for casually mentioning any connection he might have to English peers, Persian potentates, or desert sheikhs.

  “I’m sure I don’t know everyone, but it is my duty to know men of importance from all the nations which have sent their officials to Egypt. One must represent King and country to the best of one’s ability.”

  Keep feeding the man’s vanity. “How fortunate we are that due to the Regent’s mechanizations, we’ve been able to associate with you,” Jack said. “You are just the man to steer us in the right direction.” Jack swatted a mosquito, killing it on his forearm, leaving a drop of blood behind. “Where would one go in the . . . Khan el Khaliti if one wished to purchase a very valuable Egyptian artifact?”

  “No question about it. One would seek Ahmed Hassein, but I must warn you the man is most disreputable.”

  They had now passed the naked farm toilers, and Daphne transferred her attention to her husband’s queries. “You may look up now, Rosemary. We’ve passed the offensive sight.” Jack wondered why his wife had not closed her own eyes if she found the sight so offensive.

  Both women turned to face Jack and Maxwell. Arbuthnot was on a bench between the two others. “What do you mean by disreputable?” Daphne asked. “Do you mean he sells fakes?”

  Arbuthnot shook his head. “His goods, for the most part, are authentic. They ought to be at the prices he demands.”

  “Then how is the man disreputable?” she asked.

  Arbuthnot’s brows lowered, as did his voice. His gaze went to the native crew. “Ahmed Hassein will do anything to get his hands on things of value.”

  Daphne swallowed. “Even murder?”

  Arbuthnot shrugged. “Hassein is very wealthy. I doubt he does the dirty deed himself, but it’s believed that he’s responsible for a great many deaths.”

  “Can you direct me to him?” Jack asked.

  “Us. What my husband meant to say is can you direct us to the man.”

  Jack glared at Daphne.

  “The bazaar is easy to get lost in, but anyone there should be able to tell you how to find Hassein's shop.”

  “Oh, but I must go, too,” Rosemary said.

  Maxwell eyed her. “I would be honored, Lady Rosemary, to escort you throughout the Khan el Khaliti.” He eyed Jack. "I would take her only to the most respected shops."

  Daphne spun to her sister. “Yes, dearest, you must allow Mr. Maxwell to give you a proper tour of the bazaar whilst Jack and I undertake our dull inquiries. Remember, the duchess is longing for some vibrant silk from the Orient.”

  “It’s very kind of you to offer, Mr. Maxwell,” Rosemary said. “I'm aware that shopping is of little interest to most males.”

  “I assure you, Lady Rosemary, it will be my pleasure. There is something to interest everyone at the Khan el Khaliti.”

  "I wonder if the soldiers from Fort Rached ever come into the bazaar." Rosemary faced her sister. "I can think of nothing that could be more exciting than being surprised by the sight of my dear Captain Cooper."

  Her brows elevated, Daphne whirled at her sister. "I'm surprised to hear you say that for I would have thought the discovery of a pharaoh's tomb would be much more gratifying."

  "I beg that you ladies don't get your hopes up over such an occurrence," Mr. Arbuthnot said. "It's been many years since a new unmolested tomb has been discovered."

  Jack's brows lowered. "And may I remind you ladies that we are not here in the role of archeologists? I can't even promise that you'll get to see a pyramid."

  "I daresay," the attaché said, "it will be very little effort for your entire party to see the pyramids at Gizeh. They can be seen from Cairo—if it's not too smoky--and it's not a long journey to view them—not like it would be to go to the Valley of the Kings."

  "Could we ride camels to Gizeh?" Rosemary asked excitedly, peering at her brother-in-law.

  "We'll see." Jack's voice lacked conviction.

  Daphne raised her arm and hurled her hand to slap Jack on the f
ace. "I got him!" she squealed.

  His wife had never before displayed a violent bent. Did she care so much about riding a bloody camel?

  She held out her palm where the shriveled remains of a mosquito reposed. "No blood. I daresay that means I got him before he had a chance to take a bite out of my husband. I can't think why they haven't pestered me, only poor Jack."

  "And me too," Rosemary said, her eyes narrowing. "I declare, these horrid insects must find me enormously tasty."

  "It may be difficult for you to believe—not being plagued by mosquitoes in England," Arbuthnot said, "but they're ten times worse once the sun goes down."

