Lady Emily's Exotic Journey

by Lillian Marek

  “What do you mean, she fell? Where did she fall? She was gone from the place where Irmak saw her, and so were you.” Lady Penworth shook her again.

  Mélisande twisted around. “Lucien,” she pleaded, “it was not my fault. It was all an accident.”

  “Just tell us where Emily is. That’s all we want to know.” He tried to keep his voice calm when he longed to throttle the little brat.

  She looked around but could find no sympathetic face anywhere. “She fell. She fell onto the raft. It was an accident, that’s all.”

  Lady Penworth gave another shake. “And then? What happened then?”

  “I was frightened. I ran away.”

  Lord Penworth intervened before his wife struck another blow. “We must find the spot. Irmak knows where he saw them. We will bring the girl along to make certain we are in the right place.”

  Lucien followed Irmak as the Turk marched toward the river. He could not bear to even look at Mélisande though he had her firmly by the arm and dragged her along. How could she have behaved so callously? He had to find Emily. She had to be all right. He could not bear it if she was hurt, or if…

  He could not even think that.

  Seventeen

  Irmak stopped abruptly in the space by the wharves where the attack had taken place. It was as deserted as it had been earlier. Even more deserted. There were still no people about, and now the keleks were gone as well.

  Mélisande tried to pull loose, but Lucien held her arm in too firm a grip for her to be able to escape. She still gave out the occasional sob.

  He turned her to face the waterfront. “Here? Is this where it happened?”

  She sniffled and nodded.

  “Damn you!” He pushed her away with such force that she would have fallen had one of the soldiers not caught her. “There are no rafts here. There is nothing. Do you mean you pushed her into the river and left her to drown?” Lucien turned and stood at the river’s edge, looking down into its muddy depths in despair.

  “No, wait.” Oliphant caught his arm. “There would have been rafts here this morning, some of the ones we hired. The loading was finished yesterday, and they were to set out today. If she did fall onto one of them…”

  Lucien straightened up and his eyes flashed with hope. “Yes, if…” He turned back to Mélisande and demanded, “Well? Were you telling the truth? Did she fall onto the raft?”

  Again she nodded.

  “But then where is she?” Lady Penworth looked around wildly. “If she fell on the raft, was she injured? Why didn’t she simply get up?”

  They all looked at Mélisande, who looked at the ground. “She might have hit her head when she fell,” she whispered.

  “Even so,” said Lady Penworth, “someone should have seen her when the crews came to take the rafts.” She stopped suddenly and advanced slowly on Mélisande with narrowed eyes. “Would they have seen her? No lies now.”

  Mélisande shrank back but there was no place for her to go. All eyes were fixed on her, and none of them were friendly. She licked her lips. “Perhaps… maybe…”

  Lady Penworth looked at her with a mixture of anguish and despair. “What happened?”

  “All right,” Mélisande cried. “She fell between two of the crates and one of the tarpaulins fell down to cover her.”

  A moment of disbelieving silence descended.

  Then Lucien took charge. “To the south the river is full of twists and turns. If I ride straight along the cliffs, I should be able to intercept them. At the worst, I will catch up to them when they stop for the night. If you come along the road with a carriage…?” He turned to Lord Penworth, who seemed startled to be taking orders but nodded. A carriage might be needed.

  Then Lucien turned back to Mélisande. “Describe the raft. What was on it?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  “Think, you little fool!”

  She stepped back, cringing. “There were some crates.”

  “How many?”

  “Three, no, four. Two on each side.”

  “That helps,” said Oliphant. “There are only two rafts like that. They have the clay tablets, and the crates are about four feet square.”

  Lucien nodded. “You will need to stay here, so there will be someone who understands if, if there are any messages, or anything.”

  Oliphant nodded.

  Once Lucien had left at a run, the others began to sort themselves out as he had ordered.

