by Cheryl Bolen
She nodded solemnly.
By now Arbuthnot had made his way to join the others. He was fully dressed except for his coat. "Are you saying Lady Rosemary is missing? Are you sure she's not just gone exploring? Didn't she express a strong interest last night in seeing the mestabas?"
Jack faced Arbuthnot and spoke in a growl. "Some vile person slashed through the back of her tent and apparently carried her off."
Arbuthnot's eyes narrowed, and he uttered a curse.
Maxwell looked forlorn. "And I promised her I would protect her."
Jack placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't blame yourself. I was just as close to her tent as you were, and I slept right through her abduction."
"Dear God, I hope she's not intended for white slavery," Arbuthnot said.
Daphne poked her head out of the tent and harrumphed. "They'd be sure to bring her back. My sister is not only incompetent about cleaning floors and polishing furniture, but she's never in her life lifted a hand in pursuit of tidiness."
Jack coughed, and despite the gravity of the situation, his eyes twinkled with mirth. "It appears my wife is under a misapprehension about the nature of white slavery."
"Whatever can you mean?" Daphne asked, looking up at him quizzically.
Jack cleared his throat. "You know what a harem is?"
"Of course." Her face screwed up in thought. "Do you mean . . . some sultan might want to . . . oh, dear. It's imperative that we find her. Fast."
"I should think the best place to start is by following their footsteps." Maxwell moved around to the back of Rosemary's tent. And let out an unintelligible oath. "There are no footsteps!" He peered up at Jack. "Desert thieves have been known to cover their path by sweeping away footprints with palm fronds"
"Arbuthnot!" Jack faced the attaché. "Go see if any horses or camels are missing."
"And I'll do a head count of the servants," Maxwell said.
Daphne moved from the tent and fell into in her husband's arms. "Everything she brought is still here. Every stitch of clothing. I sh—sh--should never have brought her."
"It's too late now for such thoughts," Jack said tenderly as he hugged her to him. All the while he was pondering how highly prized virgins were in white slavery—a line of thought he vowed never to share with Daphne. "And I don't believe she was abducted to be some sultan's bedchamber slave," he whispered. "This abduction has to be connected to our inquiries. Someone either wants to scare us off the trail—or they are questioning her to find out what we have learned about Prince Singh's disappearance."
He didn't like the trajectory of his thoughts. He could not dispel the fear that Williams had Rosemary, could not dispel the memory of the lifeless body of Singh's mistress. He was almost certain that Williams had murdered the woman.
And Jack was terrified the same fate would befall Rosemary.
Maxwell returned first, anger flashing in his eyes. "One of the Egyptians is gone!"
"And so is one horse," Arbuthnot said, panting from his brisk walk. "I took the liberty of notifying Lord Beddington about the missing girl. He'll be here in a moment to lend whatever assistance he can."
Jack nodded. "While my first thought was that she'd been carried off to a mestaba, the fact that an Egyptian and his horse are missing indicates she may have been conveyed back to Cairo."
"Why did none of us hear anything?" Daphne asked.
"My guess is she too may have been drugged. Certainly, once he was in her tent, he bound her mouth," Jack said.
"Why in the devil did we not hear a horse?" Maxwell asked.
"The horse must have been walked away from the others at a slow pace," Jack said. "I've done it many times myself when near the enemy camp." He moved toward where the horses were tethered. "Let's see if we can find hoof prints."
They all circled the horses, heads bent as they scanned the smooth sand, but they found nothing. "How can it be that the odious, vile, contemptuous man could take time to erase his tracks whilst carrying my unconscious sister?" Daphne asked.
"A second accomplice could have joined him here." Jack would not tell Daphne he feared the second man was Gareth Williams. He wouldn't be surprised if Williams wasn't the one who'd set the trap for them in the pharaoh's burial chamber.
Dressed as an Egyptian, Lord Beddington stormed up, a concerned expression on his face. He went straight to Daphne and took her hands. "I'm so sorry to hear that your sister is missing, but I vow that I'll do everything in my power to see that she's restored to you." He turned to Jack. "In what way can I help?"
