The Master's Wife

by Jane Jackson

  He stared at her, his brown eyes awash, tears tracking down his dusty face, small chin quivering. She wiped his eyes again then brushed the end of the cloth lightly against his nose. He smiled and pushed it away. She tickled him gently and started to put him down. But he clung, arms and legs tightening around her.

  So she limped to and fro with him on her hip, holding one grubby little hand in hers as she sang the lullabies she used to sing to her boys. He tucked his head between her neck and shoulder and the weight of the little body in her arms breached the carefully built dam. Memories overwhelmed her. A sob made her chest heave. Anxious not to frighten him, she bit hard on her bottom lip, too hard, and tasted the warm saltiness of blood.

  Hearing Sabra call her name she turned to see a group of women approaching. One hurried forward and the little boy reached out.

  Caseley handed him over and quickly dashed away her tears. She ran her tongue over her lip, felt the soreness and swelling. ‘He fell. Please –’ she cleared her throat. ‘Please tell her I meant no harm.’

  ‘She knows that,’ Sabra said as the women murmured among themselves.

  ‘What have you done?’ Antonia demanded. ‘Why is your lip bleeding?’

  ‘I bit it,’ Caseley said. ‘It’s nothing. Will you excuse me?’

  ‘Where are you going?’ Antonia demanded.

  ‘For a walk. The noise – I have a slight headache.’

  ‘Come,’ Sabra cupped Antonia’s elbow and drew her away.

  Caseley walked to the well. She could still feel the weight of the toddler in her arms, the warmth of his little body against hers. Her babies. Her beautiful sons. The pain was unbearable. She scooped up cold water. Pressing wet hands to her burning face she fought the sobs that would wreck her if she gave in to them.

  She bathed her face again then dried it with the end of her scarf. Her lip throbbed. Seeing a young man coming towards the well, she moved away towards the camel pen and paused to look at the regal animals.

  Some stood, others had their long legs tucked beneath them and gazed about with stately disdain as they chewed, their jaws working one way then the other. Several of the females had long-legged, curly-coated youngsters with them.

  She had to go back. To stay away any longer, especially on a day of celebration, might appear discourteous. Her breath shuddered in her chest. Her face felt tight and her eyes stung. But they were dry.

  She started walking towards the camp then stumbled as she saw Jago with Antonia pressed against his front. She froze, light-headed with shock.

  ‘No.’

  The sound of her own voice startled her. She whirled around and walked away.

  ‘Caseley!’

  Ignoring his roar she carried on walking. She heard running footsteps. Her arm was grasped. Violently she wrenched free.

  He caught her shoulder, turned her towards him.

  ‘God in heaven, what happened to your lip?’

  ‘You care?’

  He stiffened. ‘Of course I care.’

  ‘Oh please.’ Sick at heart she turned away. But he moved round to face her.

  ‘Tell me what you think you saw.’

  ‘I know what I saw.’ Her contempt was withering.

  ‘No, you don’t. I know you to be fair and just. So please, allow me to explain.’

  Caseley looked away, hugging her arms across her trembling body. Desperate to escape, she had nowhere to go.

  ‘Antonia came out of the tent, clearly upset. I was coming to meet you and mistook – She rushed over and threw herself against me. She was sobbing. I grasped her shoulders to prise her loose. That is what you saw. If you ask her she will tell you the same. She must because it’s the truth.’

  ‘Why did Antonia throw herself at you?’

  ‘I don’t know. I didn’t ask. Nor do I care. I left the gathering to come and meet you. I had no interest in anything else.’

  ‘Did Louise Downing fling herself at you as well?’ As the words tumbled out, propelled by intolerable anguish, she saw his shock. ‘Did she cling so tight that you were unable to shake her off?’

  ‘That meant nothing.’ His voice was harsh.

  ‘It certainly meant something to her. She flaunted her conquest in my face with pride and a pitying sneer. If I count for so little –’

  ‘Don’t say that! You could not be more wrong.’ He grasped her upper arms, his fingers biting into her flesh, and she glimpsed desperation. ‘You are everything to me.’

