“When I am well again,” she said, “I shall box your ears. In the meantime —” She winced. “Perhaps I will take a drop of laudanum. But only a drop. Now go away.”
He didn’t go away. He mixed the laudanum with honey and water and watched her drink it. He wet the cloths and wrung them out and laid them on her forehead. He rubbed her back. He distracted her with humorous family anecdotes. He did not leave until she fell asleep.
MILES’S CAMEL JOURNEY ended at Dendera, at the Temple of Hathor.
He’d heard of the place. He’d seen pictures in the Description de l’Egypte. He’d read travelers’ tales. Daphne had talked about it as well. But as he and his captors entered the sand-and rubbish-filled space that constituted its courtyard, he was interested mainly in the shade it would offer deep within.
After nine days’ journey across the desert on a hostile camel, after the sandstorms’ repeated batterings, he only wanted to lie down and die someplace out of the sun and the hot, gritty wind.
The men led him inside, and he stumbled wearily along with them. Now and again he glanced up at the massive columns. Daphne would be thrilled, he thought. The place was covered with hieroglyphs.
He wondered what she’d think of the famous Hathor, the Egyptian counterpart of Aphrodite. Miles found her singularly unattractive. She had a low forehead, close-set eyes, and wide, fat cheeks. Cow’s ears stuck out from the sides of her head like jug handles. She looked more like a gargoyle than a goddess, he thought. But then, not being in the best of humors, he mightn’t be able to appreciate her properly.
The men took him through a great vestibule, through a door into a smaller hall — though it was still immense — along whose sides he perceived narrow openings into dark chambers. His escort never paused. They led him on, straight ahead through more chambers, and at last into a narrow, enclosed, and profoundly dark space. Even the candles could illuminate no more than the lower portions of the relief-covered walls.
They had no difficulty illuminating the man within, however.
“Noxley?” Miles said, half-disbelieving what his eyes told him.
Lord Noxley came forward and clasped his hand. “My dear fellow, how relieved I am to see you!”
“Not half as relieved as I am to see you,” Miles said. “Not to mention happily surprised. I had hoped my sister would go to you once she realized something had gone amiss with me, but I’d little hope of seeing you so soon.”
“It was a near thing,” Noxley said, releasing his surprisingly strong grip. “The consulate was inclined, as always, to drag its feet. But Mrs. Pembroke took matters into her own hands. As a result, I was able to set out after you not three days after you were captured. But we can talk at length later, when you have rested.”
He addressed Ghazi. “Have you anything else for me?”
“Soon,” Ghazi said. “A few days.”
“Duval is not here,” said Noxley. “None of his people are here.”
Ghazi smiled. “Perhaps they heard it was not safe.”
“We’ll need to find him,” said Noxley. “But the other thing first.”
“The other thing first, yes,” Ghazi said. “Unless you require me, I set out now.”
“That would be best,” said Noxley. He withdrew a small bag from his coat and gave it to Ghazi. The bag chinked.
The man took it with thanks, bade them farewell with his usual suave courtesy, and departed, taking his associates with him.
“You’re shocked, I daresay, at my choice of employees,” Noxley said. “In England that man would be a common criminal.”
“Not at all common,” Miles said. “His manners are beautiful, and he has a charming way of offering to kill innocent bystanders if one doesn’t cooperate.”
“Alas, without men like Ghazi, one can get nothing done in this barbaric place,” Noxley said. “When in Rome, you know.” He smiled disarmingly. “I could never have found you so quickly without those fellows’ help.”
“It’s not their fault we didn’t arrive sooner,” Miles said. “We’ve been nine days coming from Minya, thanks to the sandstorms.”
“Wretched for you, I don’t doubt,” Noxley said. “But otherwise you should have arrived here days ahead of me. The winds slowed those of us on the river as well.”