  Arbuthnot took such perverse pleasure in announcing distressing news, Jack would not be surprised to see him jump with glee at the sight of a menacing crocodile swimming these waters.

  "Similar to blood-sucking bats that come out only at night," Rosemary said.

  Maxwell nodded. "Yes, rather. And I must warn you that mosquitoes are attracted by two things other than human flesh—candlelight or water, such as the Nile or even puddles."

  "Oh, dear," Daphne said. "Does that mean no candles at night during our voyage?"

  Both Maxwell and Arbuthnot nodded.

  "Unless you care to be a feast for the mosquitoes," Arbuthnot added.

  No mere frowns for his wife. When Daphne was upset, she pouted. And when Daphne pouted, her entire face collapsed. Even her body seemed to tighten with displeasure. "What shall we do for amusement after dark if we can't play cards, can't read a book?" She looked at Maxwell. "I so enjoyed our nightly games of whist during our sea voyage."

  "As did I, my lady."

  Jack could think of one nocturnal activity he and Daphne enjoyed excessively, but he could never voice such a thought in front of others.

  "We could play Who Am I?" Rosemary suggested. "I adore guessing games."

  Daphne nodded her agreement. "And my sister's very good at them."

  "I daresay it will be difficult to stump a learned man like Maxwell," Jack said.

  "It would be an honor to play with so learned a man." Arbuthnot took out his hefty handkerchief and wiped his brow dry. "I shouldn't like to brag, but I'm accounted to be a tolerable player at Who Am I?"

  "Then we do have something to look forward to tonight," Daphne said. "We must hope we can think of enough famous persons to last the five of us for four nights."

  "That could prove most challenging," Maxwell murmured.

  Jack eyed the self-professed tolerable player. "In the meantime, Mr. Arbuthnot, I should like to ask if you know other men in Egypt who are interested in the more valuable antiquities."

  “There’s Lord Beddington.”

  “The one who was ambassador to the Ottoman Empire?” Jack asked.

  Arbuthnot nodded. “He developed his interest in ancient artifacts whilst serving in Constantinople, but he’s become enamored of all things Oriental. He’s been in Egypt now for the past two years.”

  “He’s said to be amassing some of the country’s greatest treasures,” Maxwell added.

  “He’s in Cairo?” Jack asked.

  “Not at present. He’s gone up to Thebes. He has a villa near Cairo, near the Pasha’s. The two have great respect for one another.”

  “I daresay Lord Beddington can acquire whatever his heart desires,” Daphne added. “He’s obscenely wealthy.”

  Arbuthnot gazed admiringly at Daphne. “You know his lordship?”

  “If I ever met him, I would have been too young to remember. He went off to Constantinople when I was very young. My father laments that he’s never returned to England. They were school chums, you see.”

  “When he returns to Cairo,” Arbuthnot said, “I’m certain he’ll be happy to see the daughters of his old friend. An Englishman living abroad longs for news of home.”

  Jack hoped they would have successfully completed their mission by the time the former ambassador returned to Cairo.

  “Do you know what types of antiquities his lordship collects?” Maxwell asked Arbuthnot.

  “Mammoth ones. He’s planning to donate some to the British Museum, and much of the statuary has been sent to his gardens in Somerset.”

  Daphne’s brows lowered. “Do you know if he has interest in smaller things like sarcophaguses or adornments, such as funerary masks?”

  As far as Jack knew, Arbuthnot did not know what kind of item the Regent had agreed to purchase from Prince Singh. He and Daphne were the only ones in their party who knew, and he wanted to keep it that way. His loving gaze raked over his wife. He never had to instruct her when they were in one of their investigations. She thought like a man. She was the only woman he knew whose mind was as analytical as his.

  “Who doesn’t seek to get their hands on those?” Arbuthnot said with a shrug.

  The man probably had a point there. Jack supposed acquiring an artifact that had come from a pyramid was no different than bringing back old Italian masters and statuary from the Grand Tour. “Is there any other major antiquities dealer in Cairo at present?”

  “Not one I’m aware of,” Arbuthnot said. “No, wait! The Sheikh al Mustafa is visiting Egypt as the Pasha’s guest, and I believe he’s rather interested in acquiring authentic antiquities.”

  He would only be of interest to Jack were he here when Prince Singh was in Cairo. “Was he here last year?” Jack asked.

