For the next three days Harriet found herself besieged. Flowers filled her room; love letters were brought hourly on silver salvers by Jali. A diamond, the like of which Harriet had never seen before, was given as a gift and duly returned. The only safety from his attentions lay in remaining in her room. From her balcony she could see the river bank and, after the expedition to the dockside, could place with ease the three substantial boats being prepared for the trek south. On being asked by Jali if there was anything she required, she asked impulsively for binoculars. They arrived promptly, engraved with her initials – a present from Sebastian that this time she did not immediately return. Despising herself for her weakness, she stood for long hours, watching as boxes and drums of foodstuffs were loaded; as Dr Walther hurried aboard with the sextants and barometers she had seen in his room; as Raoul Beauvais carried aboard books and tightly rolled scrolls that were presumably maps. So her father would have prepared for his expedition if he had been alive. And she would have been with him. Sick at heart she continued to watch until darkness fell.
As the day approached that they were to leave, Sebastian sent frantic notes by Jali and then, to his mother’s anguish, knocked personally on Harriet’s door, begging her to see him, if only for a moment. Harriet refused.
In the late hours of the final evening inspiration gripped Sebastian. It was because she was not allowed to join the expedition with him that she was behaving so obdurately. He approached Raoul and to the alarm of the other members of the expedition, blows were nearly struck before they had even left Khartoum. Furious and despairing, Sebastian returned to the consulate and the door of Harriet’s room.
‘I have done everything in my power to insist that you accompany us,’ he said helplessly. ‘Beauvais is adamant. He says no woman is strong enough for such an expedition and I fear he is right. It would be taking you into danger and I would rather die than do that.’
Harriet remained silent, gazing out towards the dusk-dark river and the creamy sails of the boats.
Sebastian groaned. He had a choice: he was not compelled to travel south. He could stay in Khartoum and continue his wooing of Harriet. He could even return with her to England. Indecision tore at him. Even if he stayed he had no guarantee that Harriet would consent to be his wife. Her stubbornness on the subject had been beyond all understanding. And if he didn’t journey with Beauvais he would lose his only chance of glory. Beauvais was the finest leader and most intrepid explorer ever to make the attempt at finding the Nile’s source. If any man could succeed Raoul Beauvais could. And he, Sebastian Crale, would stand beside him when he did so. His name would be written in the history books of the world.
He said defeatedly through the closed door, ‘ Goodbye, Harriet. I shall contact you in England when I return.’
Harriet sensed that the siege to her heart had finally been abandoned. She opened the door and said softly, ‘Goodbye Sebastian. I pray that you will return safely.’
He clasped her hand for a brief moment, his eyes eloquent, and then strode away. Sadly Harriet closed the door and then returned to the now dark balcony. Magdalene loved Sebastian: Sebastian loved her: she loved Raoul Beauvais and Raoul Beauvais loved his little Circassian. Tomorrow he would sail out of her life for ever and she would never see any of them again. Sebastian Crale would not return to England for her. It had been her refusal of his impulsive proposal that had made his courtship over the past days so determined. He did not truly love her. He would forget her the instant Khartoum faded into the distance.
She slept restlessly. If only Raoul had given permission for her to accompany them. She could have suffered his presence in the exhilaration of such a trip. She could have fulfilled her father’s dream. His death would not have been entirely in vain.
Rage and misery fought for mastery. How dare he refuse her on the grounds that she was a woman and not strong enough? Surely she had proved her stamina travelling without provisions and with a dying man through the heat of the desert? She doubted if Dr Walther had her constitution: or Sebastian Crale. Sleep came only in brief snatches. At the first light of day she was again on the balcony, binoculars raised to her eyes, watching intently as Raoul’s magnificent stallion was led aboard. As mules and camels followed, Sebastian arrived with a coterie of servants. A slim, bespectacled man waved greetings and joined him on the deck of the ship. Then, to Harriet’s surprise, she saw a young clerical gentleman arrive. She stared; presumably the other man was a scientist or botanist. What contribution could an Anglican priest make on such an expedition?
