‘Sebastian is staying. I understand there are still things to discuss in connection with your expedition. Good day, Mr Walther. Good day, Magdalene.’
Magdalene, happily unaware of Lady Crale’s plans for a suitable bride for Sebastian, was almost pleasant as they took their leave.
Harriet smiled at her warmly, overjoyed at the prospect of an early return to the consulate. He would be there. He would be waiting for her. His dark eyes would be angry, his sun-bronzed face hard and uncompromising. Then she would tell him of how she had been obliged to accompany Lady Crale to the Walther’s and the hard lines of his mouth would soften. He would ask for permission to speak to her alone and Lady Crale would be baffled and disconcerted, but would have to grant him his request. He would take her in his arms, kissing her with unsuppressed passion and she would yield as naturally as a flower opening its petals to the sun. He would ask her to be his wife and together they would face Lady Crale and all misunderstandings would be a thing of the past.
‘Raoul,’ she said softly to herself. ‘ Raoul …’
He was there, head and shoulders above the crowd, sleek black hair gleaming in the sun, curling low in the nape of his neck, his strong-boned face instantly distinctive amongst the surge of Arabs and Turks who thronged around him. Her heart seemed to cease beating. For a second she could not breathe and then joy welled up in her like a shining fountain. ‘Raoul!’ she called, ignoring Lady Crale’s gasps of horror. ‘Raoul!’
He was striding quickly through the crowd, talking to a companion that Harriet could not see.
‘Raoul!’ She rose in the moving carriage, waving frantically. The crowd surged and fleetingly parted.
The girl at his side was no older than herself. Olive skin glistened seductively. Ebony hair hung sleekly down her back. Her robe shimmered, fluttering round her slender body. Smooth, neat feet were sandalled as Harriet’s had been on the journey from Berber. They were walking quickly and as a portly gentleman threatened to separate them, she saw Raoul’s hand reach out and grasp the girl’s wrist. He was looking down at her, his face animated.
The girl said something and Harriet saw him laugh, and then they continued, threading their way deftly through the crowd, oblivious of Lady Crale’s carriage. Oblivious of Harriet’s stricken figure.
‘This sort of behaviour will not do … Most unsuitable … A disgraceful exhibition for a young lady of your upbringing …’ Lady Crale’s words were lost on Harriet.
She stared sightlessly, seeing only a sun-bronzed hand grasping a darker one. She had shut out the truth, clinging to her dreams. Now she could cling to them no longer. He had never said he loved her because he had not done so. He had amused himself with her. No doubt she had been a welcome diversion on the tedious journey to Khartoum. She remembered how easily she had submitted to his kisses and caresses, and her cheeks burned. She had forfeited respect and dignity to a man who bought slaves to satisfy his lust. A man no different from the Pasha. She fought back humiliating tears. She had believed him honourable and brave. She had given him her heart freely and joyfully and now she was bereft. Raoul did not love her: had never loved her. It seemed a thing too monstrous to be true.
Lady Crale was still shaking with anger as they were helped from the carriage.
‘To call out in the street … after all that has been said … To draw attention to yourself in such a manner …’
Harriet was barely aware of her. Lost in her own private hell she walked up the broad sweep of stairs and closed the door of her room behind her. Jali knocked timidly and was ignored. The sun was at its highest: the low ceilinged room like a furnace. Mechanically she closed the shutters, plunging the room into shadow. She had given her heart, now she must retrieve it. She lay down on the bed and two large tears eased their way from beneath her eyelids and coursed slowly down her cheeks. She had been rash and foolish and unwise. Something cold and hard settled deep within her. She would not be so again. If love brought such pain then she would live without it.
Chapter Six
The hammering on the door of the consulate aroused Harriet from her stupor. She lay for a moment, listening intently, and then panic gripped her. There could be no mistaking that voice. Faithless, straight from the arms of another woman, he had come as he said he would. Her heart beat wildly as she ran to the door and opened it, listening more clearly to the angry words that were now floating up from Lady Crale’s marbled-floored hallway. He had gained entry, probably by brute force. Lady Crale’s voice was high-pitched with outrage, Raoul’s tightly controlled but throbbing with suppressed rage.
