by Beth Elliot
Helena had already run down the steps. She was absolutely edible in her new red dress.
Rose heard Max saying, ‘I doubt if the visitors will even notice the exhibits,’ as he followed her sister out into the street. Rose suppressed a sigh and walked sedately behind her aunt and uncle to the carriage. Nobody was showing any interest in her new clothes. She thought back to the time in Kerim Pasha’s mansion and the interest shown in her appearance by both the Pasha and Tom.
The memory brought a wistful smile to her face. She passed the journey in recalling all the sunny afternoons spent in discussions in that charming little white kiosk in the sweet scented garden overlooking the Golden Horn. She was feeling a certain regret at the change of scene when she realised the coach had stopped. Well, she was smartly dressed and perhaps she would make a few agreeable acquaintances. Rose pasted a smile on her face as she prepared to alight from the coach. Now she must give all her attention to supporting her aunt and uncle with their exhibition – if anyone was interested in this ancient civilisation. Rose hoped there would be a few visitors, at least.
Chapter Fifteen
The exhibition was a huge success. Visitors had crowded in from the moment it opened. Two hours later, Rose could see her aunt and Helena still talking busily to a crowd gathered round the table where they had set out the papyri, together with sheets of paper showing some of the symbols. Judging by the noise in that part of the hall, everyone was excited by this ancient writing.
She glanced over to where her uncle and Max were escorting a group of gentlemen round the vast hall. She could hear animated talk and much laughter so it seemed they were enjoying their tour. All the artefacts found by the expedition had been set out, together with a number of statues and stone plaques brought back a few years earlier.
Rose’s task was to explain facts about the pots and figurines. She had a constant stream of young ladies and their mamas attracted to these fascinating items. She also kept an eye on the table where all her drawings of the pyramids at Giza were displayed. It made her smile to hear the exclamations of wonder at the grand scale of these buildings. To Rose’s secret surprise, Ancient Egyptian civilisation seemed set to become a fashion.
When at last there was a lull in the crowd, Rose wandered over to the Rosetta Stone with its perfectly chiselled lines of text in three languages. One day, perhaps, her aunt and Helena would work out the meaning of the hieroglyphs. She stroked a finger over the carved symbols, smiling a little as she wondered what that language would sound like.
Then a voice spoke behind her. She went rigid with shock, her finger still on the line of hieroglyphic text. Surely it was not possible… and yet, she knew that deep and mellow tone. Her heart began to beat faster. She could not turn round, not yet. It could not be him, she had bade him farewell in his sunlit garden on the banks of the Golden Horn, over four months ago. She recalled his lean face, austere but softened by a warm smile as she had thanked him and wished him well with his plans.
It had been hard to say goodbye. Rose had felt secure in that house -although she realised that she was staying there under very unusual circumstances. The women in the harem did not have the freedom that had been given to the English guests and Rose knew she could not accept the restricted way of life they lived.
The voice spoke again. She must be mistaken but it was just too intriguing. Very slowly, she turned round until she was facing the direction the voice had come from. Max and his group of visitors were standing round her drawings. She immediately focused on one tall figure. He was the right height but this gentleman bore no resemblance to Kerim Pasha.
For a start he was clean shaven. His glossy black hair was brushed into a fashionable style. He had magnificent side whiskers. His clothes had obviously come from a top tailor and fitted him perfectly. Jacket, buckskins, gleaming boots, impeccable linen, top hat and gloves, everything of the best and everything undeniably in the English style.
Rose blinked. She looked again. Were her eyes functioning properly? Before she could decide, Max was ushering the group towards her. She dragged her eyes away reluctantly from the mystery gentleman and turned towards Max. He flashed her a brilliant smile. That meant he was pleased with his success this afternoon. He came up and took her hand, pulling her a little way forward.