He led the way out of the narrow chamber. “By gad, I am happy to see you,” he said, lowering his voice. “This has turned out to be a nasty business, indeed. The curst French…” He paused and looked about the dark temple. “They are taking away the zodiac ceiling, the swine. The pasha has given leave, you see. They will carry it to Paris — and I can do nothing until this other wretched business is settled.” He shook his head. “But never mind the French. You’ve had a filthy time of it in the desert. You’re longing for a bath, I daresay, and clean clothes and proper food. And I — if I stay here much longer, I shall be tempted to do murder.”
Chapter 17
THOUGH DAPHNE TOOK THE LAUDANUM IN small doses, it helped a great deal. She was grateful indeed to Mr. Carsington for insisting, as she told him at the first opportunity.
Privately, she marveled at his taking the trouble over her monthly misery. But then, he was a marvel to her. For the two days she spent in bed, she thought about him, and all the ways in which he surprised her.
Though the drug made her mind rather foggy, this much was clear: He was not at all the lout she’d first supposed him. Instead, he made other men seem loutish, especially Virgil. Her late husband had made her feel defective, even monstrous at times. He’d left her with a great fortune and very little self-confidence.
In the weeks she’d spent with Rupert Carsington, her confidence had steadily grown. That day and evening in Asyut, she’d lived through the fear and danger and passion and one trial of endurance after another. And never before had she felt so alive.
Despite the fogginess, she was well aware of his large, capable hands laying the cool, wet cloths on her forehead or gently rubbing her back. She was aware of his deep voice, tinged with laughter now and again as he told an amusing story.
She was also aware that, like laudanum, he could easily become a dangerous habit.
By the morning of the third day the violent spasms of pain had faded to an occasional twinge. She was able to sit up and take note of the world about her and puzzle over how sick she’d been. It could not have been her menses alone, she decided. It always made her tired and cross, and was often painful, but never so much as this. Never before had it so completely incapacitated her.
But then, her life had never been so tumultuous before.
She decided that dyspepsia or some other stomach ailment had aggravated matters.
Whatever it was seemed to be gone because she woke with an appetite. It was Nafisah who brought the ewer and basin as soon as Daphne was sitting up.
“You feel better,” Nafisah said, smiling. “I see it in your face.”
“Much better,” Daphne said. After washing, she noticed the baby was nowhere about. “Where is Sabah?”
“In the front room with the master and the boy Tom,” Nafisah said.
“His name is Udail,” Daphne said automatically.
“He wishes to be Tom,” Nafisah said. “He says he is the slave of the master and will go with him wherever he goes because the master has saved your life.”
“I was not dying,” Daphne said. “You know the ailment isn’t fatal.”
“He saved you from the sandstorm as well. I, too, gladly serve such a master, who shows such kindness to his hareem, and waits upon her like a slave.”
The word hareem made Daphne Mr. Carsington’s property: a woman who belonged to him, who was part of his household. She squirmed at the term yet saw how unwise it would be to correct Nafisah. The girl would not understand. In her view, all women belonged to one man or another. In any event, it was unwise to encourage the servants to speculate too much about the relationship between the “master” and their mistress.
The relationship between Eur
opean men and their women baffled many Egyptians anyway, although the majority accepted it philosophically. Practices Egyptians normally regarded as improprieties they often explained and excused with “It is their custom.”
The crew and servants were well aware that Daphne’s maid shared her cabin, that Tom shared the “master’s,” and that the cabin Nafisah and Sabah now shared with various domestic supplies stood between the two.
If this arrangement changed, everyone aboard would know. Daphne had no idea whether the men would think less of her or would disregard it as an alien custom. She had no doubt, however, that Miles would eventually hear of it. Depending on how talkative her people were, gossip and speculation might travel up and down the Nile.
In England she lived a reclusive life, and others’ opinion of her mattered not at all. She had never made a scandal, though. Miles was all the family she had left. She could not disgrace him.
What had happened in Asyut must be the beginning and the end of all intimacy with Mr. Carsington, she told herself as she dressed. For a time they had been cut off from the world and its rules. They were back in the world now, and must live by the rules. And she must return to reality, to facts, not fantasies.