"I would be deeply in your debt, my lord, if you could direct the search of the mestabas here in Gizeh. We're leaving Arbuthnot and four soldiers. The rest of us are going to look for her in Cairo. One of our horses is missing."
"I will see that every mestaba in Gizeh is searched for my old friend's daughter."
"Captain Dryden thinks it's possible there was a second man—possibly having come from Cairo—who wiped away the tracks," Maxwell asked.
"It's merely a plausible explanation." Jack's gaze fanned the others. "None of us rests until the lady is found."
He faced Maxwell. "Before we leave, you must question the Egyptians to learn everything you can about the missing man."
By now all the soldiers had dressed fully and joined them. Jack explained about Rosemary's abduction and about their drugged colleague. One soldier dropped to his knees and attempted to rouse the useless guard.
Jack counted off five soldiers. "You're coming with me. You, too, Maxwell. And Daphne. Since it's the fastest means of traveling, we're taking horses back to Cairo." He turned to Arbuthnot. "You'll stay here and assist Lord Beddington in the search of the mestabas."
Arbuthnot's face fell, his shoulders sagged, and he slowly nodded. Clearly, he objected to his assignment. He was probably adverse to getting his fine clothing dirty.
"I'm counting on you not to return to Cairo," Jack told Arbuthnot, "until you can assure me that you and these men under your command have searched in every single mestaba for my wife's sister."
"You can't understand! There are hundreds of mestabas! It could take many days," Arbuthnot protested.
"I am aware that there are hundreds of the damn things. Look at the cheery side. You could find her in the first hour. Lord Beddington's charging his servants with examining the mestabas for Rosemary. If you do find Lady Rosemary, first, rescue her, and second, you are to hasten back to Cairo and notify us. I shall tell the Consul how valuable you've been to us." Jack spun away from the unlikeable man.
As the rest of them gathered up their things, Maxwell questioned the seven remaining Egyptians about the man who'd left their camp. They all expressed surprise that he'd gone. They said he'd lain near them the previous night in his scooped-out bed of sand and appeared to go to sleep.
Only one of them knew him previously, not well, but he did know where the man lived and conveyed that information to Maxwell, and Maxwell conveyed it to Jack.
Daphne clutched her sister's sketch book.
"May I suggest, Love, that you put that in the valise," Jack said in a gentle voice. "We must go now. Will you be up to riding on your own, or should you like to ride with me?" His wife rode as well as any man.
"We can go faster if we don't double up." She went and put the sketch book in their shared valise.
Before they left, Jack expressed his profound thanks to Lord Beddington for his assistance.
The three of them, along with five soldiers, took off. Jack set the pace. Anyone watching them would believe they were participants in a steeplechase for large stakes. They rode like the wind.
He felt it in his bones that Williams had Rosemary and hoped to God they could find her before she met the same fate as Singh's mistress.
His thoughts went to the watch soldier. Had his port been drugged? Arbuthnot had taken the port to the soldiers. But if only one soldier had been administered the laudanum, it had not come from the bottle. Someone had slipped the powerful drug into the
soldier's glass. Who?
Could one of Lord Beddington's servants have been mingling with theirs for evil purposes? None of the Europeans would have been able to discern any difference in the servants from the two camps.
One hour later, they were pulling up in front of their hotel. Since the soldiers had taken all the tents, Jack had told Petworth he could have use of his and Daphne's room the night they were gone. Jack prayed he would find Petworth there, prayed that Petworth would have located Williams' lodgings.
The first to dismount, Jack rushed into the hotel, pounded up the stairs to his and Daphne's chambers, and threw open the door. Given that it was not yet six in the morning, Petworth was still sleeping. Jack stood in the doorway. "Hate to awaken you, old boy, but we're in a spot of trouble."
Petworth leapt up, getting caught in the mosquito netting.
"Pray, put your breeches on," Jack said. "My wife is apt to come barreling in any moment."
