by Sandra Heath
The route back to Park Lane took him through Grosvenor Square, where the observation of a traveling carriage outside Randal’s house abruptly banished the papyrus from his mind. It was Randal’s carriage, for it had his badge on the door—a hand brandishing a lighted torch, in honor of his family motto. Luggage was being carried out, signifying a departure from town, but Sir Julian’s initial relief was soon replaced by suspicion. All well and good if Randal’s destination was his country seat in Westmorland, but what if it was Dorset? What if he had the theft of the letter in mind? As Lysons drove around the corner into South Audley Street, Sir Julian hastily lowered the glass. “Lysons! I must speak with you!”
The coachman maneuvered the team to the curb, clambered down, and came to the door. “Sir?”
“I want you to walk back to the square, to number sixteen-B. I need to know where Lord Sanderby is going. Be discreet now, for it won’t do for them to know who your master is.” Lysons touched his hat and hurried back along the pavement. Minutes passed, but at last he returned. “Well?” Sir Julian demanded impatiently.
“Lord Sanderby is leaving for Dorset, Sir Julian. He has taken a house called Bothenbury somewhere close to Weymouth, in order to be nearby when Miss Amanda arrives.”
Sir Julian’s mind raced. Yes, being near Amanda was plausible, but was it the whole truth? More likely the letter was Sanderby’s true objective. He drew back into the carriage and sat down once more. It wouldn’t do to remain here in town a moment longer. He’d send a man ahead on horseback to warn the servants at Chelworth; then he’d set off for Dorset himself first thing in the morning. The letter had to be protected, for it was the only evidence he had—mayhap all the evidence that remained.
* * * *
Not realizing his plans had been discovered, Randal emerged from his front door to commence his journey. He paused on the threshold for a moment, tugging on his tight kid gloves. His tall hat was at a jaunty angle, but he did not feel jaunty. He ached from head to toe, having been thrown from his horse in Hyde Park in front of everyone, and the prospect of a long bumpy journey did not please him at all.
But he needed to destroy that letter, and what better time to search Chelworth than when the old curmudgeon was here in town? Every other scrap of evidence had been burned, from the relevant parish register, to the coucheur’s records. The clergyman had proved impossible to trace, but must surely have gone to his Maker by now, for if he were still alive he would be damned nigh a hundred. The others involved must be dead too, so completely had they vanished from the face of the earth. The letter was all that remained, but it was a potent weapon in the wrong hands.
He walked toward the waiting carriage. Plague take Richardson for residing in so bucolic a county. Still, there would be some compensation. A pretty little belle de nuit was accompanying him. After all, a fellow’s nights should never be spent alone. One of the footmen stepped quickly forward. “My lord?”
“Yes? What is it?”
“I think you should know that someone came to inquire where you were going, and Arnold told him.” The man glanced at his fellow footman, who kept his eyes fixed guiltily to the pavement.
Randal’s attention sharpened. “Who was it?” he demanded.
“I don’t know, sir, but I’m pretty sure he was a coachman. A carriage drove past shortly before he came, and I feel certain he was on the box.”
“Describe the carriage,” Randal ordered. The footman obliged, and as chance would have it recalled the pharaoh’s-head emblem on the door. Randal’s eyes darkened. “Richardson!” he breathed.
Still, it was unlikely the old fool would set off before tomorrow, which still left a little time to search Chelworth for the letter.
Chapter 14
The Egyptian twilight was very brief. The sky changed from turquoise to viridian, then to mauve and gold. At the village some small boys coaxed a reluctant buffalo out of the river and led it away. Bird-song was piercing, and a breeze crept up to ripple the surface of the water. Gradually all became quiet. Darkness seemed to descend suddenly, and the birds ceased their noise.
The matter of poling the canja out of the reeds commenced almost immediately. It was a very slow business, even with Tansy and Hermione assisting the two men. Amanda, naturally enough, had such delicate wrists that she could not even hold the oars strongly, let alone use them for something as strenuous as poling. As soon as the stern projected into open water, Tansy and Hermione were sent to join Amanda in the safety of the cabins, while Martin and Tusun continued the work alone.
