Parade of Shadows

by Gloria Whelan

  “Julia, I’ve been looking for you.” Mr. Robinson, obviously out of breath, dropped into a chair next to me. He was a short man, and as he settled back, his shoes barely touched the floor. Looking about first to be sure we were alone, he asked, “Have you spoken with your father?”

  “Yes. He said Graham will be released to someone from the British Foreign Office when the Poseidon docks at Istanbul.”

  “Ah, well, that won’t do Geddes much good,” Robinson said.

  “What do you mean?” My distrust of my father returned.

  “My servant, Saladin, has been rather busy. I sent him to talk with some of the crew on the Poseidon. He knows his way around the wharves and was able to find out that an Englishman has already been placed on board and is guarded by Turkish officers. Unquestionably it is Geddes. The guards will whisk Geddes off the boat when it stops in Mersina. When it arrives in Istanbul, Geddes will not be on it.”

  “Why Mersina?”

  “The Turks have no intention of handing Geddes over to the British in Istanbul; they feel he has useful information about the Young Turks that they mean to have.”

  “Was my father lying to me?” I was not sure I was asking the right person.

  “We mustn’t think that.” Robinson frowned and pursed his lips in an attitude of mock concentration. “No, I suspect it was Bunny Haversham, the British consul, here in Alexandretta. One always likes to think that one’s consul is on one’s side. Unfortunately that is not always the case with Haversham. He is what your Louvois would call an homme d’affaires—a man of affairs. He has a little import-export thing going for him in addition to his consular duties—strictly against Foreign Office rules, of course. Without the blessing of the Turks he is out of business. Naturally, if they asked him to mislead your father, he would do so—reluctantly, of course; the man is not altogether bad. But your father could not have known all that.”

  “Why would England keep a man like Haversham on?” I asked.

  “He is very good at his job and they don’t know about his second profession. But that is not the question you really wish to ask.”

  “What can we can do to help Graham?”

  “I have a plan. Just now Saladin is attempting a friendship with one of the guards on the Poseidon. Let us see how that progresses. I’ll contact you in the morning. In the meantime I would not discuss any of this with your father. Either he will not believe me or he will make a good deal of trouble for Haversham, who happens to be a friend of mine, and one doesn’t have too many of those hereabouts. Also, we may have to take some steps that your father would find troubling, and we don’t want him interfering.” He gave my hand a reassuring pat and left me.

  Neither Edith nor Mr. Robinson appeared for dinner, leaving Father and me to eat alone. The food was a miserable hodgepodge of what the hotel assumed the British preferred: dry, overdone meat and rocklike potatoes that resisted a fork. Alone at a dinner table with my father, I remembered all the morose, silent meals we had shared at Durham Place. Desperate for certainty, I blurted out, “Father, do you think Mr. Haversham is telling the truth?”

  “I would certainly not make that assumption about Haversham. But what exactly do you mean?”

  “I have heard, and I can’t say where, that the Turks will take Graham off the ship, not at Istanbul but at Mersina.”

  Father looked startled. I couldn’t tell whether he was surprised that he had been lied to or just surprised that I had learned the truth. “Who told you that?”

  I shook my head.

  “Never mind. I can guess. Robinson is a meddler; nevertheless, all my experience suggests that when there is a choice of what to believe, the more unpleasant possibility is apt to be the accurate one.”

  “Then you think Graham is in danger from the Turks?”

  Father was silent for a long while, just looking intently at me. Finally he asked, “Would you care so much?”

  I thought if ever there was a time for truth, it was now. “I would care a great deal.”

  Father looked down at his plate and, after a moment’s consideration, pushed it away, his dinner nearly untouched. “I’ll see what I can do tomorrow morning,” he said. “Just promise me that you won’t attempt anything foolish.” At that moment the waiter came to the table to exclaim unhappily over the food remaining on our plates, relieving me of the need to make a promise I had no intention of keeping.

