by Cheryl Bolen
The Pasha Mohammed Ali regarded them through his black eyes, a smile curling at his lip as Mr. Briggs effected the introductions in French.
He bade them to sit upon the silken cushions scattered about the floor before him.
Once they were all settled, the Pasha's servant began to pass around the hookah pipe, starting with his master.
"Uh, oh," Daphne thought.
When the pipe came to her, Jack held up a hand. "I am sure your Excellency will understand that the ladies in our country are not permitted to smoke."
The Pasha nodded. How grateful Daphne was that she'd told her husband how dreadfully sick the pipe had made her. How grateful she was to Jack for extracting her from the awkward situation.
Jack began to address the Pasha in French. “As Mr. Briggs may have told you, we have come from England to your land on behalf of our ruler, the Prince Regent. He was a friend of Prince Edward Duleep Singh. Did you know Prince Singh?”
The Pasha nodded. "For many years I have known him."
“Had you ever heard of the Amun-re funerary mask that Prince Singh procured?”
He nodded. “Some time before Prince Singh procured it, I heard that a Frenchman had murdered the Egyptians in whose possession it had been. I believe Prince Singh purchased it from the vile Frenchman. I had wanted to bring the Frank to justice, but it was not to be. He returned to France a very wealthy man.”
“Did Prince Singh ever tell you what he planned to do with the Amun-re mask?”
“I was acquainted with the prince, but I do not think I was in his confidence.”
Daphne drew a breath. It probably wasn’t her place to speak—knowing that the place of women in the Arabic world was in no way equal to that of men and that were she Arab, she wouldn’t even be allowed to be here—but she was unable to stay quiet when Jack simply didn’t ask the intuitive questions she did. “Your Excellency, had you ever heard of anyone else who wished to obtain the mask? Anyone who ever spoke to you of it after it came into Prince Singh’s possession?”
He thought for a moment before answering. “I have many sources throughout the country. I hear many things. Some may be reliable; some, not. I heard an Englishman got it after Prince Singh disappeared, but I do not know if that is true. I heard that it later sold in Constantinople for a very great price and that the seller was an Englishman.”
Her first thought was of Gareth Williams. Now that she had the Pasha’s attention and had not drawn his wrath, she pressed on. “What have you heard about the disappearance of Prince Singh?”
He shrugged. “The Prince had been missing for some time before I was told of it. Apparently, his servants became alarmed when two days passed with him not returning to his villa.” Unconsciously, the Pasha’s head turned in the direction of Prince Singh’s nearby villa. “They say none of his clothes were missing. Only the Amun-re mask.”
It surprised her that he would have been told that the Amun-re mask was discovered missing after the Prince disappeared because Prince Singh’s servant did not appear to be one who would casually disclose information about the contents of his master’s locked chamber.
“Does your Excellency have any idea who could be responsible for Prince Singh’s disappearance?” Jack asked.
“It must be an Englishman.”
Did he really believe that, or could he be protecting his friend, Ahmed Hassein? Or perhaps even the Sheikh al-Mustafa? “Does your Excellency know Ahmed Hassein?”
His head dipped into assent. “He also has a villa near here and is often my guest.”
“It surprises me,” Jack said, “that Hassein did not want to obtain the Amun-re mask, given his taste for very expensive antiquities.”
“I was surprised when I learned that he allowed Prince Singh to take possession of something which was so much the kind of thing he specializes in,” the Pasha said.
Daphne could well understand why Hassein wouldn’t hand over many thousands of guineas when he could wait and steal it from Prince Singh. She felt strongly that Hassein, not some mysterious Englishman, was the culprit.
Unless the Englishman was really a Welshman.
“Have you considered how one would go about locating the missing Indian prince?” Jack asked.
A pained expression passed over the Pasha’s chubby face. “I fear he is dead. You know it is the Arab custom to bury their dead in the desert sands. Our deserts are littered with sun-whitened bones.”
Daphne certainly hoped she never had to view rotting human carcasses if she ever did get to go out into the desert.
