Daughter of the God-King

by Anne Cleeland

  She laughed behind her fan, clearly enjoying herself. “It was too simple, Daniel—I could not resist.”

  Hattie gazed out at the Saladin Citadel in the distance, struggling to keep her countenance. Eugenie was a pickpocket, then; a commendable trait in a cohort, one would think. “Must we pay a fee to travel down the Nile?” Hattie wondered at the reference to needed funds.

  “There is no fee comme tel,” Berry answered carefully, “But the journey will depend on securing cooperation from those who will expect to be compensated.”

  Hattie was unsurprised, considering there was no strong central authority to oversee such things. “Bribery, in other words. Is it so corrupt, then?”

  He shrugged. “At present, the local authorities hold sway, but the situation will probably not survive the year and everyone seeks to make a profit while they may.”

  “Because once the British regain authority, graft will be discouraged,” Hattie concluded. “The rule of law will be enforced.”

  “Perhaps French laws will be enforced, instead,” Eugenie offered with a small smile from beneath her parasol. “Just because you are English, you should not make such an assumption.”

  Hattie lifted her brows in surprise at the pointed observation—which seemed to have no particular point. “The French? Certainly that seems unlikely, Mademoiselle Leone—the French government is in as much disarray as is Egypt’s.”

  “Quand même, one never knows,” the other replied, and turned to gaze at the scenery.

  Chapter 21

  The British consulate was located in the heart of the Old City district, the white stone edifice dominating the busy promenade where hawkers worked in abundance, hoping to sell all variety of goods to the British tourists who visited the building. After Berry handed her down from the transport cart, Hattie paused to take in the interesting sights and review the wares on display—maps of the excavation sites in Thebes and Abu Simbel as well as trinkets guaranteed to bestow good luck on their purchasers. With a smile, she admired a group of crude brass figures representing the goddess Hathor while the vendors redoubled their efforts to convince her to buy. She lifted her head to convey her regrets but before she could speak, one of them started and backed away from her, staring in amazement. “Dgahtr af,” he muttered, then turned to his colleagues in alarm and repeated the words, gesturing toward her. The other vendors paused in their efforts and a sudden, profound silence fell as they all stared in amazement at Hattie, some making a sign with their fingers as they backed away.

  Berry firmly took her arm and led her up the steps to the consulate. “Come along, Mademoiselle Blackhouse.”

  A low murmuring broke from the crowd as they walked up the steps to the consulate. “They have seen the likeness of the god-king’s daughter,” Hattie deduced as she hurried beside him. She was surprised by the strength of the vendors’ reaction—surprised and a bit shaken, truth to tell.

  “Yes—and they are probably selling them as well. Try to refrain from sending forth a curse, as I cannot answer for the consequences.”

  Appreciating his attempt to make light of the situation, she tried to match his easy tone. “Would that I could.”

  As he held the door, she crossed under his arm and he remarked, “There is no question that you can bewitch, mademoiselle.” Pausing, she met his gaze and they shared a mutual reminiscence of stolen embraces.

  “Allons, you two,” prodded Eugenie crossly. “It is no time for the sheep’s eyes.”

  Once inside, they were met by a soldier who ushered the party into a marble-floored anteroom where a clerk presided at an imposing desk, the atmosphere suddenly very British in direct contrast to the disorganized chaos outside. The clerk rose as Berry presented Hattie. “I am the Blackhouse agent, and this is Mademoiselle Blackhouse, here to arrange a search for her parents in Thebes.”

  His words had an immediate effect, and the clerk nearly goggled as he reverently took her hand. “Miss Blackhouse—it is an honor. Please accept my”—the clerk caught himself—“sincere hope that your parents will be rescued.”

  “Thank you,” said Hattie, her conscience stung by the implied condolences. Perhaps she should make an effort to appear more grief-stricken and less sheep-eyed.

  “Allow me to inform the undersecretary that you are here; I am certain he will wish to speak with you immediately.” With a respectful gesture, he indicated they were to enter an adjacent waiting room and be seated, and refreshments were promptly offered. He then hurried away, his footsteps echoing importantly on the marble floor.

