I envied them. I longed to see sandy, ancient Egypt beyond the confines of the town, but politeness dictated that I follow Lady Mary and Grenville to whatever Lady Mary called her “villa.”
I disliked also leaving Karem alone with the body. Examining it might give a clue as to who killed him, but Karem remained resolutely in front of the dead man, and finally I let Brewster steer me away.
I looked back before we left the square. Karem stood like a sentinel, his pale turban a beacon in the sunshine. That same sunshine touched the colorful red cloth of the Turkish soldier’s uniform, the uncaring wind already brushing sand into his black hair.
* * *
Lady Mary’s villa turned out to be a house a half mile outside the city walls. Built of stone, it had been erected about fifty years ago when a Frenchman decided to make a go of living in Egypt. Obviously he’d given up the endeavor, because the house had started to fall to ruin. Scaffolding now covered one entire side, indicating Lady Mary’s determination to restore it.
An avenue lined with date palms led to the house, which was a two-story structure with a colonnaded front veranda. Behind the villa, the land sloped down to a marshy lake, the remnants of the ancient Lake Mareotis.
A canal had once cut from this lake around Alexandria and back to the Nile. The lake, like the canal, had stagnated with silt over nearly fifteen-hundred years, but during a recent battle had been refilled with water from Aboukir Bay when dams had been torn down. Result—a reed-filled lake that was a ghost of its former self.
“The gardens behind will also be restored,” Lady Mary explained from her perch on her donkey as we approached the house. She waved her hand at an area beyond the scaffolded side of the villa. “Orange groves, rose bowers, fountains, intimate shaded walks …” She turned her head to smile at me, and winked.
I smiled politely in return, pretending not to notice the wink.
The architecture of Lady Mary’s house was reminiscent of southern France or perhaps the Italian states. Instead of the grand entrance leading straight into the house, as it might in England, the huge front door gave onto a large courtyard surrounded by the four wings of the house.
Lady Mary dismounted from her donkey here, the animal led away by a young Egyptian boy. The Spanish man remained, still holding the parasol.
An Egyptian woman, swathed from head to foot in black, emerged and took Lady Mary’s shawl and the parasol that the Spanish man finally folded up. Another Egyptian man in a white galabiya hastened into the courtyard, keen to divest Grenville and me of hats, gloves, and walking sticks. I gave up everything but my walking stick, showing him that I needed it in order to remain upright.
Brewster was very reluctant to let me traipse into a house he didn’t know with people he’d never seen before. He folded his arms and stood like a rock in front of the door through which Lady Mary had already vanished.
“It’s all right,” Grenville tried to reassure him. “Lady Mary is not dangerous—at least, not in the way you are thinking. I give you my word that Captain Lacey will not be harmed. He is married now, and therefore safe.”
“Begging your pardon, Mr. Grenville.” Brewster didn’t move, didn’t show any amusement. “But you don’t know who’s in that house. It’s big, and there’s workers everywhere. Even her ladyship herself don’t know, I’d wager.”
“Well, we can’t leave yet,” Grenville said. “It would be the height of rudeness. Remain within earshot, and if we are in danger, we’ll shout like the devil.”
Brewster glowered. “I hear one thing wrong, I’m coming in, don’t no matter what.”
“Sit in the shade at least,” I told him. The sun was already warm now that we were away from the sea, and the air was bound to grow much hotter as afternoon approached. “You’ll be no good to me swooning from heatstroke.”
Brewster said, “Huh,” at the word swooning, but he moved off to a bench shaded by old rose vines.
“He has the easier task,” Grenville muttered as we turned to follow Miguel through the double doors where he waited. “Do not agree to accept accommodations for the night, Lacey, or we’ll never be shot of her.”
He spoke as though from bitter experience, his look even more pained as we ducked through the doorway into the darkness of the house.
I doubted Lady Mary would extend an offer for us to spend the night once I had a look inside. The place was a wreck.