  “I will need to pack some medical supplies, just in case,” said Lady Penworth, setting out to return to the house. Suddenly, she stopped and began to sway. Her husband caught her, and she clung to him. “Oh, Phillip, she will be all right, won’t she?”

  “Yes, I’m sure of it. Lucien is a very sensible young man.”

  She nodded, but continued to cling to him as they made their way along, looking far older than they had been the day before.

  *

  Emily awoke to a rocking movement. It was a familiar sensation, the gentle motion of a kelek on the river. Pleasant. Soothing. She started to raise her head, but it hurt, it hurt badly. She groaned in pain but did not open her eyes. Why did her head hurt so badly? Perhaps if she did not move her head, the pain would go away. She sighed and let the gentle motion rock her back to sleep.

  *

  The small square by the river was almost deserted. The Penworths and their household, along with Irmak and his troops, were all preparing to pursue Lady Emily. David Oliphant was preparing to organize a command station to receive any information.

  Peering around a corner, the little door boy saw Lady Julia, still in the square. He had failed in his duty, he knew, when he had let the other young lady leave the house without anyone to protect her. He would try to make up for his failure by watching over this one and making sure she returned safely. So he watched and waited.

  Lady Julia was about to return to the house with the others, hoping to be of assistance to Mr. Oliphant, when she saw that Mélisande had been left in a heap in one corner of the square. She found it difficult to call up much sympathy for the girl, but she couldn’t be left here. She sighed and went over to the girl.

  “Do get up, Mélisande. You can’t stay here.”

  The response was a wailing moan. Or a moaning wail. Julia wasn’t sure what it should be called, but it was an unpleasant sound, and quite useless if it was intended to garner sympathy.

  “Stop this nonsense and get up,” she said impatiently.

  Mélisande lifted up her head. “It has all gone wrong. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Now Lucien is very angry with me.”

  “Well, of course he is, and so is everyone else. What did you expect? What on earth were you thinking?”

  “But that was not what I had planned. I just wanted her to go away.”

  “You wanted Lady Emily to go away? But why? Why have you suddenly turned on Lady Emily, who has never been anything but kind to you?”

  “I saw them, Lucien and her. They were embracing. I saw them.”

  “Oh. Well.” Julia felt slightly flustered, remembering how very young Mélisande was. And living here in isolation, perhaps she really had been that sheltered. “Well, there is really no need to be upset. That sort of thing does happen, you know, when men and women are attracted to each other. You must not consider it distressing.”

  “But of course I must be distressed.” Mélisande rounded on her angrily. “Lucien is to marry me. It cannot be permitted that he should be kissing Lady Emily.”

  “Marry you?” Julia stared at the girl. “You cannot be serious. You are much too young to be thinking of marriage.”

  “But of course I must think of it,” the girl insisted. “How else am I to escape from this place?”

  Julia folded her arms like a stern governess and looked at the girl. “Do you seriously expect me to believe that you and M. Chambertin are betrothed?”

  Mélisande made an expressive little moue. “It is understood, you see.”
>
  “Understood by whom?” Julia frowned. “Has M. Chambertin actually proposed to you?”

  “No, no, he has always been most proper. That is understood. But he is also most sympathetic, so I know. A woman always knows, does she not?”

  Julia threw up her hands in disgust. “Of all the dim-witted, simpleminded idiots! Do you have any conception of the harm you have done? Lady Emily’s life is in danger because of you. For all we know, she could be dead. We have no way of knowing how badly you may have injured her. And all because a stupid little girl decides to spin romantic fantasies for herself!”

  “I am not stupid! It is all of you who do not understand.” Mélisande stamped her foot and sniffled.

  “I wash my hands of you.” Julia turned to depart. “Come along or stay here. I really do not care.”

  *

  Concealed around the corner, Hadad and Karif had listened to the quarrel. They could not understand what was being said, but the woman with the Frenchman’s daughter was clearly a foreigner, and here she was where M. Carnac’s daughter had promised to bring her.

  Hadad frowned. “Is this the same one? She does not look quite the same as she looked this morning, but I cannot tell the foreigners apart.”