The women waited nervously. Tansy was by a window, with Cleo curled up on her lap. She felt the vessel rock slightly as the current washed by, and looked out to see the reeds begin to slip slowly behind. Suddenly there were no reeds, and she held her breath as she had done when they left Tel el-Osorkon. On that occasion there had been shouts as the alarm was raised, but this time there was nothing. No one in the village saw the vessel as the lazy Nile flow carried it past the cluster of mud-brick buildings. Not so much as a barking dog signaled its passage, and soon everything was far behind as the canja made for the main channel, where her sails would be hoisted to catch the breeze, which providence now decreed should blow from the south. There was a hint of the desert from that direction, a promise of the baking hot summer that was to come.
Amanda’s taunting voice suddenly fell into the silent cabin. “I rather think our gallant lieutenant is my adoring slave. Don’t you agree, Tansy?”
Hermione’s angry glance would have withered anyone else on the spot, but Amanda was impervious to such things. Her beautiful cornflower eyes glittered in the darkness, and her gloating smile was cruel. Tansy answered unwillingly. “He certainly admires you greatly.”
“It will be amusing to break his heart.”
Hermione could not hide her contempt. “Your notion of amusement leaves a lot to be desired, Amanda.”
Tansy was startled by the chaperone’s bluntness, but Amanda was outraged. “How dare you speak to me like that!” she cried, her raised voice awakening Cleo on Tansy’s lap. The tabby growled, put her ears back, and swished her tail.
Hermione wasn’t apologetic. “Amanda, I was employed to take care of you and Tansy, and see you both safely into Sir Julian’s custody. My terms of reference are that I am to watch over you both and see that nothing damages your reputations. It seems to me that if you were to repeat such words elsewhere, they would reflect very badly indeed upon your character.”
Amanda jumped to her feet. “Silence! I will not be spoken to in such a way!”
“I will not be silent, my dear, for you must mend your ways if you are not to be regarded as an arrogant strumpet!”
Amanda quivered with fury. “Arrogant strumpet…?” she repeated, barely able to speak.
“That is what I said,” Hermione repeated, without flinching at all in the face of her charge’s ominous reaction. “You are a very unlikable person, Amanda—rude, opinionated, vain, hurtful; indeed, you are without redeeming feature as far as I can tell. Everyone is pleased for you that you have secured such an enviable match, but no one wants to feel obliged to flatter you at every turn. You never miss an opportunity to remind us all that you are to be the grand Countess of Sanderby, to boast and brag about it until everyone else is sick of the word Sanderby.”
“How…dare…you…!” breathed Amanda, her fists clenched until, had there been light, they would have been seen to be quite white.
Hermione was past caring. “You are playing with fire, you know. Do you honestly think Lord Sanderby would be impressed if he heard your crowing about Lieutenant Ballard? Do you think he would be pleased were he to learn how you have flirted with such a handsome naval officer?” Hermione rose calmly to her feet as Amanda stepped furiously forward, a hand raised to strike her for her effrontery. “Hit me, and I will not hesitate to retaliate.” Tansy was transfixed. How could such a tigress ever have been mistaken for a meek nobody, capable only of crochet?
Amanda
had second thoughts too, and slowly lowered her hand, but she remained incandescent with rage. “You’re going to regret this, Hermione Entwhistle, for when we reach Chelworth I will make sure Sir Julian is told the full extent of your transgressions, and—! Ouch!” Her words ended on a cry of pain, not because Hermione had struck her anyway, but because Cleo had jumped down from Tansy’s lap and was proceeding to sharpen her needle claws on the future Lady Sanderby’s left knee. The black robes, voluminous as they were, presented no obstacle to such a determined feline exercise, and there was no doubt that Amanda felt every sharp pinprick. Hermione could have applauded the tabby’s intervention. What excellent creatures cats were, to be sure, she thought, making no move to fuss around Amanda. The arrogant strumpet could attend to her own knee.