The massive drawing room we stepped into had once been beautiful, with painted columns, friezes, and Greek-style pediments, but now sported a gaping hole high in one wall, which let in the only light. The long, graceful windows overlooking the non-existent garden had been boarded up.
A marble staircase rose at one end of the drawing room, but it went nowhere, the top of it having crumbled and fallen away. I imagined the local people had mined it for stones, and I wondered if the villa’s second floor were accessible at all.
“Not a palace, no,” Lady Mary chortled as she caught my expression. “Not yet, anyway. It is not the most pleasant house in which to stay at present, but give it time. Now, Miguel, we shall have tea.”
Miguel, who had not said a word so far, nodded at her and glided off into the deeper regions of the house.
“Such a dear boy,” Lady Mary said as we seated ourselves on folding chairs much like those Grenville had brought from London. “I met him while traveling in Spain. He was a teacher of some kind and had just lost his wife, poor thing. He was at a loose end, so I suggested we travel together. He speaks many languages and is entertaining company. It’s never good for a woman to travel alone—she needs a dragoman to help her over the rough patches. I know dragomen are usually Turks or Egyptians, but it is a term we could agree upon.”
“I understand,” Grenville said, sliding into his smooth, wealthy dandy persona. “I was surprised to see you here at all, Mary. I thought after the Greek isles you were giving up travel.”
Lady Mary pressed her hand to her heart and turned to me. “Yes, I was most distraught. I nearly died, Captain Lacey,” she said, widening her eyes. “An earthquake when I was in the mountains, in Delphi—I wanted to see the Oracle. I and my horse fell down the path, and there I lay in a tangle for hours before they found me. My niece, such a devoted thing, had to nurse me back to health, and I vowed to give up my peripatetic life. But then she married, and I was lonely without her, so I decided to travel again.”
“I read of her marriage,” Grenville said, giving Lady Mary a nod. “My felicitations.”
Lady Mary beamed, her dark eyes sparkling. “To a Russian count of vast wealth. A brilliant match. I am rather good at matchmaking, Captain Lacey. Now, I remember Miguel reading out to me from London newspapers that you have made a match yourself, Captain. To Lady Donata—Pembroke’s daughter. Very surprising. I thought she’d enjoy widowhood forever after being married to that awful Breckenridge. It must have been a love match with you.”
She gave me a sly smile that said she knew full well that my marriage with Donata was a misalliance. Donata certainly hadn’t married me for money or connections; therefore it followed that she must be far gone in passion for me. It was the only explanation for her making so mad a choice.
Grenville answered for me. “It was a love match indeed. The ton is agog with it.”
“I can imagine.” Lady Mary dismissed the ton with a wave of her hand. “Gossipy busybodies. Is it any wonder I wander the world in search of beauty? Grenville does as well, Captain. We are birds of a feather.”
The look Lady Mary shot Grenville was predatory—she obviously longed for the two birds to share a nest.
Grenville flushed and cleared his throat. “I have promised the captain I would show him every fascinating corner of Egypt. So far, we have seen old streets, barely anything left of ruins, and a death. The poor fellow.”
“The Turks will clear that up,” Lady Mary said, no longer interested. “Nothing to do with us. I have a boat, you know, for traveling down the Nile. I plan to have a look at Theb
es.”
“I imagine we’ll go to Cairo,” Grenville said easily. “And see the pyramids at Giza. A pity there is so little left of Alexandria and its great library.”
“Indeed,” Lady Mary said. “So much destroyed in antiquity. Very sad.”
“One hears tales, though,” Grenville said, gazing absently across the dusty stone drawing room. Outside came the sound of hammers, and Egyptians calling out to one another. “Bits and pieces found, especially by Napoleon’s learned men who came to roust the land from its slumber. Books, papyri … Not everything was carried back to the museums, I suppose.”
Lady Mary gave him a roguish look. “Very clever, Grenville. Do not tell me you are after that ancient Greek papyrus the French scholar was supposed to have hidden before he left Egypt. No, do not lift your brows and play the ingenuous tourist with me. I know you too well. Fancy, the great Lucius Grenville, out to dig up Egypt in search of a lost library book.”