  My room was stifling; even the airy mosquito netting that muffled my bed seemed to keep out the air. In desperation I pushed the netting aside and went out onto my balcony. The dark city, Alexandretta, “little Alexandria,” was sheltered by the foothills of the Taurus Mountains. Earlier I had watched the hills fade from emerald to jade to gray. Now they were nothing more than black shadows. Beyond those mountains lay Turkey and Mersina. I was sure that if the Poseidon sailed with Graham aboard, I would never see him again. Why, I wondered, did I have to depend on the consul and my father for everything; why could I do nothing for myself? But try as I might, I couldn’t think what to do. As the night inched on, my ideas grew more desperate.

  The next morning Mr. Robinson was back in my room before breakfast, a bulky carpetbag under his arm and a conspiratorial expression on his face. “I believe we can solve our problem if you are willing to take a risk.” He studied me and must have felt reassured about my willingness, for he went on. “Saladin has managed to bribe one of two Turkish soldiers guarding Geddes’s cabin on the Poseidon. The soldier will leave the door between Geddes’s cabin and the adjoining cabin unlocked, but this will not permit Geddes to escape. Unfortunately, only one soldier is bribeable. The second soldier outside Geddes’s cabin as well as the two soldiers on the gangplank would intercept him.”

  “But what can I do?”

  “You will be an Arab woman on her way to Mersina to join her husband; Arab women take steamers to Mersina and Istanbul all the time. We have arranged that you are to have the cabin next to Graham, the one with the unlocked door.”

  “I have no Arab things to wear.” I could not find my way into Robinson’s plans, though I was excited, trusting his cunning.

  “Saladin has gone to the bazaar and found you something.”

  The consul held out a long dark abeyah and veil like those worn by Arab women. Mr. Robinson watched my reaction with approval. “I see you are not afraid of taking a chance. I thought with a father as autocratic as yours, you might be less adventurous.”

  Now that I was about to disobey him, I felt I ought to defend my father. “He means well,” I said, aware at once of what a feeble defense that was.

  “I think he would not approve of my little plot, but he need never know. You are to make your way to Geddes’s adjoining cabin. There you will give him this carpetbag, which contains clothes identical to yours, but in his size. Just before the Poseidon sails, Geddes will walk out of your cabin as a veiled Arab woman and go ashore. The soldiers at the gangplank will have no reason to be suspicious. Give Geddes enough time to get safely away and into a carriage that I will have waiting, and then, while our guard diverts his companion’s attention, you will leave the ship in your own clothes. The soldiers at the gangplank will imagine you have been on board the ship to see off a fellow countryman.”

  “But my passage. They will want to see my ticket.”

  “That, too, has been taken care of. Here are papers of identification showing you to be an Arab woman, tickets for your passage to Mersina, and the reservation for the cabin next to Graham’s.”

  I was grateful for his efforts, but I felt he was less interested in saving Graham than in heaping revenge on Father. For that, I felt sure, he wouldn’t mind putting me in danger. I was sorry to be a part of his revenge, but not sorry enough to abandon Graham.

  “When you have changed your clothes, leave by the back entrance of the hotel and you will be thought to be a servant. Be sure to have the driver drop you off out of sight of the wharf: The sort of Arab woman you are supposed to be would not arrive in a carr
iage. There is one pitfall, and it is a serious one. You don’t speak Arabic, but that is a risk we must take. I don’t believe anyone will address you—it is considered unseemly for a man to engage in conversation with a woman not of his family. If they do, you must pretend to be overcome with shyness. Just giggle. I don’t like to send you on a mission that has its dangers, but Geddes would not trust a stranger. Of course you must not breathe a word to your father.”

  XVIII

  THE IMPOSTOR

  TO SHOW MY GRATITUDE to the consul, I reached for his hand, which was small and soft and slightly furry, so I felt I had gotten hold of a little timid animal. As soon as Mr. Robinson left, I began to struggle into the abeyah and veil. I was trying to arrange them in the way I had noticed on Arab women when Edith came into my room without knocking. In someone else that would have been considered rude, but in Edith it was only a brusqueness I had long since become used to, knowing it indicated nothing more than an impatience with social niceties.