‘I shall contaminate the British consulate for as long as it takes me to speak with Miss Latimer!’
‘You shall not do so! Miss Latimer is under my charge and is indisposed.’
‘She is sick?’ The words were like a whiplash.
‘Yes … No … She is indisposed …’ Lady Crale’s authority was fast deserting her.
‘Then I must and will see her!’
There was the sound of booted feet striding to the foot of the stairs. Lady Crale’s voice rose hysterically. Servants were summoned and Lady Crale demanded they evict Mr Beauvais forcibly. There was no sound of anyone attempting to do so. He was taking the stairs two at a time. Harriet pressed her hand against her pulsating heart and stepped outside the door, standing motionless.
He halted, one hand on the banisters, looking up at her. The anxiety that had been on his face vanished. White teeth flashed in a broad smile, his eyes full of laughter. She could see tiny flecks of gold near the dark pupils.
‘Lady Crale is a more than adequate chaperon,’ he said, not closing the distance between them but surveying her with pleasure. ‘I’ve had the devil of a job to get this far.’
The strong sunlight had been behind her, casting her pale hair into a golden nebula and showing only the slender outline of her figure. Now she moved forward fractionally and his smile vanished. There was no welcome on her face: it was a frozen mask. The green-gold eyes those of a stranger.
‘There was no need for such dramatics,’ she said coldly, striving to keep her voice steady, wishing that he would look away from her, that he would step backwards and so increase the distance between them.
‘I wished to see you.’ It was a flat statement. The laughter and the smiles had vanished.
‘It was kind of you to call, Mr Beauvais,’ she said formally, betraying none of her inner tumult. ‘ I would like to thank you for escorting me to Khartoum.’ She gave a stiff, dismissive smile. ‘And now, if you will excuse me, I must rest. I find the heat of the afternoon overpowering.’
She turned swiftly, aware that anguished tears were threatening to spill down her cheeks.
His eyes blazed. In swift strides he mounted the stairs between them and grasped hold of her wrist.
With violent fury she wrenched herself free, the imprint of another hand so held burning in her memory like fire.
‘Don’t touch me!’ she cried passionately. ‘Don’t ever touch me again!’
If she had struck him he could not have looked more stunned.
‘Harriet, for God’s sake!’
The door slammed in his face.
‘Harriet!’ He beat on it with his fists.
Harriet leaned on the far side, her head thrown back, her eyes closed, tears falling unrestrainedly.
‘Harriet! Harriet!’
There came the sound of other feet running up the stairs; of shouts and altercations and then a bitter oath as Raoul swung on his heels and marched in blazing fury to where Lady Crale waited for him.
Lady Crale had had time to compose herself. ‘You demanded to see Miss Latimer. You have seen her. I would now be obliged if you would leave the consulate immediately.’
‘It will be a pleasure,’ he said savagely. ‘But before I do I want to know what has been said to Miss Latimer in the twenty-four hours she has been beneath this roof.’
Lady Crale raised her eyebrows archly. ‘Said? She has been welcomed; given shelter
…’
The lines around his mouth were white. ‘You know very well to what I refer. I parted with Miss Latimer yesterday on friendly terms. Now she refuses to speak to me.’
‘There is no cause for you to do so. You have ascertained that she arrived here safely. She has thanked you for your protection and now the matter is at an end.’
‘Afternoon, Beauvais,’ Sebastian said genially, walking in on them, impervious to the highly-charged atmosphere. ‘Walther tells me we are ready to leave within days.’ He gestured towards a round-eyed servant. ‘ Take this to Miss Latimer with my compliments.’ He pointed towards a hatbox elaborately trimmed. ‘I had a devil of a job hunting this down. Khartoum does not abound in milliners.’
‘Circumstances,’ Lady Crale continued, her eyes holding Raoul’s unflinchingly, ‘change, Mr Beauvais. I am sure you understand.’
Raoul’s eyes flashed from Sebastian Crale to the hatbox and back again. ‘I understand perfectly,’ he rasped and stormed towards the door, obliging Sebastian to step back quickly to avoid being knocked aside.