  “She must be. Hear how they quarrel. And she is here where we were supposed to seize her.”

  “But that was supposed to happen this morning early.”

  Karif shrugged. “The soldiers interrupted then, so she brings her back so we can try again.”

  Hadad shook his head dubiously.

  “Look! Here she comes, right toward us.” Karif smiled in delight. “I will hit her with the stone, and you pick her up.”

  It did not work out quite that neatly.

  Karif and Hadad had positioned themselves neatly in doorways on opposite sides of the street, but they were not so well concealed that Julia did not notice them as soon as she rounded the corner. Men trying to hide in doorways are rarely well-intentioned. Not being a fool, Julia turned to run.

  Unfortunately, the ubiquitous blue cloak was designed for concealment, not ease of motion. Julia tripped and went sprawling almost immediately. Before she could rise again, Karif had swung his rock. She moved quickly enough to avoid the worst of it and receive most of the blow on her shoulder, but it was enough to make her cry out in pain.

  The little door boy came shrieking to her rescue, and Karif swung around with a snarl to use the rock on him. They dodged back and forth, with Karif never getting quite close enough to land a blow.

  Hadad hovered between Julia and the boy, not certain where to intervene. The boy had picked up a rock of his own to throw at the attackers. Karif swung wildly and called down curses on the boy. Then Julia began to get to her feet, berating Karif for picking on a child, and Hadad finally acted. He threw the heavy cloth over Julia—the cloth he had been carrying around since early morning. It muffled her cries and tangled her arms sufficiently for him to be able to toss her over his shoulder.

  Calling to Karif to come along, he hurried down the alley. Karif landed a solid blow on the boy’s back and followed. The door boy staggered, but pulled himself together and followed the kidnappers.

  Left alone in the square, Mélisande stared after them in horror. No! This was not what was supposed to happen. Nothing should happen to Lady Julia. She did not know what to do. She took a step to follow them, but hesitated. Should she follow them? Should she go for help? She didn’t know what to do. Would they blame her? But she had never meant anything to happen to Lady Julia. It wasn’t her fault! It wasn’t! They would blame her, and it wasn’t her fault!

  She ran blindly through the streets.

  *

  It was several hours later that the bedraggled door boy finally reached home. Quiet had settled over the house like a pall. The absence of Lord Penworth and his family was not enough to account for the silence. The remaining servants moved about softly, speaking in whispers when speech was needed. It rarely was. Altan, who ruled over the household, did not even bother to scold Yusef for his absence.

  He managed to locate Shatha, and discovered from her that Mr. Oliphant was the only one of the foreigners in the house. It was well that he was here, because Yusef doubted he could make any of the others understand what he had to say. At least he hoped it was well. He did not look forward to admitting more failure. This was twice that he had failed to protect one of the women of the house. Moreover, they all knew that Mr. Oliphant languished for love of Lady Julia. He would be very angry when he heard what Yusef had to tell him.

  Two minutes later, Yusef knew his fears had been justified, but misdirected. Mr. Oliphant did not blame him. He blamed himself.

  “She was left in the square all alone?”

  “No, no, effendi, not alone,” Yusef assured him. “The French lady was with her.”

  “I assumed she was with Lady Penworth.” Oliphant closed his eyes. “Great God in Heaven, what have I done? How could I leave her?”

  Yusef did not attempt to answer unanswerable questions.

  “You said Mélisande, the French girl, was with her. What did she do?”

  “They quarrel, effendi, and then the Lady Julia turns to leave and the evil men capture her. The French girl, she watches.”

  “Watches.” The word came out as a whisper, but his fists were clenched so tightly the knuckles were white. “Could you see where they went?”

  “I follow for a while, but I lose them as they near the walls.” Yusef was apologetic. “But I did hear them. They argue, and the short one says they should not stay to collect the money from the French girl. They can get more if they sell her in the slave market in Damascus. The one with teeth that stick out says the trip is too dangerous and they should just take the fifty gold pieces they were promised. Then the short one says there is a slave caravan to the north. They can join that and travel safely. Then they go through a door and I cannot follow.”

