But I will never be a bride, thought Hattie, watching the ferry’s approach and pretending not to notice the byplay. With sad resignation, she examined this aspect of her life now that she was coming to terms with the cataclysmic news of yesterday. As a little girl, one never pinned one’s hopes on becoming a mistress, but an adjustment was now necessary, given the circumstances. Fortunately, she knew down to her bones that Berry loved her and would treat her well—hopefully till death did them part. Still, she decided not to dwell on it until she became more accustomed to the idea.
They were ferried across the river to the opposite shore with several local residents, two goats, and a thin little dog Hattie leaned down to pat, thinking of the four dogs with whom Berry didn’t argue. The man was going to be tiresome about trying to marry her—she could sense it—and he was one who did not give up easily; they were very similar in nature, the two of them. But while his dogs may not care about the circumstances of her birth, his sister certainly would and Hattie knew she must remain resolute. I wish I knew where they lived, she thought; perhaps it is in some corner of the world that has never heard of the Elban prisoner. Unfortunately, this seemed unlikely.
With a smile, Robbie leaned back on the bench and watched her with the dog. “What is my mother planning to do with Sophie’s pups?”
Hattie ceased her attentions, but the dog pushed its muzzle into her hands, insistent, and so she began to stroke it again. “It was too soon when I left; but last time she took them to church in a box and they were all claimed in short order.”
“She’d probably rather keep them, knowing Mother.”
Hattie laughed, and agreed. “But your father will be firm, being as he always complains that the place is already a menagerie.”
Robbie chuckled, and looked out over the broad river. “I will check for letters tomorrow, although the post is unreliable here. Are you homesick for England, yet?”
“I miss your family,” she replied truthfully. Henceforth she would never long for a place, only for a person.
Bending beside her to run his hand along the dog’s back, he added, “We will have to tell everyone about your sad news, unfortunately. I wish we had more to tell.”
“I sometimes wonder if we will ever find out what happened to them.” If indeed her parents had been killed for double-dealing, it seemed unlikely the dark deed would ever come to light, which—all in all—may be a good thing; one less unsavory connection to face down, and any crumb of comfort would be appreciated at this point. It was hard to believe that as late as last month she had been chafing about the sameness of her days.
“We will.” Robbie’s hand covered hers on the dog, and his voice was gentle. “We will find them, Hattie. Someone must know something.”
Hattie nodded, then casually removed her hand and sat up again. She would have to let Robbie know there was to be no future between them, although it may be an awkward conversation as she was not at all certain he saw himself as a potential suitor. Nevertheless, the conversation must take place; he-who-was-not-Daniel was a possessive man.
Once they reached the west bank, they disembarked from the vessel and hailed a cart to take them to the massive ruins on the river bank. Fortunately, at this hour in the morning there were long shadows in which to linger as they mingled with other tourists to view the mortuary temple dedicated to the god-king Ramesses. Bing served as their guide, pausing before the landmarks to recite from her guidebook as Smithson listened attentively. Hattie and Robbie were content to trail behind and soon were out of earshot as Hattie twirled her parasol to and fro out of boredom, wishing Berry were there. “I confess I am not very interested in all this.”
“I toured it last time I was here,” Robbie acknowledged. “Dashed dry stuff—once is more than enough.”
She eyed him sidelong from under the edge of her parasol. “Why, Robbie Tremaine; you were falling in love and should remember it with great fondness.”
Shaking his head at her sauce, he admitted, “I imagine you are already aware there were other forces at work.”
“Such as?”
He squinted into the distance, deciding what to say. “She held important information and our people were negotiating for it. She demanded protection, and fancied me above the other potential candidates—I never meant to marry her, of course.”
“Unfortunately, someone was not very impressed by your gallant gesture, my friend. What sort of information did she have that called for such a heroic sacrifice?”
Choosing his words carefully, he explained, “Her husband worked closely with the find, and there were concerns that—along with your poor parents—some inventory was missing. She intimated that she was aware what had happened to it.”