‘Gentlemen, you were admiring these fine sketches. Allow me to present our artist, Mrs Charteris. It is thanks to her patient work that you can see where all these treasures come from – as well as how much work is left for us to do when we return to Egypt.’
The gentlemen murmured compliments. One or two of them clapped. Rose attempted a general smile. She stood with her hands clasped together tightly. This was a moment of triumph for her but she was more concerned with solving the mystery. Could she ask Max who his guest was? The gentleman she was interested in made no sign that he recognised her. She watched as they all followed Max back to the table. He was talking eagerly and from time to time he indicated something and the others bent over the drawings, nodding and murmuring.
Rose went slowly back to her figurines. She was rearranging them idly when she heard a step behind her. It was Max. And beside him was the mysterious gentleman.
‘May I present a colleague from Hungary? Count Varoshenyi has come to London especially for this exhibition. He is most impressed by your artistic talent.’
Rose looked from Max to the “Count” and caught the warning in his eyes as he inclined his head.
‘My compliments, madam,’ he said loudly. ‘Such fine work. I had to express my admiration.’
‘I say, Kendal, can you spare a minute to explain this?’ came a call from one of the group. With a murmur of apology, Max turned away. Rose was left face to face with Kerim Pasha. She drew in a deep breath. Her heart quickened its beat.
‘It is you!’ she whispered, leaning forward. Her very blue eyes were wide with amazement.
His hawklike face betrayed nothing. Only his eyes gleamed a message. He took a step back, executed a sharp little bow and rejoined the group of men, already moving away down the hall. Rose stood rooted to the spot, the unspoken questions trembling on the tip of her tongue. Before she had time even to turn back to her place, Lady Benson and her two fat daughters rushed up to her.
‘Oh, Mrs Charteris, do tell us what he is like. We could not but see how very handsome he is. Such a distinguished air!’ Lady Benson clasped her hands to her bosom and stared soulfully at Kerim Pasha’s straight back as he walked away.
‘How fortunate you are to speak with the most handsome man in the room. Pray what is his name? Where is he from? Is he staying in Town?’ The daughters were breathless with eagerness.
Rose dealt with their vulgar curiosity as best she could, realising how wise Kerim Pasha had been to pretend he was a stranger. In a very few minutes, she was surrounded by a crowd of young ladies, all agog to find out what they could about the newcomer. The words Hungarian and Count echoed round until Rose felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment.
At last it was time to leave the exhibition for a rest and tea at a nearby hotel. Rose sipped her drink in silence. She could not attend to any of the conversation. Her mind was full of questions about what Kerim Pasha was doing in London and why he was in disguise. It must be the next step in those plans for army reform. So it was very urgent and it gratified her that she had played a part – even if a very small one - in the scheme.
It had been a long and eventful day. Rose smoothed down the skirt of her new green dress. She had noticed Lady Benson examining it closely and felt pleased that it was so very stylish. It was still fresh and uncreased, which was good since there was no time to go home and change. In another hour her aunt was going to give a talk about her discoveries and her first attempts at unlocking the secrets of the hieroglyphs.
It was not quite the evening entertainment Rose dreamed of but she owed her uncle and aunt so much that she wanted to assist them in any way possible. This exhibition was so important to them. With the discipline
of long practice, Rose schooled her face into a calm expression. She had learnt the skill during that tormented year when she was a prisoner at home, with Augusta’s sneers and taunts forever in her ears.
Later, she had needed it when living with her husband’s family, where she soon found that her parents-in-law considered her to be a burden on their housekeeping. Hugh’s wages had not been sufficient for the young couple to set up their own home.
It seemed to Rose that she would never have the means to enjoy the kind of life she longed for, with lively entertainment and friends who enjoyed social gatherings and smart clothes. Time was passing. But thanks to her drawings, she made enough money to have some choices. And for the present, they were fixed in London, so there would be some social events to attend.
*
The conference room was crowded. Rose took a quick survey. She noticed Lady Benson and her daughters in the audience and smiled inwardly. Egyptian art and language was certainly a new interest for them.
