But nothing would keep Sibyl from this party. Her publisher had arranged for her to attend in response to Sibyl's inquiries about the strange Mr. Ramsey. And when Sibyl had arrived at Claridge's, the invitation had been waiting for her along with more recent newspaper stories about the mysterious Egyptian--and the assurance that the countess was quite delighted to have a celebrated American author coming to the event.
Once the train came to a complete stop, the attentions of the other passengers left her.
She felt safe reaching up into her nest of hair.
Had this painful little episode left a mark?
Her fingers came away dry. She felt no welt or open wound.
It was a strange, new, and inexplicable aspect of this experience. As strange as her new bouts of sleeplessness. If that was the right word for it. A change had begun to overtake her in the late-night hours following her arrival in London. It had begun to feel as if her body longed to stay awake but couldn't quite manage it, and so the result was something close to a fugue.
And now this. A phantom pain that left no mark and spilled no blood.
It is lovely to meet you, Mr. Ramsey. I know I may seem quite mad, but I have traveled far to see you because you have quite literally haunted my dreams these past few months and...
She would think of something better than this by the time she reached the party, she was sure.
She hoped.
23
The Rutherford Estate
The party seemed to be unfolding exactly as Edith had planned, and this delighted Julie to no end. Indeed, Edith had seemed so pleased by the temperate weather and the initial steady flow of arriving guests, she'd made no comment on Julie's unique ensemble: a man's white suit tailored just for this occasion, complemented by a white silk vest, scarf, and top hat.
Julie and Ramses mingled on the grass, while their hosts, Edith and Alex, greeted new arrivals at the house's front door. They were the guests of honor, and therefore Edith had positioned them outside, where they could be enticements for attendees to move quickly through the house and onto the western lawn.
To Julie's eye, this plan seemed to be working quite well.
Over the shoulders of the couple who had cornered her, she watched the stream of guests proceeding through those first-floor rooms, which had been left open to facilitate a quick passage outside. The rest of the house was closed.
Just outside the terrace doors, liveried waiters offered each guest a glass of wine, then gestured for the new arrivals to descend the stone steps leading to a lawn dotted with Oriental rugs, tables, and chairs.
Because the day was only slightly overcast, Edith had raised only a fraction of the tents she'd ordered. As a result, each arrival was welcomed by a perfect view of Julie and Ramses standing amidst parasols and handsome suits and flowing white dresses designed or inspired by Madame Lucile, all of it hemmed in by the parallel walls of hedge that bordered both sides of the western lawn, and the breeze-rustled ash trees dotting the rolling hills beyond.
The board members of Stratford Shipping were all in attendance, along with wives and older children, and Julie had spent a fair amount of time chatting with them all.
As penance for turning a blind eye to his late son's thieving, Julie's uncle Randolph had worked diligently to place himself back in the good graces of his board members while he righted the company's course. Their presence here was a sure sign her uncle's efforts were succeeding.
Despite the cloudy sky, it was still bright enough out that only one or two guests had commented on her sunglasses. Indeed, many of the guests wore sunglasses of their own, making them difficult to recognize when they first approached. Julie was tempted to get rid of the sunglasses altogether, and let the story of the mysterious fever do its work. Someday soon she would do this.
Many guests here Julie simply didn't recognize at all. But this didn't surprise her.
Edith had invited not only her close friends, but many acquaintances as well. After all, whether they realized it or not, those present were more than guests. They were witnesses. Witnesses with a tendency to gossip, and countless social connections to whom they would soon spread the tale of the happy couple and their beautiful engagement party. Edith had also shown no desire to enforce a strict guest list. Let the fashionable painters and writers bring their friends. As Edith saw it, if some meddlesome member of the press decided to show up, so much the better. Let them write a story about the happily engaged couple enjoying a breezy afternoon in the Yorkshire countryside. It would make all those lurid tales of stolen mummies and mysterious deaths easier to forget.
This party wasn't about privacy or exclusivity. It was an announcement. Not just of their engagement, but of their new stability.
