Daughter of the God-King

by Anne Cleeland

  With a brisk movement, Bing shook out her coverlet. “Yes—we are to meet downstairs tomorrow morning. You are most welcome to join us, Hathor, if you change your mind.”

  “Heavens, Bing; I would be bored beyond imagining and therefore likely to cut the visit short—a most unsatisfactory gooseberry.”

  “Mr. Hafez and I have no need for a gooseberry, Hathor.” Bing was very much on her dignity as she turned down the lamp.

  Resisting the temptation to tease Bing about her new beau, Hattie instead adopted a thoughtful manner as she lifted the coverlet to climb into her bed. “It does not appear that the minister is aware of Edward’s secret chamber—did you note?”

  Bing nodded in the dim lamplight. “Yes. Although recall that Edward was not himself certain of its existence.”

  “Unless…” Hattie added slowly. “Unless Mr. Hafez was probing to see how much we knew.” She cast Bing a covert glance.

  Bing stood for a moment, thoughtful. “It would be best to be circumspect, Hathor—a good point.”

  After debating for a silent moment, Hattie decided that in all good conscience she should give her companion some warning. “Monsieur Berry seems to believe there are dangerous forces at work, and that we must be very careful.”

  But the revelation did not alarm Bing, who only nodded in agreement as she climbed into bed. “I would not be surprised if that was indeed the case. Wherever there is treasure there are those who would do evil.” It was her companion’s turn to render a covert glance. “A provoking man, Monsieur Berry.”

  But Hattie only laughed as she plumped her pillow. “Come, Bing—you are as aware as anyone it is my own wretched temper at fault; Monsieur Berry is anything but provoking.”

  “I see,” replied Bing in a level tone.

  Hattie sighed, wrapping her arms around her knees as she sat in her bed. “I don’t know whom to trust in this business, and it puts me on edge.”

  “No blame for it—what with all the talk of hidden treasure and ancient curses.”

  “And the odious solicitor—don’t forget him.”

  “Indeed.” Bing hesitated, then added, “In turn, I must mention that I am not certain Monsieur Berry has been entirely forthright with us.”

  You don’t know the half of it, thought Hattie. Aloud, she replied, “Not to worry, Bing—I am aware that the mysterious Monsieur Berry has not been forthright. He has admitted as much to me.”

  “I wondered if perhaps he works for the Prefect of Police.”

  Hattie lay down and studied the ceiling in the darkness, her arms crossed behind her head. “You believe he is a law enforcement officer?”

  “It is only an impression—but there is little that he does not notice.”

  Hattie thought this over, but was met with the undeniable fact that Berry could not work for the French Prefect because—unbeknownst to Bing—Berry was not French. Hattie’s working theory was that he was some sort of spy—he and the captain, both—only it was unclear whose interests he represented; one thing was for certain, he was definitely not English. “An intriguing idea,” she responded, and decided all puzzles could await the morning—she was tired.

  She awoke some time later and wondered if it was morning already. The room was enveloped in darkness, however, with the lamp still burning low. Hattie realized she had been awakened by a soft sound and, lying still, she heard it again. Suddenly wide awake, she carefully raised herself on her elbow, her eyes straining into the darkness. In the dim light she could make out a figure crouched down near the wardrobe toward the foot of her bed and her mouth went dry. Craven, she thought—take hold of yourself. “You there,” she said loudly, reaching around for something to use as a weapon. “Identify yourself.”

  Several things then happened in rapid succession; the figure sprang upright and, after a moment’s hesitation, made straight for Hattie, who screeched in alarm and scrambled to the other side of the bed. Her attacker was revealed to be an Egyptian man in native garb, who reached across the bed to grasp her arm roughly while Hattie unsuccessfully twisted to avoid him. He dragged her across the bed while Hattie furiously punched at him with her free hand until Bing’s voice rang out. “Halt,” she commanded. “I am armed and I will shoot.”