Amanda dashed the cat aside. “Oh, you horrid, horrid creature!” she cried, tears springing to her eyes. Cleo did not care to be dashed anywhere, and spat resentfully, but then retreated judiciously beneath a bed, for fear that Amanda’s foot might take a part in the proceedings.
Just then the cabin door opened and Martin looked urgently in. “Be quiet in here! We’re close to the main channel and there are other vessels around!”
To his startlement, Amanda ran sobbing into his arms. “I thought there was a snake! A most horrible thing, and I-I feared it would bite me!”
Martin hesitated, then looked inquiringly at Hermione, who shook her head. “No, Lieutenant, there is no snake. Amanda was asleep and must have had a nightmare.”
“I see.” He held Amanda a little awkwardly. “I’m sure it seemed very real, Miss Richardson, but there really isn’t a snake in here,” he murmured.
“Oh, I wasn’t dreaming. I know I wasn’t!” Amanda cried, clinging to him as the maiden in distress must surely have clung to St. George.
Hermione intervened. “Nonsense, Amanda. I fear you are letting your imagination run away with you,” she said, at the same time surveying Martin in a way that made him release Amanda as if burned.
“I, er, must return on deck,” he said, and hurried away.
The moment the door closed behind him, Amanda turned triumphantly to the others. “Oh, dear, it really is too simple,” she said.
“Pride comes before a fall, my dear,” Mrs. Entwhistle said quietly.
“And mayhap you should have looked before you leaped,” Amanda snapped back. “You’ll pay for presuming to criticize me!”
“Threaten me all you will, Amanda. It is of no consequence. My duties will be discharged the moment I give you into your uncle’s care, and believe me, I shall not be sad when that moment arrives.” Hermione went to the cabin door and paused with her hand on the knob. “I sincerely hope you are happy in your marriage, Amanda, but I fear you will not be. Nothing will ever satisfy you, for I do not doubt that when you are a countess, you will long to be a duchess. And if you become a duchess, you will want to be a princess. Dissatisfaction will beset your existence forever and a day.”
“Since you never amounted to being more than the wife of a dreary clergyman, when you speak of dissatisfaction you clearly know what you’re talking about,” Amanda retorted.
Hermione flushed. “I was never dissatisfied with my marriage, which brought me nothing but love. That blessed emotion will always be denied the likes of you, Amanda.” She went out, and closed the door softly behind her.
Amanda turned to start upon Tansy again, but that young lady had no intention of being at her cousin’s mercy a moment more than absolutely necessary, so she too opened the door. “I think I’ll go out as well. I prefer being in the fresh air. Cleo? Come on.” A tabby streak shot from beneath the bed and out through the door. Behind them all, Amanda’s fury centered on a hapless pillow, which she proceeded to tear to shreds.
The moon emerged just as Tansy went out onto the deck, casting a pale light over the wide expanse of the Nile’s Rosetta channel, which was half a mile or more across. Overhead the sails billowed as the canja made good headway downstream, Tusun attending to the rigging, Martin once more at the tiller. Other boats plied the great river, the nearest being a small one-masted jerm, to which the canja was catching up quite quickly. Another was a one-hundred-foot dahabeah, which was so luxuriously gilded that it clearly belonged to an important Turkish official.
The lights of Rosetta glimmered on the western bank ahead, and high overhead the moon now hung in a canopy of stars. Martin skillfully maneuvered the canja to quieter waters, where she would attract the least attention. Cleo ran over to him and rubbed busily around his legs. “Hello, Cleo,” he said, and bent briefly to stroke the little creature. Then he saw Tansy. “I hope I did not cause offense a moment ago?”
Tansy had been hesitating about joining him at the tiller, for fear of appearing obvious, but now she had an excuse. “Offense? In what way?”
“By my presumptuousness in holding your cousin?”
