The Marquis Who Hated Women (Bantam Series No. 62)

by Barbara Cartland

  At last the Marquis raised his head, and while Shikara was incapable of speech, incapable of any movement, he looked down at her and it seemed to her as if he searched her face.

  Then abruptly, without speaking, he turned and walked away, leaving her alone on the deck.

  ***

  They arrived at Cairo the following morning and anchored to the shore.

  Looking out from the port-hole of her cabin, Shikara could see that there were house-boats and Nile steamers also anchored not far away from them.

  Flotillas of giyasat, their slim masts towering to the sky, their white sails reefed, lay together in midstream, while celuccas came slowly down the river laden with cargoes of sugar-cane, grain, rice, and coffee.

  She had longed for this moment, longed to reach Cairo, and now she found it difficult to think of anything but the Marquis, who had kissed her last night.

  She had known then that she belonged to him and that if he left her she would never again be complete.

  Never had she imagined that a kiss could be so wonderful, so perfect, and that not only her lips but every nerve in her body could be swept into an indescribable rapture.

  The feeling he had evoked in her was like a flame igniting her senses, and at the same time it was part of the whole beautiful wonder of the universe.

  Now she understood why everyone longed for love, why Kings gave up their thrones, nations went to war, and men died rather than lose this ecstasy which transformed them from mere human clay into gods.

  “I love him ... I love him ... I love him...” Shikara whispered.

  But when she had gone to bed without seeing him, she told herself that perhaps the kiss he had given her meant no more to him than the kiss he had received from the Senhora.

  “He kissed me because it was night and because I was the only woman with him,” she told herself. “If there had been another woman present he might have kissed her.”

  The depressing thought brought tears to her eyes but she would not let them fall.

  “He hates women,” she told herself, “and I am only a woman! Although I may amuse him for the moment or help him to pass the time when there is no-one else, that is all.”

  It made her want to scream at the frustration of it, to rush to the Marquis to fling herself on her knees at his feet and beg him to care for her.

  Then she knew he would only despise her: if anything would convince him he must leave her as quickly as possible, it would be that.

  She was sure that because she was what he called “a lady” he would not ask any more of her than a kiss.

  With the Senhora it had been different. They had made love, she was sure of it. But it was something she was certain the Marquis would never suggest to her because it would be against his code of honour.

  “I love him! I love him so much that I would be glad to do anything he asks of me,” she told herself miserably.

  But she knew he would never ask her, not, at any rate while she was under his protection and while she had no-one else but him to whom she could turn.

  Even though she played with the idea that once she found her father the Marquis might suggest a different relationship, she knew it was only the foolish dream of a girl who was in love and bore no relation to fact.

  ‘I have to face the truth that his kiss was just an impulse of the moment,’ Shikara thought. ‘He has never so much as held my hand before, but perhaps it was the darkness and the magnetism of Egypt, or just because I had said I was lonely and afraid.’

  Whatever the reason, after he had kissed her he had gone away. Perhaps although to her it had been magical and wonderful beyond words, to him it had meant nothing!

  It was still very early in the morning, but Shikara dressed and went up on deck to look at the ships on the river and the people moving along the road which bordered their anchorage.

  She could see the Mosques and minarets rising high above the roofs of the buildings on the other side of the water, and she knew that the most spectacular was the Mosque of Mohammed AH, perched high on the rock of the Citadel.

  Its slender Turkish minarets rose above everything else in Cairo and Shikara wondered if it would be possible for her to visit the Mosque.

  She heard a step and thought it might be the Marquis, but it was a steward.

  “Good-morning, Miss!” he said respectfully. “I’ve taken your breakfast to your room.”

  “Thank you,” Shikara said.

  She went below, not liking to ask if the Marquis had already breakfasted.

  When she had finished the coffee and fresh rolls she wondered whether she should go in search of the Marquis, or find Hignet and ask what were the plans for the day. Then almost as if she had called him Hignet came to the door of her cabin.

  “His Lordship’s compliments, Miss, and if you are ready to go ashore he’s waiting for you.”

  “I would like that very much,” Shikara replied.

  Springing up, she quickly took a broad-brimmed hat that she had bought in Lisbon from the cupboard and having put it on her head collected the white sunshade that she had bought according to the Marquis’s instructions.

  “It’s always better in the heat to get off very early,” Hignet said. “I think His Lordship intends to take you out to the Pyramids.”

  ‘That is where I want to go,” Shikara said almost breathlessly, and picking up the white hand-bag which matched her gown she ran from the cabin up onto the deck.

  The Marquis was waiting for her and she felt her heart turn somersaults in her breast. On the other side of the gangway was an open carriage drawn by two horses.

  “I thought we should waste no time,” he said as Shikara appeared, “but go at once in search of Monsieur Mariette, and ask him what has happened to your father.”

  “That is what I am anxious to do,” Shikara answered.

  She tried to read the expression on the Marquis’s face, but it seemed to her that he was deliberately not looking at her.