  Arbuthnot screwed his face in thought. “I couldn’t say. He’s been coming to Cairo for many years.”

  “If he’s a sheikh,” Rosemary said, “he must be a Bedouin, and I shouldn't think they would have much interest in acquiring objects.”

  “Not all sheikhs are Bedouins," Maxwell said. “Sheikh al Mustafa is one of the most revered Arabian princes of the desert. He has a palace in Baghdad. You see," he explained to Rosemary, "there are tribal sheikhs, and then there are the royal sheikhs of the al Hasmal dynasty."

  “Is he a murderer like Ahmed Hassein?” Daphne asked.

  Jack frowned at his outspoken wife. “Daphne! You can’t go around publicly accusing people of murder.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t do it to their faces.”

  Rosemary effected a superior countenance as she looked down her pert nose at her elder sister. “Did Mama not tell us that one should never say behind one’s back what one wouldn’t say to one’s face?”

  Daphne put hands to hips and glared at her sister. “Murderers, my dear sister, nullify all Mama’s rules of etiquette.”

  Jack cleared his throat. “Back to the Sheikh al Mustafa . . . Could you get me in to see him?”

  “The Consul would be the one to do that, and I don’t need to tell you how eager he is to assist you—and help our dear Regent.”

  “I am told the Sheikh does not speak English,” Maxwell said. “You will need an interpreter, and I shall be honored to assist you in such a commission—provided you secure a meeting with him.”

  “If he’s still in Cairo, you can be assured of meeting the man,” Arbuthnot said.

  * * *

  Daphne’s prophecy they would run out of famous people to guess in Who am I? during the remainder of their voyage proved to be true. That first night they drifted down the Nile beneath a moonless sky they went through every king and queen of England, France, and Spain during the last three hundred years. They exhausted the list of Greek philosophers and Roman poets. (She was exceedingly proud that she had been the only one to guess Marcus Aurelius—even though Mr. Maxwell was in the same guessing pool.) Every Chancellor of the Exchequer had been tapped. She only hoped poor Mr. Arbuthnot wasn’t too humiliated that all four of his companions displayed significantly superior guessing skill to his own tolerable skills.

  In spite of depriving themselves of any kind of light, the travelers were still gnawed on by swarms of mosquitoes. It was as if the pests had been drawn by magnets.

  Daphne preferred not to think on the depravities and discomfort. She was far too grateful to have the opportunity to see the Orient. She’d seen caravans of
black cloaked men on camels. She’d heard the Call to Prayer ring from graceful minarets. She’d sailed along the same river as Cleopatra. And then there had been the five naked men. Yes, she thought that final night aboard the felucca as she lay beside her sleeping husband, mosquito netting over them, this was going to be quite an adventure.

  Chapter 3

  When Jack saw a significant clustering of tall palm trees, he knew they were coming to the port at Bulak. Moments later, his guess was confirmed by Maxwell. “The mosque at Bulak dates to the ninth century. You can see the top of it right there.” He pointed its direction.

  “And if you’ll look there,” Arbuthnot added, pointing to a substantial, three-story structure built of light-colored stone. It, too, was ringed by more tall palms and surrounded by a patch of velvety grass and a garden. “You’ll see the Pasha’s villa.” Arbuthnot’s voice could not have displayed more pride had the building been his very own residence.

  “So that’s Cairo?” Daphne asked.

  Arbuthnot shook his head. “Oh, no. We’re about a mile northwest of Cairo. Definitely walking distance. Only commoners and some Consuls, as well as a handful of French merchants, reside in the old walled city of Cairo.”

  “I believe, my darling,” Jack said, “we are to take lodgings in the European quarter which is located outside of the city.”

  “One must be within the gates of the European quarter, too, by dark,” Maxwell said. “I had a beastly time being admitted to my lodgings there when I arrived half an hour after the gates closed.”

  Daphne turned up her nose. “It all sounds rather primitive.”

  Maxwell uncharacteristically chuckled. “You, my lady, have just perfectly described Arabs.”

  “I live in the European quarter myself,” Arbuthnot said.

  As their vessel drew up alongside its mooring, and their dragoman busied himself bringing up all their valises, Arbuthnot turned to Jack. “If it’s all the same to you, we can just send your dragoman ahead with a pair of donkeys laden with your bags, and I can take you straight away to the Consul.”

  Jack nodded. “That would be most agreeable.”