I smiled. “I do.”
I decided I quite liked my new employer. He was delicate as a cat in his habits, tidy but not fussy, and Talbot took care of the donkey work. The colonel had decreed that we could not possibly begin on the memoir until we were well out to sea and perfectly settled, so all that was left to me was a bit of letter writing on the colonel’s behalf and to amuse him. This usually took the form of mealtime conversation, some reading aloud, and the occasional game of chess. I started out with a few modest successes but I’d become quite proficient in the few days we had been travelling together. But even with my improved game, I could not hope to best the colonel. His gentle chivalry did not extend to letting me win, and whatever gains I made in the game were always hard-won. Occasionally I caught him watching me closely as we played, and an inscrutable expression would pass over his features. I wondered if I reminded him of someone he once knew, but I did not like to ask.
He was wearing that expression again as he approached the rail, his stick tapping gently on the deck. “Ah, see that constellation there? That’s good old Cancer, the crab. You know, of course, how it got its name?”
The question wasn’t really a question, and I knew it. The colonel was entirely capable of asking and answering with no help from me, and so I said nothing as he went on.
“When Heracles, the son of Zeus, was battling with the water-serpent Hydra, his jealous stepmother, Hera, sent Cancer the crab to aid the serpent and vanquish her stepson once and for all. But Heracles crushed the poor old crab with a single blow of his foot, shattering its shell. For his devotion even unto death, Hera reassembled him and placed him in the stars to honour his loyalty.” He was silent a moment as we stared up at the glimmering stars.
“Ah, well,” he finished, “tales from my schoolboy days. I don’t suppose they teach much mythology nowadays, but that’s what started me on my love of travel, you see. I wanted to see these places out of myth for myself—Mount Olympus and Sparta and the gates of Troy. Of course, those stories were replaced by real history as I grew up. I learnt about the Crusades, about Richard the Lionheart, our soldier king, and I wanted to be a soldier just like him. And when it was over and done, I remembered those stories I’d known as a boy, of faraway places and great warriors, and I thought it must be time at last to see them. Made seventeen trips to that part of the world, all told. All around the Mediterranean, and although you’ll never hear me say there’s any of them that can touch England, there is much to be seen, my dear. Much indeed.”
His breath was coming quite fast, and I realised he was growing a little overexcited by his reminiscences. I was just wrestling with whether or not I should call Talbot when the man himself appeared, impeccable in his evening clothes. He cleared his throat quietly and the colonel turned.
“Time for your medicine, Colonel,” the valet told him. Like his master, the valet had splendid posture, and he wore his evening clothes with all the elegance of a gentleman. He did not look at me as he addressed the colonel, but I knew he would have taken in every detail of my appearance. Nothing escaped him, at least nothing about me, and I felt myself preen a little at his nearness. He just had an effect upon people, particularly women. More than once I had seen ladies giving him the glad eye as our little party passed. Even Masterman, during our brief snatches of conversation, had pronounced him “a bit of something.”
The colonel fussed a little but tottered off, giving himself up to Talbot’s attentions. I turned back to the rail, chin in hand, peering into the inky-black nothingness beyond. If it weren’t for the stars and their darting reflections in the waves, I would have thought myself entirely alone in the universe. It was nothing but a fancy, of course. I could hear the faint, nostalgic sweep of the orchestra playing for the smart after-dinner crowd, and somewhere in the distance a deckhand was singing, low and off-key, something mournful. It had a keening quality to it, as if he were grieving for something lost, and I gave a shudder.
A whisper of velvet slid around my shoulders. “You forgot your wrap.”
It was Talbot, wrapping my stole about me, and standing a scant inch too close for comfort.
“Thank you, Talbot. That’s very kind,” I told him.
His eyes were glittering in the starlight, and I thought—not for the first time since I had met him—that he really was the most stunningly handsome man I’d ever seen. Particularly when he smiled that irresistible smile. “I think you’ll find I’m not kind, Miss March. I seldom do things except for my own amusement.”
