by Sandra Heath
Randal tried to ignore the animal. “You know, Sir Julian, the fellow bust be dead and buried. Don’t you think by father bade it his business to search? But there was no trace.” His face hardened. “I warn you, Richardson, bake trouble for be and I will see you are dead and buried too.”
Sir Julian raised his chin. “I’ve had enough of this arrant nonsense, Sanderby. How dare you enter my house and presume to threaten me! If and when you are married to Amanda, I suppose I will have to tolerate you somehow, but in the meantime, if you ever cross my threshold uninvited again, I will have you thrown out like the cur you are. Now get out!”
There was a tap at the door, and the footman entered. “Begging your pardon, Sir Julian, but your carriage will soon be ready to take you to your appointment.”
“Ah, yes. Lord Sanderby was just leaving.”
“Sir.” The footman lingered attentively at the door.
“This isn’t the last of it, Richardson, not by a very long chalk.”
Sir Julian gave him a beaming smile. “Enjoy your ride in the park, Sanderby. Take care not to fall.”
Randal glowered at him, then turned to leave; but as he reached the door, Ozzy decided to go out with him. The tomcat leaped from the table and darted between Randal’s ankles in such a way as to unbalance him. It looked almost deliberate on the cat’s part, Sir Julian thought, as his visitor’s modish spurs tangled and Randal went sprawling. The dismayed footman bent to attend to him, and Ozzy, well pleased with himself, dashed away toward the kitchens, tail in the air, ears pricked.
Sir Julian made a mental note to add a dish of the very best cream to the plate of bacon fat.
Chapter 12
It was midmorning in the delta, and a palm dove was fluting in the tamarisks. The temperature had risen pleasantly with the dominance of the sun, and the wind had dwindled to the occasional zephyr that stirred the tall reeds where the canja lay concealed. When darkness fell, the gauntlet of the Rosetta channel would be run.
Leaving Amanda and Hermione still slumbering, Tansy slipped out of the cabin after several hours of much-needed sleep. She still wore the black robes, and her short dark curls were in a terrible tangle because she had no comb or brush. Amanda’s hair, however, was once again a smooth stream of molten gold flowing over her shoulders. This could only be because the sly madam had discovered a comb somewhere, but she denied this most vehemently in order to deny the others the chance to make themselves presentable in front of the two men.
Such pettiness was proof positive of Amanda’s true colors, but Tansy guessed that even so Martin only saw how beautiful she was. To make matters worse, Amanda flirted with him at every opportunity, and he seemed taken in. It seemed to Tansy that if the future Countess of Sanderby fell in a midden, she would emerge smelling of spring flowers!
In spite of her earlier resolve to put up a fight, Tansy’s lack of confidence was already showing, for if there was one thing she had learned about her cousin, it was that what Amanda set out to have, Amanda always got. At the moment it amused that lady to toy with Martin Ballard’s affections, so nothing the Church Mouse of the family said or did would make any difference.
At the moment Martin was asleep on the deck, wrapped in a blanket, his head on a bundle of sacks, but Tusun was on guard at the stern. The Mameluke put a warning finger to his lips as Tansy made her way to the bow of the canja. There she lay down on her stomach and stretched forward to part the reeds in order to look across a clear expanse of water toward the mud-brick village they now realized was on the opposite shore. When the canja hid among the reeds during the night, at a time when the moon had again gone behind clouds, it was thought to be a deserted part of the delta. How wrong the assumption was. Still, the reeds were very thick and tall, and no one at the village knew the canja and its passengers were there. Beyond the village there were fields of crops and groves of palms and sycamore figs; in the distance, just visible through the haze of sunshine that now bathed the delta, sails glided on the main Rosetta channel.
Tansy watched the villagers going about their business. A donkey cart rattled along a low causeway, chased by a noisy sand-colored dog. Two black-robed women walked gracefully in the opposite direction, balancing bundles and pots on their covered heads. Some older children were tending buffaloes and camels ten times their own size, while some smaller ones delved in the mud for catfish. A small boat rocked only yards from the canja, as a loin-clothed man stood in it to toss a net into the water. He was the reason for Tusun’s warning finger.
