‘Yes, sir, right away, sir,’ said the man, and then failed to move.
Another guard arrived, he said something in Wilkins’ ear. Wilkins’ eyebrows shot up. ‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ he said, ‘I’m dealing with this outrage for now. You.’ Nailah stepped back as he pointed at her. ‘What do you want?’
‘I… I just wanted to see Kafele.’
Wilkins’ eyes rolled, his head wobbled. ‘Hear that, my esteemed colleagues, Nailah here wants to see Kafele. Can we help her with that? Or have we arsing well lost him too?’
Nailah stared. Her heart hammered with confusion and dread. ‘You haven’t lost him?’
Wilkins frowned. ‘Why would we have? He’s down there,’ he nodded towards another row of cells, ‘getting ready to take his just deserts.’ He turned back to the other guards. ‘At least one of our prisoners is. We’ll have to keep what’s happened with the Bedouin boys quiet; God knows what will become of you all if it gets out they’ve escaped.’
Nailah barely heard. She ran in the direction Wilkins had nodded, panic pounding in her ears. A cell door opened at the end. Kafele was led out between two guards. He was stripped to the waist, his hands were bound.
Nailah must have called his name because he turned and saw her. His amber eyes sparked, his cheeks were sickly pale.
‘No,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘No, no, no. I don’t want this, I don’t want it.’
Someone took her by the arm and pulled.
‘Don’t hurt her,’ Kafele shouted, ‘don’t hurt her.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she sobbed, ‘I’m so sorry.’ She turned to the guard manhandling her. ‘Stop, you have to stop.’
But he didn’t. He lifted her away. She kicked, she screamed, ‘No,’ again and again.
But Kafele was still dragged from view.
Olivia and Jeremy heard the yelling from the side room they’d been shown into. Jeremy flicked open his pocket watch, he told Olivia it was gone four. The streets had been busy, it had taken them longer than it should have to get to the prison, and they’d wasted precious minutes trying to find Wilkins at the police offices.
The shouting ceased. The minutes stretched, all the longer for the speed of the hours that had just passed.
Eventually Wilkins arrived. He mopped his blotchy brow as he came into the room, wheezing, as if out of breath. Jeremy wasted no time in telling him what they wanted.
‘It’s a bit late,’ said Wilkins, ‘they’re about to start.’
‘Then stop them.’
‘I’m not sure I can, or that I need to. This morning’s been… lucrative.’ He raised a smug eyebrow, his evident enjoyment of his brief flight of power over Jeremy somewhat undermining the superiority he was taking such pains to assert.
Jeremy’s left eye twitched, he drew himself up. He looked at Wilkins as though he might have been thinking of crushing him beneath his little toe. Wilkins lifted his chin defiantly, but took a step back nonetheless, then another as Jeremy asked him who the hell he thought he was, what games he was playing, what delusions he was labouring under that made him believe he could double-cross Jeremy in this manner? Olivia couldn’t help but feel a bitter shot of satisfaction at seeing Wilkins’ confidence falter, the wobble in his flabby cheeks, his sinking recognition that whatever temporary misbalance might have been struck in the universe, it was levelling now. Here stood Jeremy Gray; even though Olivia hated who that was, all Jeremy’s status stood for, there was no denying that his rediscovery of his gravitas was timely.
‘Here’s what you’re going to do,’ said Jeremy, his voice low, controlled. Olivia could almost see the hairs on the back of Wilkins’ neck standing on end. ‘You’re going to call off the lashings, you’re going to lie to Sheldon and tell him they happened, pay whoever necessary to say the same thing, and then we’re going to get Kafele the hell out of here.’
‘If Sheldon finds out…’
‘He won’t.’
‘He might.’ Wilkins shook his head, he was blustering now. ‘I don’t know what I can even do for Kafele. I got the others away without anyone seeing.’
Jeremy took a step forwards and seized Wilkins by the lapels, lithe with force against the man’s lumbering mass, pushing him against the wall. ‘Find a way.’
Wilkins swallowed; his Adam’s apple looked as if it might choke him.
A wailing started up somewhere above.
Jeremy rammed Wilkins by the shoulders. ‘Do it, Wilkins. Or so help me, I will tell the world about your trip with Sheldon to Lixori. That vanished peasant. Clara’s bruises, her broken arm.’