“I see—she was leveraging whatever information she had in exchange for protection.” Hattie turned her head to pretend an interest in the pylons while she assimilated the almost unbearable fact that Robbie knew the truth about her parents—knew and was trying to spare her. It was a sweet gesture, and greatly appreciated, but the shame was oh, so humiliating. I shall never become accustomed if I live to be a hundred, she thought, her cheeks aflame. I wonder if I can convince Berry to take up residence somewhere outside the bounds of civilization. With an effort, she kept her voice even. “Did you discover what she knew, if anything?”
“Unfortunately not,” he replied in a neutral tone. “But with any luck we can uncover the truth.”
“I hope so.” She tried to sound sincere, so as not to reveal that she would be acutely shamed by the truth.
Tilting his head back, he considered the massive ruins around them. “And then you and I will gladly put Egypt behind us and return to a more hospitable climate, devoid of dust.”
“And dull ruins,” she added.
“And dull ruins,” he seconded. “Although Miss Bing and Mr. Smithson seem very keen.” The other couple had their heads together, discussing something in the guidebook.
“Very keen,” agreed Hattie, and they exchanged a significant look in the manner of childhood playmates who could communicate without speaking. “And pray do not be inspired anew by the ruins and make an offer for Eugenie this time around—your poor mother would take to her bed.”
Making an attempt to disclaim, he met her eye, saw that she knew more than he would like, and so changed tactics. “She is a merely a means to pass the time, Hattie—for God’s sake, you should not be speaking of such things.”
Remembering her frank speech with Eugenie the night before, Hattie could only hide a smile. “I beg your pardon, Robbie; I shall say no more.”
And no more was said on the subject, as instead Robbie nodded in the direction of the central courtyard. “Here are some gentlemen from the consul’s office who seek an opportunity to speak with you.”
Hattie turned to see two men, their hands clasped behind them, strolling in their direction as though the meeting had not been pre-planned with Robbie. God in heaven, she thought in dismay; pressure is being brought to bear—a pox on Robbie for forcing me to sort out my allegiances.
Robbie took her hand in the crook of his arm in a gesture of support. “They have some questions about the missing artifacts, Hattie—I am afraid it is very important.”
It always seems to be, thought Hattie with extreme annoyance; but at least I am no longer playing blind man’s bluff.
Robbie introduced her to Mr. Drummond, a grey-haired man with a neatly trimmed beard who had the felicity to be the high commissioner for the British consulate in Luxor. “Miss Blackhouse,” he said, bowing over her hand. “Such a pleasure to meet you; I followed your parent’s endeavors very closely.”
Yes, thought Hattie, I imagine you did—and with considerable dismay. Drummond’s associate was also introduced, and for the second time in two days Hattie was surprised to behold a figure from her short-lived visit to Paris; she was certain that the quiet man who accompanied the British high commissioner was the same man who posed as a hackney driver, in league with the grey-ey
ed spymaster. Assessing him under her lashes, Hattie concluded that she was not mistaken—the gentleman was definitely in the same line of work as Berry. He had the same air—that of an eagle masquerading as a dove.
“Would you mind if we walked with you?”
“Certainly, sir.” She smiled in what she hoped was a manner appropriate for a concerned daughter who was unaware her parents were base traitors and the world was on the brink of exploding yet again. With Robbie beside her, the party began to walk along the outer walls of the courtyard, Bing and Smithson up ahead. Hattie no longer twirled her parasol but gripped the handle, wary.
“Terrible news about your parents,” Drummond began in the awkward, bluff manner of an Englishman who was more comfortable with action than words. “Rest assured—we are moving heaven and earth to ascertain what has happened.”
“I would that I could be of more help,” she confessed, and hoped she wouldn’t be compelled to lie outright to them—she much preferred pound dealing. But she needed to be careful—Berry didn’t trust the British, for some undisclosed reason. Neither did she, come to think of it—and they owed her a reticule.
