Burning Sands

by Arthur E. P. Brome Weigall

  CHAPTER VIII--THE ACCOMPLICE

  Undoubtedly the ancients were quite right in regarding youth as a kindof fever, an intermittent sickness lasting from puberty to middle age.In Egypt this particular illness is rampant: everybody who is not oldfeels youthful, and the actually youthful have hours of violentdelirium.

  As the weather, in the last days of October, became cooler and morestimulating, Lady Muriel began to experience a series of startlingsensations. She felt excited, and her mind turned itself to a heatedstudy of the romantic possibilities of existence at the Residency. Shehad always been told that a young woman's life was divided into twodistinct ages, the first being a period filled with romantic episodesand terminated by marriage, and the second being a period crowded withvery serious love affairs and only curtailed by age or the divorcecourt.

  So far she could safely say that she had only been in love three times.Once at Eastbourne, during her school-days, she had fallen into a divinefrenzy over a curate, who had been a rugger blue at Oxford, and who, ina certain brief and desperate sofa-episode, had apparently mistaken herfor the football with which he was touching down a try, but who, amoment later, had recovered his feet and had staggered out into thenight calling upon God for mercy upon a married man. She had nursed herbruises and had sorrowed for him for many days, ardently desiring topoison his wife and all her babies, but his sudden appointment to afar-away living had closed the story.

  A year later she fell in love with a Russian singer who, at the time,was being heavily lionized in London; but, as luck would have it, shemet three of his mistresses in one day, and the fright sobered her.

  The third episode had been much more prosaic. The man was merely a youngMember of Parliament who made his overtures in the most approved style,and might have succeeded in capturing her, had it not been discovered onthe day the engagement was to be announced that he had borrowed money onthe strength of the coming alliance. In this case she had not grievedfor long: indeed, when she happened to see him a week later she hadalready sufficiently recovered to observe that his eyes were set tooclose together, his teeth were like a rabbit's, his hands too hairy, hishead not hairy enough, and his legs bandy.

  That was a year ago, and since then she had been entirely heart-whole.Now, however, the starry Egyptian nights, the sun-bathed days, themultitude of officers, officials, and diplomats whose acquaintance shewas making, and the general court paid to her, both as a charming womanand as the Great Man's daughter, were beginning to stimulate her senses.

  One morning, at the beginning of November, as she sat up in her bed,playing with her toes, the thought came strongly to her that her seasonin Egypt ought to be graced by some exceptional romance. Here was thesetting for the play; here was the heroine; but where was the hero? Itwas true that Rupert Helsingham, of whom she had grown quite fond, wasbecoming daily more bold; but he had ever an eye on her father, on whomdepended his budding career. In her exposed position whatever romancecame to her would have to be conducted on very correct lines; and wouldprobably be expected to end in marriage; but she did not want to bemarried. Indeed, the thought appalled her. She vastly preferred the ideaof a great sorrow, a heartbreaking parting under the stars, a life-longdevotion to a sad, sweet memory. But that a man should walk nightly intoher bedroom in his striped pyjamas was a horrible thought.

  Pensively she gazed at her toes, upon which a shaft of the morningsunlight was striking. They were pretty toes. A man's feet usually hadcorns on them. No, she had little wish for a bare-footed romance: thehero she pictured would make love in his boots, and tragedy shoulddescend before the hour came to take them off.

  Everything pointed to a clandestine affair--something in a garden, withthe scent of roses in it; or in a boat floating down the Nile, veryplacid and mysterious; or far away in the desert....

  In the desert! The thought brought back to her mind the parting words ofDaniel Lane. "Why don't you break loose?" Several times she had wonderedwhat he had meant: whether he were suggesting a breaking away from theroutine of her life, or whether he were advising her to run amuck in amoral sense. The latter, it seemed to her, was the more probable,judging by his reputation; but this was not a form of entertainment thatappealed to her. She did not mind playing with fire, but she had no wishat all to be burnt. Her education had trained her to think lightly ofthe chastity of others, but so far it had not injured her own naturalcontinence.

