by Cheryl Bolen
"Yes," Jack replied.
"My employer said that if you returned I was to tell you there is information he wants to impart to you. If you come back in the morning, he will be here."
"We will be back in the morning," Jack said.
The rest of the group gathered around a heavily gilded vertical sarcophagus that depicted an ancient kohl-eyed man whose heavy gold necklace indicated he was of high rank. It had not been there the last time they were in this shop. Rosemary turned to the shopkeeper. "Did this belong to a pharaoh?"
"Indeed, it did, madam," he answered in French.
"Which pharaoh would that be?" Mr. Maxwell asked.
The man cleared his throat. "It is believed to have been the coffin of Khufu."
"That would be impossible," Mr. Maxwell answered.
She was waiting for Mr. Maxwell to elaborate, but he was not one to flaunt his vast knowledge.
The assistant shrugged. "I may have it wrong. My employer will be able to provide more thorough information, but alas, he is not here at present."
"When does this date to?" she asked.
"I believe it dates to the Middle Kingdom," the shop assistant said.
The nonconfrontational Mr. Maxwell only slightly shook his head in denial.
"Can you ask the bloke how much one of these will set a fellow back?" Captain Cooper asked.
Rosemary had never known anyone who could not converse in French. Except for the lower classes, of course.
Jack asked.
"This is the most rare and finest example of royal sarcophagi we have ever received, and its value is nearly without price. Alas, my employer has other financial obligations that compel him to seek a buyer for the crown in his possession. Since he needs a speedy sale, he has consented to allow this incredibly rare piece to sell for only ten thousand British guineas."
"Our ruler would be thrilled to have it in his collection," Daphne said. "A pity we cannot convey that information to him at present."
Since Ahmed Hassein was known to be disreputable, Rosemary found herself wondering if this was even an authentic antiquity. She suspected Mr. Maxwell would know.
After they left the shop, she asked Mr. Maxwell if he could determine the authenticity of the sarcophagus.
"I expect it's genuine, but I'm no expert. It is only with papyri that I am competent to judge."
She was quite certain he was merely being modest. Not even an antiquities dealer like Ahmed Hassein was as knowledgeable of his ancestors as was the Cambridge scholar.
As they returned to their hotel, Jack and Daphne received a letter. It wasn't really her concern, but Rosemary was consumed with curiosity about who had sent it.
Daphne peered over her husband's shoulder as he read. It took just seconds to read, and then he looked up. "Lord Beddington has offered to send his carriage for us tonight."
Rosemary's heart sank. "What about Captain Cooper?"
"Lord Beddington shouldn't mind one extra. I'll send around a note informing him that our party has grown by one." She smiled up at Captain Cooper. "His lordship has been away from England for many years and welcomes the opportunity to mingle with Englishmen."
* * *
As Jack was fastening Daphne's pearls for the evening's dinner, he said, "You really shouldn't have said what you said to Captain Cooper about Rosemary being abducted by white slavers."
She looked up at him, a black expression on her face. "Why ever not?"
"Something like that could ruin her reputation. I didn't want to go into specific detail with you back in Gizeh, but white slavers traffic in women's bodies."
Daphne's stomach plummeted. "Thank God she was rescued!"
"First off, Madam Devious, you know very well she was not abducted by white slavers."
"Oh, dear, I almost forgot."
He glared at her. "You never forget anything, Madam Schemer. At what game are you playing?"
She sighed. "I never have cared for Captain Cooper, and now that I've spent an entire afternoon with the man, I am more convinced than ever of his unworthiness of my sister's affections."
"I cannot disagree with you."
"I would not be averse to him thinking of Rosemary as damaged goods. I trust that as a gentleman he would never repeat such a confidence."
"I think you've had other schemes in operation regarding that particular triangle."
"Thou doth knowest me too well." She sighed again. "I confess that I hope that the more she is with the Captain, the more she will come to realize how ineligible he is."
"And there's something else . . ."
