by Cheryl Bolen
"I think a private visit with Mr. Briggs is in order tomorrow."
Jack moved to her, brushed her golden curls from her face, and settled his lips on hers. "A most agreeable plan, my love. And now I have another most agreeable plan . . ."
* * *
In the middle of the night Daphne awakened. She sat up in bed, her heart pounding. What had so suddenly awakened her? Then she felt something odd. As if something was crawling on her legs. Or on the sheet which covered her legs.
There was just enough moonlight for her to see. The sight was enough to stop her heartbeat. She flung back the sheets as if they were aflame. A shrill, alien-sounding scream broke from her throat. Her chest felt as if it were exploding.
Jack surged up. "Daphne! What's wrong?"
"A snake! A huge snake was crawling on our bed."
Chapter 18
"Good lord!"
He leapt from the bed and fetched his sword.
If the snake were poisonous, it could kill Daphne. "Get the hell out of here! I'm going to kill the damned thing."
She was standing on the mattress at the head of the bead, whimpering. "I'm too scared."
He moved closer to the bed. Thank God for the night's full moon. He saw movement. "It's on the floor now—at the foot of the bed. Stay where you are."
"I-I-I won't budge."
Jack prided himself on his bravery, but he had to own that staring down a venomous snake was more frightening than facing cannon fire. He still remembered those deadly cobras from his days in India. A subaltern in his camp was killed by one. While he slept.
A menacing chill inched down Jack's spine.
He wished to God he was wearing his boots.
Suddenly, the viper's head rose, and its hood fanned out, shimmery under the moonlight. Jack would swear the damned thing was watching him.
His heart thundering, Jack lunged toward the cobra and with all his strength swung his sword at the snake before he quickly retreated.
Success! He'd managed to sever the head from the rest of the body. From a distance of several feet away, Jack watched its pale, coiled body squirm for several seconds before the movements slowed, and it finally died.
Jack moved to Daphne. "It's dead."
She dropped down and collapsed in his arms, hysterically crying. "I w-w-w-ant to go home. I ca-a-a-an't sleep in a place where vile vipers slither upon a sleeping person."
He stroked her back and murmured in her ear. "Snakes don't climb to second stories."
She drew away from him, lowering her brows. "What are you saying?"
"Someone put that snake in our room, probably while we were dining at Lord Beddington's."
"Now see here, Jack, you can't suspect my father's friend of such wickedness."
"I'm not. The truth is I don't know who wants us dead."
"Why did we not see the snake when we first returned home and lighted a candle here?"
He shrugged. "My guess is that the snake was put under the bed. I learned a bit about cobras when I lived in India. They're not aggressive. It probably chose to stay in hiding as long as our candle burned. It only began to explore the chamber once the room fell into silence."
She shivered. "A cobra? Are they not terribly poisonous?"
"They are."
“You know, dearest, it’s not inconceivable that someone might have put the snake in after we were asleep.”
“But our door was locked.” As soon as he spoke, he gave her a knowing nod. “We do leave our window open, and someone with a ladder could have done the deed."
"But toting a tall ladder about the city makes that option less credible.”
He nodded. "First thing in the morning, we ask everyone who was here in the hotel last night if they saw anyone who did not belong here, ask if anyone saw someone near our chamber. And . . . we’ll see if anyone saw someone carrying a ladder." He sighed. "I shouldn't have brought you to Egypt."
"You know very well I would not have let you come without me."
"I honestly didn't think your life would be in danger."
"Our lives, dearest."
He drew her to him and held her close for a very long time.
* * *
They were rather late getting off to speak to Mr. Briggs the next morning. As soon as he was dressed, Jack walked the outer perimeter of the hotel, stopping beneath their window, his head bent as he examined the earth. He was looking for signs that someone might have been there once the city had gone to sleep. But the dirt had not been disturbed. Since even his boots left indentations, he was sure the person who wanted them dead had come from the inside while they had dined at Lord Beddington's.