  There was a moment of absolute stillness when Yusef finished speaking. It was so quiet that the boy thought Mr. Oliphant might even have stopped breathing. Then the storm broke. Mr. Oliphant slammed out of the room, shouting for Altan. Yusef was not sure where he went, but when he reappeared, his coat was gone, a gun was strapped to his leg, one dagger was in his belt and another in his boot, and he carried a rifle.

  “Send to Mr. Rassam,” he told Altan, “and explain to him what has happened. If there is any news about Lady Emily, send a messenger after Lord Penworth. And tell the servants to stay calm.”

  “Yes, effendi, yes. I will do as you say. And when will you return?”

  “When I have Lady Julia.”

  Eighteen

  The room was rocking, not much, but enough to make Emily’s stomach unhappy. She turned on her side, but the movement made her head hurt even more. Something was covering her, a heavy blanket that made it hard to breathe. She clawed at it—it didn’t feel like one of her blankets—until she finally pushed it away and could breathe.

  That was a bit better, but the room was still rocking. She was going to have to open her eyes if she wanted to know why.

  Opening her eyes a slit, she saw the wall right in front of her, not a foot from her nose. Only it wasn’t a wall at all. It was dark canvas, not just dark but dirty canvas, covering—what? She opened her eyes a bit more and turned her head to look up. It was covering some sort of box or crate. When she looked a bit higher, she saw sky, not ceiling.

  Her eyes opened much wider, and she took a deep breath. Then she swallowed. All right. She wasn’t in her room. She wasn’t even in a building.

  Where on earth was she?

  She started to push herself up almost to a sitting position, leaning on one arm, but quickly discovered that was a mistake. Her stomach heaved, and her head screamed in agony. She moaned and closed her eyes again, leaning against the crate and waiting for her stomach to subside. At least the crate provided solid support.

  After a few minutes, or maybe quite a bit longer, it seemed safe to open her eyes
again. The light was bright enough to hurt them, but she could see that there were two crates, one on each side of her, and they were providing some shade so that she wasn’t actually in the sun. That was up ahead of her, dancing on the water. Glaringly bright sun dancing on the water.

  Water?

  She blinked and looked again. Yes, it was water. She edged up a bit until she could look around the corner of the crate and see land, the gardens and palm trees that edged the Tigris everywhere she had seen. She took another deep breath. All right, she was on the river. In a boat? No, it had no sides. She was on a raft, a kelek. What on earth was she doing on a kelek and how had she gotten here?

  Her legs were still tangled in the cloth that had been covering her, a piece of filthy canvas like the stuff that was covering the boxes. Disgusting. She pushed it away and pulled herself up to stand more or less vertical. That much exertion left her trembling, and she leaned against the crate until she felt steadier. The boxes were higher than her head, so she was still in some shade. That was a mercy, since the light she could see was painfully bright. Even so, there was more than enough light for her to see that her dress was filthy. Lavender muslin was obviously a poor choice of costume for whatever she was doing here. She tried to brush it off, but her hands were as filthy as her skirts.

  It felt as if half of her hair was falling over her face, and when she tried to push it back, her hand came away sticky. Blood. Filthy as her hand was, she could still see that it now had blood on it. Her blood, coming from the painful place on her head. Her stomach turned at the sight.

  What had happened to her?

  Whatever had happened, all she wanted now was to go home, and this raft wasn’t likely to be taking her there. Rafts leaving Mosul only traveled downriver to Baghdad. They could not travel back upriver against the current. She had learned that much in her time here. Whoever was in charge of this craft was going to have to at least put her ashore. Surely once she was ashore, someone would help her get home. Surely. Once she explained who her father was…if she could manage to explain anything to people who would not understand a word she said and who would have no idea who her father was.