An Egyptian Affair (The Regent Mysteries Book 4)

by Cheryl Bolen

  Their speech stopped. The Call to Prayer was being sung out at minarets throughout the city. All other noise in the bustling metropolis stopped. Whilst he was in their country, Jack felt semi-bound to honor their customs by ceasing dialogue and listening. Because of his brief studies with Maxwell, he understood some of it.

  Afterward, Daphne drew a deep breath. “I can’t help wondering about that hair. May I see it?”

  Jack fetched it for her then climbed back upon the bed and refastened the mosquito netting.

  “There aren’t that many Englishmen in Cairo. It certainly doesn’t match either Mr. Briggs’ or Mr. Arbuthnot’s,” she said.

  “Arbuthnot has no hair. Or at least nothing as long as this.”

  “True. There is still a heavier French presence in the city. This hair must belong to a Frenchman.”

  He had withheld information from her long enough. He sighed. “I didn’t tell you that when we docked I recognized a man. A deserter from Badajoz. A thoroughly disreputable man named Gareth Williams, who was also suspected in many thefts.”

  “Did he see you?”

  “Yes. He quickly turned away and got lost from my view in the quay-side crowd.”

  “And you think this hair would match his?”

  He nodded.

  “If he’s a British deserter, it’s not likely he’d have anything to do with the small English community here.”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me if he’s befriended the damned French.”

  “He dressed in the European style?”

  “Yes.”

  “We shall have to ask Mr. Arbuth-knows-it-all if he knows the man.”

  “I doubt he’d be using his real name.”

  “Is he Welsh?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Then we’ll ask Mr. Arbuthnot if he’s come into contact with a Welshman living in Cairo.”

  * * *

  Later that evening, Arbuthnot came to their hotel, joining them in the dining room. “I do hope most sincerely that Lady Daphne has recovered from the beastly scene she witnessed today.”

  “I am much better, thank you. We have a question for you, Mr. Arbuthnot. Have you become acquainted with a Welshman living in Cairo?”

  His bushy brows lowered. “I can’t think of one.”

  “I do hope you’ve brought us promising news,” Jack said to him.

  “Yes, very. Mr. Briggs has been successful in scheduling you a meeting with the Sheikh al Mustafa. The Pasha arranged it as a favor to Mr. Briggs.”

  “When will the meeting take place?”

  “I will call for you tomorrow morning at nine and take you to the Sheikh's villa.”

  * * *

  Jack's face was grim when he turned to Daphne the following morning. "Habeeb has never returned from the house of the murdered woman."

  "I was afraid of that."

  "You thought he was going to desert us?"

  "No, Silly. I thought the servants would be reluctant to return to the murder house. Especially if they can identify the murderer. Their lives may also be in jeopardy."

  "I hadn't thought of that. I would go back into the city to speak to Habeeb, but Arbuthnot should be here any moment to collect us."

  She was standing beside the window. "As we speak, he's walking up to the hotel. Let's go down."

  "First," Jack said, "I've decided we need to completely explain to Maxwell. I can do that in a low voice while you distract Arbuthnot."

  "How can I distract Arbuth-knows-it-all?"

  "Ask him to explain something to you."

  A moment later, Arbuthnot greeted them. "I would have brought the Consul's carriage, but since we are required to be accompanied by your soldiers at all times, that wouldn't work," Arbuthnot said. "It's only a thirty-minute walk."

  They began to walk to Shubra, the area where the Pasha's palace and other villas were located. Maxwell began to query Arbuthnot about an excursion to Gizeh, which held great interest for Daphne. Jack's mind was elsewhere. He wished like the devil he hadn’t allowed Rosemary to come to Egypt with them. She could not be on hand for their sensitive talks, nor could he grant her request to travel to Gizeh to see the pyramids. He couldn’t spare Maxwell, whom he needed to interpret, and he would not consider allowing her to travel without himself or the Arabic scholar.

  He took some consolation that she had exceedingly enjoyed shopping in the bazaar the previous day, and he had feigned interest when she proceeded to unfurl lengths of brightly coloured silks and sparkling gold ornaments for his perusal as she gushed on about how very cheap everything was.