  There was something reserved about him, as if he had withdrawn and the barriers that had existed between them before had been set up again.

  She stepped into the carriage and tried to think how excited she was at the hope of finding her father after all these months of silence.

  But instead she was vividly conscious of the Marquis, realising how smart he looked in a white suit, and at the same time afraid that he was regretting what had happened the night before.

  They drove through streets crowded with the traffic or donkeys, carts, carriages, camels, and oxen.

  From the shops came the scents of musk, attar of roses, incense, and coffee. Soon they were clear of the city and its veiled women and were driving out on a raised road which Shikara knew led towards the Pyramids.

  “I have been making enquiries,” the Marquis said after they had travelled for some way in silence, “and I understand that Monsieur Mariette is in fact to be found on the site he is investigating.”

  “So he is here?” Shikara asked. “I was half-afraid he might have returned to France.”

  “The idea had crossed my mind,” the Marquis said, “which would account for his not answering your letter.”

  “Perhaps Papa is with him,” Shikara suggested hopefully.

  The Marquis did not answer and she had the feeling that he thought it unlikely.

  The horses that were drawing them travelled quickly and soon they were in sight of the Pyramids, standing out against the desert of sand.

  Although Shikara longed to stop and visit them, she knew that the Marquis was right and that the first thing they must do on their arrival in Egypt was to seek her rather.

  Although she tried to keep the thought from her mind, one question repeated and repeated itself as they drove along:

  ‘If my father is here, how long will the Marquis stay once he has given me into his care?’

  Because she was shy she only glanced at him sideways out of the corner of her eyes and as he did not seem inclined to speak she too was sil
ent.

  They drove past the first Pyramids and now the Great Step Pyramid of Zoser came into sight and the palm trees which surrounded the building which the Marquis told Shikara was the Temple of Ptah.

  There were stones and great slabs of marble and rock everywhere.

  As they stepped from the carriage Shikara thought for a moment that it would be impossible to re-create anything out of such a confusion of rocks and sand.

  The Marquis was walking ahead of her, when she saw a little to their left the Avenue of Sphinxes.

  There was no mistaking that this was where Mariette had made his wonderful discovery two years earlier, and she stood entranced.

  The Avenue followed a relatively straight course for about six hundred yards, then turned sharply to the left, leading to the front of a small Temple before which was ranged a remarkable semi-circle of statues.

  They walked towards it, and seeing some workmen the Marquis asked for Monsieur Mariette.

  They pointed the way and Shikara and the Marquis descending a steep shaft into the ground heard voices and the sound of digging at the end of a long chamber.

  ‘Is Monsieur Mariette there?” the Marquis asked. His voice seemed to echo back at them, and for the moment there was no answer.

  Then slowly coming down what Shikara learnt later was the long burial chamber of the Sacred Bulls, they saw a man.

  “Are you looking for me, Monsieur?” he enquired in French.

  “You are Monsieur Auguste Mariette?” the Marquis enquired.

  “Oui, Monsieur.”

  “I am the Marquis of Linwood, and I have brought you Professor Richard Bartlett’s daughter, who has come to Egypt in search of her father.”

  Monsieur Mariette gave a cry of astonishment, then turning towards Shikara he held out both his hands.

  “Mademoiselle,” he exclaimed. “Your father spoke about you so often that I feel already I know you.”

  Shikara curtseyed and was a little surprised when he raised both her hands to his lips, one after another.

  “I am honoured—deeply honoured—that you should have come here,” Monsieur Mariette said, “and I only wish I had better news to tell you about your father.”

  “He is ... dead?” Shikara asked in a low voice.

  Monsieur Mariette made a little gesture with his hand.

  “The truth is, Mademoiselle, that I do not know.”

  “Then where is he? What could have happened to him?” Shikara asked.

  “I must explain,” Monsieur Mariette answered.

  His shirt-sleeves were turned up and he wore no tie, but nevertheless even with his clothes covered in sand there was a dignity and an air of authority about him which Shikara felt commanded respect.

  “Shall we sit down, Mademoiselle?” he suggested, and looked round him vaguely.

  There was some fallen masonry and because he seemed to expect it of her Shikara seated herself, although the Marquis remained standing.

  Monsieur Mariette sat down opposite her.

  “What ... happened?” she asked as if she was impatient to come to the point.

  “Your father, as you know, joined me over a year ago,” Monsieur Mariette began. “It was when I first discovered the Sphinxes and I had the idea that the Tomb of the Sacred Bulls could not be far away.”

  “That is what you said in your letter to Papa.”

  “I was right,’ Monsieur Mariette said, “and in fact I can now show you the catacomb for the Apis burials, and not only the vaults but a tomb of burials made in the reign of Ramses II intact and unviolated by robbers.”

  “How wonderful!” Shikara exclaimed. “And was Papa here when you found them?”

  “Yes, indeed,” Monsieur Mariette replied. “That was on March nineteenth last year, and your father started to catalogue the contents of the sarcophagi.”