  “I can see now why we do not apply to the French consulate,” remarked Hattie in a wry tone. “I am a princess and a legacy, combined.”

  “‘Legacy’—I do not know what this means.” Eugenie pursed her full lips in puzzlement.

  Hattie explained, “I am a famous daughter.”

  Eugenie’s reaction was to smile in her rather annoying, condescending way. “De vrai; you are indeed.” She then glanced at Berry, who made a gesture with his head toward the door, as though calling Eugenie to task.

  An older gentleman, very distinguished and diplomatic in manner, entered the room and immediately approached Eugenie to bow over her hand. “Miss Blackhouse.”

  “You mistake—this is Miss Blackhouse,” Berry corrected him, indicating Hattie. Eugenie giggled and simpered foolishly behind her fan in a manner that was very unlike her, provoking a sharp look from Hattie as she took the gentleman’s hand.

  Introductions were made and the undersecretary said all that was proper about Hattie’s tragic situation. Hattie noted, however, that his eyes kept straying to Eugenie, who used her own eyes and fan to advantage. I wonder what our object is here, Hattie thought; whatever it is, this poor man stands no chance.

  Upon being informed of the planned trip up the Nile, the undersecretary assured Hattie he would do everything in his power to offer aid. “Regrettable business.” He sadly shook his head. “To have disappeared without a trace.”

  Berry pressed the point. “The Minister of Antiquities will accompany us; he reports that his own attempts to obtain information at the time of the disappearance were met with resistance—brigands, I understand.”

  The undersecretary frowned in disapproval. “Is that so? I’ll admit that lawlessness has been a recurring problem in the area—not unexpected, considering the treasures being unearthed. I can ask for an increase in security personnel at our embassy’s facility in Al Karnak in anticipation of your visit—indeed, if you’d like, personnel can be directly assigned to your party.”

  But this was not, apparently, the solution which was sought. “An excellent suggestion,” Berry bowed in appreciation. “However, perhaps posting British guards at the tomb site would be most helpful—there would be little question of loyalty to Mademoiselle Blackhouse.”

  “True.” The man nodded, thinking. “I have already heard concerns that the Egyptian guards look the other way in exchange for bribes. Very good—I will see to it; there can be no objection—not with Miss Blackhouse on site—the local authorities must defer in this matter.” Upon voicing this resolution he was rewarded with a warm smile from Eugenie, which caused him to lose his train of thought.

  Berry ruthlessly drew him back. “We sail on the Priapus tomorrow. If Mademoiselle Blackhouse could be issued a safe passage, under the imprimatur of the Consul General, it would ensure the utmost cooperation of those on whom we must rely.”

  The man nodded, impressed. “Another excellent suggestion, sir; allow me to arrange for it now, before you depart.” Rising to leave the room, he threw Eugenie a glance and left the door ajar. That lady, nothing loath, rose and stretched like a cat then wandered out the door toward the antechamber.

  Speculating, Hattie glanced at Berry, wondering what he was about. “You are very thorough in your preparations.”

  “Your safety is of paramount importance.” She had the impression he was listening, but there was only silence from the antechamber, or at least as far as
Hattie could tell.

  After a pause, she ventured, “Why a safe passage? Is it what it sounds?”

  He brought his attention back to her. “Yes—it is a diplomatic document that allows the bearer free passage without need of a passport or other identification. It is merely a precautionary measure.”

  If Hattie wondered why someone as well-known as herself, armed with a passport and bearing a famous resemblance to the entombed princess, would need such a document, she kept the thought to herself.

  The undersecretary returned with a formal-looking parchment but Eugenie was nowhere in evidence. “Here it is; the safe passage. Shall I make it out?”

  “No need—I will see to it.” Berry gave it a glance and deposited the folded document in an inner pocket.