She and Mr. Carsington had no future together. This was for the best. Circumstances had thrown together two people who could not have less in common.
To emphasize her resolve to keep him at a distance, she donned her widow’s garb. She looked down at herself and recalled the expression on Mr. Carsington’s face when he’d gazed at her naked breasts. She remembered snuggling, naked, in his arms. She felt a pang.
Telling herself to be sensible, she went out to the front cabin.
The Egyptians therein welcomed her in the usual extravagant fashion: Tom launched into a long speech of rejoicing, his hand on his heart. The baby managed a few staggering steps in her direction before collapsing on the rug, laughing and clapping her hands. Even the mongoose darted in from wherever she’d been, and ran around Daphne’s ankles, sniffing.
Mr. Carsington said nothing, only gave her a slow survey, head to toes and up again.
Her face grew hot, and she was well aware of heat further down, coiling in the pit of her belly.
She directed her gaze at the mongoose. “Marigold has grown lively while I was ill,” she said composedly. “And friendlier.” Had he won over the mongoose, too? Was there anyone or anything able to resist him? “What’s happened to her precious shirt?”
“She hides it,” Mr. Carsington said. “Today it’s under the divan. You’ll see her check at intervals, to make sure it’s still there. She’s vastly entertaining, now her paw has healed. I hadn’t realized what busy, curious creatures they are. She’s constantly running in and out, to and fro, investigating.”
She left Daphne to run about the divan. The mongoose ran up Mr. Carsington as though he were a tree, sat on his shoulder for a moment, sniffing his neck, then ran down again and out of the cabin.
The baby found this highly amusing. She let out squeals of laughter. She stood up, fell down, and squealed some more.
Nafisah came in, scooped her up, and bore her away, to allow the mistress to enjoy her breakfast in peace.
Daphne settled onto the divan at a decorous distance from Mr. Carsington.
Leena entered then, bearing a large tray heaped with breakfast pastries and fruits. “Well, why do you stand there like a stone?” she cried to Tom. “Where is the coffee for your mistress?”
“I forget because my heart is so full,” he said. “We are all well now, and safe. This boat is filled with happiness. The baby who was dying laughs and claps her hands. My master who was swallowed by the sandstorm came back to us. He brought back our mistress and made her well again when death tried to take her. He will find our master — our other master — and take him from the foreign devils who carried him into the desert. There are twelve of them, but Yusef and I will fight by his side, and we will fight like a hundred demons and devils.”
“What’s he on about now?” Mr. Carsington asked Daphne. She quickly translated. Tom went on with his rant.
“Hold on,” said Mr. Carsington. He held up his hand. “Wait. Stop.”
The boy paused.
“Foreign devils?” Mr. Carsington said. “Twelve of them? How do you know this?”
“But everyone knows,” Leena said. “We heard it in the marketplace. The caravans come to Asyut. They see these men, one or two Egyptians, but most are foreigners — Syrian, Greek, Armenian, Turkish. They keep close watch over a tall, fair man who speaks very strange Arabic and whose camel quarrels with him. Did no one tell you?”
She turned a reproachful look upon Tom. “Did you not tell him? Of the talk in Asyut?”
“Oh, yes,” said Tom. “I told you, sir, when you came on the boat. Everyone told you. Everyone heard of it in the suq.”
“Did you tell him in English?” Daphne said.
The boy considered. Then he lifted his shoulders and hands. “In your tongue, in our tongue, I cannot say. My joy to see you was so great. Tears filled my eyes. So full were our hearts, who can say what words we spoke?”
“Leena, sit,” Mr. Carsington ordered. “Tom, sit. Now, one at a time, slowly, tell us everything you heard in Asyut.”
WITH LEENA AND Tom interrupting each other, and the usual excess verbiage, the report went on for some time, and to Rupert seemed to grow increasingly melodramatic. Daphne’s translation reduced the endless saga to a few bald facts.