  If he and Daphne could successfully conclude this mission, he would see to it that they all got to see the pyramids at Gizeh. Right now, though, there was a murderer to apprehend.

  He hated, too, informing his wife’s sister about the murder, but she needed to know the dangers that could lurk in this exotic city.

  "Maxwell, I beg a word with you," Jack said.

  Maxwell dropped back a few steps and began to walk beside Jack.

  "Mr. Arbuthnot," Daphne said, "I was hoping you could tell me about Pasha Mohamed Ali. Have you had the honor of actually meeting him?"

  Arbuthnot readily launched into a description of the Pasha and a long catalogue of all the times the Pasha had acknowledged him.

  During this time Jack explained to Maxwell why they had come to Egypt and the possible suspects in Prince Singh's disappearance and concluded by telling him of the murder of Singh's mistress. "So, you see, old fellow, this is dangerous, and I'll understand if you wish to return to England."

  "I wouldn't think of it."

  There was one other matter plaguing Jack. How was he going to extricate himself and Daphne from Arbuthnot when they arrived at the Sheikh’s villa? Jack wasn’t sure why he even needed the man’s escort since the Sheikh al Mustafa’s villa was the closest one to the Pasha’s. Wouldn’t that description have been enough for them to find it?

  As it happened, when they strolled up to the Sheikh’s sumptuous villa that was encircled with artistic clusters of tall date palms, Jack casually turned to their escort. “Thank you very much, my good man. Lady Daphne and I will be in good hands now with Mr. Maxwell to interpret for us, and we should have no problem finding our way back to our hotel.”

  As Arbuthnot walked away, the Sheikh’s servant opened the large timbered door, came into the fountained courtyard, and bowed to welcome them, greeting them in Arabic.

  Maxwell responded. Jack had instructed him to convey the information that the English ruler who sent them insisted on the soldiers' presence but explained the soldiers were to stay outside of the property. Jack felt like a bloody milksop, but he knew their presence protected the ladies from harm.

  He felt badly that Rosemary had been forced to stay back at the hotel—with a pair of soldiers to watch the entrances and exits for her protection.

  Before they entered the house, Jack turned to Petworth, the only one of the House Guards with whom Jack was previously acquainted. He gave the soldier a sympathetic expression. “Awfully sorry, old fellow, that you must stay in this heat.”

  The redhead, who was likely in his thirties and very fit, smiled. “It’s good we’ve come early. I hope to spare my men from the day’s harshest heat.”

  “As do I, my friend.”

  “But, sir, you and I have served in Spain. We should be accustomed to heat.”

  Jack shook his head. “It was hot in Spain, but not this bloody hot.”

  Petworth grinned, nodding.

  The Sheikh’s barefoot servant led them along a corridor built in much the Moorish style, with a square arcade giving on to still another courtyard at the center of the house, this one of grass.

  Like Prince Singh’s floors, these were intricately tiled in another Moorish pattern. Their group came to a large room strewn with colourful pillows upon which they were to sit. Before they did so, a man rose to greet them in Arabic. He was about the same height as Daphne, slender, and likely in his thirt
ies. A full black beard covered much of his face, and he wore black robes and head covering. “I am Sheikh al Mustafa.” His black eyes bore into Daphne’s, a sinister look on his face. He likely had no use for women, especially women who did not cover their hair.

  Though it had been gracious of him to consent to their visit, nothing about his countenance was particularly welcoming.

  Maxwell spoke to him, and then the man in black robes beckoned for the three of them to sit down.

  Once they were all seated, he said, in French, "My French is very good. Can we communicate in that language?”

  Jack and Daphne both nodded. “I am Captain Jack Dryden. This is my wife, Lady Daphne, and we are accompanied by Mr. Stanton Maxwell, who, as you know, speaks Arabic.”

  A faint smile was directed at Maxwell. Then the Sheikh faced Jack, an expression of contempt on his face. “You have come on behalf of the English ruler, no?”