“And I amuse you?”
“I think you could.”
“I think I won’t,” I returned, but with a smile of my own to soften the words. “You forget I have to keep my reputation intact, Talbot. I am in the colonel’s employ.”
“What I have in mind won’t tarnish your reputation,” he assured me. “At least, not much.”
He held out his hand. “Dance with me.”
I laughed. “You must be joking.”
“I never joke about dancing, Miss March. Listen to that orchestra,” he coaxed. “They think they’re playing for the rich, the titled, the masters of the universe. But really they’re playing for us,” he said, stepping very close, his lips brushing my ear as he spoke.
“I suppose one dance wouldn’t hurt,” I told him, joining in with enthusiasm.
He was an expert dancer, and as he executed one particularly deft bit of footwork, leading me perfectly in time, he gave a soft laugh, squeezing my waist for an instant. “I can tell you’re surprised. I may be a valet, but I do have my accomplishments,” he assured me.
“I have no doubt,” I replied. “But I don’t think I should experience any more of them tonight,” I told him firmly. I slid out of his arms and wrapped my stole securely about my shoulders. “Thank you for the dance, Talbot.” I held out my hand to shake his and he took it, his expression grave while his eyes were alight with mischief.
“Such beautiful manners you have, Miss March,” he said silkily. “And how I should like to see you forget them.”
“Good night,” I said, turning on my heel and making my way inside. From behind me, I heard his soft laugh echoing in the shadows of the starry night.
* * *
The rest of the voyage passed swiftly with each port of call proving more memorable and exotic than the last. The odours of wood smoke and coal fires mingled with those of donkey and spices and ripe fruit on the sea air, and I was enchanted with it all. My days were spent in undemanding attendance on the colonel, taking a bit of dictation and occasionally typing up a few pages of his memoir notes, and reading everything I could get my hands on about the Near East and its inhabitants. I had maps, guide books, biographies of Lady Jane Digby and Lady Hester Stanhope, and the memoirs of Lady Hester’s doctor, Charles Meryon, as well as Kinglake’s Eothen. I devoured them all, and once, in a moment of sweet madness, I pulled out Sebastian’s copy of Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens and read it for the first time in a decade, noting the passages he had underlined. “‘In this world, there are no second chances,’” I read aloud. And I wondered if that was what had driven him to the Holy Land. Was he chasing a second chance?
Increasingly my evenings were spent with Talbot. The colonel retired earlier and earlier as the ship neared its final port of call, and we were often thrown together. More than once the colonel told us to go ashore and enjoy the sights and sounds as he rested, sipping bouillon in his deck chair, or playing endless games of shuffleboard with one or two of the acquaintances he had found amongst the passengers. So Talbot and I danced and talked and took Peeky for endless walks around the ship’s decks as we steamed ever eastward.
Our destination was Beirut, and we were among the last to disembark. I saw Masterman making her way ashore, with only a single backwards glance to show she was thinking of me. She was swallowed up by the throng of people while we waited on the deck. The col
onel did not care to be jostled and preferred to wait until the crowds had dispersed to make his way carefully down the gangway. I followed close behind Peeky while Talbot brought up the rear laden with attaché case, travelling rug, and assorted newspapers and books. Halfway down the gangplank, I stopped dead in my tracks. I did not move, not when Peeky tugged impatiently at his lead or when Talbot stopped behind me.
“Miss March? Is everything all right?”
I opened my mouth, but for an instant I made no sound, and I was reminded of those horrible dreams where one’s feet were rooted to the spot or one’s screams were silent. I collected myself with a shudder and forced a smile.
“Fine. So silly of me. I have a touch of vertigo,” I lied as I looked down at the green water swirling below. A little slick of oil lay on the top, glistening pink and blue and black against the sea, and overhead a gull screamed. I threw Talbot an apologetic look and hurried on, not telling him the truth, not telling him that I stopped because I had had a premonition of disaster. He would have laughed and said I was silly, that it was nothing more than a goose walking over my grave. But I knew better. And as I set foot on the sturdy dock, landing in Asia for the first time in my life, I wondered what disaster would befall me here.