Once Daphne came down for breakfast, they questioned the other guests. All three of them: two German university students and a middle-aged Dane. They conversed in French. No one saw anyone who did not belong there the previous night. No one saw anyone near Jack and Daphne's chamber. No one saw someone with a ladder. The three other guests each said they had retired to their rooms after dinner, not to come out again.
When it was just three of them in the breakfast room, Rosemary raised her brows and addressed them. “Why are you asking all these questions?”
Since Captain Cooper had not yet come down, Daphne could speak openly. “We believe someone tried to kill us last night.”
Rosemary gasped. “How?”
“A cobra was put into our bedchamber.”
At that moment Maxwell strode into the breakfast room. “What’s this about a cobra?”
Rosemary whirled to him. “My sister says someone put a cobra in their bedchamber last night whilst they were sleeping.” An exaggerated shiver convulsed her upper torso.
Maxwell winced.
Rosemary faced Daphne. “It’s a very great thing that you discovered it before it killed you. Pray, how did you discover it?”
"I’d been asleep probably three hours when I awakened, feeling something crawling on me.”
Rosemary shrieked and clutched at her heart. “Dear Almighty Savior, you could have been killed!”
Jack put an arm around his wife. “Yes, we know.”
Daphne peered lovingly into her husband’s face. “Thank God Jack's sword was close! He was able to cut the beastly thing’s head off.”
Rosemary was still cringing.
Maxwell’s voice softened when he spoke to her. “Look on the brighter side, Lady Rosemary. You were not the intended victim this time.”
Rosemary looked up at him, eyes shimmering. "Thank God! I should have died of fright."
Daphne sighed, meeting Maxwell's gaze. “I’m still very concerned about her. I want her to sleep in our room tonight.”
Rosemary's brows still lowered, she offered her sister a feeble smile. “It will take no further persuasion. I'll be there!”
“I am most relieved to hear that,” Maxwell said.
“Where’s your Captain Cooper?” Jack asked his sister-in-law.
At the mention of Captain Cooper, all expression drained from Maxwell’s face. Bloody bad form for Jack to have spoken as he had about that damned Captain.
“I believe he said something about indulging his natural inclination to sleep late,” she replied.
“What will you be doing this morning while we go to the Consulate?” Daphne asked.
“Mr. Maxwell has offered to lead us on a tour of Cairo," Rosemary said. "I’d thought to meet you later at the bazaar. I’m eager to know what it is Mr. Hassein has to say to you.”
Jack nodded and lowered his voice. “So long as you guard our inquiries from Captain Cooper.”
Rosemary and Mr. Maxwell agreed at the same time.
When Jack and Daphne left their hotel for the old town, they exchanged brief greetings with Captain Cooper as he came down the stairs, his sword banging against the wall.
Even though it was just nine in the morning, the heat was hard to tolerate, and dust stirred up from each of their steps. A short time after Jack and Daphne began to walk, Jack said, “A pity w
e have no horse upon which to ride into town.”
“It most certainly is not a pity. Walking is excessively good for one.”
“That may be the case in England, but it’s too bloody hot here to walk about.” He swatted flies from his face.
She sighed. "It's quite disheartening to realize this is the coolest part of the day, is it not?"
He agreed.
"I daresay later in the day I will long for a horse."
They were finally getting proficient at finding the Consulate amongst the labyrinth of narrow streets in Old Cairo. Fifteen minutes after they left their lodgings, they found themselves being ushered into Mr. Briggs’ office. It was several degrees cooler inside the building than it was outside.
The Consul stood to greet them. “Beastly business about your sister, Lady Daphne. Beastly.” He kissed her proffered hand and begged that they sit before his desk.
“Are you aware,” Jack asked, “that a British subject—likely a traitor—played a role in my sister-in-law’s abduction?”
The Consul’s eyes widened. “Who?”