  “That is correct,” Jack replied in French.

  As they spoke, two scantily clad young Negro boys carrying plumes three times their height came to stand on either side of the Sheikh and proceeded to fan him and his guests. This addition made it feel almost cool in the shady room with its cool glazed tile floors.

  “I saw the soldiers you brought.” The Sheikh’s mouth was a grim line.

  “I can explain,” Daphne said, continuing in French. “Our ruler promised my father that he would see that I was well guarded in this foreign land.”

  “The soldiers’ only function here is to protect English citizens from potential harm,” Jack said.

  “I do not understand why you wish to see me. I have never had any connection to the British, especially not with your king.”

  “Actually, our king is too sick to serve. In his stead is his oldest son, the Prince Regent. He’s the one who sent us,” Daphne explained.

  “He sent you to Egypt to see me?” the Sheik looked incredulous.

  Jack shook his head. “No. He wanted us, first, to find Prince Edward Duleep Singh, and secondly, he wished to recover a valuable gold funerary mask.”

  The Sheikh nodded. “Then you seek this meeting with me because I knew Prince Singh?”

  Knew? Not know? “We understand that you’re interested in acquiring antiquities,” Jack said.

  “That is true.”

  Jack eyed the Sheikh. “Did you ever acquire any through Prince Singh?”

  “On many occasions.”

  “Did you know about the Amun-re mask?”

  “No. Prince Singh knows that I am not interested in small antiquities. What I currently seek is a sarcophagus from a pharaoh. That is as small as I’m interested in.”

  This time he used the word knows. Jack wondered if the verb tense was significant since he and Daphne also vacillated between using present and past when referring to the missing Indian. And if the Sheikh was acquainted with Singh, he would know the man had mysteriously disappeared.

  “Do you recall the last time you saw Prince Singh?” Daphne asked.

  He shrugged. “It could be as long as two years ago. I wasn’t in Egypt last year, and I’m almost certain I haven’t seen Singh this year.”

  “How long have you currently been in Cairo?” Daphne asked.

  “I came after my pilgrimage to Mecca.”

  “That pilgrimage would have been in December,” Maxwell told them in English.

  If the man spoke the truth, then he would certainly be eliminated from suspicion in their inquiry. But how did one go about proving that he indeed had not come to Egypt last year?

  “You have heard that Prince Singh has disappeared?”

  He nodded. “My friend the Pasha told me some time ago.”

  “The Pasha was acquainted with Prince Singh?”

  “The Pasha is a great ruler. He welcomes important men to his country whether they practice our faith or not. He wants what is best for Egypt.”

  It looked as if they were going to have to speak with the Pasha. Another commission with which to charge Briggs.

  * * *

  As he and Daphne strolled back to their hotel, Jack said, “How in the devil can we verify if the Sheikh was telling us the truth about not being here last year?”

  She frowned. “If he's telling the truth, then we can eliminate him from suspicion.”

  Jack eyed Maxwell. “Sorry, old boy, for dragging you along. I had assumed we’d need you to translate.”

  “My only purpose is to be of use to you in this inquiry.”

  “You could have stayed in the relative cool of the hotel.”

  “I wish I had one of those little Negro lads fanning over my bed,” Daphne said wistfully. “Only I suppose I’d have to have a little girl since it would not be proper for a boy to see me in my night shift. But then, it wouldn’t do for a little girl to see you in your . . . oh, dear.”

  Jack flashed his wife a grin. “We’ll just have to suffer without our personal fanner.”

  “Tell me, Mr. Maxwell, when you traveled through the Levant, did these wicked flies follow you everywhere?” She batted them away from her face as she spoke.

  “Yes. I believe they’re worse than the intense heat.” Maxwell waved away a circle of flies from his face, but a stubborn one sat on his eyelid without budging. He flicked it off.

  Jack admired him for not cursing since such restraint had thus far eluded Jack.

  “I’ve got it!” Daphne exclaimed.

  “Got what?” Jack asked.

  “How we’ll prove the veracity of the Sheik’s claim he did not come here last year.”

