by Beth Elliot
‘Oh, thank Heavens,’ whispered Rose. She closed her eyes, realising just what a weight was rolling off her shoulders. She was recalled to the present by his velvet voice, saying softly, ‘but at the same time I am sad, because it means that we will lose your charming company here.’
The sound of boots striking on the stones of the path made them both turn. Tom was approaching. His face was set and he did not smile as he bowed.
Kerim Pasha repeated his news.
Tom’s expression lightened. ‘I was certain you would manage to get information almost as fast as a bird can fly,’ he said. ‘I am all admiration, Your Excellency. I wish we could communicate with the same speed.’ He gave Rose an enquiring look. ‘I take it this helps to settle your plans?’
Kerim Pasha waved towards the kiosk. ‘I would urge you to go in, out of the sun while you discuss this. Excuse me now.’
Rose sat down, deep in thought. Eventually she looked up and met Tom’s serious gaze. ‘My aunt does not yet know about Sir Philip leaving Egypt but I am sure she will now be in a great hurry to sail for England. When must we embark?’
‘The frigate will sail in two days’ time.’ Tom’s voice was dull. His head was bent. She saw his broad shoulders move as he heaved a sigh.
‘Have you had bad news?’ she ventured after waiting for some time.
He sat in silence, rubbing his knuckles. Finally he glanced briefly at her, then looked away. ‘I received a letter from my brother Freddy.’ He hesitated, ‘you remember him?’
‘Yes, indeed I do.’
Tom heaved another deep sigh. ‘Apparently my father died at the end of last year.’
‘I’m very sorry,’ began Rose but broke off when he shot her an angry look.
‘Don’t be!’
She stared in shock. He sat there, a scowl on his face. Rose waited in growing alarm, not daring to ask any questions. It seemed there had been a rift between Tom and his father. At last he raised his head. There was a fierce light in his eyes. His mouth twisted unpleasantly. ‘My father banished me,’ he growled. ‘I have not seen him – in fact I’ve scarcely set foot in England since that November when you and I…’
Rose jumped up and turned to face the garden. She clutched the lattice rail. ‘Don’t talk of it,’ she said breathlessly.
‘No,’ he said in a gloomy voice. ‘You must be relieved that soon you will be reunited with your husband.’
Rose felt the blood drain from her cheeks. There was a hissing in her ears. ‘You didn’t know?’ she whispered at last. ‘My husband was killed in action over two years ago.’ Slowly she turned to face him again.
Tom was sitting staring up at her. His face was white, his dark eyes wide.
*
Two days later, Rose and Helena watched from the bridge as their ship slowly cast off from its mooring at the port of Kadikoy close to the mouth of the Golden Horn. They had said their farewells to Latife and Kerim Pasha and all his household earlier. It had been an emotional parting. Latife clung to Rose. Kerim Pasha was urbane and charming but showed very plainly that he was reluctant to see her leave his house.
Already, as the ship turned southwards and the wind caught the sails, Helena’s adoring slave was answering her eager questions about the many buildings along the shores. Sebastian was obviously walking on air. The Ambassador had decided to send him to London with dispatches, and as an escort for the ladies on the voyage.
On the quayside Tom stood ramrod straight, watching them depart. Rose clung to the rail, her eyes on his steadily receding figure. She thought of his face, so white and shocked when he learned she was a widow. And of his anger against the father who had banished him.
She drew in a shaky breath. No doubt George and Augusta had gone rushing to inform the old man about his son ‘seducing’ her at the ball where his older son was getting engaged. They had truly poisoned that occasion for all concerned. Perhaps Tom had no more choice than herself at that time. So this chance encounter in Constantinople had been for the best. Now she understood why he had kept away from her, all those years ago, she could forgive him and face the future without the burden of resentment.
She gazed towards the quay but already it was just a blur as the frigate picked up speed, rising and dipping to the waves. How different their lives might have been. Rose blinked away a tear. ‘Goodbye Constantinople,’ she whispered, ‘goodbye, Tom.’