  It was unclear whether the intruder spoke English, but he ignored Bing and wrapped his arms around Hattie, wrestling her toward the door. Hattie sank her teeth into his wrist just as a loud report sounded; Bing had fired. The intruder yelped, although Hattie wasn’t certain if he had been shot or merely bitten, and Hattie pulled herself free long enough to leap toward Bing who stood unflinching, holding her pistol on the intruder. The balcony doors were suddenly flung open and the turbaned man appeared, hesitating in the dimness as he took in the scene. Hattie gasped to Bing, “Don’t shoot the new one,” just as the original intruder decided a retreat was in order. He ran at the turbaned man, knocking him back, then leapt over him to disappear through the balcony doors, the turbaned man up again and hot on his heels.

  Hattie stood with Bing, her heart hammering in the sudden silence, and before either could speak the door to the room burst open and Berry appeared in his shirt sleeves, his own pistol drawn.

  “They both went out the balcony,” Hattie pointed.

  Berry went to peer over the balcony into the night as he secured his pistol into his belt. Turning to them he said, “Stay here until I return—do not leave.” Alarmed voices could be heard in the hallway as the two women nodded. It seemed to Hattie that Berry’s gaze lingered on her dishabille just before he leapt over the balcony railing, hanging for a moment on the wrought iron supports before jumping down to the street below. Hattie stepped over to watch his figure disappear around a corner but Bing drew her back with a hand on her arm. “Best we lock these doors, Hathor.”

  Once inside, Hattie regarded Bing with approval, the blood still coursing in her veins from all the excitement. “Did you shoot him?”

  “No; I merely wanted to frighten him away.”

  “You are amazing.” Hattie was all admiration.

  “Not at all,” Bing disclaimed. “Are you hurt, Hathor? Come over to the lantern so that we can assess.”

  A group of guests were huddled outside their broken door, and Hattie decided she should pull on her robe, although she couldn’t help but be pleased that Berry had been given an opportunity to glimpse her pretty nightdress. A proprietor from the hotel pushed through the guests and approached them with concern. “Ladies,” he said in heavily accented English. “What has happened?”

  “An intruder,” said Bing succinctly. “Routed out the balcony.”

  Both the hotel proprietor and the crowd expressed their dismay and outrage at such a turn of events, and the door’s broken lock was examined. “I will post a guard,” the man announced. “Rest assured you will be undisturbed the remainder of the night, and tomorrow we will repair the door.”

  “Thank you,” said Hattie, and the room eventually cleared, the spectators murmuring among themselves in the manner of people who did not yet wish to relinquish their shock and outrage.

  Bing asked, “Is there anything missing, Hathor? Jewelry, perhaps?”

  As Hattie owned little jewelry, an inventory took only a moment. “No. Nothing appears to be missing.” How fortunate that she had left the package at the solicitor’s—it seemed beyond coincidental that this raid took place after her meeting with Mr. Bahur, who had made it clear that he was aware she was withholding information—information that he desperately needed. I should share my conclusions with Berry, she thought, although if he hasn’t reached the same conclusions on his own I wash my hands of him.

  Perched on the foot of Bing’s bed, she settled in to wait for Berry’s return. “And who was the other gentleman?” asked Bing as though she was only mildly curious.

  “I have seen him speaking with Monsieur Berry,” Hattie explained. Not exactly true, but she’d rather not confess to Bing that the man had been monitoring her movements for two days.

&
nbsp; After an hour, Berry tapped at the door and the guard allowed him in on Hattie’s nod.

  “You are unhurt?” he asked, assessing her with a brief glance.

  “Yes.” Little doubt that she would have bruises on her arm tomorrow but, she reflected with satisfaction, the intruder in turn would sport teeth marks so she felt she had won the encounter.

  “Is anything missing?” His gaze was on Hattie, intent.

  Hattie shook her head and Bing offered with some severity, “I am not certain the motive was robbery; I believe he had fell intent—he was attempting to seize Hathor and force her out the door.”

  Berry’s eyes flew to Hattie’s for verification and she could sense his surprise. Whatever the concerns were that had prompted him to post a guard to watch her movements, he had not anticipated abduction.