  ‘I wish with all my heart I could believe that.’

  ‘You can, you must.’

  ‘No, Jago. You words are worthless if your actions betray them. You say I am fair and just. So if you were driven to find comfort elsewhere I must take some of the blame.’

  His bitter laugh made her flinch. ‘Comfort? I wanted escape, oblivion. I did not seek comfort. I deserved none. When you needed me I was not there. By the time I got home our sons were buried. You had faced it all alone. Never in my life have I felt so useless. You never spoke a word of reproach, but you had withdrawn from me. I have to live the rest of my life knowing I let you down. How could I comfort you? What had I to offer?’ Anguish roughened his voice.

  Scalding tears spilled down her cheeks. ‘You could have held me. Let me rage and weep, at God, fate, my failure to save them. Had I not cared for them well enough? Were there other treatments, other medicines we could have tried? If I had done all I could why did our boys die when others lived?’

  He released his bruising grip and gathered her into his arms. ‘Oh Caseley, my dearest –’ His voice cracked.

  ‘I was so tired and nearly out of my mind with grief. Yes, and fury. But you were at sea. You didn’t know. I did blame you for not being there, even though I knew it was unjust. I could have borne it better had you been with me.’

  ‘I wish you had told me.’ His voice was unsteady as he drew her closer, his bearded cheek warm against hers.

  ‘I wanted to. But you were very distant and I was so afraid –’

  He raised his head. ‘Of what?’

  ‘That you blamed me.’

  ‘How could you ever think so?’

  ‘You never reached for me.’

  ‘I ached for you. But it felt selfish. I wanted to give you time.’

  Relief loosened painful knots of tension. ‘Oh, Jago.’

  Tilting her chin he covered her mouth with his own, lightly, tenderly, careful of her sore and swollen lip. She felt his quickened heartbeat beneath her palm and knew her own matched it. The sharp crack of a gunshot made her start violently.

  ‘Don’t be frightened. Sheikh Imad warned that this is the traditional way the groom lets everyone know he has – that his bride is now his wife.’

  ‘You are teasing me.’

  ‘Indeed I’m not.’

  ‘Goodness. How very –’

  ‘Public?’ Jago murmured.

  Holding Caseley’s hand against his chest, Jago rested his head against hers. She felt his breath warm on her cheek. ‘Do you remember when I said you amaze me, and you replied that perhaps I expected too little? You’re wrong. I relied on you totally and took you for granted.’

  ‘Every time I went away on a voyage I never doubted that you would manage everything in my absence. The image of you that I carried in my mind and my heart gave me strength. Because I had complete faith in you I expected to return and find things the same as when I left. And they were, except the boys were bigger and had learned new things they couldn’t wait to show me.

  ‘I was so glad to see you, to be with you again, that regardless of any problems in the business or the yard all was well in my world. You would give me all the news and –’ one corner of his mouth tilted in a brief smile, ‘a list of matters requiring my attention.’ He was quiet for a moment. ‘Did you miss me?’ The unexpected wistfulness in his tone tugged at her heart.

  ‘Every hour of every day. But it would have been cruel of me to say so and cause you to worry. You were relying on me. I could not le
t you down.’ Her breath hitched. ‘Only I did.’

  ‘No, no, no,’ he said softly. He kept his arm around her shoulders as they crossed the stony ground to some low rocks. Daylight had faded to purple dusk and the full moon rose in a rapidly darkening sky. From the camp came the sounds of music, singing and laughter. In the pens sheep and goats bleated and the camels grumbled.

  ‘Rosina, Liza-Jane and Ben were wonderful.’

  ‘So I would expect. I never doubted that all of you did everything you could.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘You were so fortunate, being with the boys every day. Each time I came back from a voyage they had changed. I imagined them sailing with me when they were older. I had plans to show them the world ...’ His voice faltered.

  Caseley clasped his hand between hers. ‘I’m so very sorry.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘Shutting you out. I was –’ Destroyed. ‘I did not give you the comfort you deserved and should have expected.’

