Love in the Ruins

by Barbara Cartland

  The suppression of the Barbary pirates had left a substantial deficit in the Bey of Tunis’s Treasury and this meant that the economic condition of the whole country had seriously deteriorated.

  In their wretchedness the people revolted and for this they suffered fierce measures of repression and bloody fighting resulted in a triumph for the Bey’s troops.

  The economy deteriorated even further owing to several years of drought and subsequent famine.

  Finally the Bey’s Prime Minister, the man chiefly responsible for the country’s ruin, was removed.

  Tunisia was bankrupt and a prey to the covetous ambitions of the Colonial Powers.

  Sir Richard and Mimosa were at that time in Algeria and they were not therefore surprised at what they learnt.

  The French, following a disturbance on the border between Algeria and Tunisia, decided to invade the troubled country.

  The Bey of Tunis’s Army offered little resistance and in May 1881 the Bey signed a treaty accepting that Tunisia became a protectorate of France.

  To Sir Richard Shenson it was good news.

  It meant that, under the French, order would be restored and it would be possible for him to visit, as he was longing to do, Carthage, El Djem, Thuburbo Maius and many other Roman sites in the country.

  They had arrived in Tunis three years later in 1884, to find, as Sir Richard anticipated, everything apparently under control.

  A great number of the people were already speaking French and the Tunisians smiled a welcome at every visitor, knowing it would mean money in their pockets.

  But now, after waiting for so long for what he thought would be an archaeologist’s or an historian’s El Dorado, Sir Richard was dead.

  Mimosa was confronted with a letter from the Solicitors in London, informing her that there was no money left in her father’s Bank account.

  She found it impossible to believe that this was the truth.

  But unfortunately the fact was that the Company in which Sir Richard had unwisely invested all his capital had gone bankrupt.

  Her father had been buried in an unidentified grave and she had no friends to whom she could turn to for advice.

  It was frightening to know that she was now penniless.

  She had paid off the camel drivers who had taken them to Thuburbo Maius with the cash her father had had with him.

  She had tipped them generously as he had always done.

  She thought as she had returned to Tunis without him that now she would have to go back to England.

  That in itself was a frightening prospect.

  She was not certain where she would be welcome.

  As far as she knew, her father and mother were so completely happy with each other that they had never kept in touch with any of their relatives.

  With the exception of her Aunt Emily and Cousin Minerva, Mimosa knew no one in England.

  It was now nearly four years since she had been there.

  It seemed extraordinary that at the age of twenty-one she had no English friends and so no one she could turn to in an emergency.

  What was still more frightening, she did not have any money.

  How could she get back to her own country?

  It suddenly seemed to her as if the world had fallen in ruins about her.

  She might well be standing in a Thuburbo Maius of her own. Nothing but rubble round her feet and with no roof over her head.

  ‘I am suffering from shock,’ Mimosa told herself sensibly. ‘I am sure that I shall be able to think more clearly in a little while.’

  At the moment, however, there was no sunshine outside, shedding its golden haze over everything.

  Instead even the white buildings that she thought so beautiful seemed dark.

  She was not only crying because she had lost her father.

  She was crying for herself, left in a hostile, terrifying world where she was completely alone.

  ‘What shall – I do?’ she asked. ‘Oh – God – tell me what – to do.’

  It was a prayer that came from the very depths of her heart.

  For the moment there appeared to be no answer.

  There was only the letter in her hand that told her she had no money.

  She was still standing at the window when the door of the room opened.

  The old woman, who had looked after the house while they were away, came in.

  She was carrying a cup in which, Mimosa knew, there would be mint tea. She took it from her and sipped the warm sweet liquid.

  In this part of the world it was a remedy for every trouble and every worry.

  The old woman picked up the envelope that had contained the letter and put it tidily on the table.

  She had brought in a newspaper, which she also set down on the table.

  Mimosa knew that it was the newspaper that her father had ordered as soon as they reached Tunis. It was a French paper and had been put into publication as soon as the French had occupied the country.

  Wherever they went, the French introduced their own newspapers and all Frenchmen living abroad wanted news of their beloved France and, of course, the gaieties of Paris.

  Miserable and upset though she was, Mimosa thought it was kind of the old woman to have remembered her father’s wishes.

  Then insidiously the question came into her mind as to how she would be able to pay for it.

  More important still, how to pay the old woman’s wages.

  She was sure or thought she was, that her father had paid the rent for several months in advance.

  It was the house agent who had found them somebody to look after them.

  The old woman had a son whom Mimosa remembered her father also paid.

  She thought the servants would not have been given money for much more than the weeks he would be away.

  He would probably have paid them up to the week after he expected to return.

  She worked it out in her mind and this would give her a few days in which to discover how she could live and pay for the food she would need.

  More important still was how she could find enough money to pay for her return to England.