He had barely recovered his balance when his mother swung round on him. ‘Miss Latimer is a missionary’s daughter. You will oblige me by treating her as such. The gift of a hat is totally inappropriate.’
She swept past him towards the consul’s study. The situation had become impossible. Christian duty had been done and could be carried no further. Amongst Khartoum’s residents, there must be someone travelling to Cairo. Someone who could escort Miss Harriet Latimer far away from the British consulate. Away from Raoul Beauvais and his insufferable rudeness; away from her son and his dangerous infatuation.
Harriet was still trembling so violently that she had to clasp her hands in her lap as Lady Crale stood imposingly before her. She had intended to vent her wrath on Harriet. After all, neither of the disgraceful scenes in the market place or the consulate would have taken place if it hadn’t been for Harriet’s presence. However, the small white face with the large tragic eyes softened her heart. The girl had behaved foolishly but she had also suffered. First the hideous death of her father and then the misfortune of being rescued by a man who was a notorious breaker of hearts.
She said quietly, ‘I think you will agree with me that it would be best for you to leave for Cairo at the earliest opportunity.’
Harriet nodded dumbly.
‘There are only thirty Europeans at present in Khartoum but I shall find out, within the next few days, which, if any, are returning to Cairo. Failing that, we must await my husband and he will no doubt instruct his aide to escort you.’
‘Thank you.’ Harriet’s voice was low, thick with suppressed tears.
Lady Crale said compassionately, ‘You have seen for yourself that Mr Beauvais’ behaviour is not that of a gentleman. I pray that you will put all thoughts of him from your mind. No doubt you will soon find yourself married on your return to England. A clergyman perhaps …’
Harriet thought of the Reverend March-Allinson and shook her head, her pain so intense she had to stop herself from crying out.
Lady Crale, mistaking her silence for acceptance, breathed a sigh of relief and left the room. She would approach Hubert Pennyfax. As a big game hunter, he regularly made the arduous journey to the coast with ivory and live specimens for European menageries.
Harriet walked slowly out on to the balcony. In the distance the White and Blue Niles merged and flowed southward a mile wide. Her father had hoped to discover its source. Dr Walther and Sebastian Crale were journeying on the same mission. She longed to join them. The doctor and Sebastian did not have to return to a claustrophobic existence in England. Men – they could do as they pleased. Her head throbbed. The rage she had felt when Raoul had grasped her wrist as he had his slave girl’s, had been replaced by sweeping desolation. Beyond the city the desert stretched in hot silence. Once it had been her enemy but now she felt irrevocably drawn to it and to what lay beyond. To the Africa of mystery and legend.
She could not stay in Khartoum. Her behaviour had offended Lady Crale and although she had spoken to her with remarkable kindness, Harriet knew that their relationship had been irreparably strained. Within weeks, possibly days, she would be accompanied to Cairo and then undertake the long journey to England and Cheltenham. She could not return to such an existence. Not now; not after experiencng the dangers and excitement of a continent barely explored.
She stood for so long that dusk began to fall. She did not have to return to England. Lady Crale was not her legal guardian and could not oblige her to do so. She could do what she had intended to do all along. She could continue southwards into unknown country and discover the fabled fountains of the Nile. Only her companions would be Dr Walther and Sebastian Crale, and not her dearly loved father.
Her determination increased. Her broken heart could not be mended by returning to England and marrying the kind of man Lady Crale would consider suitable. Her heart had been given once. It could not be given again. But the pain it held could be eased. Danger would surely erase the tortured memories of Raoul Beauvais from her mind. She turned, pacing the room, her mind racing furiously. Lady Crale would be aghast, but she was not Lady Crale’s charge. Her life was her own, to do with as she pleased. There would be no return to Cheltenham with its green lawns and sweet-scented roses. Instead she would journey south to the snow-capped fields of Kilimanjaro. She dined alone in her room, much to Sebastian’s disappointment. The next day she expressed a desire to see the Walthers again and Lady Crale, assuming that Harriet wished to renew her acquaintance with Magdalene, readily agreed.