Her heart leapt as Raoul emerged on deck, greeting the new arrival warmly. Even at such a distance she could feel the magnetism of his attraction. He stood head and shoulders above Sebastian Crale, a darkly handsome man reducing all those around him to insignificance. Native boys scurried about the decks as the boat prepared to sail. A strong wind blew, filling the sails as the boat eased away from the river bank and out into the centre of the broad river. The two barges carrying supplies followed more clumsily. They were setting off on a great adventure and she, Harriet, was left behind for no other reason than that she was a woman.
The white-collared priest and Sebastian stood in the stern, waving to a small group of onlookers who had come to bid them goodbye. The bespectacled gentleman had disappeared below decks. Raoul stood alone in the prow, legs apart, his hands clasped behind his back. He was going. Within minutes he would be lost to view. Something very like panic rose up inside her and then she gasped.
Gracefully a slim figure emerged from below decks. The wind caught her hair, streaming it behind her as she ran lightly across to where Raoul stood, entwining her arm through his. Harriet’s heart began to slam in slow, heavy strokes. He had refused her permission to join them on the grounds that she was a woman. He had forbidden her the opportunity of fulfilling not only her own but her father’s ambition. Yet a woman was to be a member of the party. His statement to Sebastian that the trek was too dangerous for her had been nothing but a ruse to prevent her joining them. He had not wanted the embarrassment of her presence. Narinda would stand at the fountains of the Nile. Narinda who probably had no more interest in the river’s source than Lady Crale. She was filled with a rage that was white hot. This time Mr Raoul Beauvais had overreached himself. She snatched clean underclothes and a change of blouse and skirt and rolled them furiously into a pack. She had no need of anything else. Provisions to sustain an army had been taken on board. She grabbed the gun Raoul had given her, and which had lain, discarded, beneath her bed, and then, raced down to the courtyard and across to the stables. The horse was not hers to take but Harriet was beyond caring. It would be returned – eventually.
She galloped hard through the dusty, mud-beaten streets and out into open country. The Nile ran broadly on her right hand side, the sailing boat and barges clearly visible. The ground near the banks was marshy and she had to veer away, riding through groves of acacias, their white bulbous thorns the only relief against the barrenness of the surrounding desert. The strong wind speeded the boats so that she was soon left far behind. They would anchor at dusk: she would catch them up or die in the attempt.
It seemed to her in the following hours that death was going to be her only reward for her foolhardiness. The heat was stunning. She had not even had the forethought to bring water with her and it was obvious that her horse could not continue to gallop indefinitely. Soon she was forced to reduce the animal to a canter and then, as perspiration streamed down both animal and rider, to a walk. Far ahead she could see the shining white of the sails. A stubborn obstinacy drove her on. They would anchor through the night and if she had to walk on her bare feet she would join up with them.
The day was the longest of her life. It stretched out interminably: heat and flies, dirt and exhaustion. When the desert night fell she was filled with fresh fears: fears of the animals that haunted the river banks. Occasionally she heard the slither of crocodiles and sounds of other beasts she could not identify. She touch
ed the stock of her gun for reassurance. If the boats did not anchor through the night then she was lost. Without water her horse would not have the strength to return to Khartoum. She would die alone in the desert as she had so nearly done before.
When the white gleam pierced the darkness she almost sobbed with relief. Urging her horse to further effort she cantered towards the lamp-lit boat. At the sound of her approach confusion broke out. Within seconds a rifle shot missed her by inches and her horse shied in fear. Her cry brought even more shouts from the anchored vessels.
‘It’s a rider, not an animal!’ she heard Dr Walther shouting.
‘It’s a woman!’ Raoul’s voice shouted savagely and then she saw his familiar figure vault over the side of the boat and splash through the water and reeds. Semi-conscious with relief she slipped from the back of her lathered horse and was immediately seized by the shoulders so hard that she cried out in pain.