  “Good Lord! You would be the last person I would have thought of as going native. What are you doing in that costume?”

  I was caught unawares, and anxious for help, I explained, “It’s a disguise. Mr. Robinson has arranged for me to get into the cabin next to Graham’s, and I’m to bring an Arab woman’s clothes to him so he can get off the boat. Promise not to breathe a word to Father.”

  I glanced at the mirror. “Edith, you know about these things—can you arrange the veil so it looks right? I’m too nervous to think about what I’m doing.”

  In an angry voice Edith said, “Robinson has no right to put you up to a trick like that. You are not playing a child’s game, you know. You could be caught and carted off to a Turkish prison yourself.”

  “I’ll be careful.” I could not keep fear out of my voice.

  “Nonsense. What if they ask you a question. You can’t say more than ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ in Arabic. They’ll spot you for an impostor immediately.”

  “Mr. Robinson said it was a risk, but he thought since I had papers and my passage, no one would question me.” I was rapidly losing my resolve, and more to encourage myself than convince Edith, I said, “It’s the only chance to get Graham off the boat.”

  Edith considered. “Look, here, I speak the language like a native. I’ll do it for you, but you’re to stay in your room until the thing is done, and you are not to say a word to Robinson. It was very good of him to manage all of this, and it wouldn’t do to hurt his feelings by letting him know you have altered his little game without consulting him. I’ve seen the way he looks at your father. Obviously Robinson is pleased that through you, he is getting the better of your father. We mustn’t disappoint him. I’ll tell Geddes not to say anything, and I’ll come back to the hotel and directly to your room; Robinson need never know. Now, give me those things and let me get on with it.”

  Reluctantly I handed over the clothes. I longed to go myself. I wanted to see Graham, wanted to have him grateful to me; but I believed Edith would have the better chance of carrying off Graham’s escape. I told myself that was the important thing. Besides, I didn’t like the idea of Robinson using me to get back at my father.

  If I had any doubts, when I saw how cleverly Edith had draped the abeyah and veil, I felt sure of having made the right decision. Snatching up the carpetbag, she took the identity papers and steamer ticket. “I must go to my room to attend to a few things, and then I’ll be off. You’re to keep to your room, and remember, at all costs you’re to stay away from Robinson.”

  The voice beneath the veil rattled off a string of Arabic words. I saw Edith would be a hundred times more effective than I would have been. For the first time, I felt encouraged. “Edith, I’m so grateful to you.” But she was gone before I could finish thanking her.

  I wanted to follow her to the ship, to be there when Graham escaped, but after Edith’s warning I felt I had to stay out of the consul’s way. I wondered if Saladin and the consul would be at the wharves, watching for me. They would see Arab women boarding the ship and not know which of the black-robed women might be me; certainly they would not guess one of them was Edith.

  I passed the time by imagining Edith’s journey from the hotel—how she would summon a carriage, travel through the crowded streets of Alexandretta, reach the wharves and dismiss her driver, and then make her way to the ship, walking up the gangplank past the guards, entering her cabin and opening the door that led to Graham.

  There was a knock. Afraid it might be the consul, I didn’t answer until I heard Hakki calling my name. I opened the door, and Hakki hurried into my room, a troubled expression on his face. “When it is so important for all of us to stay together, why does Miss Phillips depart without us?”

  “I am sure she only went out for a short time. She’ll be back directly.”

  “We are not sailing until tomorrow morning, but I just passed the porters on the stairs carrying off Miss Phillips’s trunk and all the numerous things for her plants. Her room is empty and she is nowhere to be seen.”

  Fear, so slight as to be no more than the shadow of a rat’s tail, brushed me. I asked Hakki, “Where could she be sending her things? I thought our luggage was not to be picked up until this evening.”

  “Exactly. So why is it her things go now and not by my arrangements?”

  I grabbed Hakki’s arm and forced him out into the hall and down the stairway. We reached the lobby as the carriage pulled away; it was loaded with Edith’s luggage, all of which was thoroughly familiar to me. “You must ask the hotel porter where they are taking Edith’s things,” I ordered Hakki.

