by Anne Gracie
“Short crop? Does that mean . . . ?” She touched her hair tentatively. “Not like this, surely?”
“Not quite, miss, but . . .” He looked a little self-conscious. “I’ve never cut a lady’s hair, miss, but I cut sir’s, and all his friends when they come to visit.”
“You cannot mean to make it shorter . . . can you?” She placed a protective hand over what hair she had left.
“Not so much shorter, miss, but giving it some shape. I venture to suggest with a little shaping, it could look quite pretty. It’s good and thick and with a nice bit of curl to it.”
Ayisha looked at Higgins’s neat person and made up her mind. “Do it,” she said. It couldn’t look any worse, and if Higgins cut Rafe’s hair, well, Rafe always looked so elegant.
“Right then, miss, if you would sit in this chair, please?” Higgins sat her on a chair and draped a sheet around her. From Rafe’s shaving kit bag he took a pair of scissors and a comb. He combed her hair a few different ways, seemed to come to a decision, and began snipping.
Bits of damp hair fell all around her. The more hair fell, the more anxious Ayisha grew. He was a man’s valet. He would be giving her a man’s haircut. The best she could hope for was to look like a very elegant boy.
Snip, snip.
She forced herself to be philosophical. If it was as bad as she expected, she thought dolefully, she would simply wear a turban. Like an old woman. It would give her added maturity.
Snip, snip.
She had been a girl dressed as a boy. Now she would look like a boy dressed as a girl. She knew which one would look more ridiculous.
“There now, miss.” Higgins carefully drew the sheet away from her so no hair fell on her new dress. There was an alarming amount of hair on the floor. “Have a look in the looking glass, miss.”
Trying not to let her trepidation show, Ayisha looked in the glass. And looked.
“Higgins . . .” She turned her head this way and that.
“Higgins . . .” She stared at her reflection in disbelief, then whirled around. “I was so certain you’d made me look like a boy!”
Higgins grinned. “It’s even more successful than I imagined, miss. You look very pretty.”
She looked back at herself in the mirror. “I think I do, too. It’s . . . amazing.” She turned back to him, misty-eyed. “Thank you, Higgins, thank you!”
He frowned. “But, miss, you’re—”
She blinked rapidly to clear her eyes. “Oh, don’t mind that. It’s silly I know, but it’s so long since I’ve felt pretty. Oh, Higgins, you’re probably going to hate this, but—” She hugged him, hard.
He emerged from the swift embrace looking embarrassed but pleased. “Don’t mind at all, miss,” he said gruffly. “Though you shouldn’t make a habit of it. Anything I can do to help. It’s difficult for you I know, without a maid.”
“Maid?” She laughed. “I haven’t had a maid since I was a little girl. I wouldn’t know what to do with one.”
“You’ll learn, miss,” Higgins assured her. “But in the meantime, if you need anything, you tell me. Now, miss, while I tidy up here and remove your things to your cabin, how about you go up on deck and see if Mr. Rafe is coming? It’s getting mighty late.”
“I’ll take my things.” Ayisha began to repack them in her bundle.
“It’s my job, miss—” Higgins began.
“No, it’s my maid’s,” said Ayisha happily. “The lazy creature! Now, let me do it—I’m not a fine lady yet.”
Higgins hesitated. “You are, you know, miss. No matter where you’ve been living, or how, you’re a lady born—in the best sense of the word.”
His words took Ayisha’s breath away. “Thank you, Higgins,” she said. “Sometimes I wonder how I’m going to manage in England.”
He began to sweep up her shorn locks. “You’ll be all right, miss. Best country in the world. Just that you need to learn the rules, that’s all. Every place has its odd little rules, don’t they?”
“That’s true,” she said thoughtfully, folding her bundle up. Not just every place, but different groups in the same place. As a little girl there had been Mama’s friends—ladies, none of them English—and then there were Papa’s English friends and visitors from all over the world—men of affairs, mostly. And then the servants. And with each the rules had been different.
And on the streets there was a whole new set of rules. There, learning had been a matter of survival. This should be much easier. Higgins was right; it was just a matter of working out the rules.