She nodded. "Yes, the more opportunities she has to compare him to Mr. Maxwell, the greater the likelihood she will come to understand which man is the worthier."
He dropped a kiss into her hair. "What if Maxwell isn't interested in your sister?"
She harrumphed. "He was willing to give his life for her! That's quite enough to convince me of his high regard for her. You attempted to give your life to save me, did you not, that night in Hampstead?"
He nodded. "But you were my wife. That's what a husband does."
"There is that."
Seconds later she looked up at him. "Have you any particular inquiries we should make of Lord Beddington tonight?"
"First, we must find out why he wants us so soon after his return to Cairo. Does he feel our investigation is too close?" He shook his head ruefully. "God, I wished I knew something. Anything! We've not learned a damned thing."
"Yes, you have, my darling. You know Gareth Williams is involved. You know Gareth Williams murdered Amal. You know that an Englishman is responsible for Prince Singh's . . . almost-certain murder."
"There is that." He proffered his arm. "Is my lady ready for the waiting carriage?"
Chapter 17
As Daphne had expected, Lord Beddington’s house was a mixture of East and West. Unlike many of the villas they’d seen here that were built around central courtyards, this one was built much in the English manner with a corridor from which all the ground-floor rooms could be entered. This corridor was constructed of the local tile. Their footsteps clanged against the floors as they followed Lord Beddington’s very English butler from the front entry hall to his lordship’s drawing room.
That chamber was nothing like an English drawing room. The former ambassador was obviously influenced by the Pasha, for the floor here was covered with opulent silken pillows of every colour.
When they entered, Lord Beddington, dressed in the Oriental style, rose from his seated position on one of these pillows. He went straight to Rosemary and took her hand. “Permit me to say how very happy I am that you have been restored to us, Lady Rosemary.” His eyes traveled the length of her. “I am gratified that you appear to have suffered no ill consequences from the shabby deed.”
“I am more gratified than you can know,” she answered. “I shall forever be indebted to Mr. Maxwell and Captain Dryden for my heroic rescue." She cast a shimmering gaze at Mr. Maxwell with his arm in a sling. "Mr. Maxwell could have suffered a mortal injury during my rescue."
All eyes darted to Maxwell. "'Twas nothing," the embarrassed scholar said.
Rosemary's attention returned to their host. "And I thank you too, my lord, for so kindly offering your assistance in the search for me.”
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t have done to restore you to your dear father," the earl said. "Though I haven’t seen Lord Sidworth in a great many years, I count him as one of my dearest friends.” He turned to Jack. “May I hope the culprits have been apprehended?”
A dejected look swept across Jack’s face. “The Egyptian who abducted Lady Rosemary was slain during the rescue. The other man got away.”
“Another Egyptian?” Lord Beddington asked.
Though Jack had heretofore been opposed to acknowledging Williams’ presence in Cairo, that was no longer the case since the two had so openly confronted one another and since Jack might have been seen at Williams' residence. The person who employed Williams woul
d now know all of this.
Was Lord Beddington that man? Daphne had a hard time believing it. Papa wouldn’t have a friend who was a greedy murderer. Though she supposed few schoolboys were actually murderers. And he and Papa had become great friends at school. Perhaps Lord Beddington grew corrupted later.
She truly did not think he had.
Jack still scowled. “The second man, I am ashamed to say, was one of our own countrymen, a deserter who served under me in Spain.”
Lord Beddington frowned. "A bloody traitor, then." Shrugging, he continued, "I daresay once he caught sight of the lovely English lady, his more vile instincts took over. How fortunate that she was rescued before the wicked man could . . . carry out his intentions with Lady Rosemary.”
Mr. Maxwell winced. Captain Cooper stared at the floor.
Daphne was trying to determine if their host truly believed Rosemary's abduction was motivated by a single British man's baser instincts, or if his lordship was throwing that out to camouflage Williams' true motivation—which is something the vile mastermind of these sinister occurrences would do. Surely that man was not Lord Beddington.
