Tide of Fortune

by Jane Jackson

  Then it was Kerenza’s turn. Because the cherqi made it too hot for her cloak, she wondered if it might be diplomatic to wear a kaftan. But Nick and Maggot both shook their heads.

  ‘From what I’ve seen,’ Nick said, ‘diplomacy is like balancing on a rope. You have to show respect for the rules of the country you’re in. But you also have to show your strength by remaining true to your own. I think it would be best if you make clear your family relationship with your father and sister by wearing an English gown.’ He pushed a hand through his hair, weary and apologetic. ‘Though I think it’s very unlikely you’ll be allowed into the negotiations.’

  Kerenza shook her head. ‘I didn’t expect it.’

  Nick continued. ‘The vice-consul is coming with us so the governor will recognise that this meeting isn’t just a private deal between him and your father. Mr Corbett wants to make it clear, without actually saying so, that there could be political repercussions if this business isn’t settled soon. The sultan would not want that.’

  Henry Corbett arrived soon after two, accompanied by a thin, anxious-looking man with a grey beard and a frizz of grey hair surrounding the black skullcap he wore above his white gown. Introduced as Mordecai, he bowed nervously to each of them, but remained silent.

  With its high neck and long sleeves, Kerenza’s apple-green muslin was eminently suitable. But to indicate her respect for local custom and sensibility, and to avoid provoking stares and tongue-clicking, she covered her hair with the white scarf and used one end to shield the lower half of her face.

  They walked in three pairs through the narrow streets: Henry Corbett and Mordecai led the way; Nick followed with her father. As she walked at the back with Maggot, Kerenza compared similarities and differences between life here and back in Flushing.

  In both places it was men who ordered society. But whereas in Flushing men and women mixed freely, here their worlds were totally separate. No woman ventured out unless hidden beneath headscarf, veil, and enveloping robe. But dressed thus she was totally safe. She could walk alone or with other women without fear. It was in Flushing that no woman who cared for her good name ventured unescorted on to the streets after dark. To do so was to risk insult, or worse, from drunken seamen.

  In the hammam the women had been curious, but she had sensed no criticism of her presence or her person. The tone of their laughter and gossip had been teasing and affectionate. Those who left the group were not watched, nor were they remarked on behind their backs. New arrivals were welcomed, children taken onto knees with hugs and kisses.

  Totally unselfconscious in their nakedness, they had washed each other’s hair. She had seen one young mother massaging an old woman’s arthritic hands while her toddler daughter, beaming placidly, was passed from hand to doting hand.

  In England, women mixed openly with men; were courted and flattered at balls and parties. Though clubs existed where men gathered and from which their ladies were barred, society would have ceased to exist were it not for all the suppers, dances, routs, and similar events organised by women.

  But entertaining and enjoyable though such events might be, their true purpose was far more serious, and one that made rivalry and mistrust inevitable. They served as a market where men might look for a wife, and parents sought husbands for their daughters or viewed potential brides for their sons.

  Here, men and women did not appear to mix socially, even within families. Men ate together. Women ate with other women and children. How then, Kerenza wondered, did men and women meet a possible marriage partner?

  It took almost 20 minutes to reach the palace. She followed the men toward the towering walls, climbing ever higher, up steps, through an entrance in the outer wall where they were met by guards who escorted them past storehouses and gardens. Kerenza smelled orange blossom, and glimpsed olive, fig, apricot, and peach trees. They passed beds of strawberries in flower, lettuce, artichokes, and melons.

  As they approached a complex of arched, crenellated buildings her rapid heartbeat was due as much to apprehension as to the effects of the cherqi and the steep climb. Passing one building where steps led up to a tall, narrow, arched entrance flanked by two keyhole-shaped window openings, they approached the entrance to the palace. A single domed arch led through a hallway into an open courtyard surrounded by a marble colonnade.

  They were led through into another large courtyard planted with orange trees, with a tinkling marble fountain that spilled bright curtains of water into a wide basin below. Crossing the courtyard past more marble columns into the cool shade beyond, they were halted by the guards. A veiled female servant appeared and motioned Kerenza to follow.