  “And how, my love, do you propose to do that?”

  “I won’t. Habeeb will.”

  “I see,” Jack said, nodding. “Our dragoman can query the Sheikh’s servants.”

  A peacock could not have looked more proud than Daphne did when she nodded, a smile stretching across her face.

  “I don’t suppose the fellow can just walk up and ask perfect strangers such a question,” Maxwell pointed out.

  Daphne's smile faded. “There is that.”

  Maxwell addressed them. “Since you’re not going to need him to interpret, perhaps you can do without his services for a couple of days and have him claim he wants employment in the Sheikh’s household. Or stables.”

  "The difficulty is that Habeeb never returned last night. We ordered him to question the dead woman's servants."

  Habeeb always stationed himself on a bench in front of their hotel when the Drydens had no duties for him.

  As they were approaching the hotel, Jack said, "He's still not returned."

  Chapter 6

  So many things flashing through her mind conspired to deprive Daphne of sleep. Always, she came back to the vision of the lovely dead Egyptian courtesan, Amal. Daphne feared for Rosemary. She would not have brought her sister along had she actually thought they would be dealing with a disgustingly vile, loathsome reprobate who would crush the life from a helpless woman.

  It was bad enough Daphne had seen the beautiful woman’s lifeless body just minutes after life had been strangled from her. Even worse were Daphne's regrets that they’d arrived a few minutes too late. The woman might still have been alive. If they had never come to Cairo, Prince Singh's lovely mistress probably would still be alive. Daphne had no doubt their coming here stirred up the vipers responsible for Prince Singh’s disappearance. The woman’s death had to be linked to the other.

  Someone obviously wanted to keep Amal from talking to her and Jack.

  Was it possible that whatever Amal knew, her servants also knew? All that Jack and Daphne sought was the identity of that last person seen with Prince Singh. It was more imperative than ever that they speak with Amal’s servants.

  Daphne hoped she was right about Habeeb. In her gut, she knew he was loyal to her and Jack. The reason he'd been gone for more than four and twenty hours had to be that he was still trying to locate Amal's servants.

  As soon as dawn eased into their dark bedchamber, she swept from their bed
and rushed to the window to look for Habeeb. A smile broke across her face when she saw his turban-topped head. He sat on the bench in front of their hotel.

  She hurried to get dressed, her movements awakening Jack. “What the bloody hell are you doing up so early?”

  “I’ve got much to do today, and it’s best to get an early start to avoid the day’s worst heat.” She sat down on the room's only chair to put on her stockings. "Habeeb's here."

  "That's welcome news." With a big sigh, he threw off the mosquito netting, climbed from the bed, and began to dress. “Explain to me, madam, these things you’ve got to do today.”

  “I’m enlisting the aid of Habeeb. He can be of tremendous help to us.”

  “Questioning the servants of Sheikh al Mustafa?”

  “That will be later. It’s more imperative that I learn if he was able to speak to any of Amal’s servants.”

  “Yes, I’ve been thinking about that also.”

  She turned a smiling face at him. “Now when would that thinking of yours have occurred since you went to sleep within a minute of dousing our candle, and you just this minute awakened?”

  He jammed a foot into his boot, then looked up at her, grinning. “You're jealous. I have the ability to sleep, and you obviously were awake most of the night, the wheels in that mighty brain of yours spinning continuously.”

  “Thou knowest me well.”

  As soon as they were finished dressing, they went to Habeeb. He rose and greeted them when they approached.

  Daphne could tell from his broad smile that he'd met with success and had to practice restraint to keep from launching her grateful self into the young dragoman's arms for a congratulatory hug. “Did the dead woman’s servants ever return?”

  He nodded. “She had two women servants. One was gone to the fish market when the murderer came. The other one answered the door to a European man who demanded to see her mistress. He spoke Arabic. She showed him into the . . . I believe the English would call it a drawing room, and she left. A moment later she was aware of a struggle between that man and her mistress. Thinking he must be some madman, she fled out the back door.”

  “She had never before seen the man?” Jack asked.