  “What did they contain?” Shikara asked.

  “A collection of bones and other animal material in a poor state of preservation,” Monsieur Mariette replied, “but there was also a quantity of funereal statuettes, gold ornaments, and some other objects of inestimable value.”

  “If that was last March,” Shikara said, “why did Papa not write to me as he always used to do?”

  “I am sure he intended to, Mademoiselle,” Monsieur Mariette replied, “but your father was as excited as I was at finding the catacombs of the Sacred Bulls and I am afraid we found it impossible to think of anything else.”

  Shikara did not speak and he added apologetically:

  “There was an enormous amount of excavation to do which involved tremendous problems...”

  He made a gesture with his hands as he spoke and went on:

  “You can see the sand and dust that lies thick everywhere. It creates a kind of fog, fine and all-penetrating. There were falls of rock and sometimes the candles we used could not be kept alight without difficulty.”

  “I can understand that Papa would forget about me,” Shikara said, “but what has happened to him?”

  Monsieur Mariette drew in his breath.

  “Again I must give you the truthful answer, Mademoiselle: I do not know!”

  “You do not know?” Shikara repeated.

  “He disappeared!”

  “How could he have done that?”

  “He was staying near here where the accommodation is fairly uncomfortable and the houses are so small that we were not together.”

  “Co on!” Shikara urged.

  “One morning your father did not turn up as I had expected and I thought perhaps he was occupied with some of the writing he had to do. I meant to call on him that evening, but I was tired and left it until the following day.

  “When he did not appear then, I sent someone to find him, and the reply came back that the people in the house where he was lodging thought he was me.

  “I was not perturbed. As you know, your father was very vague and sometimes went into Cairo if there was some information he required or if he needed special tools with which to clean the objects we found.”

  “You must have thought it strange when he was away for so long,” Shikara said.

  “It only gradually dawned on me that there was anything peculiar about his nonappearance,” Monsieur Mariette admitted. “Although we were very close in our work we both liked to go our own ways and never interfered with each other.”

  “That sounds very like Papa.”

  “Then at last I really became worried,” Monsieur Mariette continued, “and I found that in fact your father had completely vanished!”

  “How could he have done that?”

  “I do not know,” he answered. “I went to his lodgings and found everything just as he had left it. There was a half-written letter to you, but otherwise there was nothing of importance except the objects we had discovered in the sarcophagi.”

  “What steps did you take to find him?” the Marquis asked.

  He had said nothing until now, and both Shikara and Monsieur Mariette started when he interrupted their conversation.

  “I asked everyone locally if they had seen him,” the Frenchman replied, “and they were all convinced that he had gone off on a trip into the desert to look at some other site.

  “We had in fact talked of looking for tombs at Abydos, but I could not really believe that the Professor would go there without me or at least informing me of his intention.”

  “So what did you do?” the Marquis persisted. Monsieur Mariette looked embarrassed.

  “Quite frankly, My Lord,” he said after a moment, “I did not know what to do. I knew that the Professor would not like too many enquiries made about him. I had asked nobody’s permission in inviting him to join me, and the French Government, which has allowed me to continue my work and given me a substantial grant of money, is very jealous of other nations having any part in the discoveries which I have made.”

  “I can understand that,” the Marquis said. “But at the same time, the Professor is a man of distinction and his disappearance
cannot remain a secret forever.”

  “I am aware of that,” Monsieur Mariette answered, “and I intend to employ a detective, or at least some responsible person, to make a thorough search for him.”

  As he spoke, Shikara, and she thought the Marquis would think the same, realised that Monsieur Mariette, intent on his excavations, had just let things drift.

  He might have been perturbed and worried by her father’s disappearance, but nothing could wean him away from the excitement and thrill of his discoveries.

  “You must accept my deepest regret about what has happened, Mademoiselle, he said to Shikara, “and I assure you that my respect and admiration for your father increased a thousand-fold by the tremendous assistance he gave me while we were working together.”

  “Thank you,” Shikara replied.

  “I suggest, Monsieur,” the Marquis said, “that you come with us now to a place where we can have luncheon. As you will appreciate, this has been a shock to Miss Bartlett, and there are a great many details she would like clarified. I think we can do so in more comfortable circumstances than down here in the dust and dark.”

  “Of course, My Lord. I shall be very pleased to do anything you ask,” Monsieur Mariette replied.

  But Shikara could not help feeling that he was regretting the hours he must spend away from his excavations.

  Because she thought it would please him, she asked if she could see what he had already discovered; and there was a light in his eyes and a lilt to his voice as he took her along the corridor which extended for many chambers, containing the mummified remains of the Bulls.

  There was an eeriness, Shikara thought, which came perhaps from any place associated with death and burial. But she was deeply interested and there was no doubt that the Marquis was entranced by what he saw.

  Shikara too was extremely impressed by the questions he asked and the knowledge he appeared to have about the Sacred Bulls.