Cleopatra rubbed beside Tansy, who automatically began to stroke her. “Hello, Cleo,” she whispered, falling easily into the affectionate diminutive, but then her smile faded as the cat saw a white egret probing a nearby matting of dead reeds. The bird was temptingly within reach as far as any self-respecting cat was concerned.
Tansy tapped Cleo’s nose. “No,” she whispered sternly, but then the barking of the village dog grew much louder, and her attention was drawn back across the water. Hooves drummed on the causeway, and half a dozen French carabineers rode into view, led by an officer who looked ominously like the one from Tel el-Osorkon. Tansy turned to beckon urgently to Tusun, but it was Martin who came to lie quickly at her side.
“What is it? What have you seen?” he breathed.
“The French are here,” she whispered back, and pointed through the reeds. “Isn’t that the officer from Tel el-Osorkon? I know we didn’t have a good view of him, but even so….”
The Frenchmen halted to question the children tending the buffaloes and camels, and snatches of their voices carried across the water. “Yes, it’s him all right,” Martin murmured, “and by the sound of it, he’s looking for us.”
“Do you really think so?”
He gave a ghost of a smile. “I really think so.”
Tansy had quite forgotten Cleo, until suddenly the cat leaped at the tantalizing egret, which set up a panic-stricken racket that could not help but draw attention to the reeds. The fisherman’s small boat wobbled alarmingly as he jerked around to see what was happening. The party of Frenchmen turned as well, and most of the village emerged, wondering what the noise was about. So many eyes were suddenly directed toward the canja’s hiding place that Martin slid an arm around Tansy and drew her down flat against the deck. Hearts thundering, they pressed together and prayed no one would come to investigate more closely.
Tusun had slipped into the cabin the moment the disturbance began. He knew Hermione would have the sense not to make a sound, but no such faith could be placed in Amanda. To his relief, she too remained silent, although her cornflower eyes were wide and frightened. Stealthily the Mameluke opened the cabin window and aimed his rifle at the unfortunate fisherman, ready to shoot if necessary. Amanda’s eyes widened still further, and Hermione went to quickly take her hand.
Cleo, the unknowing cause of all the sudden tension, continued to set about the unfortunate egret, but the bird was not easy prey. Its white feathers scattered in all directions as it fought for its life, and to its shrieking was added the clamor of other birds all around. Martin raised his head slightly. There was a small piece of wooden plank lying within reach, and he tossed it toward the cat, not intending to hurt her, just make her loosen her grip. It worked, and the screeching egret flew off, shedding more feathers as it went. Cleo yowled with rage.
The moment the cat was heard, the fisherman began to roar with laughter. Then he shouted to the shore, and everyone, including the carabineers, laughed. Attention moved away again, and the immediate danger passed. The fisherman poled his boat a little further on, then set about his nets again, and the other villagers resumed their business as well. Tansy and Martin risked stretching up to observe the French officer ply the children with more questions, but shaking heads were the only answer he received. After a while the officer gave up, and he and his men rode back along the causeway.
Tansy breathed out with relief. “Thank goodness.”
Martin rolled onto his back. “Bla
st that cat!” he muttered, as Cleo crept back on the deck, belly low, and disappeared guiltily among the crates.
Tansy felt guilty too. “I’m sorry.”
“Why? It wasn’t your fault,” Martin replied, his eyes crinkling with amusement.
“But she’s my cat.”
He put his hand to her cheek suddenly. “And cats will be cats. It really wasn’t your fault,” he said again.
His touch warmed her to the very heart, like a draft of mulled wine after a walk in the snow, or her first-ever sip of champagne. She gazed down at him. It would be so easy to lower her lips to his, so easy to lie down with him again, hold him in her arms, and use the seductive arts that were every woman’s by right…. Horrified by the path her thoughts were taking, she scrambled to her feet. Her cheeks were aflame with embarrassment, and she turned away, making much of shaking out her robes and straightening them.
He got up as well. “Forgive me. I seem to have transgressed yet again.”