But, of course, Edith had another motive, Julie was sure. To show to the world her family possessed no hard feelings over Julie and Alex's aborted engagement. And no doubt a number of future brides for Alex were in circulation, with Edith spending more than a few moments with each.
For most of the party, the string quartet had transitioned from Mozart to Haydn and back again. But the handsome black musicians from America had finally arrived, and the delightful sound of ragtime piano and horns now filled the air. Julie wanted to dance. She knew perfectly well Ramses was dying to dance, before she caught his glance and wink. But there was no dance floor at the party, and it was just as well. Ramses was too easily given to dancing madly for hours without cease.
The music wasn't so loud that Julie couldn't carry on a conversation, and now, she could even hear Ramses a few paces away. He had finally mastered the art of presenting his tales of ancient Egypt as the result of academic work and not lived experience. Gone was his tendency to discuss long-dead historical figures with bracing familiarity, as if they were old friends. Which, in many cases, they were. For the next few hours, he would be Reginald Ramsey, the Egyptologist, Julie's strikingly handsome fiance.
It was dreamlike, this party. Dreamlike and perfect and everything she'd hoped it would be.
"You will stay in England, of course," the woman she'd been chatting with said to her now. Perhaps she sensed Julie's mind wandering, which made Julie feel terribly rude. "No more of all these travels, I'm sure. Not with a wedding on the horizon."
What was the woman's name? Julie had already forgotten. Geneve or something of that sort. Her gown was frilly and white with sleeves of sky blue; her hat was compact, one of the smaller ones on display, and so clustered with white feathers they looked like balls of cotton. Her husband was a quiet man. He studied Julie with unnerving intensity. And earlier she'd seen the two of them showing familiarity to a giant bearded fellow, who must have spent a small fortune obtaining such a fine suit tailored to his great frame.
They both wore sunglasses, just as she did.
"I'm afraid we haven't set a date," Julie answered. "And I can't imagine a better way to spend an engagement than traveling the world. Seeing its wonders. Enjoying them on the arm of your true love."
"How delightfully eccentric," the woman said.
"Yes. I'm terribly sorry, but I've forgotten your names."
"Callum Worth," the man said, extending one hand quickly, as if the gesture might distract from his wife's rudeness. "And my wife, Jeneva."
"And you are friends of the Countess of Rutherford?" Julie asked.
"In a manner of speaking," Jeneva said. "But as I'm sure you know, this party's not only the talk of Yorkshire. It's the talk of London as well. So you must forgive us for requesting an invitation through mutual friends."
"Mutual acquaintances is more like it," Callum added.
"Such an intriguing courtship, you and Mr. Ramsey!" Jeneva continued as if her husband hadn't spoken. "And we're all quite sure the tale of how you two first met is equally intriguing. You can't blame us for wanting to learn more."
"You must forgive my wife, Miss Stratford. She does love a good story."
"It is people that I love, Callum." The woman had tried to put conviction behind these
words, but she'd fallen short, and the resulting moment was a frigid one, as her husband gave her a look that seemed full of reproach. Perhaps her self-proclaimed love of people rarely extended to him.
"Indeed," he added quickly. "Now, Miss Stratford, I'm hoping we can enlist you in a little plot."
"A plot?" Julie said. "Sounds intriguing."
"You see, we do feel a bit sheepish about having invited ourselves to this little gathering, so we thought we'd purchase a gift for the countess."
"I'm sure Edith will be delighted," Julie said.
"Indeed, but we'd like it to be for her husband as well, although I'm told he's occupied currently with business on the Continent."
Mustn't discuss Elliott with these, or any, strangers. Not until she had some greater awareness of what he was up to.
"What sort of gift?" Julie asked.
"We were told there's a replica of a Roman temple on the property designed by the Earl of Rutherford himself. We thought we might give him a bit of statuary to go with it. If you can give us a tour of it, it will help us select something suitably regal."