  They conveyed their gratitude and the official said all that was proper as he ushered them back into the foyer where Eugenie was now deep in conversation with the desk clerk, who had the look of a man who could not believe his good fortune. She is a handful, thought Hattie—lucky for him, she is not Berry’s handful. The undersecretary cleared his throat in disapproval and the man snapped to attention. Farewells were said all around, the undersecretary murmuring something to Eugenie that made her laugh. He then smiled with kindness as he bowed over Hattie’s hand. “I shall hope you discover only good news, Miss Blackhouse.”

  Hattie returned his smile even though they were both aware of the unlikeliness of this. “If nothing else I shall discover the Egypt they knew.”

  “Perhaps you will carry on their work,” he suggested kindly. “It is in the blood, after all.”

  Definitely not in my blood, Hattie thought as she made an equivocal answer and they parted. As they were escorted toward the entrance, Berry asked, “You have no interest in Egyptology?”

  Hattie shook her head without shame. “Absolutely none. My knowledge of the subject is only slightly more than yours—which is nearly nonexistent.” She had the satisfaction of hearing him chuckle and looked up to him with a twinkle.

  When they emerged into the sunlight, a roar erupted. Startled, Hattie was met with the sight of a large crowd gathered at the base of the steps with all eyes fixed upon her. Holding out an arm to halt her progress, Berry ushered her back through the door and into the foyer. “It would be best,” he informed the astonished footman, “if a covered coach could be sent to the back entrance, with some outriders.” Acutely embarrassed, Hattie stood with Berry and Eugenie while the sound of many murmuring voices could heard—the words dgahtr af discernible above all else.

  “You are la héroïne,” noted Eugenie in surprise, as though it was hard to credit. “Why is this?”

  “My parents distributed a likeness of the god-king’s daughter and used me as a model,” Hattie explained. “I’m afraid the locals have gained the wrong impression.”

  “Extraordinaire,” the other agreed in wonderment. “They are indeed foolish, no?”

  “Come,” said Berry, indicating the footman who beckoned to them from the back entrance.

  “J’ai la clef,” said Eugenie to him in a low voice as she walked past, her tone triumphant.

  “Which key is that?” asked Hattie as they crossed the hallway, distracted by the clamor and wondering what was meant.

  Eugenie paused. “Que?”

  “Didn’t you say you have a key?” asked Hattie in French. She had a solid knowledge of the language, her governess having been an avid Francophile.

  “No, no,” Eugenie laughed. “Instead, I said we were brief—nous étions bref.” She smiled indulgently. “Your French is only fair, n’est-ce pas?”

  “Mais oui,” agreed Hattie with a smile, wondering with alarm why Berry would wish to steal a key to the British consulate.

  Chapter 22

  Bing returned just before dinner, exhausted but very much satisfied with the sights she had witnessed. “Marvelous,” she pronounced, her face burnt from the sun as she unpinned her hat and dusted it off. “Would you mind, Hathor, if I have a tray sent up to the room? With Mademoiselle Leone present, there can be no objection to your dining under Monsieur Berry’s auspices.”

  “I am willing to stay and hear your tales of the crypt,” Hattie offered. “There will be plenty of opportunities to dine with our companions when we travel up the Nile.”

  “Best not to allow Mademoiselle Leone a clear field,” Bing opined with a knowing air as she unlaced her half boots. “Men tend to lose their bearings around women of that stamp.”

  This was undeniably true, as Hattie had witnessed first-hand at the consulate. In fact, she would not be surprised if Eugenie’s role was to cause certain hand-picked men to lose their bearings. The list would not include Berry, but as Hattie would rather be in his company anyway she did not demur. “I shall come hear of your adventures after dinner, then—in the meantime I’ll go down and arrange for your tray.”

  “Something substantial, if you please,” directed her companion, lying back on her bed with a happy sigh. “I confess I am sharp-set.”

  After having arranged for a tray of cold meats and soup for Bing, Hattie joined Berry and Eugenie in the dining room for dinner. With an apologetic smile she announced, “Bing sends her regrets—she is exhausted from her tour.”

  “A shame.” Berry pulled out her chair, his fingers brushing Hattie’s shoulders as she was seated.