‘I told you this morning, I don’t know what you’re talking about…’
‘I think you do.’
‘You can’t prove anything.’
‘Maybe not, but I can make my suspicions known.’
‘You wouldn’t,’ said Wilkins. ‘Sheldon would drag you down too, we both would.’
‘I really don’t care.’
‘You’re bluffing,’ said Wilkins.
Jeremy rammed him again. ‘Try me.’
Wilkins hashed a stab at affecting calm, his nose wrinkled, chin so far back in his neck it became five – it was grimly unsuccessful. Seeing it, Olivia knew with a dull thud that it must be true: Wilkins and Alistair had concealed – perhaps murdered – the man who would have led them to Clara.
There was every chance they’d done more.
The realisation shuddered through her. It left her cold with hate, but not numb. Her body filled with rage. She would have gone for Wilkins then, let her fury, her grief loose; it was only Kafele’s screams that held her back.
Jeremy said they needed to go now. This time Wilkins didn’t argue. Jeremy propelled him from the room. ‘Move, man, run.’
What followed passed very quickly, not in a blur. The nightmare was clear, distinct. Wilkins led them down a peeling corridor, up sloping steps, and hammered on the door of the screaming room. No one answered, not for many screams. ‘Open up, open up!’ Wilkins yelled. Thwack, thwack. The noise became a wet, dripping thing. ‘Stop, for God’s sake, stop,’ Olivia and Jeremy shouted. Finally, it did. The heavy wooden door opened and was thrown wide. A sweating, panting man peered out. Olivia didn’t look at his face, it was his rod of ropes that took her attention. She watched the way they oozed with blood and white matter.
The man said he hadn’t heard them. He waved his rod at a pulpy mess tied to a pole in the corner, surrounded by a hungry cloud of flies. ‘That one was making such a racket.’
Olivia stared. She didn’t know what she was seeing. She felt a hand take her arm. It might have been Jeremy’s. He told her to turn away, but she didn’t. She heard steps coming up behind her. Everything swam. Exposed muscle, peeling flesh, buzzing flies feeding on the remains of a man, not a man, a boy’s back.
His face was distorted, open eyes staring, wet with tears.
‘I did this, I did this,’ she said.
She felt arms pulling her, they felt strong like Edward’s. Could he be here? ‘Come away, come away.’ It sounded like him.
‘I only got to twenty-eight,’ said the man with the ropes. ‘We’ve still got a way to go.
Olivia heard someone say, ‘No.’ (It might have been her, it might have been the pulpy mess.)
‘Let’s call it a square fifty,’ someone said. (Jeremy?)
‘What the hell is going on?’ (Edward? Could he be real? Had Ada sent him?) ‘How could you let her see this, Gray?’
‘Will he live?’ (Olivia?) ‘Will he live?’
‘Probably not,’ said the man with the whip. He turned and spat across the room.
The globule flew through the air. It landed on Kafele’s dripping calf.
Chapter Forty
Olivia wasn’t sure how she got outside. It must have been Edward who took her, because it was he who was kneeling beside her as she retched into the roots of a palm tree. He took her hand; she felt his fingers squeeze hers. Amidst the heat, the smell of blood, the hanging fl
esh and the screams, he had come for her. He’d known to be there, that she needed him. Her need was a force larger than she could consciously understand, yet in hours he was going to be gone.
She didn’t know how it could be.
She ran her hand across her mouth. Edward gave her his handkerchief; she dropped it, her fingers were trembling too much. He picked it up, wiped her lips, then pulled her to her feet. She looked up at him. His eyes were dark with barely contained anger.
‘Ada told you?’ she asked.
He nodded. ‘You have to come with me, Olly.’
‘He’ll kill them.’
‘He’ll kill you if you stay. We can have those boys protected. Tom will watch them.’
‘It won’t be enough.’ If there’d ever been any doubt in her mind about Alistair’s limitless capacity for cruelty, Wilkins’ reaction to Jeremy’s words about Lixori had eradicated it. ‘He did it, Edward. He made sure Clara died. He won’t stop at doing the same to them.’
Edward said, ‘I won’t let you lay your life down for theirs.’