The Pasha changed the topic by inquiring about their opinion of Egypt and told them they must travel to Thebes to see many more antiquities from ancient Egyptians.
Daphne wondered if he were subtly alluding to Lord Beddington, who was known to have traveled to Thebes. Was he trying to cast suspicion on that Englishman?
“But, your Excellency, it would take us two months to make such a trip, and we don’t have that kind of time,” Jack said.
“Then you must at least see Gizeh.”
* * *
It was dinner time before Mr. Briggs’ coach dropped them off at their hotel. Jack was pleased to see that Habeeb awaited them just outside.
“You’ve found the dead woman’s servants?” he asked.
Habeeb hung his head. “I have not yet found them, but I will not stop looking until I do. Especially the woman who saw the murderer.”
“Good,” Daphne said.
Jack could tell by the pleased expression upon his face, Habeeb had something good to impart.
“I did go to the house of the Sheikh al-Mustafa and was able to learn that he—and most of his servants—took the long journey to Mecca at the end of your last year.”
“Your dragoman is pointing out that our calendar differs from the Muslim lunar calendar,” Maxwell helpfully pointed out. "That would put the Sheikh gone from Cairo autumn through winter."
Jack looked up at the scholar. “How long would it take to travel from Cairo to Mecca and back?”
Maxwell shrugged. “There are a variety of conditions to consider, but I would say it could take up to nine months.”
“Then that exonerates the Sheikh from suspicion, I’d say,” Daphne said.
Jack redirected his attention at Habeeb. “Will you look again tomorrow for the women?”
“I will look tonight, too. I will search and search the city until I find them. This I vow to you.” He bowed and turned away toward the old town.
Once they were in their bedchamber, Daphne said, “It has been our first productive day.” She went to stand before the open window to watch the sun setting over Gizah’s pyramids.
He came to stand beside her. “Your definition of productive and mine are decidedly different."
She looked up at him, smiling. “First, we’ve eliminated the Sheikh. That’s progress.”
“I’ll give you that.”
“And we’ve learned that there’s a possibility an Englishman may have been responsible for Prince Singh’s abduction and possible murder.”
“Or a Welshman.”
“That, too, is possible. But I wondered if the Pasha were trying to tell us we should investigate Lord Beddington.”
Jack stiffened, his thoughts spinning back to the Pasha’s comments. “I have allowed my hatred of Williams to close my mind to other suspects. You’re right. The Pasha may have been telling us something about Beddington. Perhaps we need to learn more about him. When was he last in Cairo? Did he know of the Amun-re mask? Has he a history of ruthless activity?”
“Excellent questions, my brilliant husband!”
“Daphne?”
“What, dearest?”
“What have I told you about using the word brilliant in connection with me?”
“You forbade me to. That and handsome. And brave. And all those things you are, but I didn’t say it in front of anyone. It’s you and I. Don’t be so hard on me.”
He put his arms around her. �
��All right, love.” And he nuzzled soft lips into her neck.
* * *
The next morning they had asked that Mr. Arbuthnot join them for breakfast. “So, Arbuthnot,” Jack began. “What kind of man is Lord Beddington?”
“His lordship is everything one would want to represent Britain at a powerful post like that of ambassador to the Ottoman Empire. He’s exceptionally well dressed and, as you know, exceedingly rich. He has a facility for languages and learned how to communicate in Turkish. He has a high respect for other cultures and an ability to adapt to them." Arbuthnot set down the wine glass he'd been twirling in his hands. "He was gracious enough once to invite me to accompany the Consul when he dined at his lordship’s villa. While it’s not large like the Pasha’s, I think I would not be speaking an untruth if I were to say it is undoubtedly the finest residence in all of Egypt.”
The middle-aged attaché put much store in outward appearances and all the trappings of wealth. Jack was no dandy, but he knew enough to know that the attaché's clothing was of the highest quality. Excellent tailoring, costly wools, finest leather boots. He wondered if Arbuthnot ever considered dressing as the natives. He'd been told that Lord Beddington often did.