She stepped forward and offered her hand to their host, and after they exchanged greetings, said, “My lord, I should like to present to you Captain Cooper, who is staying in Cairo for a few days.”
Even though the captain had not been in the original invitation, Lord Beddington could not have been more amiable to the young officer, asking him about his posting and his regiment.
Once all the salutations were complete, Lord Beddington offered Rosemary his arm. “Shall we go into the dinner room?”
On the way to that chamber, they passed a smaller eating room where it was obvious the diners ate on the floor.
The large dinner room they came to was much in the English style, but instead of crystal chandeliers, this chamber was illuminated by hanging lanterns that looked like something the Prince Regent would have at the Royal Pavilion. The high-back chairs around a long table were upholstered in intricately designed damask, a blend of rich red and gold silk. A starched white cotton damask cloth covered the table which was already set with a vast array of foods in silver bowls and platters. European food.
Though Daphne prided herself on her ability to adapt to various cultures, she had to own that she preferred European foods. How she had missed these dishes the past several days! There was a tureen of soup, meat pies, leg of mutton, fish with a buttery sauce, and an assortment of colourful vegetables.
“I hope you don’t mind that the meal's not entirely English,” Lord Beddington said. “My chef, after all, is French, and I thought his very fine creations would be welcome among this gathering.”
“Indeed they are,” Daphne said, bestowing a smile upon their host.
They all proceeded to pass around plates and bowls and fill their dishes while a pair of footman dressed in the Turkish style poured wine for each diner.
She glanced across the table as the footman was pouring wine in Jack's glass and recognized him as Habeeb. How resourceful the dragoman was! He looked up, met Daphne's stare, and winked before moving to the next diner.
She wondered how she or Jack could contrive to steal a moment with him. Had he learned anything yet? Because of the almost cocky expression on his face, she had hope that he had indeed found out something.
Under the table, she kicked Jack. He glared at her, brows hiked. She ticked her head in Habeeb's direction.
Instead of looking at Habeeb, Jack's gaze whipped to Mr. Maxwell, whose glass Habeeb was filling. Jack's gaze swung back to her, a puzzled look on his face.
She jerked her head up in the hopes he would look above Mr. Maxwell's head.
Jack began to leap from his chair. "Daphne, are you unwell?" Concern made his voice uneven.
Now she glared. "I. Am. Very. Well."
He sighed and sat back down.
How could she get him to look at Habeeb? One did not normally notice footmen. Such a pity.
Thankfully, Lord Beddington—as well as Rosemary—was fascinated with whatever it was Mr. Maxwell was discussing. She drew a breath and spoke to her husband in a low voice. "I was in hopes you could communicate with the man who I said had a great many wives." She prayed he would not blurt out Habeeb's name. "He's very much like Jonathan at Papa's." Would Jack remember that Jonathan was her parents' longest-serving footman?
The puzzled look on Jack's face soon cleared, his gaze darted to the footmen, and a smile of recognition lifted his mouth. "I will oblige my lady."
Reassured that Jack would prevail, Daphne turned her full attention to the delicious food. She showed great restraint by not ooing and aaing with each morsel. “My lord, I don’t think I’ve ever—not even at the Regent’s—tasted food superior to this. The French sauce is heavenly.”
“As proud as I am of my chef, my lady,” Lord Beddington said, “I can’t help but to believe your praise may be coloured by the comparison to simple Egyptian fare.”
They all chuckled.
“My chef will be inordinately pleased to be told you find his cooking superior to that which you’ve enjoyed at the Regent’s, for everyone knows of our Prince Regent’s epicurean prowess.”
“I did not think any food could ever compare to his,” Jack said. “Until tonight.”
“Tell me, my lord,” Captain Cooper said, “why is it that you wear a turban and dress in the Oriental style?”
“When I was British ambassador to the Ottoman Empire I began to dress thusly for special occasions—to show my respect for their customs and practices. I believe an ambassador, while representing his own country, must also serve as a bridge between the two countries.”