  Maggot spoke to the woman in questioning tones. She hastened to reassure him.

  ‘Is all right,’ he said to Kerenza. ‘She take you to your sister. She is in harem –’

  ‘The words simply means the women’s quarters,’ Henry Corbett explained as William, Nick, and Kerenza all turned in consternation.

  Kerenza attempted a smile. ‘I’ll see you all later, then.’ Maggot and the vice-consul nodded. Her glance gaze met Nick’s, seeking reassurance. ‘I hope everything goes well, and –’

  ‘Yes, all right.’ William waved her away impatiently. ‘Get along with you. I don’t want to keep the Governor waiting. He might have no manners, but we must show him we are not to be trifled with.’

  ‘I think, Mr Vyvyan,’ the vice-consul intervened, ‘that you should prepare yourself for a considerable wait. Moroccan time is not like English time.’

  ‘But we have an appointment,’ William blustered.

  ‘So we see the Governor before nightfall,’ Maggot shrugged. ‘Maybe.’

  Nick motioned Kerenza away with a tiny movement of his head and a reassuring smile.

  Kerenza followed her guide along cool passages rich with decoration. She caught glimpses of bright robes that vanished around corners or through arches with carved doors that closed as she drew level. She heard soft hisses, and the whisper of cloth slippers on the floor tiles.

  Finally they arrived at the entrance to a courtyard paved with stone slabs on which large pots glazed in deep blue and dark red overflowed with leafy green shrubs heavy with scented blossoms of white, purple, yellow, and deep pink.

  Indicating that Kerenza should enter, the servant bowed and turned away, disappearing round a corner.

  Moistening her lips, she stood for a moment beside a marble column. At first glance the courtyard appeared to be empty. Then, in the shadows of an open porch on the far side, she saw, propped on cushions on a low couch, a bulky figure swathed in voluminous turquoise trimmed with silver braid. The pointed toes of matching slippers peeped out from beneath the hem. A turquoise headscarf obscured her face.

  Kerenza hoped the woman might understand enough to tell her where Dulcie was. Drawing a deep breath, she started across the courtyard. In the scented silence, her footsteps sounded loud on the flagstones. The figure stirred and heaved itself up on one elbow.

  ‘What took you so long? Surely you could have come sooner?’ The accusing whine was unmistakable.

  ‘Dulcie?’ Kerenza stared as her sister swung her legs off the couch and pulled her gown straight.

  ‘Well, who else did you expect to see?’

  ‘I’m sorry, it’s just – I didn’t expect – your clothes –’ Kerenza hugged her arms across her body in an automatic gesture of self-protection. Half-formed, hopeful visions of first moments that had included outstretched hands, a warm hug, relief at her arrival, an apology for the past and a plea that they put it behind them – all of which she would gladly have accepted – evaporated. Those had been stupid dreams. This was reality.

  Dulcie hadn’t changed, except for her weight. She had always been plump, inheriting their mother’s rounded figure. Now she was fat. At least she had not been kept short of food.

  ‘For heavens’ sake, Kerenza. We were brought here with nothing but the clothes we were wearing.’

  ‘Yes, of course
, I’m sorry –’

  ‘Besides, this is far more comfortable. These courts can get very hot.’

  About to say that she knew, and tell her sister about Zohra, Kerenza stopped herself. This was not the time. ‘I’m so sorry about Mother. It must have been terrible for you to lose her. You had always been close.’ She was careful to make it a simple statement, avoiding criticism or complaint. ‘To be here with only each other for company –’

  ‘Company?’ Dulcie snorted, fiddling with the silver braid that decorated the front of her kaftan. ‘All she ever talked about was Papa. All day and half the night, on and on and on about how he would come the next day or the next week and take us home. But he never did.’ Her expression was angry and bitter.

  ‘He was a prisoner himself, Dulcie, in Algiers. Then he fell ill, so it was months before –’

  ‘I know how long it was,’ Dulcie shouted. ‘I was here, waiting, remember? Trying to make Mama eat, trying to keep her clean. I got fed up with it. You needn’t look like that. You have no idea what it’s been like for me. I did everything for her. But all she ever talked about was Papa. She didn’t have a thought for what I was going through.’ Her face crumpled.