  “Did you catch him?” asked Hattie.

  Berry shook his head in chagrin. “He was very elusive.”

  Not a straight answer, noted Hattie; naturally. There was no point in asking any further questions—she had gone this route too many times before.

  Berry indicated he needed to speak to the authorities and assured the ladies they would be safe if they remained in the room. After they agreed to meet upon the morrow, he took his leave with a last, enigmatic glance at Hattie, which she could not interpret.

  Bing surveyed the chamber, her hands on her hips. “I will pull a chair against the door, Hathor, just as a precaution.”

  Hattie teased, “He wouldn’t dare try again—he would be shot through.”

  Reminded, Bing searched for the bullet and used a hair pick to pry it out of the plaster, where it had lodged. “I hope we will not be charged for the damage.”

  Hattie crawled back into bed, although it seemed unlikely she would sleep for the remainder of the night. “It was certainly not our fault, Bing—although I wouldn’t mention that it was Monsieur Berry who broke down the door.” Thinking on it, Hattie decided he had made a very dashing appearance as he burst into the room to her rescue. She had noted with interest that his hastily clad shirt revealed hair on his chest—a bit darker than his hair color. Flinging back the coverlet, she decided that the room was over-warm and restlessly tried to find a more comfortable position.

  Chapter 19

  The next morning, slivers of sunlight filtered in through the closed louvers as Hattie opened her eyes. The events of the preceding night came flooding back and she sat up, sleepy but determined to seek out Berry to discuss the solicitor’s role in her attempted abduction. With some regret, she realized that Bing was now likely to cancel her visit to the pyramids and therefore there would be no opportunity for a private tête-à-tête. A shame—she was certain the man was nearly to the breaking point.

  After casting a glance at her sleeping companion, Hattie decided to exit the bed and begin dressing in the hope that her movements would awaken Bing. Unfortunately, this gambit did not succeed and so Hattie was forced to drop her hairbrush with a clatter on the tile floor.

  Bing responded sleepily, “You needn’t be quiet, Hathor—I am awake.”

  With complete insincerity, Hattie replied, “I am so sorry, Bing—you must be tired.”

  But apparently Bing had her own motivations and was not loath to rise. “I will nap later; let us discover if there is any news from last night.”

  A short time later, the two women descended to the dining room for breakfast. Bing alerted the front desk that they were out of the room so that the door could be repaired and, after inquiry, discovered there was no further news about last night’s intruder; the proprietor had not contacted the authorities on Berry’s assurance that he would do the honors.

  Doubtful, concluded Hattie—Berry is about as likely to hand this over to the Egyptian authorities as he is to tell me from whence he hails or for whom he acts. Further inquiry revealed that Berry had left the premises, and had left no message. Deflated, Hattie passed a desultory hour with Bing at the breakfast table before Hafez made his appearance, expecting to visit the pyramids.

  “I must beg your pardon,” Bing explained, “but we have experienced untoward events and I fear I must postpone our visit.”

  Upon his exclamations, Hattie had to sit through yet another recital of the intrusion, all the while keeping an impatient eye on the door. While she could concede that Berry may have other concerns that were more pressing than waiting attendance on herself, he must be aware she was in a fever to speak to him—among other fevers best not examined too closely; mainly she was longing to have him maul her about again.

  “It is of all things alarming,” the minister pronounced in dismay after Bing concluded her tale. “You are to be commended for staying with Miss Blackhouse today in her distress.”

  Hattie blinked, as the man must be blind to think she was distraught as opposed to merely bored. “Pray do not stay here on my account, Bing,” she offered, trying not to sound as though she were pleading.

  “I cannot be easy, Hathor—we shall stay close to home today.”

  Crossly, Hattie surmised that the fact Bing’s new admirer was also close to hand made the decision all that much easier. I am slated to play gooseberry, she thought; a pox on the intruder for upsetting my plan to negotiate a surrender with the weakening Monsieur Berry.