“You didn’t transgress before, and you haven’t now. I…I’m just a little upset by Cleo’s antics. She might so easily have given us away,” she managed to say, just as Amanda emerged from the cabin, followed by Hermione and Tusun.
Later, when all was so peaceful again that the incident with the egret seemed almost never to have happened, Tansy sat with her bare feet dangling over the side of the canja. Her toes were well above the water, where fish played in the sunlight. She watched them darting and flashing, and was reminded of the wall painting at Tel el-Osorkon, in which brilliantly colored fish were depicted beneath the young pharaoh’s reed boat. Her thoughts wandered on to the moment she left the hidden room and had looked back to think the retriever cat had gone. Could it really have happened? Well, she supposed it was no less likely than the changing temperature of the bronze figurine.
Tusun came to sit with her. “All is now tranquil again, is it not, lady?” he murmured, leaning forward to look at himself in the water.
“Yes, thank goodness.”
“And, I believe, you make progress with the lieutenant?”
She went a little pink. “Oh, I don’t think so, Tusun. He likes my cousin.”
“You are wrong. Believe me, for I know these things.” He drew a long breath, then added, “I have had to learn to read the minds of others, for I suffered a very bitter lesson.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have an uncle, a devious man of no heart, who stole the land that should have been mine. I trusted him, placed my faith in him, and he betrayed me. Now he enjoys my birthright, and has risen high in the service of the French.”
“Is that why you help the British?”
The Mameluke smiled. “Maybe so.”
“I hope you get back what is yours.”
“For that I thank you, lady,” he said, and he took her fingers to raise them dashingly to his lips. Then he scrambled to his feet again and left to do some task or other near the bow of the canja.
Tansy remained where she was, and after a while she heard a step behind her again. Thinking Tusun had returned, she looked around with a smile, but it was Martin. Her smile vanished as she immediately thought there must be something wrong.
He smiled at the expression on her face. “Don’t look so anxious; all is well,” he said, sitting down at her side as Tusun had.
“I thought there must be a problem,” she confessed, noticing he had a rolled papyrus in his hand.
“Why? Just because I have come to sit with you?”
She had to look away. “Yes, I suppose so,” she admitted, feeling certain that Amanda was the one he would have preferred to sit with, but the countess-to-be had retreated to the cabin again, complaining that she was sure she perceived a freckle on her nose. A freckle? Amanda could count herself fortunate, Tansy thought, only too aware of her own defects in that respect.
“You really should not think so little of yourself, Miss Richardson, for to be sure I find you all that is agreeable.”
Agreeable? Oh, how a single word could damn!
“And I believe Tusun must think so too, otherwise he would not have joined you a few minutes ago. Anyway, I have something to show you.” He glanced at the papyrus in his hand “When Tusun and I first climbed aboard the canja, I noticed that the French had not packed their crates of stolen booty with care. This papyrus was sticking out of one, and just now I went to push it in properly, for it seemed to me that a gust of wind might blow it away. Imagine my surprise when I examined it first, and saw this.” He unrolled it and held it up for her to see.
She gasped, for it was decorated with a scene exactly like the one at Tel el-Osorkon. “What a very odd coincidence!”
He studied it again; then his face changed. Tansy saw, and regarded him curiously. “What’s wrong?”
“Well, you will probably think me very fanciful, but when I first took it from the crate and examined it, I’m sure there wasn’t a cat. But there is, and it’s very prominent. See?” A shiver ran over Tansy, for the cat was certainly there now—a tabby just like Cleo. Martin ran his hand ruefully through his hair. “My imagination is clearly running away with me,” he murmured.
She had to say something. “Lieutenant, if your imagination is doing that, then so, I fear, is mine. I would be less than honest if I did not confess to a similar experience, although in my case the cat disappeared.” She told him what had happened as she left Tel el-Osorkon.
He listened with growing astonishment, and when she finished he gave a slight laugh. “One such occurrence is strange enough and can easily be put down to a trick of the light, but two…? Well, that verges on the uncanny.”
Tansy studied the cat on the parchment. Things that appeared and disappeared? A bronze figurine that became hot or cold in one’s hand? The word magic came into her unwilling mind. “Do you believe in magic, Lieutenant?”