“But you’re no long ambassador,” Captain Cooper said.
A dead silence fell over the table. Daphne cringed. She prayed Rosemary did not marry this man.
“Quite so,” his lordship said with a cheerful smile. “I have found—much to my wife’s consternation—that I am enamored of all things Oriental.”
Rosemary nodded. “As am I.”
“Are you even enamored of the summer heat?” Captain Cooper asked their host.
“You’ve got me there,” Lord Beddington responded. “I do dislike the heat when it’s intense as it is now. However, were I to have the choice between living in dreary, wet England or in the Arabian desert, I would not hesitate to choose the desert.”
Mr. Maxwell shrugged. “I feel the very same, but I have duties at Cambridge.”
Jack eyed the scholar. “You are fortunate that your calling allows you the opportunity to enjoy both the East and the West.”
“I vastly prefer my native land,” Captain Cooper said, “but my calling keeps me from my homeland.”
Daphne could not control her tongue. “Perhaps, Captain, you should seek another calling.” She’d bet a monkey he chose to be a soldier because he was possessed of the kind of manly physique which so splendidly filled out a uniform. Vain creature.
“Can’t quit during wartime. Not the thing at all.”
“I agree,” Jack said.
Somehow, Captain Cooper had contrived to sit beside Rosemary, and he made a great show of being solicitous of her. Rosemary herself—much to Daphne's consternation—happily basked beneath his attentions, subtly glowing like a votive candle in a dark church.
At Rosemary's other side was Mr. Maxwell, whom she assisted by cutting up his mutton. Prior to leaving their hotel he had extracted a promise from her that she refrain from trying to actually feed him. He and their host got into a discussion of their Arabian travels.
Daphne found herself analyzing Lord Beddington's behavior. It did not appear that he had asked them here to query them about their activities in Cairo.
His questions about Rosemary's abduction were those which anyone would have been curious about. Failure to ask about it would have been exceedingly odd. It might even have pointed to potential guilt.
The longer she sat there—gorging on meat pies and local fish s
mothered in the chef's special buttery sauce—the more convinced she was of his lordship's innocence. Were he the guilty party, would he not have been directing the conversation to questions about the reason for their presence in Cairo? She would have to share with Jack all her reasons for believing Lord Beddington innocent.
Though she could not remember a time in any of their investigations when she and Jack had not held identical beliefs.
* * *
After the men had enjoyed their port, Jack excused himself. His nose easily guided him to the kitchen where he asked to speak to the footmen regarding the wine they had served. A moment later, Habeeb appeared.
"Do you speak English?" he asked for the benefit of onlookers.
"I do."
"Very good, old boy." Jack put an arm around him and walked away from the kitchen. "There are some questions I'd like to ask about the wine."
Once in a dimly lit section of the corridor, the two men huddled.
"Have you learned anything helpful?" Jack asked.
Habeeb nodded. "I was going to come to you in the morning—after I disappeared from this post. I have learned that the English lord has been in Thebes since a few weeks after the time of your Christmas and only came to Gizeh three days ago."
"Do you know if his lordship communicated with another Englishman? A Welshman?"
"I asked if while they were in Gizeh any other Englishmen visited with Lord Beddington and was told that your party was the only one."
"Did anyone know of any prank being rigged in the Great Pyramid?"
Habeeb shook his head.
"One last question. Had any of the servants heard that Lord Beddington might have run into financial troubles?"
"No. They all say he very rich man."
Jack thanked him and made his way back to the others, anxious to tell his clever wife what he'd found out.
* * *
Two hours later, they were in their bedchamber, stripped of most of their clothing, and sitting against the head of the bed. He was able to share with his wife all that Habeeb had told him.
"I just knew that Lord Beddington was not evil," she said triumphantly.
His shoulders sagged. "That puts us back to where we were before he came into the picture. A huge blank."