Chapter 7
I gave her an astonished look, as did Grenville. Lady Mary took in our expressions and laughed.
“Oh, my dear friends, everyone in Egypt is after that book. The story has been going around for years. Ah, Miguel, there you are.” Lady Mary turned her pleased smile on the Spanish man as he set down a tray upon which rested a teapot and delicate Wedgwood cups. Lady Mary kept her hands in her lap and let Miguel pour the tea and pass it around.
Grenville lifted the cup Miguel gave him. “You take my breath away, Lady Mary. What do you know of this?”
Lady Mary waved her teacup, sending a dribble of tea rolling down the cup’s painted side. “The lost book of the Alexandrian library, found by one of Napoleon’s savants. The story goes that Monsieur Chabert, a mathematician in Napoleon’s Egyptian expedition, stumbled across a papyrus scroll in Greek, a mathematical treatise on the movement of the planets or some such thing. He found it days before we defeated the French army and Napoleon fled like a coward, leaving all his men behind.”
“The French were allowed to keep their antiquities,” Grenville pointed out. “With a few exceptions.”
“Yes, like the stone with all the writing such a fuss is made about.” Lady Mary took a calm sip of tea. “I imagine Monsieur Chabert concluded that his book would be taken away from him, so he hid it, intending to find it again one day. But he never did. So the tale goes.”
“A plausible story, certainly,” Grenville said, as though he had only passing interest.
“Who knows?” Lady Mary glanced at me over her teacup. “Chabert died and took the secret of the book to his grave. It might be a tale for entertainment, put about by Mr. Salt to stir up Englishmen to come and dig for treasure.”
I drank my tea, which was surprisingly good, in silence. I doubted that Denis would send me to Egypt looking for this book without a chance that it existed. He was too careful for that.
Grenville cleared his throat, uncomfortable under Lady Mary’s intense gaze. “I suppose a way to began searching for this lost papyrus is to speak to those who knew Monsieur Chabert.”
“And you wish me to introduce you?” Lady Mary smiled broadly. “Oh, I do love having the oh-so-famous Mr. Grenville in my debt.” She shot me a look that was half conspiratorial, half coquettish. “I know everybody in Egypt, Grenville, so of course I am acquainted with those who were connected with Monsieur Chabert. I will happily introduce you. Few of them believe the story, I must warn you. And then you must come and see my dig.”
“Are you hunting for treasure too, my old friend?” Grenville asked her.
“I am, and please forbear from using the word old to describe me, my dear fellow. I’m younger than you are.”
She wasn’t younger than Grenville by much, I suspected, but I was too polite to say so. I wondered if Donata knew Lady Mary and what she’d have to say about her. I suddenly missed my wife very much.
“Agreed,” Grenville was saying. “You introduce us to Chabert’s cronies, and we’ll see what you’re unearthing. Do you wield your own spade?”
Lady Mary laughed heartily, which made her large bosom jiggle. “Isn’t he a delight, Miguel? No, of course we employ the Egyptians. They love digging in the dirt and will do anything for extra coin.”
After seeing that the Egyptians who lived in town had next to nothing, I well believed they needed the blunt. Whether they loved finding things for Lady Mary was another speculation.
“That is settled then,” Lady Mary said, beaming at us.
The conversation moved to gossip about acquaintances common to Grenville and Lady Mary, and then to places they had both been. Grenville had encountered her often in his travels, it seemed, in Rome and Greece, in the German states and even Russia.
“He follows me about,” Lady Mary told me with conviction. “My niece, when she travelled with me, would exclaim on the coincidence. But it never was, was it, dear boy?”
Grenville strove to hide an aggrieved expression. “Always a delight to see you, Lady Mary.”
She laughed, pleased.
After an interminable time of more tea, poured by the always silent Miguel, served with a Turkish sweet of thin sheets of pastry wrapped around honey and almonds, Grenville and I at last took our leave.
As we walked down the palm-shaded avenue, the brown swath of Alexandria in the distance, Grenville let out a heartfelt, releasing sigh.