“Let us just say that as with fairies and ghosts, without proof one way or the other, I cannot entirely disbelieve. The Ancient Egyptians certainly believed in it.”
“And right now, I am finding it difficult not to follow suit,” she murmured. Then she forced such thoughts away and gave a bright smile. “Let’s look at the rest of the treasure,” she said, and swung her legs back onto the deck.
He helped her to get up, and they went to examine the crates. Almost immediately Tansy saw something that so seized her attention that the mystery of the appearing/disappearing cat temporarily ceased to matter. Propped between two crates was a slab of black basalt, and the sun fell obliquely across it, revealing lines of inscriptions on its polished surface. Curious, she crouched to look more closely, and her breath caught as she realized the writing was in three sections—hieroglyphic, Greek, and another she did not know.
Hermione’s words echoed through her. I heard that a year or so ago, the French found an inscribed stone of immense importance somewhere near here, at Rosetta, I think. It is said to be written with three different languages, one being Greek, another hieroglyphic, and I’m not sure about the third. Anyway, it is hoped that all the inscriptions are versions of the same text. If so, maybe our understanding will advance at last. I was told that the British confiscated this stone, and I pray the information is correct, for we do not wish the French to have the glory of translating hieroglyphs, do we? Tansy gazed at it excitedly. What if this was another such stone? What if the words in Greek were an exact translation of the hieroglyphs?
Martin saw the sudden light in her eyes. “What have you found?” he asked.
She straightened. “I…I don’t know. It may be nothing. I’ll have to bring Hermione.” Catching up her skirts, she hurried to the cabins, her bare feet making hardly a sound.
Moments later everyone gathered to examine the intriguing slab. Hermione was all interest; indeed her eyes shone. “I do believe you may be right, Tansy,” she declared, trying to keep her voice down, for they were all still aware of the close proximity of the village.
Amanda pouted. “I really don’t understand why
you are all so silly about an old piece of stone. What on earth does it matter what it says?”
Tusun looked at her. “God wills it that we have minds with which to reason.”
She flushed. “Really? I am surprised that you should presume to know God’s will,” she said coldly; then with a toss of her lovely head she stalked away to the stern, where she draped herself prettily against the tiller and gazed at the swaying greenery.
Tusun scowled after her and said something beneath his breath that Tansy felt certain was anything but complimentary.
Hermione drew Tansy closer in order to point out the finer details of the slab, and when Tansy looked around a few minutes later, she saw that Martin had gone to join Amanda by the tiller. Amanda was at her most kittenish and bewitching, placing a teasing hand upon his arm and giving him flirtatious glances that verged on the sensuous because of her long lashes. They might have been at a fashionable London assembly instead of the deck of a stolen canja in the furthest reaches of the Nile delta.
Tansy couldn’t look away, and Hermione’s voice faded into oblivion. Amanda knew the Church Mouse was watching, and it was just what she wanted. She thought it was fine sport to hurt Tansy by conquering Martin. For a split second the cousins looked at each other; then Amanda, ever shallow and heartless, gave a toss of her lovely head and moved her position a little, so that Martin had to turn his back completely on Tansy.
An invisible door closed upon the Church Mouse, as surely as if it had been paneled with wood and secured with lock and key.
Chapter 13
The sun was high in London too, as Sir Julian drove back to Park Lane after visiting the British Museum and keeping an appointment with his lawyer. Arrangements for the sale of his London house were now in hand, and so, rather shamefully, was the museum’s papyrus! Sir Julian hung his head a little, for he was guilty of theft. The moment he’d seen the papyrus again, lying in the display case amid a collection of scarabs, jeweled pectorals, offering trays, and bronze daggers, it had reminded him so much of the papyrus at Chelworth that he was sure they were both from the same original. He recalled corresponding with a reverend gentleman named Endpipe, or Bluntwhistle, or some such name, who had been very knowledgeable on the topic of retriever cats. Mention had been made of the story of King Osorkon, and Sir Julian felt certain that was what both papyri depicted. The only way to be certain was to place them together. Hence the act of base theft. However, he assuaged his conscience by vowing to return the stolen papyrus as soon as possible.