  Getting out of bed she stood for a few moments in the middle of theroom, staring through the open window at the distant line of the desert.Yes, the desert would be a wonderful setting for a romance; and yet eventhere she would not seem to be quite alone, quite unobserved. In hermind the whole of those vast spaces belonged, somehow, to Daniel Lane.She would feel his disturbing influence there: his head would rise frombehind a rock, and his quiet eyes would stare mockingly at her and herlover, whoever he might be. He might even stroll forward, pick up thewretched Romeo, with a yawn throw him over the cliffs, seat himself byher side instead, and light his pipe. And if she protested he mightwhistle up half a dozen cut-throat Bedouin and peg her to the ground forthe jackals to sniff at till he was ready to put her in his harim.

  She laughed nervously to herself as she went to her bath; and herthoughts turned again to the possibilities of the garden and the Nile,and once more the difficulties of her position were manifest. Femaleaccomplices are required in romance: she had none. There was her maid,Ada, a large Scotchwoman, who would play the part about as nimbly as ahobbled cow. Lady Smith-Evered was not to be trusted with secrets, evenif she were able to be flattered into acquiescence. There was no otherwoman in Cairo with whom she was at all well acquainted as yet, and nonethat gave promise of the paradoxical but necessary combination ofself-effacement and presence of mind.

  What she required was the friendship of a young married woman withoutstain and without scruple. Then there would be some hope that the seasonwould not be entirely barren of romance, and, when she returned toEngland in the spring, she would not be in the painful necessity ofhaving to invent confidences for the ears of her girl friends.

  There is, however, an ancient and once very popular Egyptian god whoseems to have survived to the present day, if one may judge by thestrange events which take place in the land of the Pharaohs. By theGreeks he was called Pan-Who-is-Within-Hearing; and he must certainlyhave been sitting in the bathroom. For no sooner had Muriel dressed andcome downstairs than the accomplice walked straight into the house.

  Muriel had just entered the drawing-room by one door when a footmanthrew open the opposite door and announced "Mr. and Mrs. BenifettBindane."

  A moment later a plump, square-shouldered young woman hurried into theroom and flung herself into Muriel's arms. "Muriel--you darling!" shecried, and "Kate--my dear!" cried Muriel, as they kissed one anotheraffectionately.

  Mrs. Bindane beckoned to the middle-aged man who had followed her intothe room. "This person is my husband," she said. "I think you saw himwhen he was courting me."

  He came forward and gave Muriel a limp hand. He was very tall, andappeared to be invertebrate; he had watery blue eyes, thin yellow hair,a long, white, clean-shaven face, and a wet mouth which was seldom, ifever, shut.

  "Benifett, my dear," said his capable, handsome wife, "say somethingpolite to the lady."

  "How-de-do," he murmured, staring at her awkwardly.

  "Yes, I think we did meet once, didn't we?" said Muriel.

  Mrs. Bindane intervened. "Yes, don't you remember? At the pictures, whenwe were keeping company. We got wed at our chapel ten days ago--such ato-do as you never saw! And afterwards a real beano at the Fried FishShop: beer by the barrel, and port too! And Pa gave me away, in hisevening dress, red handkerchief and all!"

  Such was her peculiar and characteristic way of referring to the factthat she had introduced Muriel to her fiance one night at Covent Garden,and that she had been married to him at St. Margaret's, Westminster,where she had been given away by her father, Lord Voycey, a receptionbeing later held at h
er paternal home in Berkeley Square.

  "I didn't know you were coming out here," said Muriel. "It's splendid."

  "We only decided on Egypt at the last minute," explained Mr. Bindane."Kate was so anxious to go up the Nile."

  "It's a blinkin' fine river, I'm told," remarked his wife, at which hesmiled reprovingly.

  Her friend's language was notorious, though actually she seldomapproached an oath except in mimicry. She was a woman offive-and-twenty, and for seven years she had delighted London with herpretended vulgarity. Her husband, on the other hand, was more or lessunknown to the metropolis, though, as the inheritor from his father ofan enormous fortune, his name had lately been heard in Mayfair, while inthe City it was well known. People said he was a fool; and everybodysupposed that the eccentric Kate had married him for his money. As amatter of fact, she had married him for love.

  "Where are you staying?" Muriel asked.

  "We've got a little paddle-wheeled steamer on the river," he replied."We arrived last night."

  "And of course we came round to see you at once," said Kate. "Benifett'srather a snob, you know: loves lords and ladies. So do I. How's yourpa?"

  "Oh, just the same as always," Muriel answered. "I don't seem to seemuch of him."