Petworth disengaged from the mosquito netting and, quite naked, strode to the chair where he'd carefully folded the civilian clothing he'd borrowed from Jack and began to dress. "What's happened?" he asked, brows lowered with concern.
"Lady Rosemary's been abducted, and we've got to find her. I'll not have her end up like . . ."
"Like the beautiful Egyptian woman?" Petworth said in mournful voice, eyeing Jack.
Jack nodded. "Please tell me you've located our despised former comrade."
"I believe I have, though he wasn't there last night. I waited until midnight, and he never returned. I was told the Egyptian woman he'd been living with has gone back to her village. Maybe he went after her."
"It's nothing more than a hunch, but I feel in my bones that he's mixed up with Lady Rosemary's abduction." Jack went on to explain about her tent being slashed, about the drugged soldier, and about none of the lady's things being missing.
"This is bloody, bloody awful. No wonder the no-good, thieving, murdering piece of filth never returned last night! I'd wager my year's salary that vile excuse for a man is responsible for the lady's kidnapping. I just pray to God we can find her in time." After Petworth finished dressing, he loaded his musket and—as Jack had done—strapped on his saber. The two men raced down the stairs and met Daphne and Maxwell. Outside, the other five soldiers—all mounted on their horses—waited.
"Here," Jack said to Petworth, "You take my wife's horse, and she'll ride with me." If Jack could better command his wife, he'd have deposited her at the Consulate, but he knew her well enough to know she would never stay safely out of the action. Whenever a confrontation was imminent, Daphne insisted on being present.
They followed Petworth through the gates of old Cairo and down a series of very narrow streets. In each of the lattice-fronted residences, it was apparent that many dozens of people resided there.
The city was just awakening. Brick ovens—which every house seemed to have—puffed out their dark smoke, and the aroma of fresh bread filled the air. Babies cried, and cats meowed, and sometimes the two sounds were indistinguishable.
At one narrow lane that dead-ended, Petworth drew to a stop and dismounted. His voice low, he said, "We'll leave our horses here." He stooped to draw in the dirt street with his finger. He sketched out the location of Williams' house one lane over from where they were.
"Is there a back door as well as a front?" Jack asked.
Petworth nodded, then eyed one of his fellow soldiers. "Littleton, you go to the back door, and don't let anyone pass—even if you have to kill them."
Daphne coughed. "Unless, of course, it's my sister, Lady Rosemary."
"Yes, my lady," Littleton said. "I wouldn't harm the lovely lady."
"You said Williams is on the second floor?" Jack asked.
Petworth nodded. "But all three floors are entered by the ground-floor door at the front of the building. I'll go first. We all need to make sure our muskets are ready."
Maxwell straightened up to his inconsiderable height that was no more than five-nine. "I go first."
Jack had never heard the meek scholar assert himself so forcefully.
"I feel responsible for her. I pledged to keep her safe, and by God if I have to lay down my own life to get her back, that's what I'm going to do," Maxwell said.
"Now see here, old fellow," Jack said. "She's my sister-in-law, and I'm responsible for her coming. Besides, I've had a lot more experience in these life-and-death situations than you have, old boy."
Maxwell's eyes were steely. "You underestimate me, Captain. Do not be fooled by my spectacles and small stature. I've fought off pirates on the high seas with a cutlass, I've faced marauding nomads in the desert, and I've picked up venomous vipers with my bare hands. I. Will. Enter. First."
In that instant, Jack forgot about Maxwell's size. The man was far tougher than Jack had given him credit for. And though it went against Jack's grain, he knew he had to accede to the scholar's demand. Two things made the relinquishment of his own authority palatable. First, he had confidence that Maxwell was intelligent and quick thinking. Secondly, if Jack was not the first to enter, he would be better able to guard Daphne.
He nodded.
The soldier guarding the rear—whose walk was the farthest--took off.
Jack eyed the remaining soldiers. "I'm afraid if he—or they—see your uniforms, it could ruin our surprise. You four hold back out of view. I'll leave my wife in your care whilst we three . . . " His glance swept to Petworth and Maxwell. "We three will hope to surprise the kidnappers." His and Daphne's eyes met.