“That woman is the most frightening thing on seven continents,” he declared to the sky.
It was unusual for Grenville to disparage a lady, from which I concluded that his feelings on this matter were profound.
“You have never mentioned her in the nearly three years I’ve known you,” I pointed out.
Grenville shuddered as he removed his handkerchief and dabbed his brow. “No, I have not. I last heard of her settling in Russia with her niece and had hoped I’d never see her again. Very likely the count soon had enough of Mary and showed her the door.”
“She is a bit overbearing,” I admitted. “Full of her own importance. But I’ve met other such women—they seem harmless if irritating.”
Grenville sent me a long-suffering look as he tucked away his handkerchief. “I am certain her company will quickly pall even on you, my friend. I first met Mary in Rome, where she was taking her niece, a pretty little thing, on her Grand Tour. Gentlemen had Grand Tours, Mary told me, so why not ladies? I made the foolish mistake of agreeing with her. From then on she latched on to me as her champion and spent all winter trying to make me propose to her niece. Turns out, her niece had not taken in several Seasons, and no wonder, with her dragon of an aunt hovering over her. Lady Mary decided that a foreign aristocrat would do for her niece instead. And barring that—me. Lady Mary forced me into so many corners, trying to make me say words that would obligate me to her niece for life that I trembled whenever I spied them.”
“What about the niece?” I asked. “Did she share her aunt’s wishes?”
“No, indeed. The poor thing was hideously embarrassed, but I dared not comfort her, or Mary would declare us compromised and lead us to the altar. With great relief did I read of her niece’s marriage to the Russian count. I hope it was a love match and not simply a young girl trying to flee her aunt’s clutches.”
I hoped so too. I set my walking stick too hard into the dirt and had to pause to yank it out. “I believe Lady Mary has now set her sights on you for herself, Grenville. I’d have a care.”
Brewster, who’d listened to every word, guffawed loudly.
“Yes,” Grenville said darkly. “I had noted that. Thank you very much, Lacey.”
Brewster bellowed another laugh, and we continued down the road to Alexandria and our lodgings.
* * *
Bartholomew and Matthias had done wonders in our absence. The earthen floors of our house were now covered with carpets, the shutters thrown back to let in the light.
They’d unpacked all the amenities Grenville had brought from London—cushions and rugs for the chairs, candlesticks and wax candles, tables
for our books, footstools to keep our feet comfortable, extra bedding that was soft and free of bugs.
“If I’d had you two with me in the army, I’d have ridden out the war in great comfort,” I remarked to the brothers as I settled into a chair in the now-inviting drawing room.
I’d never have been able to afford Matthias and Bartholomew in the army, I knew full well. I enjoyed their expertise these days because Grenville paid them high wages.
The afternoon was marching on—we’d spent much time with Lady Mary. However, I was too restless to sit for long and proposed a walk to see what the Porters were up to. Grenville declined.
“A refreshing sleep is what I had in mind for the heat of the day,” Grenville said. “But tramp away and enjoy yourself.”
He had not yet recovered from our voyage, I could see. Grenville was usually more robust.
I left him in care of Matthias, while I, Brewster, and Bartholomew struck off south and west toward the desert see what we could find.
While I was sorry that the great city of Alexandria was now reduced to a muddy town surrounded by farmer’s fields, I took a moment to enjoy that I was there. Alexander himself might have taken this path, on his way out of his camp toward Siwa, the oasis where he was declared to be descended from the gods.
As we walked, the road turned to a mere track that wandered among the cultivated land. Egyptian men in the fields dug or hoed, or simply stretched out on the ground and slept.
Nowhere did I see sands or the remains of ancient temples sticking out of it. I was about to confess I’d underestimated the distance out to the desert when a lad ran up to us.
He must have been about eleven or so, with curly black hair and wide brown eyes, a cut on his cheek that looked red and angry.
In beautiful French, he said, “I will take you to the monuments, sirs. You are English? I will show you what the others know nothing about.”