In spite of my premonition of gloom, Beirut proved a lovely city, cosmopolitan and sophisticated in the extreme. I would have liked to have spent time there, but the colonel had other ideas.
“No, it’s on to Damascus!” he insisted. “There are interesting times afoot,” he had added with a finger to the side of his nose. “History is being made there as we speak.”
I blinked. I hadn’t looked at more than the society pages of the newspaper in ages, and the colonel gave me an indulgent nod and patted my hand.
“Don’t trouble yourself, my dear. No one expects the ladies to know these things.” I opened my mouth to protest, but realised I would learn far more if I pretended to be merely decorative.
The colonel went on. “You see, after the war, the native Arab fellows thought they’d like to have a hand in running their own country. But we know best, of course. They wouldn’t have the first notion of how to manage their own affairs. So we settled with the French to divide things up amongst those of us who know what we’re about. We Brits have taken the Transjordan and Palestine—the French have Syria and the Lebanon. We’ve split Mesopotamia between us, and there were a few Turkish bits left over for the Russians. Best to keep them quiet, although one certainly cannot say they’ve conducted themselves like gentlemen,” he finished, going rather red in the face.
I was appalled, as much because I hadn’t known what was going on in the Levant as for what the colonel had told me. It all seemed horribly high-handed, but I knew I could never say as much to the colonel. He was far too convinced of the rightness of British imperialism.
He warmed to his theme. “And now the French don’t seem to be able to handle the native fellows at all. This local lad, Feisal, has proclaimed himself king of Syria, and seems bent on throwing the French out altogether. Going to be a bit of a dust-up,” he added, rubbing his hands together.
I smothered a sigh of exasperation. He was like a small, mischievous boy. He didn’t mean anything malicious by it; he simply thought it was all good fun, like playing at toy soldiers. Rather an odd attitude for a man who had actually seen bloodshed, I thought with a shiver.
“And this is where we are going?” I asked pleasantly.
He reached over and patted my hand again. “Now, don’t you worry, Miss March. I would never let you come to danger. I travel with my service revolver, you know.”
I did know. The thing had accidentally discharged twice already, shattering a hotel vase and my nerves in the process.
“And young Talbot is a good man to know in a tight spot,” he added.
“Is he?”
The colonel pitched his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Mentioned in dispatches during the war. Wasn’t publicly decorated because his work was pretty hush-hush stuff, but he’s the stuff heroes are made of.”
My eyes were wide. “Do you mean he was a spy?”
My voice rose on the last word and the colonel looked around to make certain we weren’t overheard.
“I can’t say more. Even now it’s all classified. But there were cloak-and-dagger goings-on, make no mistake about it. He’s a fine lad,” he added with a touch of emotion in his voice. “A fine lad.” The colonel pulled out his large red handkerchief and blew his nose while I looked away tactfully.
He gathered up his composure and gave me a wink. “Don’t you worry, my dear. We might be going where there’s a bit of a dust-up, but he won’t let you come to harm. And if it comes down to it, I’ve still got a bit of fight left in me, as well,” he added with a determined nod.
I did not dare smile. “Thank you, Colonel,” I said gravely. “That’s very reassuring.”
“I am a good man to know,” he added without a trace of irony. “I have friends in the city, well-connected friends. The best of them is the Comtesse de Courtempierre. She’s a house in the old part of the city, very historic and all that. We’re to dine with her when we arrive in Damascus. No doubt you’ll enjoy seeing a bit of local colour.”
Being dragged about like a prize pet to visit the colonel’s friends sounded about as enticing as an afternoon with Gerald’s mother, but I had no choice in the matter. I merely smiled and said it sounded ripping, and the colonel turned back to his newspaper.