She opened her mouth. He knew she wished to protest being left behind. But then she closed her mouth and nodded.
No words needed to pass between them. She instinctively knew he could perform his duty better were he not worried about her. There was also the fact that she had no weapon. He swiped his lips across her mouth and followed Maxwell.
The three men walked like cats on soft paws. As Maxwell rounded a corner to enter Williams' street, he first stuck just his head from behind the corner house and gazed in the direction of Williams' house.
Jack knew he was looking for movement, for any signs that someone might be watching.
"I see no signs of life," Maxwell said, moving forward.
The other two men followed. Jack was unable to remove his gaze from the next-to-last residence on the short lane. He saw no smoking chimney, no shadows moving by the window, no candles burning. He hoped that Williams was catching up on missed sleep.
And what of poor Rosemary? A mixture of grief and nausea surged through his torso. He'd not been so upset since Edwards had been slain. That was long before Jack had ever met Daphne, but the sickening memory of his best friend's cruel death was as fresh as if he'd been slain last week. Jack's fists tightened and he vowed to do everything in his power to keep Rosemary from meeting the same fate as Edwards.
The ground-floor door that served several sets of lodgings was not locked. Maxwell eased it open as silently as was possible, then all three entered and carefully and quietly began to mount the stairs.
On the landing, three doors faced them. Petworth pointed to the one where Williams resided, and Maxwell padded to it, placed his ear upon the door, and listened for a moment. "I hear nothing," he whispered.
His pistol in his right hand, his left gripping the handle, he swung the door open as swiftly as a blink.
All three men charged into the room.
There was no sign of life in the dark chamber. After a moment, they were better able to see in the dark. There was not another entry into another chamber. This one room served as bedchamber, kitchen, and dining room. Since the windows were open, Jack rushed there to make sure Williams hadn't fled through the window. He looked down at the quiet street below and saw nothing except a stooped-over, gray-bearded Egyptian leading a donkey. At the corner, Jack could barely see the beaver hats of the back-up soldiers.
He turned back to scan the chamber for any sign that Rosemary had been there. The room's dominant piece of fu
rniture was an iron bed swathed in mosquito netting. A small table on the opposite wall could seat two, and upon it, a bowl of fruit reposed. The flue to the brick oven crudely protruded into the ceiling. A hook on the wall held two men's costumes—one, Arabic robes; the other, decidedly English clothing that appeared to be several years old.
Jack had no doubts this was Williams' abode.
But where in the hell was Williams?
"I don't think Lady Rosemary's been here," Maxwell said, his voice grave. "Let us hope we can find her at the home of the missing Egyptian servant. Thank God one of the others knew where he lived."
Chapter 12
Rosemary had heard nothing. She dreamed someone was smothering her and awakened to the realization that strong hands were binding a thick cloth around her mouth. She tried to scream, but only the faintest sound came out. Her heart raced, her arms flailed. She tried to twist away, but he was much stronger than she.
It was too dark inside her tent to see who was trying to kill her, but from his flowing white robes, she thought it was an Egyptian. One of their servants?
God help her. He was going to try to force himself on her. She had never been so terrified, never felt so helpless. If only she could cry out. Jack or Mr. Maxwell or the soldiers would come save her from this horrible man who stank of onions.
She twisted away, but his grip strengthened. She spat at his face; he struck hers. It stung. Tears sprouted. She’d rather die than have this vile man violate her. If only she had stayed in England. She could have been safe in the bosom of her loving family right now. But now her very life was being jeopardized. For the second time in the same day.
It surprised her when he didn’t immediately try to take liberties. Instead, he cinched a strong arm around her and began to drag her from the tent—not from the front but from the rear where a knife or sword had silently ripped it apart while she slept. It sickened her to realize the soldier who’d been charged with guarding her was probably sitting in front of her tent, ready to defend her, and it was impossible for her to call out to him. It would also be impossible for him to see them as her captor stole off into the night, their bare feet silent in the soft, cool sand. If only she could do something that would make a noise.