  ‘Oh Dulcie.’ Looking at her sister, Kerenza was filled with compassion. ‘It must have been awful.’

  ‘It was worse.’ Dulcie scrubbed the heel of her hand across her eyes then caught her breath, dropping both hands to her belly.

  ‘What’s wrong? Are you unwell?’ Her gaze dropped to her sister’s hands, then focused on the swelling beneath. Dulcie was certainly carrying – As realisation hit her, her instinctive reaction was denial. No. Dulcie couldn’t possibly be – She looked up and saw her sister watching her with an odd combination of defiance, pride, and fear.

  Kerenza bit the inside of her lip so hard she tasted the salty warmth of blood. It was small wonder the vice-consul and the doctor had behaved so oddly. This was the governor’s promised protection?

  How was she to tell her father? What would the shock do to him? He would demand revenge: he’d create a political storm, and Dulcie’s condition would become public in a scandal that would plaster the Vyvyan name all over the newspapers. The prospect dried Kerenza’s throat. She felt sick. What about Dulcie? How must she be feeling?

  Summoning every ounce of willpower to force aside her fears and her memories of Dulcie’s past unkindness, Kerenza stretched out a trembling hand and laid it over her sister’s.

  ‘Oh Dulcie, I’m so sorry. Papa said the governor had promised you and Mama his protection. How could he have let this happen? Was it – Were you hurt? Has the person responsible been caught and punished?’

  Pushing Kerenza’s hand away, Dulcie levered herself up and walked to the junction between cool shade and the sun’s heat. ‘It wasn’t like that.’

  Kerenza straightened up, facing her sister, bewildered. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean it wasn’t – I wasn’t attacked.’

  ‘Not attacked?’

  Dulcie flushed, but her manner was defiant. ‘Oh, do stop repeating everything. I wasn’t violated. This baby is a child of love.’ She rested her hands on the swelling, more pronounced now she was standing.

  Kerenza stared at her sister, then moistened bone-dry lips. ‘Who –?’ She got no further.

  ‘He’s a prince,’ Dulcie said proudly. ‘They don’t use that word here, but he’s one of the sultan’s sons so he’s definitely a prince. His name is Aruj.’

  ‘I saw him yesterday,’ Kerenza blurted. ‘On horseback with his bodyguard.’

  Dulcie’s face lit up. ‘He’s back?’ But her excitement swiftly faded and her face fell into an irritated frown. ‘I’ve hardly seen him since Mama died. Still, I suppose being a prince means he has all kinds of important duties.’ Her expression softened and she sighed dreamily. ‘Isn’t he handsome?’

  Kerenza swallowed. ‘Dulcie –’

  ‘He wants to marry me, you know.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He does. That’s where he’s been: to visit his father. He came to see me before he went. He only stayed a few minutes. I don’t think he wanted to go. But when your father is the sultan and he commands you, you have to do as you’re told. Anyway, now he’s back and I expect it’s all settled. Aruj will have told his father that he wants to marry me.’ She pressed clasped hands to her bosom and sighed happily. ‘I shall be a princess. And when I am –’ her mouth thinned and her features grew sharp ‘– I shall make changes, starting with some of the servants. I see them, laughing and sneering. I can’t do anything yet, but once I’m married they’d better watch out. They won’t be laughing then. Oh no.’

  ‘Dulcie –’ Kerenza tried again.

  ‘You really should have come sooner. I’ve been so awfully lonely. Especially since Mama – She became horribly difficult, always talking about Papa, and moaning about what was to become of us. She was so unkind about Aruj. She wouldn’t make any effort to understand. She said all kinds of really hurtful things. None of the servants speak English. Well, I daresay they could if they tried, but they won’t make the effort. Their language is impossible. I just can’t get my tongue around it. So it’s a good thing you’ve come. I’ve really missed someone to talk to. Aruj speaks a little English. I think he once had a tutor. But I’ve hardly seen him –’ She caught herself and flashed a bright smile. ‘An important man like him must have all kinds of demands on his time.’