“I believe you told us earlier that his lordship came to Egypt two years ago?” Daphne regarded him with a quizzing brow.
He nodded. “That is so. With his extraordinarily deep pockets, he was able to have his villa constructed in only three months. It was summer, and the days’ sunshine longer. He immersed himself in the local culture, studied the language, and took many excursions to Gizeh. After he had thoroughly explored Gizeh, he said he was ready for Thebes and the Valley of the Kings.”
“Do you recall when he left Cairo?”
“I do. Mr. Briggs hosted a combination Christmas/farewell party for our highest-ranking fellow countryman.”
“This past Christmas?” Daphne asked.
The portly man nodded.
Damn, Jack thought, the former Ottoman ambassador was in Cairo when Singh went missing.
Daphne passed along a bowl of olives, then a plate of fresh-caught fish. “Do you live at a hotel, also, Mr. Arbuthnot?”
“No. I have been fortunate enough to purchase my own house in the European quarter. I'm not getting any younger, and it seemed a good time to begin acquiring property. For many years I lived at this hotel. I miss the variety of cooking. I now have a native cook who knows nothing but Egyptian cooking.”
“Then we’re very glad to have you come eat with us.”
He unconsciously lapsed into the Arabic style of eating with his hands, scooping up the olives in his bare palm. “It’s uncommonly good to have the opportunity to speak to others from good old England, especially refined personages such as Lord Sidworth’s daughters.” He nodded toward Rosemary, then reached down and twisted off the fish head with his bare hands. “Daresay we don’t need that ugly thing.”
It was a deep disappointment for Jack to learn that Lord Beddington had been in Cairo during the time of Prince Singh’s disappearance. As unlikely as it was the English peer and former diplomat would stoop so low as to murder and steal, the man could not be eliminated. Especially after the Pasha’s allusion to Thebes.
How in the devil could they determine the man’s guilt or innocence when he was nearly a four-week journey away?
There was also the fact he could not have ordered the courtesan’s death from so great a distance.
This was their fifth day in Cairo, and he was still no closer to solving the disappearance of Prince Singh. Barring the absent Lord Beddington, he and Daf had run out of people to interview. A full day stretched before them, and he couldn’t think of a single thing they could do that would advance their inquiry.
Much still depended on the ability of Habeeb to locate the missing woman and on Petworth to locate that villainous Gareth Williams.
“I should like your assistance, Arbuthnot, in planning an expedition for our party to travel to Gizeh," Jack said. "My wife fancies sleeping in a tent.”
“I will be happy to assist in any way I can, but your dragoman is much more competent than I am in such matters.”
Daphne’s face collapsed. “Our poor dragoman has been called away today. One of his wives summoned him because of some family distress. Do you have a dragoman you could lend us?”
“What of the soldiers’ dragoman?” Arbuthnot asked.
Jack’s voice was grave. “I’ve sent one of our soldiers and their dragoman on a line of inquiry for me and don’t expect them to return today.”
Arbuthnot nodded authoritatively. “I shall send around one of my servants shortly. When will you be departing?”
“As soon as possible.”
“If you start this early in the day,” Arbuthnot said, “by day’s end you should have gathered together everything you’ll need for an expedition of some little duration. You could leave in the morning.”
The hotel door opened, and Petworth strolled in. "If you can wait until Mr. Arbuthnot is finished, I can speak with you," Jack said to him.
"Oh, I'm finished." Arbuthnot stood. "I'll send my servant to assist." He left the chamber.
Rosemary smiled at Jack. “Oh, Captain, you’ve made me the happiest creature imaginable.”
“Me too, my dearest.” Daphne leapt to her feet and kissed his cheek. “We must procure a native costume for my sister. How fun it will be if we all dress in the native fashion for our expedition.”
“Fun and necessary,” Maxwell said. "Since I have some experience with desert expeditions, I'll begin drawing up a list of needed supplies and food stuffs."