  She supposed, although she was not sure, that there was a British Consulate of some sort in Tunis.

  She imagined that if she explained to them her predicament and who she was, they would be willing to help her.

  At the same time it was terrifying to know that, even when she reached England, there would be no money waiting for her.

  Nor would there be any home to go to.

  Too late she wondered why she had not begged her father not to sell the house so that, if he did not wish to return to it, she would be able to do so.

  But he had been in such a hurry to get away because he was so desperately unhappy at her mother’s death.

  It was for this reason that she had not questioned anything he had arranged.

  ‘What – am I – to do? Oh, God – what am – I to – do?’ she asked again as she drank the warm tea.

  It then struck her that perhaps she would be wise to stay in Tunis and try to find some sort of employment.

  Fortunately she could speak a number of languages and her mother had always been insistent that she should be proficient in French.

  That was the language she needed at the moment.

  Because her father was multi-lingual, she was also able to speak Italian and, more important still, Arabic.

  She thought perhaps that there would be children whose parents wanted them to learn languages.

  It was certainly an idea.

  As she was trying to follow the twists and turns of her mind, she picked up the newspaper.

  As she expected, the first few pages gave the news in French of what was happening in France. There was nothing about England on the first three pages.

  She turned to the advertisements, wondering if by chance there was anybody advertising for a teacher.

  Any situation, even a very humble one, would be better than having to expla
in her predicament to the English Consul, if indeed there was one.

  She turned over two more pages and then saw that there was an item headed,

  “EVENTS IN TUNIS”

  There was one paragraph about a disturbance that had taken place in the centre of the town.

  Reading on, Mimosa saw below it,

  “TRAGEDY IN SIDI BOU SAID”

  Almost without realising she was doing so, she then read,

  “It is with deep regret and anxiety that we report that it is now over two months since the disappearance of Mademoiselle Minerva Tison.

  It is locally believed that she was kidnapped from her home, the Villa L’Astre Bleu, by gangsters who have been causing a great deal of trouble and distress in Tunis recently.

  The authorities have been waiting to hear what ransom is required for Mademoiselle Tison who is known to be very rich, but no demand has been forthcoming.

  The authorities and those concerned with her disappearance fear that she may have lost her life in an effort to escape and the story will never have an ending.

  Mademoiselle Tison was well known on the hill of Sidi Bou Said, where she had bought a villa. It is a little way below the famous shrine, which pilgrims and tourists from the City visit in increasing numbers.

  The corsairs made Sidi Bou Said the mascot of their Patron Saint of Anti-Christian piracy. But it seems that even today, when the corsairs have gone, piracy can still take place on this famous site.”

  Mimosa read and then re-read the paragraph.

  At first her heart had leapt to think that miraculously Minerva was so near her.

  Then, as she realised that she was missing, perhaps dead, she felt her whole being cry out at the very horror of it.

  She had lost her mother and her father and now her Cousin Minerva, who was almost a twin sister to her.

  ‘It is – cruel! It is – wicked!’ she raged against the Fates.

  Then suddenly it was as if in answer to her prayer, God was speaking to her.

  She knew what she must do.

  CHAPTER TWO

  When the old woman came in in the morning, Mimosa was already up and dressed.

  She was wearing a cape over her gown and had a chiffon scarf to put over her head rather than a hat.

  The woman looked at her in surprise thinking how early she was.

  But Mimosa was ready with what she had decided to tell her.

  “My friends are taking me to England today,” she said slowly in Arabic, “and I have therefore no time to go to the Bank and obtain money to reward you with for your services.”

  She thought that the old woman looked at her apprehensively and continued,

  “As I cannot stay to pack my clothes and my father’s, I am giving them to you.”

  She saw the woman look at her in astonishment and she went on,

  “I am sure that some of the clothes my father wore will fit your son and the rest will realise quite a lot of money if you sell them.”

  She knew this to be true, because amongst her father’s things there was a fur-lined coat that he wore when it was cold.

  With a lofty air she said,

  “I have also no wish to take with me the clothes I have been wearing for some time and which are now out of date, but I am sure you will find a purchaser for them and they are in good condition.”

  She paused before she added slowly,

  “There is only one thing I would ask of you – that you will be kind enough to ask your son, or someone else, to take to the Villa L’Astre Bleu at Sidi Bou Said the parcel that I have put on the table.”

  She indicated it with her hand.

  It was a large parcel because it contained all the pages that her father had written for his book.

  She knew only too well that it was the one thing she could not leave behind or lose.

  The only way she could be certain it would be safe was if it went to the Villa addressed to Minerva.

  The woman nodded to show that she understood and Mimosa said,

  “Thank you very much for all you have done and I know that you will return the key of the house to the agent who let it to us and engaged you to look after it.”