  Kerenza felt as if she had strayed into a nightmare. ‘Dulcie, you can’t stay here.’

  Dulcie’s chin rose. ‘Aruj loves me. He wants to marry me. I shall be a princess. You can stay and be my companion. I shall need someone –’

  ‘No.’ Kerenza shook her head. ‘No, I can’t do that.’

  ‘But I need you,’ Dulcie cried. ‘You can’t leave me here all on my own.’

  ‘Of course not. Nor would I. Dulcie, Papa brought the money the governor asked for. Even now they are negotiating for you to be released. You can’t stay here.’

  ‘You can’t tell me what to do! Who do you think you are? I don’t want to talk to you any more. Go away. Go on, leave me alone.’

  ‘I’ll come and see you tomorrow.’

  ‘You needn’t bother unless you’re going to be nicer to me. After all I’ve suffered, I expected more kindness.’ With a sniff that reminded Kerenza of Betsy Woodrow, Dulcie turned her back and waddled away. A moment later, the slam of a heavy wooden door resounded through the court.

  After standing for a few moments, not sure what to do, Kerenza heaved a deep, shaky sigh and turned away. Across the court the woman who had guided her through the maze of passages and courts stepped out of the shadows and stood, waiting.

  Chapter Eighteen

  In an anteroom patterned with diamond-shaped tiles of green, white, red and black, and furnished with couches and low tables, Henry Corbett sat as calm and immobile as a statue.

  Beside him, William Vyvyan fretted and fumed. Every few minutes he took his watch from his pocket, frowned at it, then heaved a loud and irritated sigh as he replaced it. Mordecai stood behind the couch, slightly to one side of the vice-consul. While Maggot gazed out of a window, Nick watched the constant tide of people ebb and flow in front of the broad archway that led out into a lofty hall.

  There were merchants in Spanish dress, white-robed Arabs with faces like carved teak, fierce-eyed tribesmen wearing belted tunics over loose trousers tucked into soft leather boots. Among them moved the Governor’s bodyguards, the black Bukhari appointed by the sultan who served at his forts throughout the kingdom, various officials, other supplicants seeking audience, and household staff.

  The clamour was deafening: a babble of raised voices and different languages, all citing need and claiming importance.

  An hour passed. A slave brought an ornate silver tray containing a silver pot and several tiny glasses. After pouring mint tea, he retreated as silently as he had arrived. Another hour passed.

  Suddenly there was a commotion out
side. A handsome young man swept in, the loose open robe over his belted tunic, trousers, and boots billowing about him.

  ‘About time too,’ William huffed, struggling to rise from the couch. ‘Do you have any idea how long –?’

  Imperiously waving him to silence, the young man turned to Nick.

  ‘You.’ His voice was harsh. ‘Come.’ Without waiting for an answer, he strode out.

  ‘Wait,’ William called. ‘What about me? Well, of all the –’

  Signalling Maggot, Nick followed. People scattered, bowing low, as the young man crossed the wide hall and entered a half-open door. As Nick and Maggot reached him, he waved Maggot away.

  ‘With respect –’ Nick was polite but firm ‘– he must stay. I don’t speak your language.’

  The young man addressed Maggot. Maggot bowed and replied, and, after an instant’s hesitation, the young man nodded and stood back. Once all three were inside, he dismissed three slaves who had rushed in, prostrating themselves, and closed the door.

  ‘He is Mulai Aruj,’ Maggot told Nick. ‘One of sultan’s sons.’

  Nick bowed. ‘Tell him who we are and why we are here.’

  Maggot obeyed. Even before he had finished, Aruj was already nodding and interrupted.

  ‘He know who we are,’ Maggot said.

  Nick was puzzled. ‘So why is he talking to me? Surely it is Mr Vyvyan –?’

  Again Aruj interrupted. He paced the floor, a torrent of words flowing from his lips. When he’d finished, he glared at Maggot, and gestured for him to translate.

  Maggot swallowed. ‘He say his father has arranged marriage for him with daughter of tribal chief. We must take Miss Vyvyan away very quick. She in very much danger.’