"Then I'll put you completely in charge," Jack said.
After Rosemary and Maxwell departed, Jack turned to Petworth. "Pray, won't you get a plate and have some breakfast?"
"I've already eaten."
He came to sit beside Jack.
"I hope you've good news for me," Jack said.
Petworth nodded solemnly. "I still don't know where the man lives. We spoke to many people who claim to have seen him in the old city. One person said he was told the English foreigner lived with an Arab woman, but no one seems to know where. We were directed to one place where he and a native woman had, indeed, lived, but they left some months ago. They had not been there long and were said to have kept to themselves."
"I get the impression that Williams is in the habit of moving frequently," Daphne said. "I daresay he's wanting to avoid the hangman."
Jack told Petworth about the upcoming expedition to Gizeh. "But I'm afraid, old boy, I'm going to need you to stay in Cairo and intensify your search. It's imperative that we find Williams."
"I'm not complaining. I'll take the shady streets of Cairo any day over the desert with intense sun beating down."
After he left, Jack turned to Daphne. "How did you know Habeeb has many wives?"
"Oh, I didn't, Silly. You know how I just make up things off the top of my head when we're involved in one of our inquiries."
"That makes me exceedingly nervous. Arbuthnot engaged the man for us. He might know personal things about Habeeb."
"I believe he'd have said something if he did."
A moment later, Arbuthnot's servant timidly stood in their doorway and introduced himself.
"Capital!" Daphne exclaimed. "The first thing I'll need you to do is procure a native costume for my sister. I'll run and fetch her so you can see her size."
Jack sat there in the dining room, steeped in gloom. He hated that his inquiry was stymied at present, but he had to own he was as eager for their little expedition as the others were.
Chapter 8
With Mr. Maxwell’s efficiency, the handful of servants procured by Arbuthnot’s dragoman was able not only to get everything needed for the expedition in just one day but also to pack it all. Four dromedaries were obtained as well as horses for the soldiers and the extra workers.
The four English, each dressed in native costume, mounted the dromedaries laden with bundles
that held some of their tents and food supplies.
Just as they were about to leave at dawn, Arbuthnot came galloping up on a horse and spoke to them with a winded voice. “Mr. Briggs has asked that I accompany you on your trip to Gizeh.” He was dressed in English riding clothes. “Surely I can share Maxwell’s tent?” He eyed the scholar.
“I shall enjoy the company,” Mr. Maxwell said.
A deep disappointment spiraled through Daphne. For once, she was speechless. She had wanted this to be just their little party with no outsiders except the hired hands and soldiers. She could well imagine the insufferable man stating the bloody obvious like, “A pyramid, as you may know, has a broad base and comes to a point at the top.”
Even Jack withheld a warm welcome. His inscrutable gaze flashed to her.
It was an awkward moment before Mr. Arbuthnot drew his horse alongside Jack's camel.
“Mr. Maxwell, with much help from your servant, organized this entire expedition in just one day. He’s terribly resourceful,” Daphne said to Mr. Arbuth-knows-it-all.
“I’m looking forward to the experience,” Mr. Arbuthnot said. “While I have been to Gizeh several times, owing to its close proximity to Cairo, I've never actually traveled through the desert caravan style as we are today. Most of my travels throughout Egypt have been confined to being conveyed along the Nile and my trips to Gizeh on horseback.”
Daphne sighed. “Such a pity Thebes is so very far down the Nile.”
“Yes,” Jack said. “It would have been nice while we were in Egypt to see Upper Egypt.”
“My darling,” Daphne said facetiously, “while I may not be as proficient as you at reading maps, I can tell you you’ve been to Upper Egypt. In Alexandria.”
All the men started to laugh. Daphne could not imagine what she had said that was so comical.
“My darling wife, this is one instance where the map is deceiving. Yes, if you look at a map of Egypt, Alexandria is at the northern tip. However, that area is known as Lower Egypt. Thebes is in Upper Egypt.”
Her mouth dropped open. “How can that be?”