  He raised her hand and kissed it. Then he tilted her chin and gently kissed her mouth. He raised his head and in the cold, silvery moonlight his eyes were dark and bottomless. ‘Caseley, I –’

  She silenced him with a finger against his lips. Now. She would face it now. ‘I wanted to come to Egypt with you because I don’t know who I am any more.’

  He started to speak but she wouldn’t let him, covering his mouth with her fingertips. ‘Please, Jago, let me finish. I have been an outsider since I was twelve years old. I was with my mother in the pony-trap when it overturned and she was killed. Everyone sympathised with my father over the loss of his wife, and with Ralph and me for losing our mother. But I lay awake every night reliving the moment the birds flew out of the hedge and scared the pony. I kept thinking of all the things I might have done.’

  Jago shook her gently. ‘It happened in seconds. You could not have prevented it. Besides, you were badly injured yourself.’

  ‘I know. But I lived and my mother died. Then when the boys – I wished it had been me. I would willingly have given my life in exchange for theirs.’

  ‘Stop!’ His grip tightened painfully. ‘Don’t say that. I cannot bear –’ He started to pull her close but pressed her palms flat against his chest.

  ‘Wait. Please, you must listen.’ She moistened dry lips, fighting to hold her voice level. ‘Since the boys died I have been talked about and avoided. When – when Louise Downing made a point of letting me know that you both were once more –’

  She broke off, a shaky breath hissing between her teeth. ‘I love you, Jago. More than you know. And I always will. But I can’t go back to my life as it was. I won’t share you. I would sooner leave.’

  ‘And go where?’

  ‘I don’t care.’

  He eased back. ‘So I must choose?’

  ‘It is only a choice if she is important to you. You said she wasn’t.’

  ‘I know what I said. You are my wife. You promised obedience.’

  ‘And you promised fidelity.’

  Anger then astonishment crossed his face. ‘Are you threatening me?’

  ‘I deserve better than to be laughed at or pitied.’ Gently detaching herself, she walked away. What had she done?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jago watched her go, angry, unsettled and afraid. No woman had ever controlled him. How could she say she loved him then talk of leaving? She could not leave. She was his wife. She had a duty – Duty? Even as the thought formed it appalled him. She was not a possession, or one of his crew. He could not lose her. Not now. Not ever. He had loved his sons. But she completed him. With her he was a better man. Without her...

  He could not imagine his life without her in it.

  He had always followed his own star. Women had come and gone from his life. He was a seafarer and sailors ashore took pleasure wherever it was offered. But by birth he was a gentleman. So, lightskirt or lady, he treated them well – and instantly forgot them.

  Louise had been a convenience. Their previous liaison had spared him the usual dance that led – inevitably – to mutually satisfying consummation. Only there had been no satisfaction, merely fleeting relief.

  He had missed Caseley. Cynics claimed all cats were grey in the dark. For them, perhaps. Not for him. He knew the scent of her skin, the texture of her tumbling hair. He knew the sound of her breathing when she slept, and the catch in her throat when he stroked her.

  This journey had shown him her courage. It had reinforced his love for her, his desire to protect, his passion and his need for her. Until her he had never needed. Need implied weakness. It made him vulnerable and that scared him. Her accusation that his behaviour shamed him cut deep. It stung and angered because it was true.

  Louise had been determined to gain his attention. First she had sent a letter of condolence to the office. Then she had begun meeting him in the street as he walked the length of the town between Greenbank and Bonython’s Yard on Bar Road. He had quickly recognised the encounters as contrived rather than chance.

  Caseley’s desolation, the knowledge that he had failed her when she needed him most, had crucified him with guilt. He could not reach her. But if he had, what comfort could he have offered? What did he say to a loving mother whose sons had died in her arms?

  He would have given his life for his boys. Instead theirs had been snuffed out far, far too soon. Caseley had been inconsolable. And he, on whom they all depended, could not retrieve what had been lost nor mend what was broken. So he had sought escape.