  “To the Poseidon, sir,” was the porter’s answer. “There were very many boxes.”

  “Get me a carriage. Immediately,” I told the man.

  He was quick to sense my urgency and ran into the street. In a moment he was helping me into a carriage.

  “But you mustn’t go away as well,” Hakki cried. “If you go, I must go with you, or you, too, will be lost.”

  As the carriage sped toward the wharf, my fear grew to suspicion and then to anger. It must have been Edith all along. I could hardly believe it, yet it made sense. With her knowledge of plants and her connivance with Mastur, who did the cooking and served us, Edith had managed to poison my father. When Father became ill and we had to stay behind, she arranged for Mohammed to remain with us, and then she sent her Metawileh thugs after him. My mind was racing. Of course it was Edith who turned in Monsieur Louvois and then Graham. When I’d told her about the consul’s plan to rescue Graham, she had talked me into letting her take my place. Instead of rescuing Graham, she would see to it that he would be taken to Mersina and left to the mercy of the sultan’s men. What I didn’t understand was why she hated Father and Graham.

  Hakki complained, “I don’t know why you and the others hire me if you are always to go off on your own. What will Watson and Sons think of me if I have lost everyone?”

  “Hakki, I know who complained to Watson and Sons. It was Edith.”

  His face crumpled. “How can that be? She said she would write in my favor. But if what you say is true, that is a cruel thing and I am not sorry she has gone her own way.”

  Remembering that Hakki had told us how he had once taught the children of the Turkish soldiers, I said, “Hakki, can’t you do something for Graham? Couldn’t you go to the Turkish authorities?”

  A look of alarm spread over his face. “Miss Hamilton, you must know that I did not choose to be a tour leader. I loved my teaching. I am not a hafiz, a holy man who knows the Koran by heart and teaches in the traditional Islamic school where the students spend their days reciting aloud from the Holy Scriptures. As a child I attended such a school and grew to hate the boredom. I did not want to teach at such a school. My uncle Mehmet, who was in the Turkish army, pulled a few strings, and I found myself teaching at a military school.

  “I was proud of my position and of my students, in their navy-blue uniforms decorated with rows of gold buttons
and the star and crescent. Then one day I was called to the school and told that I would be excused from teaching the following term. I had been chosen to act as a tour director, yet not as a tour director. I was to understand that my position was highly secret. Alas, I was forced, against my will, to act as a spy for the Turkish government. No, no. I could not interfere with the authorities, as you call them.”

  By the time Hakki finished his story, we had reached the pier. The Poseidon was preparing to sail, and the pier was filled with the sad excitement of farewells. One passenger was carrying a freshly butchered lamb on board, another a tent made into a parcel. Dockworkers pitched bolts of silk and bundles of hides into the hold, along with burlap bags that emitted the sickly-sweet smell of licorice.

  I saw how clever Robinson’s plan had been, for the pier was crowded with Turks and Arabs. I could easily have slipped aboard in the crush of passengers hurrying onto the ship; instead, I had lost my nerve and given way to Edith. Hakki and I watched as the porters shouldered luggage up and down a gangplank that was guarded by a pair of Turkish soldiers. While I tried to think how I could possibly rescue Graham, two porters—an ancient man, much too old and decrepit for his burden, and a younger man who looked as though he might be the old man’s son—struggled up the gangplank carrying Edith’s trunk and specimen boxes and disappeared among the passengers milling about the deck.

  Hakki pointed at them. “There, didn’t I say?”

  The pair reappeared and made their way down the gangplank. Waiting until the two porters were a safe distance from the ship, I ran up to them, pressing coins into the hand of the son. “To whom did you deliver that trunk just now?”

  “To an English lady, Mademoiselle Phillips,” he said.

  “Not to an Arab lady?” I asked. “An Arab lady in an abeyah and veil?”

  “An Arab lady with all that luggage? No, no, effendim. It went to the English lady whose name I gave to you.”