Higgins finished tidying and started unpacking Rafe’s things. “I had to learn how to get on in a big house myself, miss. Very different from how I grew up, and different again from the army. Servants in a big house, well, they can be just as snobby as the toffs—some more so.” He winked. “But I’m flexible, on account of having been sir’s batman when he was at war.”
“I’m flexible, too,” she said.
“So you are, miss. I expect you’re a quick study, too. You’re quality, miss, through and through. Now, here’s the key to your cabin. Mrs. Ferris wasn’t there before. Maybe she’s up on deck. Most of ’em will be there, waiting for the ship to cast off.” He pulled out his watch and shook his head. “Cutting it very fine, he is, this time.”
Quality through and through? A lady born? Ayisha thought as she carried her things to her cabin. If he only knew.
Still they were very heartening words.
She knocked, but there was no answer so she went in. It was smaller than Rafe’s cabin, with one porthole instead of two. Two beds were screwed to the wall, one above the other. The lower bunk had a shawl and a book resting on it. Mrs. Ferris’s, no doubt.
She looked at the title of the book. The Mysteries of Udolpho, by a Mrs. Radcliffe. She glanced inside and saw it was a story and wondered if Mrs. Ferris would lend it to her after she had finished. It had been such a long time since she’d read anything.
Ayisha was pleased. She rather liked the idea of sleeping on the top bunk. She could look out of the porthole. She glanced out and saw most of the activity on the wharf had stopped. There were just a few people standing around, waiting. The ship would be leaving soon. And where was Rafe?
She quickly stowed her things and hurried up on deck, grabbing a shawl at the last minute. Nearly a dozen people were gathered along the rail at one end of the ship—passengers, she assumed from their clothing. She felt a little too shy to join them just yet. And besides, there was no sign of Rafe.
The breeze picked up, snapping the fabric of the sails and Ayisha’s clothes. Her short hair blew in the wind and after wearing a head covering for years, it felt lovely and free, but her skirts flapped around her legs in a disconcerting manner. The feeling of wind against her legs made her feel very exposed. English ladies’ clothes were very thin. She was glad she had the shawl and not only because of the breeze.
She’d hardly noticed she had breasts while she was a boy—only that they were a danger and had to be kept invisible. The bindings kept everything flat. Now nothing was keeping anything flat and it felt most . . . peculiar.
She glanced down as she walked along the deck, keeping away from the other passengers. There wasn’t much bounce, but still . . . She bounced on the balls of her feet, experimentally. The shawl bounced with her.
She would have to get a corset. She hadn’t even thought of one before. Not that any were for sale in the market.
She leaned against the rail and gazed out to the city. The sun was appreciably lower in the sky. He’d been gone almost two hours. Where on earth was he?
The captain had started snapping out orders, sailors were scurrying back and forth doing things to sails, winding ropes, and there was a loud grating sound that suggested they were hauling up the anchor, and yet there was still no sign of a tall Englishman in long black boots.
Ayisha paced restlessly back and forth on deck. Her new red leather Turkish slippers were beginning to pinch.
W
hat on earth was so important that he must rush off like that and risk missing the ship?
And then she spotted him, striding along as if he had all the time in the world, carrying a large heavy-looking sack slung over his shoulder.
He came striding up the gangplank just as the men were about to raise it, making some sort of joke that made them laugh. An officer saluted, welcoming him aboard.
She waited for his explanation, but he almost passed her by, but then stopped and stared.
“Well now, look at you,” he said softly. “You’re a woman. And don’t you look lovely. Who did your hair?”
A warm surge of pleasure at the compliment robbed her of the caustic speech she’d been about to deliver. “Higgins cut it for me,” she mumbled.
“Very pretty.” His gaze ran over her, taking in everything. She felt self-conscious enough before he’d looked at her. Now she felt exposed. Half naked.
She pulled the shawl tighter around her. “Are you cold?” he said.
“No,” she said quickly. “But Higgins and I have been very worried.”
“What about?”
Her mouth dropped open. “What about? You nearly missed the ship!”
“Higgins knows I never miss ships,” he said. “Did you miss me?” He looked very pleased with himself.