  He despised himself. Louise might have pushed herself at him, but he had taken advantage of her. Telling Caseley that Louise meant nothing to him was the brutal truth. He had done nothing unusual. More than half the businessmen in Falmouth had connections outside marriage. Most of the wives knew. But, provided a husband was discreet, they were willing to look the other way.

  Not Caseley.

  Her defiance shouldn’t have surprised him. She had defied convention in so much else. But it had wrong-footed him, and he had reacted as any proud man would when challenged. He was master in his world. Though he listened to his crew and to Toby, the yard foreman, all decisions were his, and his word was law.

  But in truth she was right. She did deserve better. From this moment, Louise was out of his life. There would be no others. He wanted – needed – only Caseley.

  On this journey her acceptance of demanding conditions had amazed him. He had taken at face value her reassurance that she was comfortable with the Bedouin women because it left him free to focus on discussions with the elders.

  This evening, for the first time since – in nearly a year, both of them had bared their souls. Realising how much she meant to him was terrifying.

  Returning to the tent where he was staying, he looked for Pawlyn and felt his muscles tighten at the frown on the journalist’s face.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked quietly. ‘I thought we were hopeful of agreement.’

  The journalist looked up. ‘I suspect – actually, I’m almost certain, that hope is as much as we will achieve. You will have to decide whether it is worth leaving the gold here as a token of good faith. Though to take it back with us –’

  Jago was already shaking his head. ‘We can’t. It would be an open admission of failure, and might even be seen as an insult. I’m very aware that few people know we are here. I won’t do anything that might jeopardise the safety of – of any of our party. Is that what was worrying you?’

  ‘No, though naturally I am disappointed not to be able to claim unqualified success, especially after all our efforts. The truth is my mind was on something else. Your mission is not the only matter being discussed at this gathering.’

  Emotionally exhausted, Caseley slept deeply, undisturbed by the singing and chatter. When she woke soon after sunrise she lay for a few moments, surprised by her calm. Perhaps she was simply numb after such violent emotional upheaval. At last the truth was out. A weight had been lifted. Now it was up to him.

  Three hou
rs later, after shaking out rugs and blankets, she watched Zainab open a cloth containing a lump of salted milk solids then break off chunks, roll them into balls and set them on a tray to dry in the sun.

  ‘They are called jameed,’ Sabra explained. ‘They will keep for a year without spoiling.’

  ‘How do you use them?’

  ‘Break them up and soak the pieces in water overnight. In the morning give the mixture a brisk stir, then it is ready to be added to meat and broth for a yoghurt-based sauce.’

  Sabra left, and Caseley took her place beside Fayruz. She was flipping dough between her palms when Antonia hurried over.

  ‘Caseley, come and sit for me. Please?’ she added.

  Dusting flour from her hands, Caseley stood up. She held up her splayed fingers to indicate five minutes then realised Fayruz wouldn’t know what she meant.

  ‘How do I say in Arabic that I will be back very soon?’ she asked, listening carefully while Antonia, openly impatient, rattled off the phrase. Caseley repeated it as best she could. Fayruz nodded, her smile fading as her gaze switched from Caseley to Antonia, then returned to the dough.

  ‘I cannot imagine why you do it.’ Antonia headed towards her camera set up on its tripod by the rocks.

  ‘No,’ Caseley agreed. She would never tell anyone that after her conversation with Jago she desperately needed an anchor, and found it in sharing domestic jobs with women who accepted her presence as they moved about the tent or chatted around the fire. She felt less of an outsider among Fayruz’s family than she had during dinner with Maud Williamson at the Consulate.

  Antonia directed her to a rock then crouched to rearrange her robes into graceful folds around her sandaled feet. ‘Cover your face so only your eyes are showing.’

  Caseley didn’t move. ‘You want people to think I’m a Bedouin woman?’

  Antonia waved the question aside. ‘They will think what they want. We both know you aren’t. But if you don’t cover your face you look like a European dressed for a masquerade. Sitting among the rocks with your face veiled and camels in the background, the image is so much more evocative. Please, Caseley? The women won’t help and there’s no other way for me to get a photograph.’