  Aware that she should not feel quite so gleeful at the prospect of further improprieties, Hattie nevertheless could not contain a sidelong glance at Berry to gauge his reaction to the loss of her chaperone. His manner was all that was correct and polite, but she was not fooled; the emotion was there, simmering just beneath the surface. I am beyond redemption, she thought without remorse; but it is such a sweet, sweet surrender.

  All thoughts of heated embraces, however, were replaced by abject surprise as Hattie spied a familiar figure approaching the table. “Why, Robbie,” she exclaimed.

  With a familiar gesture, Robbie leaned to take her hand, smiling at her reaction. “Hattie, you devil—I have finally managed to track you down, and no thanks to the management here, who seem to suspect I am some sort of burglar.”

  “Robbie—I must own I am astonished. You remember Monsieur Berry, my parents’ agent?”

  Berry had stood to shake hands and Robbie greeted him before his gaze rested on Eugenie. “Ah—Mademoiselle Valérie.”

  “Leone—Mademoiselle Eugenie Leone,” she corrected him with a beguiling smile.

  “I beg your pardon—my wretched memory.” He seemed amused for some reason as he took her hand.

  Hattie offered a place at the table, ashamed of herself for feeling a bit disappointed that Robbie had chosen to make an appearance at this particular juncture; it was just as well, she told herself firmly—you are nothing less than a hoyden. “Do join us, Robbie; have you eaten?”

  “No; I am just arrived and set out to find you first thing—Lord, Hattie, you gave me a turn.”

  But Hattie was unrepentant and lifted her chin. “Turnabout is fair play, my friend. How does your superior?”

  Unable to suppress a grin, he confessed, “Fit to be tied; that’s how he does—I expect to be summarily fired at any moment.”

  Hattie shot him a look from under her brows. “If you expect me to feel sorry for you, Robbie Tremaine—”

  Berry interrupted the exchange before it escalated into fisticuffs. “Please accept my condolences, Monsieur Tremaine.”

  At the reminder, Robbie assumed a grave expression and thanked him in a sincere tone before seating himself between Hattie and Eugenie as they signaled that an extra setting should be brought. Hattie could not help but note that he wore no black mourning band—although she wasn’t certain of the protocol, as the dead woman was not yet his wife. Deciding there was no point in putting off the topic, she added, “Yes; I am also sorry to hear of your loss, Robbie.”

  The newcomer poured a full measure of wine into his glass as he made a wry mouth. “It is insult upon injury, I’m afraid. The p
refect questioned me very closely—in this type of situation the men in the dead woman’s life are always scrutinized.”

  Outraged on his behalf, Hattie exclaimed, “Surely they do not suspect you?”

  He shrugged. “It was irksome to be questioned but it could not be helped—I’ll admit I departed before they were quite done with me, so I have an ulterior purpose in coming to track you down—I figured you’d need some help over here.”

  “Your help will be much appreciated,” Hattie assured him politely, aware that the gentleman seated across from her refrained from comment.

  “It is a shame I must offer you my condolences, Monsieur Tremaine, before I have had the chance to offer my congratulations on your engagement.” Eugenie’s beautiful face was solemn, as was her tone, but Hattie noted her eyes were dancing. Her acquaintanceship with the other woman was not longstanding, but it was long enough to know this was not a good sign.

  “I thank you,” Robbie replied, matching her tone. “How does your sister; must I offer condolences also?”

  Eugenie laughed and shrugged her pretty shoulders. “Eh bien; she is alive and well, to everyone’s astonishment.”

  As though suddenly aware he was leaving Hattie out of the conversation, Robbie turned to her. “What has happened, Hattie—is there any news of your parents?”

  “We travel to Thebes tomorrow—and I have been to visit my parents’ solicitor.”

  Robbie’s interest sharpened. “What did he report?”

  Hattie shook her head to convey her regret. “He was disappointed I could not produce correspondence from them which might have been helpful.”

  Artlessly, Robbie shrugged a shoulder as he dug into his beefsteak. “He should not have been surprised—they never corresponded with you very much.”

  “No,” she agreed, a bit stricken by the bald statement.

  Between bites, Tremaine looked up to her. “Did the solicitor give you funds? Have you enough to mount a search?”