Olivia thought of Kafele’s face, his curled toes, those screams, and said nothing.
‘Olly…’ Edward shook his head and pulled her towards him. She rested her head on his chest, feeling his warmth, inhaling his smell, the smoke, the soap, that something else… Still there, still hers. She raised her eyes to his face, his clenched jaw, the pain in his gaze. If she could have, she would have sent him from her now, given him that part of her he loved to take with him; she didn’t want to be this thief.
Jeremy arrived, a glass of murky water in hand. He held it out to Olivia; it was boiled, he’d checked. She looked at it dubiously, took a sip. It felt grainy in her mouth, but it eased the taste of vomit.
Edward asked Jeremy if he was proud of himself, Jeremy said not particularly. But he was taking Kafele home, he’d make arrangements for his care. Nailah was inside, Jeremy had spoken to her. It had turned his stomach to face that wretched girl, but he’d done it. She was going to come, help nurse Kafele at the house, and yes, he appreciated the irony of the situation.
He squinted at Olivia in the sunlight. ‘I’m going to go and talk to Alistair. I’d kill him if I could, but I think it better I help you. God knows Clara would want me to.’
It was nearly dark by the time Nailah arrived at the Grays’. She’d gone to see Isa and the children before coming; she’d told them what was happening, and asked Isa to watch over things.
‘All right,’ Isa had said, ‘for tonight. But can you come in the morning, I want us to visit Jahi. You can go back to Kafele afterwards.’
Nailah’s stomach clenched in dread. ‘Jahi doesn’t want anyone there.’
‘Want isn’t need,’ said Isa. ‘And he’ll need us now, for the time he has left. Tabia would want us to comfort him.’ She looked to her toes. ‘I can do that for her at least.’
Nailah hadn’t had the energy to fight. Thinking of Jahi alone in his damp cell, the bruises on his face, she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
Isa had sighed. ‘There’s some broth on the stove,’ she said. ‘I picked up some pomegranates at the market. Eat, you look like death. Then go.’
Nailah looked up now at the Grays’ pale pink mansion; she breathed, swallowed, breathed again. She took her surroundings in. A plump Mediterranean woman stood up on the terrace with Ma’am Gray’s angry baby in her arms. Beside her was an equally chubby nurse, just arrived, by the look of the case in her hand and the sweat on her brow. Their voices, as they spoke in rapid Greek, rang through the evening air. Sir Gray was on the lawn, holding Ralph’s hand. He watched, expression grim, as an elderly lady in a crinoline clambered into a carriage. It was loaded with trunks, and manned by a nervous-looking servant in an oversized uniform.
The elderly lady’s reedy voice carried above the Greeks’. She spoke of ingratitude, distrust, bad choices. She’d never felt so put upon, so used. She was most aggravated.
‘For God’s sake, Mildred,’ said Sir Gray. ‘I’ve told you I don’t want you on the same ship as the boys, Ralph’s been through enough. I’m putting you up in the best hotel in Cairo, and in a week’s time, you’ll be taken to Port Said for a passage to England. The voyage is quicker from there, you’ll be back in no time. You have nothing to complain about, and you are not having Ralph. It’s enough, it all ends here —’ He broke off; he appeared to have spotted Nailah.
‘More house guests?’ asked the old lady.
Nailah coloured under the intensity of Sir Gray’s stare. He pulled Ralph behind him. Did he think she would hurt him? Did he imagine she could?
He nodded towards the two women on the terrace. He told her the one with the baby was called Sofia, the nurse was her sister, Leila, they would show Nailah inside. Kafele was in the back room. ‘I have to go out,’ he said. ‘I need to persuade my sister-in-law into something she’s not going to much want to do.’ He narrowed his eyes at Nailah. ‘Perhaps I should get your uncle to send her another note.’
Nailah said nothing.
‘How’s your young cousin?’ Sir Gray asked. ‘Babu? Better, I hope.’
Nailah remained silent, the realisation that it was he who’d been paying for Babu’s care dawning on her. She wished she didn’t know, that he wasn’t being kind now to Kafele; it felt selfish of him to complicate her hatred of him.
He sighed. ‘You’d better go inside,’ he said.