“A Welshman named Gareth Williams. Ever heard of him?” Jack asked.
“Can’t say that I have.”
“Because of his dodgy background, it’s possible he’s using another name,” Jack said. “The man—I can’t in good conscience call him a soldier—served under me in Spain. He deserted at Badajoz.”
“Sounds to be a thoroughly unpleasant character.”
They had decided not to divulge that he was Amal’s killer. Not now. Justice for her murder could wait until the murder or murderers were caught.
“Speaking of thoroughly unpleasant characters,” Daphne said, “Can you verify that Ahmed Hassein is disreputable?”
The Consul puckered his lips in thought. “That is difficult to answer because there are different levels of corruption. I believe there may have been times when Mr. Hassein has allowed forgeries to be passed off as authentic antiquities. That is not to say that he doesn’t sell some demmed fine stuff. Some very valuable pieces. It’s the smaller things like amulets and papyrus that he may be dishonest about.
“I would say, though, that I’ve never heard anything else that might impugn his character. He’s said to be a fair and benevolent master to his servants. In the years I’ve been here, I’ve not heard anything disparaging about him.”
Daphne was most perplexed. This was an entirely different tale than what Mr. Arbuthnot had told them. Which man was lying? How reliable was this man’s information?
“Changing the subject,” the Consul said with a smile, “I understand you’ve had the pleasure of meeting Lord Beddington.”
“Indeed we have,” Jack said.
“He and my Papa were school friends.”
“A fine gentleman, that one.” He leaned back in his chair, as if the contemplation of his wealthy, titled friend transported him to some celestial place. “You, if my information is correct, had the honor of dining with him last night, did you not?”
Jack's spine stiffened. “How did you know?”
“His man came around to our office to get your address.”
So both Mr. Arbuthnot and Mr. Briggs as well as others here at the Consulate yesterday knew that they were not going to be at their hotel last night.
Had one of them been responsible for placing the cobra in their bedchamber?
* * *
Despite all the horrendous things that had happened since she'd arrived in Egypt, Rosemary had never enjoyed anything more. So many new and exciting experiences! From her first morning sailing down the Nile to the day she'd climbed atop a dromedary and ridden across a desert unchanged since biblical times, each new experience made her feel more alive than she'd ever felt. She would never forget the sound of the muezzin's hauntingly lyrical Call to Prayer, even though she understood not a word of Arabic.
She was even becoming accustomed to the heat. She rather thought she was like Mr. Maxwell and Lord Beddington, who had come to prefer the heat—even intense heat like today's—over England's frequent gray, rainy days.
As she strolled through the narrow streets of the old town with her two favorite gentlemen, she found herself wishing again that all the debutantes in London could see her now. How jealous they would be that it was she who had captured the Captain's affections. For she now had no doubts that he was showering his attentions on her.
There was the fact she was likely the only unwed English lady in all of Egypt. He had little choice. Even though her rational side told her he would have been equally attentive to any English girl here in this exotic land, her romantic side told her he was finally at liberty to reveal his long-held affection for her. In London, he had known—she tried to assure herself—that he would be going to foreign lands. It would not have been right to engage a young lady's affections only to leave her for a considerable period of time.
But so long away from his homeland had most certainly sharpened Captain Cooper's desire to . . . perhaps unite himself with her? Her heart fluttered. Would he ask for her hand? This is what she had craved for the past year and a half.
She peered up at his aquiline profile. How handsome he was! How liberating it was to be in Cairo! In London she would never be permitted to stroll without a chaperon through the streets with two gentlemen—neither of which was a relation or a chaperon.
She swatted a fly from her face. Flies and snakes were definitely two things she would never miss about Egypt. Did one ever become accustomed to these horrid pests? "Tell me, Mr. Maxwell, did you learn to tolerate the flies as well as you learned to tolerate the heat?"
Chuckling as he brushed flies from his mouth, he shook his head. "I don't think even the natives grow accustomed to them."