Tom watched until the ship was just a dot on the edge of his vision. ‘Goodbye, Rose,’ he muttered. Now she had gone, he knew he would have preferred to carry on enduring the agony of seeing her each day even when she was out of reach. At last he turned away and began to walk slowly in the direction of the Embassy.
He was feeling more lonely than for many years. He tried to focus on the next task he would be called on to carry out. Perhaps he could find something more actively dangerous than this current job, a mission that would occupy his thoughts and tax all his ingenuity. But his thoughts kept returning to the great hole that had opened up in his life.
Suddenly, he heard a shout and the next moment there was an almighty crash just as someone hurtled into him, pushing him sideways into a doorway.
‘What the-?’ Winded and bruised, Tom scrambled to his feet, clenching his fists ready to defend himself. But the man who had cannoned into him did not move. In fact, Tom saw he had one arm in a sling and he was rubbing it as if it hurt badly.
‘You always in trouble, Ingiliz,’ said his ex-cell-mate. ‘Take more care.’
‘What happened?’ Tom looked at the chunks of masonry so very close by. He brushed his coat down, retrieved his hat and made an attempt to smooth his hair.
‘You have enemies in this city. That stone meant for you. Kismet - I near. I go now.’ The thin, narrow-faced man stepped back.
‘No – wait. You just saved my life. Your name is Ali, isn’t it?’
The man frowned. ‘Better forget my name.’
Tom gestured at the broken arm. ‘Do you need any help?’
The man gave a twisted smile. ‘You get me out of jail. Take care, Ingiliz.’ He slipped away before Tom could say any more.
It was a very sober Tom who arrived at the Embassy soon afterwards. He sat down to take stock of his life. Whatever the outcome of his report, his work in Constantinople was done. And maybe, just maybe, it was time for him to visit England again.
You’re a fool, he warned himself. She did not want any further contact with you. And what about Kerim Pasha? He shrugged all these doubts away, something deep inside told him it was worth a try.
Chapter Fourteen
London, October 1804
‘Taffeta!’ said Lady Westacote firmly. ‘That was what our ball gowns were made from when I was a girl.’ She gave a reminiscent sigh. ‘Ah, my first formal gown… blue taffeta, tight waisted and with panniers. It was so delightful. I remember I had long lace ruffles at the elbow and satin ribbons to fasten the front over a slip of white silk.’
Helena rolled her eyes at Madame Lisette, the modiste. ‘Yes, Aunt, we have seen your portrait where you are wearing that gown, at Rivercourt.’
‘It’s a charming picture,’ said Rose hastily, ‘but fashions have changed. The line of the dress is completely different now, Aunt Emily. And as for lace ruffles…they do not go with these new puff sleeves.’
‘Hmph!’ Aunt Emily twitched her shoulders. ‘I really cannot wear those.’
‘But, milady, we ’ave made your gown wiz long sleeves.’ protested Madame Lisette, ‘-and added a pleat at ze back so you will not find ze skirt too narrow.’ She turned the lavender coloured crepe dress to demonstrate. Lady Westacote nodded reluctantly. ‘I will do ze same for your walking dress also,’ the dressmaker promised her.
By now the assistants had helped Rose into her new evening gown, a slender column of jonquil silk. She looked at her reflection and bit her lower lip. ‘The bosom is cut very low.’
‘But zis is ze Classical line, ze very latest mode. See ’ow well you look, madame.
Wiz your figure, zis style is made for you.’ she urged, ‘and we can add different trimmings to ze neckline.’
‘Indeed, Rose, it looks delightful.’ Helena assured her. ‘See, here is my gown.’ She took the amber silk from the assistant. ‘I warrant it is as low cut as yours.’
Madame Lisette clasped her hands. ‘You ’ave excellent taste, mademoiselle. You will be ravissante in zat colour.’ She raised a finger and the assistants scurried to bring out the day dresses that had been ordered and which were now ready for approval.
Helena’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh, how charming. The line is so simple and elegant.’ She seized a sprigged muslin dress from an assistant, admiring the pleating on the sleeves and neckline.