She folded her arms. “No. But what made you go off like that? With no warning or explanation?”
He grinned. “You did miss me.”
“Actually, Higgins and I had decided to toss a coin for your cabin.”
He laughed. “Nonsense, Higgins would never have agreed to that. Now, aren’t you interested in what I’ve brought you?” He held up the bag. “You’ll never believe what’s in this.”
“I don’t care what it is—”
“Sand,” he said.
“Sand?”
“That’s not all . . .”
“You nearly missed the ship for sand?” She glared at him. “How dare you drag me across Egypt, then almost abandon me on a strange ship with a bunch of strangers, for such a reason,” she said grumpily. It was very hard to stay angry with him when he kept smiling down at her like that. It was a very annoying habit.
“I didn’t abandon you at all,” he said, his blue eyes dancing. “You had Higgins.”
She thumped him on the arm. At the same instant his waistcoat gave a small yowl.
“What’s that noise?” She stared as a small bulge in his waistcoat moved.
“Your bon-voyage present,” he said triumphantly and pulled out a small, silvery white kitten covered in black spots. Its ears were large with tiny tufts of dark hair at the tips. It looked like a miniature silver and black snow leopard. It stared at Ayisha with big amber eyes and yowled plaintively.
“It’s a kitten,” she said. The snow leopard was a symbol of her mother’s country.
“I know. I thought you’d like the company on the long trip.” His voice was deep, faintly amused, and yet it conveyed his understanding of her grief at leaving Tom behind.
She stared at him wordlessly, her mouth working.
“Hey,” he said in a coaxing voice. “I thought you liked cats.”
She gave a ragged laugh and blinked the incipient tears away. “You know I do, and she’s beautiful, thank you.”
“That’s better.” He handed the kitten to her, and Ayisha snuggled it against her breast, stroking it and murmuring to it. At the same moment, the deck jerked beneath their feet and their ship pulled away from Egyptian shores.
Ayisha stood, looking out, stroking her kitten, until Egypt was just a smudge on the horizon.
“Shall we go below, get this young lady settled?” Rafe Ramsey said at last, and she nodded. Her throat had something stuck in it and she couldn’t speak.
That is an animal!” a voice said as Ayisha entered the cabin.
A thin, elegant, older woman was sitting on the lower bunk, legs outstretched, reading. She lifted a lorgnette and peered through it at the kitten.
“Yes, a kitten.”
“I can see that, but what’s it doing in my cabin?”
“This is my cabin, too,” Ayisha said pleasantly. “I’m Ayisha . . . Cleeve,” she added reluctantly, holding out her hand. It was the first time she’d used Cleeve. She didn’t much want to, but she had to have a surname and it was her father’s name, even if she wasn’t entitled to it.
Mrs. Ferris looked her up and down through the lorgnette. “I agreed to share with a Miss Cleeve, but not an animal.”
“I didn’t know about the kitten, either; she was a last-minute gift,” Ayisha explained, stroking the kitten. “She doesn’t even have a name yet. Don’t you think she’s pretty?”
Mrs. Ferris sniffed. “Well, its markings are certainly unusual. I’ve never seen a spotted cat before. Has it got fleas?”
“I don’t know,” Ayisha said, “But I’ve ordered some warm water. I’m going to give her a bath, to make sure.”
Mrs. Ferris sat up. “Give a cat a bath? I thought they hated water.”
Ayisha smiled. “Not all cats. My cat, Tom, liked water. We shall see if this one does.” As she spoke, there was a knock at the door.
It was Higgins, bringing a bucket of warm water, a deep basin, a tin mug, some soap, and a towel. He glanced behind her at Mrs. Ferris watching from her bunk, lorgnette raised. “Here you go, miss. I’ll return in a short time to fetch it all away. I’m just arranging a sandbox and something to eat.”
“Thank you, Higgins.” Ayisha gave him a warm smile and took the water.
“Who is that man?” Mrs. Ferris demanded as the door closed.
“Higgins? He is Mr. Ramsey’s manservant.”
“And who is Mr. Ramsey?”