  With a small bow, the minister gallantly offered his protection and support. “May I entertain you ladies in some way? Perhaps a game of cards?”

  “There is a chessboard in the lobby,” Hattie suggested with some hope; it would provide a lengthy distraction and Bing did play, although Hattie had a gift for the game and regularly beat her.

  “Only two can play,” Bing pointed out.

  “I shall keep score,” offered Hattie promptly, “being as how I am distraught.”

  “There is no score to keep,” noted Bing, giving her a look.

  “Then I will watch and learn,” countered Hattie. “And procure the refreshments.”

  Bing surrendered to Hattie’s machinations and the minister was escorted to the chessboard, which was set up near a large window in the lobby, the morning sunlight splashing across the game table. As Hafez and Bing were seated, Hattie decided to perch upon the window seat where she could keep a weather eye on the front door without making it too obvious that this was her intent.

  The mechanical fan slowly turned overhead as the players set up the pieces, and Hafez asked, “Did the intruder come away with any personal items, Miss Blackhouse?”

  For the love of heaven, Hattie thought; not another one. “No—nothing was taken.” To turn the subject and boost Bing’s stock, she added, “Miss Bing fired her pistol at him and he retreated in disarray.”

  While Bing blushed and disclaimed, Hattie listened to Hafez’s professions of admiration and wondered why he had asked the question—perhaps he was yet another searcher for the mysterious strongbox, which she should probably try to examine before any further ruckuses ensued. With an inward sigh, she recognized that she would be forced to trust someone soon and very much wished to follow her inclination to trust he-who-was-not-named-Berry. Although perhaps the minister could be trusted—presumably he sought only what was best for her parents and for Egypt. Berry did not seem to think this the best tack, but then again, Berry may be attempting to throw dust in her eyes. Reminded, she asked, “Are you aware of the tragic news with respect to Madame Auguste, Mr. Hafez?”

  Taking his gaze from the board, the minister looked up at her in surprise. “No—what is the news?”

  “I’m afraid she died recently in Paris—rather suddenly.”

  The minister stared at her in dismay and Hattie decided his surprise was genuine. She continued, “I am so sorry—I understand you were acquainted with the lady and her late husband.”

  “Yes, indeed—a tragedy—a terrible tragedy.” He uttered the words in sincere sorrow and dropped his gaze, much affected. “Such fine people.”

  “Who has replaced Monsieur Auguste as your Ministry’s liaison with the Blackhouses?” asked
Bing. Hattie thought it a good question, as whoever was willing to replace the decedent would be very brave indeed, given all the deaths piling up.

  Heaving a huge sigh, the minister replied, “No one—he was irreplaceable.”

  As this seemed overly dramatic, Hattie offered, “At least no one is needed just now, while the dig is at a standstill.”

  But the man disagreed, turning to her to explain. “Oh no, Miss Blackhouse; in his absence there are competing interests who are all bringing pressure to bear. If only he was still with us—he excelled at negotiation.”

  Hattie was going to inquire as to the nature of the negotiations when she sensed a presence next to her and looked up to behold Berry, who had materialized at her side. She was certain he hadn’t entered via the front door but it hardly mattered—he was finally here and at long last, was regarding her with an expression of undisguised warmth. Unable to suppress a smile, she decided that there was nothing like an attempted abduction to remind a gentleman of opportunities wasted. After greeting him in a distracted fashion, the chess players settled back into their game and Hattie sidled close to Berry so they could converse unheard—and so her arm could brush up against his.

  “Do you play?” He gestured toward the board.

  Dimpling up at him, she answered with some pertness, “Very well. And you?”

  He tilted his head and echoed her words. “Very well.”

  “Perhaps we should play each other, then.”

  “You would have the advantage—I would be unable to concentrate.” His gaze rested on her mouth and held such a measure of meaning she had to look away for a moment so as to control her unbridled delight; it appeared a glimpse of her nightdress had created an impatience for further intimacies—and not a moment too soon.

  “Are you recovered?” He brushed a covert finger across the back of her hand.