‘You little fool! You could have died out there!’
‘I nearly did,’ she said with an exhausted sob.
‘It would have served you damned right!’ His eyes blazed into hers. ‘ If you’re trying to wreck my expedition, you’ve failed miserably.’
‘Wreck it?’ Harriet gazed up at his furious face dazedly.
‘Crale is continuing south and not returning to Khartoum with you!’
‘But …’ Her words were silenced as his fingers dug brutally into her shoulders.
‘We are not going to be delayed or lose a member of our party by having you escorted back to safety. You have achieved more than you bargained for, Miss Latimer! You chose to join us. Now you will stay with us.’
Harriet wanted to laugh aloud. She had gained her objective and as far as she cared Raoul Beauvais could labour under whatever delusions he desired.
He shook her viciously. ‘You will also discontinue your liaison with Crale until the expedition is over. There is no place for lovemaking on a scientific expedition.’
‘Does that apply to the expeditionary leader as well?’ she spat viciously, struggling to free herself from his brutal gasp.
‘As far as you are concerned, Miss Latimer, utterly.’ He let go of her so suddenly that she almost fell.
‘My goodness! What on earth …?’ A bewildered Dr Walther had struggled through the reeds and up the bank to join them.
‘Miss Latimer will be accompanying us after all,’ Raoul said tersely, turning on his heel and striding into the water to the boat without making the least effort to assist her.
‘My dear Miss Latimer …’ The little doctor’s comforting arm was around her. In the darkness Harriet could hear Sebastian Crale’s voice raised, first in disbelief and then anger as Raoul informed him of her arrival and then forbade the continuance of any liaison between them. Dr Walther helped her through the reeds and knee-high water and Raoul’s voice was heard saying tightly,
‘You will do as I say, Crale. You will not delay the expedition by returning Miss Latimer to Khartoum.’
The concerned face of the priest leant over the rails as he stretched out helping hands. Gratefully she took hold of them and then her feet touched the planks of the deck and Sebastian was at her side. She was too tired to face a further explanation as to her conduct. Sebastian would doubtless misconstrue her motives, just as Raoul had.
‘I’m tired and thirsty, Sebastian. I have no wish to talk to anyone this evening.’
Dimly she was aware of everyone’s concern. Dr Walther’s arm never left her shoulders as he ushered her below decks and into a cabin that was obviously his own. The young Anglican priest squeezed in beside him with lime juice and biscuits. The bespectacled man she had not yet been introduced to brought her a fever powder. Sebastian hovered in the doorway, voluble in his anxiety. Only Raoul was absent. As the gentlemen excused themselves, Harriet was aware of another pair of eyes watching her. This time there was no friendliness or concern in them: only open hostility.
Narinda turned swiftly, her ankle-length robes shimmering in the lamplight. Then the cabin door closed and Harriet was alone. She lay on the bunk and closed her eyes. She had achieved her objective: why then did she feel no elation? She was embarking on a voyage that no European woman had ever attempted before. Only weeks ago the prospect would have filled her heart with joy. Now it seemed as if she was capable of feeling only pain. She doubted that Narinda would be sleeping alone in a narrow bunk. Even now she would once again be with Raoul, enjoying his companionship, his rare smiles, his caresses. She clenched her hands into tight little fists. She had known what the situation would be and she had judged it preferable to a return to England. Raoul Beauvais and his Circassian would have to be endured.
It was not an easy task. Narinda made no secret of her close relationship with Raoul, spending long hours kneeling at his feet on the deck of the boat, as they sailed further and further southwards.
Sebastian had been convinced that she had hurried after them because she had undergone a change of heart and wanted to marry him after all. Her insistence that this was not so left him perplexed and almost as bad-tempered as Raoul.
Dr Walther remained permanently affable, bubbling with enthusiasm for their adventure, bringing Harriet a massive collection of plants and grasses to sketch. Reverend Lane asked to be called by his Christian name of Mark and seemed to combine a healthy dose of common sense among his dreams of exploration. The bespectacled young man was a Mr Wilfred Frome from Chichester, who had been sponsored on the expedition by the Royal Geographical Society of London.