"But we'd like to keep our intentions a secret for as long as we can, you see," Jeneva added.
"And if you ask Edith to give you a tour, you're afraid you'll tip your hand," Julie said.
"Exactly!" Jeneva exclaimed, with a bit too much enthusiasm.
"Well, I'd be delighted to--"
A hand gripped her elbow with surprising strength. She expected to find Ramses behind her. It was Samir. He looked dashing in his white suit, but his expression was a mask of concern.
"If I may have a moment, Julie," he said quietly.
"Yes, just one second while I--"
"If you please, Julie. It's a matter of some urgency."
"Yes, of course." To Mr. and Mrs. Worth, Julie said, "If you'll excuse me. And later, perhaps after the toast, I shall be happy to arrange what we just discussed."
"Oh, that's lovely. Just lovely. And thank you for..." But Samir was already guiding her away.
"What is it?" Julie whispered.
"I beg forgiveness ahead of what I'm about to tell you. The men in my employ, they are not professional spies, you understand. They are assistants at the museum, university students. They've done heroically well so far, but--"
"Samir, of course I will forgive you. But you must tell me at once what has you so frightened."
"A ship arrived yesterday from Port Said. But my men, they became confused. They went to Southampton instead of the Port of London. By the time they realized their mistake, it was too late. The passengers had already disembarked. And then, these boys, they spent the rest of the day squabbling over whether or not to tell me. If I hadn't telephoned them this morning for a report, I might never have--"
"I see. But they've watched every arrival since our return, have they not? And it's been weeks and we've seen no sign of them."
"These particular men were new to the game. University students, as I said. Perhaps I should have monitored them more closely but--"
"Don't be ridiculous, Samir. You all have done an excellent job for weeks now. It's foolish of us to assume you'll be able to guard us forever. Ramses is right. If Cleopatra had wished to--"
"No, Julie, no. Wait. Please. I wanted to be sure, you see, so I telephoned the inns in the area. And a man and a woman matching their descriptions checked into the Red Crown Inn last night. And this woman left the inn only moments ago."
Because so many fears had been removed for her, Julie was paralyzed by the feeling now.
"She is here, Julie. She is here in Yorkshire, and I believe she is on her way to this party."
Amazing how the terror returned to her. The feeling of being trapped as Egypt's last queen threatened to snap her neck. But this was a memory, nothing more. A memory of something that could never happen again. Immortal.
She would not give Cleopatra this party.
Or Ramses.
Or...
"Alex," she said before she could stop herself. "Come with me, Samir. We will send Alex and Edith to mingle and we will greet the guests."
"But, Julie. She is--"
Julie began to walk; Samir followed.
"I am no longer a mortal woman who quakes at the sight of Cleopatra. She will not lay claim to this event, Samir. She is a queen no more."
Clearly startled by her resolve, Samir nodded and followed her inside the house.
A few guests reached out to her as she passed. She did her best not to notice their attentions without seeming abominably rude. Let them follow her to the front door. Let them greet her there. For she realized now what had quickened her steps.
Alex. He could not see Cleopatra. He could not fall prey to Cleopatra. Not now, not at this party. Not at the very moment when he was making himself so vulnerable by humbly and publicly releasing Julie to her new husband-to-be.
Alex turned at the sound of her footsteps.
The stream of guests had thinned. He and his mother stood chatting next to the open front door. His eyes lit up when he saw her. This party had cheered him, it seemed. He wasn't simply going through the motions of it, as she'd feared he might. His new sensitivity, it allowed him to take more joy from the presence of others than he had previously. The smile he gave her now seemed utterly genuine.
She would not see this day ruined. Not for Alex. Not for any of them.
"Let us trade duties," Julie said, as jovially as she could. But her aggressiveness startled Edith into silence. "I insist. I shall greet the new arrivals here for a time. That way, you can both take time to enjoy this marvelous party you've put together."
"But Mr. Ramsey...," Edith began.
"Mr. Ramsey is being quite charming on the lawn, and I don't wish to draw him away from his admirers. Samir and I shall relieve you of your duties. Please. I insist."