  "People say he's rather a success at running this 'ere country," theother remarked. "Personally, I detest the man: I think he's neglectedyou shamefully all your life."

  "Oh, father's all right," said Muriel. "I'm very fond of him."

  "Rot!" muttered her friend.

  For some time they exchanged their news, and Muriel gave some account ofthe quiet life she had spent since her arrival.

  "Any decent men?" Mrs. Bindane asked. "What about little RupertHelsingham?"

  "Oh, d'you know him?"

  "Lord! yes. He stayed with us once when he and I were kiddies. I saw himwhen he was on leave last summer: he's grown into a handsome littlefellow."

  She asked if he were on the premises, and whether she might see him. Inreply, Muriel rang the bell, and sent a message to the office whereRupert usually spent his mornings in interviewing native dignitaries.

  "Here's a friend of yours," she said to him as he came into the room,and there ensued a rapid exchange of merry greetings.

  "This is what I've married," remarked Mrs. Bindane, taking her husband'shand in hers and delivering it into Rupert's friendly grasp.

  "How-de-do," said Mr. Bindane, looking down from his great height at thedapper little man before him.

  "Glad to meet you, sir," said Rupert, looking up at the limp figure,which gave the appearance of being about to fall to pieces at anymoment.

  "His father's a lord, dear," whispered Mrs. Bindane to her husband, in ahoarse aside.

  "You're just as impossible as ever, Kate," laughed Rupert.

  "It's my common blood," said she. "One of my ancestors married his cook:she was the woman who cooked that surfeit of lampreys King John diedof."

  "Is Lord Blair in?" Mr. Bindane asked, very suddenly.

  Mrs. Bindane turned sharply and stared at him. "Now _what_ has LordBlair to do with you, Benifett?" she asked in surprise. "I didn't knowyou knew him."

  Her husband flapped a loose hand. "I've met his Lordship," he said.

  "_His Lordship_," mimicked the impossible Kate, giving a nod ofsimulated awe. "Rupert, my lad, go and tell the boss he's wanted in theshop."

  "I'd like to see him," murmured Mr. Bindane, quite unmoved.

  "Well, I never!" said his wife.

  "I'll go and see if he's busy," Rupert volunteered.

  "Thanks," droned Mr. Bindane, his mouth dropping more widely open thanusual.

  _A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY--BURNING SANDS_]

  "Well, you have got some nerve!" exclaimed his wife.

  Rupert went out of the room, and sought the Great Man in his study.

  "What is it, what is it?" Lord Blair muttered with some irritation,looking up from a mass of disordered papers.

  "Oh, sorry, sir," said Rupert. "I didn't know you were busy. There'ssomebody here who wants to see you."

  "I can't see anybody--no, nobody," Lord Blair expostulated. "What's hewant? Who is he?"

  "A Mr. Bindane. He's in the drawing-room with Lady Muriel."

  Lord Blair sat up briskly. "Benifett Bindane?" he asked, sharply.

  Rupert nodded, and thereat the Great Man jumped to his feet.

  "Where is he?" he exclaimed. "Show him in at once. Dear me, dear me! Howfortunate! I had no idea he was in Egypt. No, I'll come into thedrawing-room."

  He hurried past Rupert, and hastened across the corridor.

  "How d'you do, my dear sir, how d'you do," he exclaimed, as he trippedinto the room and wrung his visitor's feeble hand.

  "My wife," said Mr. Bindane, bowing towards his startled spouse.

  Lord Blair took her hand in both his own. "An old friend!" he cried."Capital, capital! We were reading about your marriage the other day.Splendid!" And he beamed from one to the other. Then, turning again toMr. Bindane, "You've come to see for yourself, eh?" he exclaimed. "Verywise, very wise indeed."

  "It's a pleasure trip," the other replied; "our honeymoon, you know."

  "Of course, yes," muttered Lord Blair. "Business and pleasure!"

  "Business?" muttered Mrs. Bindane. "It's the first I've heard of it.What a dark horse you are, Benifett." And she abused him roundly in thatabsurd mimicry of the dialect of the slums which was habitual with her.

  Muriel looked vacant. Her thoughts were racing ahead. Here was thedesired accomplice, married to a rich fool who was evidently on the bestof terms with her father. They had a private steamer on the Nile. Couldanything be better, more secluded, more romantic? All she had to do wasto find her Romeo.