The sailing boat, though considerably larger than the dhow on which they had journeyed to Khartoum, was a small area for seven people to live in, especially when so many were barely on speaking terms with one another. Narinda never deigned even to wish Harriet good day. Raoul and Sebastian spoke to each other only when necessary and their animosity made the other three male members of the party uncomfortable, especially as they had no idea as to its cause. The chill between Raoul and Harriet was obvious to all. It distressed the doctor, puzzled the reverend and bewildered Mr Frome. Sebastian was grateful for it. The Frenchman’s reputation with women was notorious. It seemed to him that Harriet showed good sense in avoiding his company.
Day after day the mile-wide expanse of river rolled southwards through dry, hard scrubland with nothing to break the monotony but the whirring of countless insects and the slapping of the waves on the reeds.
At the end of the second week Dr Walther began to flag, complaining of sickness and headaches. Excusing himself, he went below to the small cabin he shared with Wilfred Frome and did not reappear when they anchored and sat down to their evening meal.
The little doctor was not of a complaining nature. Harriet felt the first sharp twinges of apprehension. As soon as the meal was finished she hurried to his cabin and knocked. A barely-recognisable voice forbade her to enter, asking her to summon Raoul. Harriet ignored the request and flung open the door. Dr Walther’s kindly eyes were wild. He was shaking violently, the heat coming off his wet skin in waves.
Taking one look at him, Harriet turned and ran for Raoul. He was still at the table, leaning back in his cane chair as Narinda poured him coffee. Harriet ran up to him, grasping his arm in her anxiety. The Circassian girl’s eyes flashed. Raoul stared at her in startled amazement. It was the first time she had so much as looked in his direction since he had taken her on board.
‘Dr Walther,’ she gasped, her face pale. ‘I think he has malaria.’
‘There’s nothing we can do,’ he said tersely to Harriet after he had examined the doctor. ‘He’ll either live or he’ll die.’
Harriet stared up at the grim, forbidding face. ‘I think,’ she said slowly, ‘that you are the coldest, most insensitive man I have ever met.’
A brief smile twisted his mouth. ‘You may think what you please, Miss Latimer. I don’t give a blessed damn.’
He turned once more to the bunk and the convulsively shaking man.
‘What are you going to do?’
He turned, looking at her in surprise. ‘Nurse him,’ he said simply.
Harriet felt a faint flush rise in her cheeks. She had assumed he had cared little for the doctor’s health except in regard to how it affected his expedition. She had been wrong. She said awkwardly,
‘There is no need. I can do all that is necessary.’
Dr Walther’s presence seemed already to have left them. The cabin was so small that her skirt brushed against his legs. Their eyes held and Harriet felt the flush in her cheeks deepen.
‘When are you going to marry Crale?’ he asked, not taking his disturbing gaze from her.
‘I am not,’ she said with all the dignity she could muster.
His brows flew together. He tilted her chin with his finger, staring at her challengingly.
‘Why? Did his mama disapprove?’
‘No doubt she would have done if I had accepted the proposal,’ Harriet said stiffly, her heart beginning to race.
His frown deepened. She was so near his body that the scent of her sent his blood coursing through his veins.
‘You refused him? Why?’
If she moved the barest inch, her body would be pressed close against his. She strove to retain the cool indifference she had displayed for so long.
‘I have no wish to marry,’ she said through parched lips.
‘Of course not.’ His smile was mocking. ‘You don’t like to be touched, Miss Latimer, do you? I had forgotten how vehemently you requested that I should not do so when you had Lady Crale for a witness.’ His eyes moved to her lips. ‘Lady Crale is no longer with us, Miss Latimer.’ And before she could cry out in protest, he caught her to him, kissing her fiercely and expertly, unaware of the slim, robed figure that slipped away into the shadows.
African Enchantment Page 12