Both sisters bent over the dresses, well satisfied with their choices. Rose had selected a moss green walking dress in fine cambric. The front was made high, ornamented with darker green velvet frogging across the bodice and on the sleeves. Helena was gloating over a cherry red day dress with several rows of pin tucks at the hem.
Watching the sparkle of triumph in her sister’s eyes, Rose was certain that Helena was planning to charm Max Kendal. She liked fashion and had a good eye for colour but had never shown interest in such dashing gowns before. When Helena then picked up a pale pink muslin with delicate ruching at the hem and round the neckline, Rose was sure of it. Her sister would look stunning in these gowns. But it would not do to say anything yet.
They had finally met up with their uncle and Max at Portsmouth, where the men had waited for them to arrive back in England after an uneventful voyage from Constantinople. News of their journey had been signalled from their frigate to any other British boats they met, so both sides had gleaned a little news of the others during the weeks it took to reach England.
The two men were in good health if rather baked from their time in the hot desert sunshine. They explained that they had prolonged their stay at Saqqara to study the layout of the massive temple complex there and look for the entrance to the pyramid. They had collected a large quantity of papyri and figurines, as well as stone tablets and pots.
When they finally returned to Cairo to find the ladies driven out, unprotected, there had been all hell to pay, rumbled Sir Philip, his normally cheerful face darkening, but that was all he was prepared to tell them. Helena had pressed Max for more details but he told her that he had sorted the matter out with the Consul. When she insisted, he simply gave her his famous impression of being a statue.
At Portsmouth, they bade farewell to Sebastian, and thanked him for looking after them so carefully all the way from Constantinople. He had orders to make all haste to London with letters from the Ambassador for various ministers. During the voyage he had become like a member of the family and they abandoned any formality. They were on first name terms and teased him mercilessly about his fashionable aspirations.
The ladies waved him off with fond promises to meet up again in London at the beginning of October. Max made no comment on this or on Sebastian’s obvious infatuation with Helena. He watched from under his craggy brows, his grey eyes piercing and his face impassive. Lean and handsome in a brooding kind of way, Max was always a law unto himself. His restless energy sometimes made him a tiring companion but he was an old friend and they were used to his ways.
He had accompanied them as far as Rivercourt, Sir Philip and Lady Westacote’s charming old house on the banks of the Thames at Caversham near the market town of Reading. They spent a couple of days planning an exhibition they would set up at the British Museum in October. Leaving the Westacotes to write their papers and Rose to complete the drawings required by everyone, Max had then travelled on to Warwickshire to assist his elderly father, Lord Fennington, with matters of business on his estates. Now, after several weeks in the country to rest and prepare all their materials, the antiquaries were in London to deliver lectures and set out their treasures.
It was Uncle Philip who insisted that the ladies must all have new clothes. ‘I feel it is important for people to see we can be bang up to the latest fashion. Demme! We cannot have these gals turning out in those harem garments they brought back from Constantinople.’
And so they were in Madame Lisette’s boutique in Rumbold Street, following their uncle’s orders to the letter. Lady Westacote, having made her choice of dresses rapidly, had lost interest now.
‘But, Aunt, you need a new wrap to go with the lavender dress,’ Rose coaxed her. Lady Westacote shrugged and sniffed but Madame Lisette speedily drew her attention to a three quarter length coat of a deeper shade of lavender, and with a wide, shawl collar in velvet. It was most attractive and Rose was not surprised when her aunt took a second, more interested look, then smiled and nodded agreement.
Now their aunt was equipped, both sisters tried on the pelisses that had been made for them. Rose selected a green coat to tone with her new walking dress and Helena decided on a deep blue velvet spencer.
‘Girls, have you finished yet?’ Lady Westacote clapped her hands together in a fever of impatience. ‘There is scarcely time for lunch before we must set off for the exhibition.’
‘Everything fits perfectly, thank goodness.’ Rose smiled at the seamstress who was assisting her out of the new coat. She turned to Madame Lisette. ‘Will you have these garments sent round at once, if you please?’
‘Is there anything else?’ asked Lady Westacote fretfully as soon as they were out of the shop.