"Just one more thing I hate about the country," the Captain said, then smiling at her whilst patting her hand that rested on his proffered sleeve, his voice gentled. "But if the lovely Lady Rosemary fancies this forsaken place, then I shall endeavor not to abuse it."
Wafting into the street was a fluted tune which caught their attention. She turned toward the establishment from which it came and could see three dancing girls. She slowed as she watched them, and the gentlemen at either side of her slowed too. Rosemary was mesmerized by the women (as were the profoundly silent, boldly staring men with her—and the string of soldiers which followed her everywhere).
The dancing girls were very handsome. Their movements as they swayed to the music were unlike anything she had ever seen, and their dresses were more European than Oriental. The necklines plunged to a V, revealing the valley between their breasts—much larger breasts than Rosemary possessed.
None of the dancers exceeded the age of five and twenty, and all of them had raven hair adorned with gilded headdresses. It was a rare sight to see a woman's hair in this part of the world.
As she and her companions stood there watching, she said in a low voice, "They're beautiful."
"Indeed they are," Captain Cooper agreed, "but I daresay you shouldn't be here, my lady. They're not the sort of women with whom you should be this close." He offered his arm and began to stroll away.
"Then why was my sister so insistent that Mr. Maxwell should make himself known to one?" As soon as she said the words, she realized what Daphne must have been trying to convey to Mr. Maxwell. And she felt the heat rise into her cheeks.
Captain Cooper coughed.
She eyed Mr. Maxwell. He shrugged. "I told your sister I don't dance."
Captain Cooper coughed again.
"Oblige me, Mr. Maxwell," she said, "by directing us to Mr. Hassein's establishment in the bazaar. Do you not think that Jack and Daphne will have concluded their business at the Consulate by now?"
"I do."
* * *
Just seeing the tall sentries in front of Mr. Hassein's shop gave Daphne goose bumps. Why had these fez-wearing men been in the European quarter the previous morning? The only Egyptians normally seen there were the most menial of laborers, not tall, handsome men
dressed in a curious mixture of Egyptian and Turkish.
She had a mind to ask them, but she doubted if they spoke a word of English. Or French.
Just as she was about to enter the shop, she caught sight of her sister ambling down the lane between her two admirers and followed by four of the Regent's House Guards.
"What perfect timing!" Daphne remarked. She waited to enter the establishment with her sister, while the gentlemen followed. She rather liked demonstrating to these Muslims that in her culture, women could go first, that women were respected, that women's presence in public was desired.
Upon entering the shop, her gaze connected with Hassein's. "You have returned," he said in French. "My man told me he gave you a message from me."
Jack came to stand beside her, and they both nodded. "What is it you wanted to tell us?" Jack asked.
Hassein's intense gaze met Jack's. "You know of a Frenchman who is called the duc d'Arblier?"
Daphne felt as if her heart could explode. Her limbs began to tremble.
Jack nodded.
"I believe you are at war with the French, is that not so?" Hassein asked.
"That is so," Jack said.
"You might wish to ask Ralph Arbuthnot what he was doing with the Frenchman."
Chapter 19
The duc d'Arblier was in Cairo? Her pulse pounded. The very notion made Daphne ill. Many times, d'Arblier had tried to kill Jack. She had no doubts last night's cobra was meant to kill Jack, and she had no doubts d'Arblier was responsible for the evil deed whether he physically put it there or not.
For a few seconds back in Mr. Hassein's shop at the bazaar, Daphne had thought she was going to snap her record as the only Chalmers sister never to have fainted. After Mr. Hassein disclosed the connection between that vile duc and Mr. Arbuthnot, she somehow managed to thank the proprietor and beg to take her leave. Without fainting.
As she reached the gilded pillars at the shop's entrance and saw the fez-wearing sentries, she stopped and turned back to face Hassein. "Was it not your guards whom I saw in the European Quarter recently?"