‘My dear Miss Latimer, what a delightful surprise! A glass of sherry? Lime juice? Dates?’
Servants hurried around, proffering drinks and dainties as Mr Walther ushered her into his over-furnished rooms.
‘A glass of lime juice, please,’ Harriet said, glad to see that Magdalene was absent.
Dr Walther removed a sextant and a barometer from a chair, enabling Harriet to take a seat.
‘We have so little time,’ he said as he removed a telescope and a chronometer from another chair and sat down. ‘ Our expedition leaves on Friday. Just think of it, Miss Latimer! After a year of planning, at last we are to set sail!’
‘It is your expedition that I wish to discuss,’ Harriet said, sipping her drink.
Dr Walther’s moon face beamed with pleasure. ‘It will establish me as the greatest explorer of the century,’ he said, innocently repeating words Harriet had heard her father speak. ‘Here is the map.’ He pushed bits of paper to one side and spread a large map out on the table. ‘ Here is Khartoum,’ a stubby finger jabbed at the point where two thin blue lines met. ‘ Here is Gondokoro.’ His finger travelled southwards. ‘ That is the furthest point south that has been travelled in the many attempts to find the source of the Nile.’ He took off his spectacles and began to polish them vigorously. ‘Beyond Gondokoro the Niles races through rapids barring any further advance.’
‘Yet you intend to travel further?’
‘Oh, yes. Yes. We are taking oxen and mules. We shall travel by land until the river is once more navigable.’
‘Is there a town at Gondokoro?’ Harriet asked curiously.
Dr Walther shook his head. ‘Some years ago Austrian priests established a mission there, but they died of sickness. I doubt if they made a single convert. Some slavers sail that far south – the more reckless and adventurous ones. Otherwise it is nothing but a name and one that is known to only a handful of people. It is beyond civilisation and I have never yet met any man who has travelled there and returned.’
‘My father knew nothing of Gondokoro. Khartoum was the furthest point south on his map. Nevertheless, he intended obtaining supplies here and following the river wherever it led. To find the Nile’s source was his dearest dream.’
Dr Walther sighed rapturously. ‘For centuries it has been the dream of many men. I, Franz Walther, am going to make that dream a reality.’
Harriet said care
fully, ‘ It was my intention to accompany my father.’
Dr Walther blinked uncomprehendingly.
Harriet took a deep breath. ‘The dream was not my father’s alone. It was also mine. I still wish to fulfil it. I would dearly like to be included in your expedition, Dr Walther.’
‘I am afraid you have misunderstood, Miss Latimer. Our expedition will face great hardships. Unimaginable difficulties …’
‘I survived the Nubian Desert, Dr Walther,’ Harriet said spiritedly. ‘I am well aware of the kind of difficulties you envisage.’
‘But our expeditionary leader would not allow it. He is adamant that only qualified scientists and geographers are to be among our party.’
‘Is Sebastian Crale a scientist or geographer?’ Harriet asked, surprised.
Dr Walther looked flustered. ‘Sebastian is a special case.’
‘In what way?’
‘His father is the consul here. There would have been difficulties if we had not included him in our party.’
‘So exceptions have been made?’
‘Only one, Miss Latimer. I do assure you, most warmly, that the expedition will not be the romance you imagine.’
‘I do not expect it to be romantic at all.’ Harriet’s voice held a note of sharpness. She had no desire to be reminded of romance. ‘Have you a nurse in your party?’
‘No …’
‘Then I will fill that capacity. I am also a more than adequate artist. No doubt the geographical societies will appreciate detailed drawings of the flora and fauna of the upper banks of the Nile. I think I will be quite a useful addition to your party, Dr Walther.’
‘But Miss Latimer!’ Dr Walther’s distress was pathetic. ‘We are a party of men. It is impossible …’
‘Do not worry on that score,’ Harriet said bleakly. ‘I am not looking for a husband. Only adventure.’ She rose to her feet. ‘ I shall be ready to leave on Friday, Dr Walther.’
‘I cannot give that permission! I am not the expedition’s leader. It is for him to say if you can join us or not.’
African Enchantment Page 10