Archdale had been seen, alive, only a few days ago, en route to Dendera. If this was true, the Isis was not so many days behind him as they’d feared. Sandstorms had slowed the kidnappers’ progress through the desert. The Isis was not far behind Noxious, either. His dahabeeya had stopped at Asyut earlier in the week.
At this point, the tale took the dramatic turn.
The Memnon was well known in Asyut, the servants reported. As soon as it was spotted, a number of people fled the town and went into hiding, not emerging until the boat was long gone.
“They call this man the Golden Devil,” Tom said, “because his hair is the color of gold. He is English, like you. But he is a devil with an army of men like demons. The people of Upper Egypt have less fear of Muhammad Ali and his soldiers.”
The Golden Devil had become a legend, apparently. When children misbehaved, their mothers told them the Golden Devil would come after them.
Tom went on for some time about the Golden Devil. Daphne provided her usual, concise English version.
She offered it calmly enough.
After Tom left to fetch the coffee and Leena to bring the maps Rupert asked for, he said, “These revelations about Noxious don’t seem to have shocked you.”
Her gaze was distant, abstracted. “After what I have discovered about my late husband, I doubt anything more I learn about any man could shock me. This voyage — or mission — or whatever one calls it — has been highly educational. No wonder Miles said I was naïve and unworldly.”
“He’s your brother,” Rupert said. “Brothers can take the oddest views of their siblings. Perhaps because I’m not your brother, I see you altogether differently. From the first you struck me as levelheaded and clear-eyed.”
“You’ve only known me in unusual circumstances,” she said.
“Maybe unusual circumstances show us what we’re truly made of,” he said. “Maybe your life before didn’t give you room enough to be yourself.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I haven’t sorted myself out yet. Lord Noxley is easier. His activities at least fit a pattern. We knew he was at war with Duval, competing for antiquities. As to his lordship’s army of demons and devils, Belzoni said much the same of his rivals’ agents. He said they were lawless men. European ‘renegadoes, desperadoes, and exiles,’ he called them.”
“It’s wonderful,” Rupert said.
Her green gaze shot to him.
“Your mind,” he said. “The way you collect evidence, sort it out, and come to the lo
gical conclusion. It’s amazing, considering how much you’ve got in there.”
She smiled faintly. “It’s the one thing I can do.”
“It isn’t all you can do,” Rupert said.
The faint thread of pink over her cheekbones spread and deepened into rose.
“That wasn’t what I meant,” he said. “That is, it wasn’t all I meant, although you’re brilliant at lovemaking as well, and I do wish —”
Leena bustled in with the maps. She was no sooner gone than Tom entered with the coffee.
Rupert waited until the boy had departed and Daphne had poured the coffee.
He said, “I know why you’ve donned your weeds again. You didn’t need to warn me off. I know we’re obliged to observe the proprieties. That’s why I wish we were elsewhere.”
“It doesn’t matter where we are,” she said. “This isn’t the Arabian Nights. It was exciting, once — twice — to be carried away —”
“Was that all?” he said, and something stabbed inside, making him hot and cold at the same time. “You were carried away?”
“What do you want me to say?”
He didn’t have an answer.
The silence lengthened while he looked for words and couldn’t find any, found only feelings for which he had no names, either.
“I don’t know,” he said at last. “But you must say something more than that. You’re the genius, not I.”
“The matter doesn’t require cleverness,” she said. “What we experienced was lust, pure and simple — well, not pure —”
“It isn’t simple for me,” he cut in, stabbed again. “This must be Egyptian lust, because it isn’t at all what I’m used to. I have…feelings.”
DAPHNE LONGED TO ask, naturally, what kind of feelings they were. She wanted to probe, as she would a subtlety of grammar or vocabulary.
She wanted, in short, to grasp at any straw.
But that was emotion, not reason.
Reason reminded her that in normal circumstances she was bookish and reclusive while he was a man who hungered for excitement. He was dashing; she was boring. They came from different worlds. The world of fashionable aristocratic society was far more alien to her than Egypt was.