The train journey ought to have been a short one. The distance on paper wasn’t very great—I had traced it on a map with my fingertip. But I hadn’t counted on the relaxed attitudes of easterners when it came to travel, and the afternoon was drawing to a close as we pulled into the station in Damascus. Long rays of sunshine slanted over the city, gilding the stone and causing it to shimmer on the flat plain. Mount Hermon, newly carpeted in soft green on its lower flanks, rose to snowy heights in the distance, and I could smell the mingled scents of freshly turned earth and fruit blossoms and smoke on the air.
When we stopped in the station, I handed Peeky over to Talbot and gave the colonel an apologetic look. “Terribly sorry, won’t be a moment. I just need to visit the er—”
And since no gentleman would ever dare question a woman’s intentions when she states a need for the “er—,” the colonel simply waved me off with a gruff gesture and I hurried on to the ladies’ retiring room. I didn’t look back to see if Masterman followed me, but it would have been the most natural thing in the world for any lady disembarking from a long and dusty train journey to avail herself of the necessary facilities at once.
I brushed off my clothes as well as I could, washed my hands, and by the time I powdered my nose, she had joined me. She took off her hat and brushed her hair although I’d never seen her with so much as a strand out of place.
In a low voice I gave her the name of the hotel. “I’ve not dared make inquiries myself, but I’m sure you can find a single room there. Don’t contact me directly. Just sit in the lobby wearing your blue hat if there’s any trouble. If you wear your brown, I’ll know all is well. We needn’t speak.”
“You’re very cautious, miss,” she said, shooting her cuffs.
“Yes, well, I suppose I could introduce you as an acquaintance from back home, but the less we’re seen about together, the better,” I reminded her. “How was your voyage?”
“Seasick,” was the crisp reply. “Stayed in my cabin the better part of it, but once I got my sea legs, I managed well enough. Entered the shuttlecock tournament and won five pounds.”
“Remind me not to play against you.”
She smiled an enigmatic smile. “But better than that, I have found something that will put a smile on your face. Sebastian Fox is in Damascus.”
I gaped at her. “Masterman, you’re a witch! How did you find out?”
&nbs
p; “I would like to say it was skill, but the plain truth it was the sheerest dumb luck. I spoke with one of the railway fellows. I told him I was supposed to meet up with my brother out here but that his letter with all of the details had gone astray and had he seen him? I described Sebastian and the fellow remembered him straight away. Said he had taken that very train not a fortnight before.”
I gripped her hand. “I can’t believe we’ve done it. We’ve actually tracked him here.”
She gave a nod of satisfaction. “That we did, although it’ll be the devil’s own work to find him now, if you’ll pardon my language.”
I flapped a hand at her. “Piffle. We had the whole world to choose from and we followed him this far. We can certainly find him within the confines of a city. Just wait.”
Her expression was doubtful, but she merely nodded. “I will begin inquiries at the hotel. I don’t imagine it will be difficult to find the cafés the expats like to frequent. Perhaps he’s been seen in one or two of those.”
“Excellent plan. I’ll settle in at the hotel and sniff out what I can. The colonel mentioned friends in Damascus. If any of them are in the diplomatic corps they might have an ear to the ground for new visitors. Shall we meet in a few days’ time to exchange information?”
Masterman dived into her enormous handbag and pulled out a Baedeker guide to Palestine and Syria. In it she had already marked a page. “The Great Mosque, miss. It’s one of the highlights of any traveller’s visit to the city. No one will think it at all strange if you want to go there.”
“Superb, Masterman, but why the mosque in particular? It looks enormous,” I said, skimming the description of the place. It was not a simple mosque but rather a compound, holding the tombs of Saladin and John the Baptist, among other attractions. “We might have the devil’s own time trying to find one another.”
She gave me her cool, competent look. “Not in the ladies’ corner,” she said, pointing to a particular passage.
Night of a Thousand Stars Page 9