‘Shoes, scarves, gloves and muffs, hats…’ Rose gave a peal of laughter at her aunt’s horrified face. ‘Not today. We will leave all those items for tomorrow.’
They quickly covered the short distance to Sir Philip’s fine house in Half Moon Street. The clock in the entrance hall was striking twelve when Hudson, the white haired butler, admitted them. Shedding their outdoor wraps in haste, the ladies trooped into the dining room. Here they found Sir Philip, standing at the window, a glass of wine in his hand.
‘Ah, there you are, my dears,’ he beamed, ‘and mighty punctual –especially for ladies who were out shopping for clothes.’ He chuckled and set his glass down on the table just as the door opened again to admit the butler.
‘Come, everyone, make haste.’ Lady Westacote was already pulling out her chair. ‘Here is Hudson all ready to serve our meal.’
‘But I thought Max was to join us here?’ Helena frowned, hesitating.
‘He said we were on no account to wait for him,’ replied her uncle. ‘He is no doubt still arranging the exhibits to his taste.’
‘And anyway, he scarcely ever spends much time at the table,’ said Lady Westacote, ‘it is no wonder he is so lean.’
Helena pouted and came to join them at the table. There was silence as they began to eat. Helena was decidedly cross and each time Rose glanced at her she saw her sister was just picking at the food on her plate. By contrast, Rose found the meal excellent and ate with a good appetite. She was feeling pleased at the idea of new dresses. In addition there was a round of social events planned. This was the kind of life she had dreamt of for so long. She promised herself she would accept each and every invitation.
The door opened and Hudson came in. ‘The items from the boutique have been delivered, your ladyship.’ As he turned to go out, there was a loud knock at the front door. Helena brightened. A minute later, Max walked in, impeccably dressed in a dark blue jacket and buckskins. His linen was sparkling white and he looked extremely handsome. His usual restless energy was transformed into eager anticipation today.
‘My apologies,’ he said, striding to the table and seating himself. ‘I am sure you will excuse me for being late when I tell you that everything is set out now exactly as you wished at the British Museum.’ He raised his quizzing glass and inspected the remains of the sirloin. ‘Ah, that is just what I need at present.’
Lady Westacote beamed at him. ‘I knew we could rely on you to see to everything, dear Max. And allow me to compliment you on your attire. So smart.’
He grinned at her as he set sever
al thick slices of meat on his plate. ‘An improvement on the garments I wear in the desert, certainly. But then, anything would be.’
They all laughed. Sir Philip poured wine for Max. Lady Westacote glanced at the clock again.
‘I am glad to see you have an appetite, Max. While you eat, we ladies will change our clothes and then we can set off. Come girls, let us hurry.’
The gentlemen stood as the ladies left the table. Max grinned at Sir Philip and reached for the mustard. ‘That means I have time to make a good meal.’
Sir Philip winked. ‘And I can enjoy a glass of port.’
Rose heard them laughing as she sped up the stairs. Both she and Helena dressed quickly in their new walking dresses and coats. Snatching up their bonnets, they went to see how their aunt was getting on with her new dress.
‘You look very well, dear Aunt Emily,’ Rose assured her. ‘With this clever pleat down the back you will not feel constricted at all. And the colour suits your fair complexion perfectly.’
‘Even without lace ruffles and panniers,’ muttered Helena but Rose frowned at her to be quiet. This was an important occasion and she wanted her aunt to feel both comfortable and smart. They trooped back downstairs. The men appeared in the doorway and inspected them thoroughly.
‘Charming,’ said Max. His gaze swept all three but then lingered on Helena. Her cherry red dress emphasised her shining dark hair and big brown eyes. There was a distinct gleam in Max’s eyes and a suspicion of a smile crossed his face.
Sir Philip raised his quizzing glass to inspect his wife’s appearance. ‘You look er… different, my dear. But very smart,’ he added hastily as she began to bridle. ‘All the crack. Makes a change from the old style but we must move with the times, eh?’
Max shrugged into his caped greatcoat and took his hat from Hudson. ‘Sir Philip, with your permission, I shall take Helena in my curricle. You will wish to escort Lady Westacote and Rose in the carriage.’