Had she given too much of her fear away with this request? Edith studied her for a bit, then looked to Alex. "Well, I am rather parched."
"It's settled then," Alex said, taking his mother's arm. "We'll be back shortly."
"Don't rush on our account," Julie said.
And then they were gone.
Breath returned to her lungs. Blood returned to her heart.
Next to her, Samir whispered, "She's got a bit of a point, Julie. Ramses. Should he be here when--"
"Where Ramses goes, the party follows. Let us draw no further attention to Cleopatra's arrival than is absolutely necessary. Besides, if she's come here today, it is in part to see him; I cannot grant this request until her full motives are clear."
"I see, Julie. I see."
Just then, the guests she'd hurried past on her way to the front door appeared with hands extended and polite smiles. She was lost suddenly in a sea of chatter as Samir stared past her out the front door.
It was agonizing, this little charade. Every cell in her body wanted to turn towards the front walk as if Cleopatra's imminent arrival might be magically foretold by a rustling of the hedges, a strange wind though the branches overhead.
"Julie..."
When Samir seized her elbow, she was in midconversation with a charming young Swedish couple with whom Edith often vacationed.
"Julie," he said again.
Julie turned and saw her.
She was halfway up the front walk. She was alone. She had tilted her head only slightly so those wide, expressive blue eyes were visible under the great, feathered brim of her hat. Her dress was several shades too dark for the occasion, a deep blue with slashes of gold running through it. But she was striking in it, devastatingly beautiful, in fact.
When she saw Julie, she went so suddenly still it seemed as if she were preparing her body to take flight. Some of her old poise was there, the poise and fluid grace of a woman once schooled by the best tutors in Alexandria. But it was strained now.
"If you will excuse me," Julie heard herself mutter.
Samir distracted the young couple with a burst of conversation as Julie descended the front steps
.
It seemed to last forever, this short walk towards the woman, the creature, who had almost taken her life. With each step she could see more clearly that Cleopatra stood with a slight bend in her upper back, and that her breathing seemed labored. Forced.
"Why have you come?" Julie asked.
"Take me to him. Take me to Ramses."
"First you must tell me why you've--"
"Take me to him or I shall snap your neck like a reed." Desperation in the way she'd said these words. The desperation of an injured animal, not a powerful one.
In response, Julie reached up and removed her sunglasses, revealing her blue eyes.
"Do your worst, last queen of Egypt," Julie whispered. "Do your worst."
Difficult to discern the emotions in Cleopatra's expression now. A strange, leering smile. Almost as if she were relieved to have been spared the possibility of a physical confrontation. And there was sadness there too, sadness so deep it was sorrow. But it was the labored breath and strange stance that captured Julie's attention again.
Sick, Julie realized. My God, she is sick. Is this even possible? Can one who has absorbed the elixir actually fall ill?
She was not prepared for this, this strange sense of both kinship and pity that welled within her at the sight of another immortal struggling to stay upright and focused.
"Come," Julie said. "We'll speak privately first. And then I shall bring Ramses to you. But whatever we must do, you and I, we cannot do it in front of all these people."
Without thinking, she extended her hand, as she would to anyone elderly or ailing. Only when Cleopatra stared down at it in astonishment did Julie also realize how strange the gesture was, given their tortured history. But there was that sadness in Cleopatra's eyes. Sadness and yearning, as if the comfort offered by this hand were a cool drink of water after a long desert journey.
But she did not take Julie's hand. Instead, she turned a suspicious glare upon the grand house behind her, upon the sight of Samir staring at her from the front porch.
Again Julie pitied her. For it seemed she was imagining the embarrassment of appearing amidst all those people in her hobbled, weakened state.
"We are equals now, whether we wish to be or not," Julie said. "Whatever has brought you here, we must discuss it as such."
"Equals...," Cleopatra whispered, as if this word disgusted her. "What foolish notions this modern world draws from old Roman laws."