  She held out her hand and the woman clasped it and then kissed it.

  The gesture told Mimosa that she was thrilled with what she had been offered and would not miss the actual money, which she was unable to give her.

  Mimosa then wrapped the chiffon scarf round her neck and over her hair and walked out of the house.

  She knew that the woman, intent on seeing what she had been left in the way of clothes, would be too interested in them to notice where she went.

  She would not notice either if there were people waiting to escort her to the ship which was to take her to England.

  Mimosa walked away, thinking that it was becoming a habit in her family to walk out of their houses leaving everything they possessed behind.

  She was only thankful that she had remembered that, while she had abandoned everything else, she must keep her father’s book intact.

  He had rid himself of everything that had belonged to her mother.

  And Mimosa could not help remembering what a terrible waste it had seemed when, on the ship that carried them away from their own country, he had disposed of her mother’s jewels.

  She had seen him coming from his cabin carrying what she recognised as her mother’s jewel case.

  Everything else that had belonged to her mother had been left behind in the house.

  She supposed that the man who had bought it would dispose of her mother’s gowns and anything else she had possessed.

  Worrying over her father’s distress, she had not thought of the jewellery.

  Then, when she saw the jewel case in his hands, she was surprised that he had brought it with him.

  “What are you doing with that, Papa?” she had asked him.

  Her father looked at her with the agony in his eyes that had been there ever since his wife’s death.

  “I will not allow anyone, not even you,” he replied, “to wear the jewels I gave to your mother with love and because she meant everything to me. They will lie at the bottom of the sea and will be a tombstone to her beauty.”

  He walked away as he spoke and Mimosa had been too stunned to follow him.

  She knew when he came back to his cabin that he had thrown the jewel case into the sea and it would never be seen again.

  It was the impetuous, dashing, idealistic way that he had always behaved.

  She knew that his book, which meant so much to him, was also idealistic in a way that would help and inspire those who read it.

  Fortunately the house that they had rented in Tunis was on the outskirts of the town leading towards Sidi Bou Said.

  However it was still a long walk.

  By the time Mimosa reached the hill that led up to the Shrine, she was beginning to feel exhausted.

  At first there had been few people in the streets, but now there were more.

  The traffic and the crowds were increasing so that people would not notice her or question why she was alone.

  She started to climb the steep hill that led up to the Shrine. There were just a few Villas at the base of it and then there was an occasional one on the way up.

  They obviously belonged to rich people because the Villas themselves were large and spotlessly maintained.

  The gardens were filled with flowers and trees and they were enclosed by walls to ensure privacy.

  The scent of jasmine filled the air.

  Mimosa knew that many people who climbed to the Shrine thought of it as a charm that could protect them from the ‘Evil Eye’.

  The Tunisians were very superstitious and carried Nigella seeds in their pockets.

  The majority of them hid a charm in their clothes or in the gold lockets that the women wore round their necks.

  The symbolism of the charms dated back to the beginning of time and the Hand of Fatima was, she knew, one of the most
favoured.

  She wished now as she climbed slowly up the hill that she had one herself.

  No one needed luck more than she did at this particular moment.

  She could feel the beating of her heart, not only from the physical exertion but also because she was afraid.

  Then she told herself that, if Minerva turned up, everything would be all right.

  If she did not, then at least she had a chance of saving herself.

  Mimosa prayed that God would help her.

  She hoped her prayer would not clash with the religion that brought pilgrims to the shrine at the top of the hill.

  She remembered the Moslem legend that the famous St. Louis did not die on Byrsa Hill.

  He took leave of his Army, married a Berber girl, and became the local Saint Bou Said.

  He was known for curing rheumatism and for stopping scorpions from stinging.

  On their travels, Sir Richard and Mimosa had discovered so many strange faiths and beliefs and she only wished now that she could talk to her father about Sidi Bou Said.

  At last, when she had almost reached the top, she saw in front of her a large, white and very beautiful Villa.

  She knew without being told that this was the Villa L’Astre Bleu and there was no need to look for the name on the gate.

  She paused for a moment.

  Then looking up at the sky she prayed fervently that she would be successful in what she was undertaking.

  There were some large bushes outside the gate.

  She took off her cape, which had made her very hot on the climb. She pushed it into the bushes until it was impossible to see it.

  Anybody who saw her now would be aware that her gown was dusty, dirty and torn in several places.

  She had chosen one of the oldest gowns she possessed, which she had worn for at least two years.

  It had taken some time to roll it in the dust and add water to make the mud with which the skirt was splattered.

  By the time she had finished it looked very disreputable.

  She pulled off the scarf that had covered her hair and hid that too in the bushes.

  It was unlikely, she thought, that anyone would find it and her cape. If they did they would assume it had been dropped by some pilgrim feeling exhausted after the climb up the hill.