Ayisha busied herself pouring water into the bowl and wondered briefly how to explain. “He’s a friend of my grandmother,” she said in the end. “He’s escorting me to her home in Hampshire.”
“I see. I don’t much like this Higgins fellow coming and going in my cabin. Where is your own maid?”
Ayisha seated herself on the floor, draped a towel over her front, and picked up the kitten. “I don’t have a maid.”
“Don’t have a maid?”
“No.” Ayisha lowered the kitten into the water.
“Why not?”
Ayisha pretended not to hear. It wasn’t hard. The kitten objected vociferously, yowling and wiggling and trying to climb up her arm to get away from the water. She had very sharp little claws.
Ayisha soothed her with words and hands and finally, unhappily, she settled, chin deep in the water, staring up at her with big, reproachful eyes.
“See, it’s not so bad, is it?” Ayisha told her.
The kitten seemed to consider her words, then bit Ayisha on the finger.
“Ow, little imp,” Ayisha chuckled, not blaming her in the least.
She lathered some soap in one hand—smelling faintly medicinal this time, Higgins must have a soap manufactory, she decided—and gently massaged it through the kitten’s fur. She rinsed it thoroughly, put the towel on her lap, then lifted the miserable clump of wet fur out and began to gently rub it dry.
The kitten sneezed twice, and shook itself indignantly, but soon started to enjoy the toweling. She purred and began to knead the towel, catching the fabric in her claws, then decided the corner of the towel was its enemy and started batting at it with her paws and biting it.
Ayisha put the kitten on the floor and tidied everything up. The kitten looked curiously around, then, as if she hadn’t just had a bath, proceeded to wash itself all over.
Mrs. Ferris observed the whole operation curiously. “I always heard cats were clean and this one certainly seems to be,” she commented at last. “Funny little creature.”
“She’s lovely,” Ayisha agreed, though it wasn’t quite what Mrs. Ferris meant. “I’ll have to think up a name for her.”
The kitten began to explore the cabin, sniffing and eyeing everything with caution. Ayisha tried to think of names. The kitten pounce
d on an imaginary enemy. Pounce? For some reason that conjured up a fatter cat to mind, and this one was slender and elegant. Ayisha eyed the scratches on her forearms. Sharp little claws. Claudette?
“What’s it sniffing there for?” Mrs. Ferris asked. The kitten was sniffing in a corner.
It suddenly occurred to Ayisha that she might be sniffing for a specific purpose. Ayisha scooped her up in one hand. She opened the cabin door and picked up the bucket of dirty water with the other.
“I’ll take her with me while I get rid of this,” she explained to Mrs. Ferris hurriedly. “I’ll be back in a short while.”
Luckily Higgins was outside and well prepared. A few doors down was a small storeroom and with a little judicial bribery, he’d made arrangements for a sand tray, spare sand, and various other kitten needs to be stored there. There was also a basket, with a lid fastening, so that the kitten could be safely locked up when necessary.
Ayisha placed the cat in the sand, and with a little encouragement, the kitten sniffed at the sand, scratched a hole, and made a deposit. She covered the hole, stepped out of the tray, shaking sand off her paws fastidiously, and looked up at Ayisha in clear expectation of being picked up. Her tail rippled and her black-tipped ears twitched. Mrroww?
“I’ll call her Cleo,” Ayisha said, lifting her up. “She’s bossy, regal, beautiful, and Egyptian. And,” she added as the kitten gave a plaintive mew, “hungry.”
“Yes, miss,” Higgins agreed. “I got her a bit of fish from the galley.”
Did you travel to Egypt with this Mr. Ramsey?” Mrs. Ferris asked her next morning.
“No, I met him for the first time in Cairo.”
“How did you get there, then—to Egypt, I mean?”
“I was born in Egypt.”
“You don’t look Egyptian. And despite that outlandish first name of yours, Cleeve is not an Egyptian name.” Mrs. Ferris was determined to work out exactly who Ayisha was, to pigeonhole her, and work out exactly how much respect she needed to give—or not give.
“No.” Ayisha slid her feet into slippers and picked Cleo up. “My father was born in India.” That would puzzle the nosey old creature. She didn’t look Indian, either.