As she went, he called out to her to wait. She paused, turning.
He hesitated before speaking. ‘I know how you must despise me,’ he said. ‘I,’ he ran his hand down his pallid face, eyes moving from her, to Ralph, then back to her. He sighed again. ‘I’m sorry, Nailah,’ he said. ‘I’m sorrier than I can ever tell you for what happened to your aunt.’
Nailah stood completely still. She’d never expected him to apologise.
‘Please,’ he said, ‘whatever you might think of me, I’m trusting you to behave now in my house, with my children. Let’s not let each other down any further.’
Kafele was in a large bedroom, unconscious and swathed in iced muslin. A trickle of blood dripped down his side, saliva seeped from his half-open mouth. The lady called Sofia bustled over to him, the babe still in her arms, and said something bossy to her sister. Leila tsked and replied in Greek, wagging a finger. She opened her bag and set to work cleaning off Kafele’s blood, his lips. Despite her indignant manner, her fingers moved delicately, as careful as Nailah would have been. Sofia nodded in approval, evidently pleased too.
There were a few moments of silence. Only the baby’s grizzling and the soft rustle of Leila’s skirts interrupted it.
Nailah’s throat felt dry and sore, parched by Kafele, her clown, in front of her.
‘I’m here,’ she said to him. ‘I’m so sorry.’
He made no reply.
Nailah went to kneel by his side. She took in his torn body, his muttering lips. She raised her hand and, not knowing if she was right to move him, but unable to help herself, took hold of his.
She thought she felt him squeeze.
Olivia sat on Edward’s bed, staring at his half-packed trunk. The air beyond the open window was black. The day had vanished. Olivia didn’t know how it had happened.
She raised her eyes to Jeremy in the doorway. ‘Alistair said I could go to England?’ she said. ‘With Ralph, Sofia and Gus? Tomorrow?’
Jeremy nodded.
‘And he accepted that?’
‘He didn’t like it.’
‘Did he admit anything?’
‘What do you think?’ Jeremy’s laugh was short and bitter. ‘He doesn’t want me letting my suspicions out, though. Like Wilkins, he’s had enough sense to believe I’ll do it.’ He stared at Olivia with bloodshot eyes. ‘He wants you back here in six months. We’ll work out how to get around that then.’
Olivia examined her hands, the band on her fourth finger, so loose it was uncomfortable. Even Alistair’s jewellery hurt. ‘I thought you were going to persuade him to divor
ce me.’ She’d been hanging on to the possibility all afternoon. It was the only thing that had kept her calm whilst Edward insisted he was going to risk a court-martial and Alistair’s vengeance and stay, he wouldn’t leave her with him. ‘I don’t want to go to England,’ she said, ‘I want to go with Edward.’
‘Alistair won’t agree to it,’ said Jeremy. ‘You’re his, he says. And besides, you know by now his abhorrence for scandal.’ Jeremy looked from her to Edward. ‘Have you two considered what it would do to you? That even if Alistair consented, it would take months, maybe years, for a divorce to be finalised?’ He turned to Edward. ‘You’d be ruined.’
‘I really don’t care.’
‘Not now perhaps. But in time, when you’re watching your children get shunned…’ Jeremy sighed. ‘It’s a moot point anyway. If you attempt to go against Alistair, he’ll round up those boys. You can’t doubt he means it.’
A short silence followed.
‘How can you stand to be near him?’ Olivia asked Jeremy. ‘How can you stay? In that house, knowing what you’ve done, what he’s done, thinking of Clara —’
‘I can’t,’ said Jeremy, cutting her off. ‘Of course I can’t. As soon as I can make arrangements for my share of the business, I’ll leave. But I want the boys away now.’ He crossed the room. He made to take Olivia’s hands, but she kept them firmly grasped in her lap. ‘I loved your sister, Livvy,’ he said. ‘I know it didn’t look much like it, but I did. I can never make any of this up to her, and she didn’t deserve, she hardly deserved…’ He took a breath. ‘Let me do this, Livvy. If not for you, then for Ralph and Gus, Clara’s sons.’ He hesitated. ‘My sons. They’ve lost her, but they can have you.’
‘Don’t,’ Olivia said, cheeks straining. ‘Please don’t play that card.’
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