Tansy cleared her throat. “I rather think it was my cousin who ran to you, Lieutenant.”
He smiled. “Well, snakes are to be feared, even when only imagined,” he murmured.
“Yes.” Tansy longed to point out the truth to him, and prevent him from falling further into Amanda’s clutches, but the hand of jealousy would surely be perceived in such a revelation. She picked up Cleo, and the cat settled purring in her arms.
“Have you thought any more about the curious incidents with the retriever cat?” he asked with a sudden change of topic.
“Yes, quite a lot. I really can’t believe a painted cat can simply appear or disappear. I know it’s what we think happened, but nevertheless….” She didn’t finish the sentence, knowing full well that she sounded as if she were trying to convince herself. Besides, there was the added mystery of the bronze cat.
Martin nodded. “I know how you feel, for I feel it too. I’ve looked at the papyrus several more times since, and now I can’t see how I ever missed the cat in the first place. It’s brightly illustrated and very prominent indeed, yet I could swear in a court of law that it wasn’t there initially.”
She gave a slightly nervous laugh. “Thoughts of magic keep recurring, do they not? Maybe this is indeed a remnant of sorcery or some other supernatural thing left over from the time of the pharaohs.”
Cleo suddenly growled in Tansy’s arms and stretched her neck alertly to gaze astern, as if she knew there was danger there. They both turned to look back as well, but saw nothing in particular. There were other vessels, including another canja. It was following about two hundred yards behind, its lanterns and white sails clear in the darkness.
“Can you see anything?” Martin asked.
Tansy shook her head. “I don’t think so, but then they do say that cats see things we do not.”
“Are we back to the supernatural, perchance?” Martin murmured drolly, and she laughed.
The canja moved serenely on downstream, the Nile lapping gently against her sides. The lights of Rosetta were brighter now, reflecting occasionally on the dark water. There was no sign at all of the expected French ambush. Long may it stay that way, Tansy thought as she spoke to Martin again. “Have you been in the navy for long, Lieutenant?”
“Ten years. Before that I was employed by a London city merchant, and had charge of the company’s business affairs in St. Petersburg.”
“Really?” Tansy’s eyes were alight with interest. “How did you come to do that?”
“Because I am fluent in a number of languages. I am fortunate that such things come easily to me. Perhaps I should explain that I was brought up in Minorca, where I learned French, Italian, and Arabic almost as well as I learned English. I picked up a little Russian from an old friend of my parents. Obviously I absorbed a great deal more when I went to St. Petersburg.”
“Whatever made you give it all up for the navy?”
“My talent for languages, and, er, intelligence gathering, were recognized at the Admiralty. I agreed to serve for a set period. This is actually my last mission, for I will be discharged when the Lucina
returns to Portsmouth.”
“What will you do then?”
“It is my intention to go to America.”
So far away? She had to hide her dismay. “How was it that you were brought up in Minorca?” she asked.
“My parents went to live there for my mother’s health. She suffered greatly with infections of the lungs. The Mediterranean air helped for a while, but she died when I was five. My father died when I was sixteen, and I hied myself to London. Then came the city merchant, and the rest you know.”
They were passing Rosetta now, the lights of which now shone brightly on the dark water. They could hear Arab music drifting on the night air from one of the many buildings along the crowded waterfront. The French were still nowhere to be seen as Martin looked at Tansy. “Well, I have answered all your questions, Miss Richardson, so perhaps it is now your turn to answer mine.”
“I cannot imagine what there is to tell about me. I have already explained how I came to be in Constantinople. I am the less fortunate of Sir Julian’s two nieces, and will most probably suffer a future as a lady’s companion, or some such dull thing.”
Cleo growled again, and craned still further to look astern. The other canja was closer, having hoisted more sail, but there still seemed nothing that would cause the cat to behave in such a way. Suddenly she leaped from Tansy’s arms and dashed away along the deck to her hiding place between the crates. Tansy watched her uneasily. “How very strange. What do you think is the matter?”