“Of course,” Drummond acknowledged with a regretful tilt of his head. “Mr. Tremaine has mentioned that you were—unfortunately—not in your parents’ confidence.”
“No, and in fact I rarely heard from them. I understand”—she paused delicately—“that there are some concerns about missing inventory on the new site. I sincerely hope my parents were not involved in any wrongdoing.”
“It may be nothing, Hattie,” Robbie quickly assured her.
Drummond nodded in agreement. “We are carefully reviewing their last actions—or at least their last known actions—for any clues. I understand their agent—Monsieur Berry, I believe—travels with your party; has he offered any insights into their disappearance?”
So—here it was. She thought of the River Fel near the Tremaine estate, and how the spring bluebells swayed in unison when the breeze came through the lea and she concluded: I am English to the bone, come what may—even if I have not a drop of English blood in me. On the other hand, I will not betray what I know or suspect about Berry himself; not until I’ve had a chance to confer with him. “Monsieur Berry is also chagrined and wishes I had more information than I have.” I hope, she thought, that I never have to choose which allegiance is paramount.
They walked a few more paces, the men thinking over what she had told them while Hattie felt as though the disk secreted next to her skin was burning a hole in her dress.
The erstwhile hackney driver spoke for the first time, his manner deferential. “Has Mr. Hafez offered a theory concerning your parents’ disappearance? He is believed to be the last person to have seen them.” There was the slightest edge to this observation.
She met his eyes, her own widened in surprise. “I was unaware of this. Are you—are you implying—”
“The best people are conducting the investigation, Hattie, believe me.” This from Robbie, who squeezed her hand to reassure her. “But Mr. Hafez is a high official and the situation is delicate—we can’t be accusing him as though he were a criminal.”
And Berry believes Hafez is going to make a discreet exit this very day, thought Hattie, and he doesn’t seem to think it a bad idea, either. Curse everyone for making this so difficult; I don’t know what to reveal and what to keep secret. Hesitating, she offered, “I must say it appears unlikely that Mr. Hafez is a suspect; he seems to have been plagued by all sides on account of my parents’ disappearance.” Thinking to offer a scrap of information, she added, “Indeed, a contingent from the French embassy was putting him through his paces just yesterday.”
Mr. Drummond nodded his head toward Robbie. “Yes—we are aware. We are cooperating with the embassy staff here, as it would benefit all parties to secure the site.”
There was a small pause. “And discover what happened to my parents,” Hattie prompted.
The man hastened to assure her, “Of course, of course—a terrible business.”
Thinking to throw out another fact so as to assuage her conscience, she offered, “Monsieur Berry wishes to escort me to the worker’s village tomorrow in the hope that I may evoke additional information—he believes that I would be a sympathetic figure.”
“A good plan,” agreed Drummond. “There has been precious little cooperation among the locals.”
“I will join you,” offered Robbie.
This was actually a welcome offer; presumably Robbie would report back to these British men who theoretically held her loyalty even though Berry held her heart. “Please,” she smiled, to impress upon the other gentlemen that she was nothing if not cooperative. “I would appreciate your support, Robbie.”
But the associate unexpectedly spoke up, his expression grave. “I am not so certain of the wisdom of this—perhaps it would be best if Miss Blackhouse avoided those areas which are not secure.”
A bit surprised, Hattie glanced at him and wondered if he didn’t wish them to discover the truth—which seemed unlikely. On the other hand, the warning seemed sincere, and for a brief moment she was reminded of the warning given by the Comte, that first night in Paris.
“Do not be concerned—it is more likely they will prostrate themselves,” Robbie observed with his ready grin. “They believe she is the mummy, reincarnated.”
“Nonsense,” offered Drummond with bluff gallantry. “Miss Blackhouse could never be confused with a dried-up relic, princess or not.”
“As you say,” the associate agreed politely, and Hattie had to refrain from giving him a sharp look; there was a thread of awareness in his response that she could not like. I wonder if he knows, she thought in dismay, and tilted her parasol so as to conceal her heightened color. I truly am not going to be able to bear this—this wondering if everyone I meet might know my terrible secret. Subdued, she tried to turn her mind from the difficulties that lay ahead, and instead focused on the amusing tale Robbie was relating to the others.
Chapter 34
After dinner that evening, Hattie remained at the table with Berry, hoping to have a chance to speak with him privately. She hadn’t seen him before dinner, and neither Hafez nor Robbie had joined them. The other passengers had gone above for a walk on deck, Bing joining them after Hattie met her chaperone’s eye. Eugenie had originally stayed behind, but at a similar glance from Berry she sighed, much put-upon, and then had flounced off to join the others. Apparently in Hafez’s absence the woman was at loose ends; Berry’s strictures against thievery no doubt put a damper on her activities.
“I was quizzed by a representative from the British consulate today,” Hattie confessed, “and I wasn’t certain what to say.”
Berry was leaning back in his chair and nursing a glass of red wine, his long legs stretched out before him. “Did you mention the senet board or the disk?” He asked the question as though it made no difference to him either way.
She arched a brow, amused by his cavalier attitude. “I did not. Should I have?”
He tilted his head in the familiar gesture. “I would rather you did not—not until we are certain of the secret chamber and can secure it against all others.”
Eying him, she challenged, “You do not feel I can trust the British consul?”
He swirled the wine, his gaze on the glass. “It is best to be cautious.”
“The representative—a Mr. Drummond—has an associate who rather reminds me of you. And I met him before in Paris—although he thinks I am unaware; he was working with the British spymaster and posing as a hackney driver.”
This seemed to catch his desultory attention and he looked up at her, the expression in the brown eyes intent. “Describe this gentleman for me, if you please.”
Frowning in concentration, she made the attempt. “He is so ordinary as to be hard to describe—middling height, rather nondescript with dark hair; perhaps thirty-five.”
“A scar across the back of his hand?”
She
thought, then confessed, “I’m afraid I didn’t notice.”
He made no response and appeared to be unconcerned, lowering his gaze once more to his wine glass. Watching him, she added, “He wanted me to know that Mr. Hafez was the last person to see my parents—I think he was trying to warn me.”
At her unspoken question, his eyes met hers. “I must disagree—Monsieur Hafez was not the last person to see your parents.”
She decided that she may as well ask. “Do you know who was?”
“You must not ask me—not yet,” he replied gently.
Sitting here with him in the nearly deserted dining room, Hattie thought about who he was, and who she was, and how complicated everything had turned out to be. “Will you ever tell me anything?” It was not asked in an accusatory fashion—she was genuinely curious.
“I will tell you that I look forward to spending the day with you tomorrow,” he responded, turning the subject with a half smile as he drank his wine.
“I’m afraid Robbie is to accompany us,” she cautioned—it was nothing more than he deserved, maddening man.
“Is he?”
If she expected a show of disapproval she was to be disappointed. “I told Mr. Drummond of our plans about going to the worker’s village on the morrow—it seemed the least I could do—and Robbie offered to come.”
Something in her voice caught his attention, and he set down his glass and said gently, “Hattie, if you wish to tell them anything—anything at all—I will not prevent you. I only ask that you give me warning.”
Nodding, she added, “You see—I have decided I am English, after all.”
“It is a fine thing, to be English,” he agreed, his gaze back on his glass. “I have known many brave Englishmen.”
Deciding she’d rather speak of lighter subjects, she teased, “Speaking of which, Mr. Smithson spent the day with Bing.”
“That is rare courage, indeed.”
“That is not what I meant—I think perhaps you had the right of it.” It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest her companion and the vicar might make a match of it, but she decided not to raise such a sensitive subject—he had not reintroduced the topic of their mutual future and she wished to give him more time to be reconciled to the hard truth before it was raised again.
Daughter of the God-King Page 22