‘Goodness!’ exclaimed her aunt, pleased, ‘I did not expect to see so many people here. And most of them are ladies. Now that is promising.’ Lady Westacote bustled up to the front of the room to arrange her notes and illustrations.
Max strolled in and consulted with Lady Westacote. Helena joined in and the three of them seemed launched in a private discussion that had them all eager faced and animated. Rose smiled to herself that such matters could be so enthralling. At last Max seized Helena by the arm.
‘Enough.’ he said firmly, ‘Let your aunt decide. Come, I have kept seats for us all down here. He led them to the seats near the back of the room. Sir Philip joined them a moment later. Rose noticed how fondly he was smiling as he watched his wife.
Helena leaned forward to address her three companions. ‘Look at this crowd,’ she whispered, ‘It does seem we have set off a new interest,’
Max gave a low laugh. ‘So you can find more enthusiasts for your work?’
Rose kept silent. In her opinion the large number of ladies in the audience had come in the hope of seeing Kerim Pasha again. Her aunt and Helena must be the only two females in London who were unaware of his arrival and who were not scheming to invite this handsome and eligible ‘Count’ to a party or a dinner.
Lady Westacote had finished her main talk and was taking questions when Rose became aware of a tall figure lounging against the wall nearby. He certainly had not been there when the talk began. She felt a strange sensation along her spine. She glanced under her lashes at this latecomer. In disbelief she registered the long muscled legs, the powerful shoulders, the imposing nose – and the blond-streaked brown hair, waving wildly as usual.
Still watching from the corners of her eyes, she saw him turn his head, searching the audience. His gaze was just coming up to her row when she bent her head down, pretending to pick a thread of lint from the skirt of her new gown. At last she straightened up again and glanced cautiously to her left. Tom Hawkesleigh kept cropping up in her life. Rose was not sure whether she felt more pleased or alarmed about it.
As she looked, yet again she felt a shock of disbelief. Next to Tom was Sebastian, but a Sebastian with his arm in a sling and with a livid scar on his cheek. Rose stared in horror. When they had waved goodbye to him in Portsmouth, he had been in good health and cheerful. Now he looked pale and ill.
He saw her looking at him and nodded in greeting. The question session was over, people were beginning to talk generally. Rose hastily made her way to his side, looking her concern.
‘Oh, Sebastian, whatever has happened? When we last saw you, all was well.’
‘Highwaymen,’ he said briefly. ‘They broke my arm but I am alright now.’ When she would have asked for more details, he broke in abruptly, ‘What about you?’ He smiled at her. ‘But I can see you are well. And your aunt and Helena?’
Rose gestured towards her sister, standing beside Lady Westacote now and talking animatedly. ‘As you see. She is well and happy, thank you. But they will be very sorry to see you like this.’
She had not yet acknowledged Tom although she was acutely aware of him standing so close beside her. Now he cleared his throat. ‘Your aunt seems to be fully recovered from her fever,’ he rumbled. ‘Deuced sharp mind she has. Amazing ideas. And nobody went to sleep. I was watching to see.’
In spite of herself, Rose had to laugh. She looked up into Tom’s dark eyes and saw how they lit up in response to her smile. He looked thinner than when she had last seen him. There were lines beside his mouth. In spite of her determination never to forget how he had made her suffer, Rose felt a pang. Something stirred inside her that felt very like tenderness.
He was still watching her, a wry smile on his face now. ‘Seb here has told me that your journey home was uneventful, thank heavens. Are you quite settled in London now?’
‘For the present, we are busy with the exhibition and these talks. My uncle and his friend are trying to raise funds for another expedition to Egypt.’
Tom raised an eyebrow. ‘So they want to go back?’
Rose nodded and gave a reluctant smile.
‘Well, it cannot be done overnight,’ rumbled Tom. ‘I think you will have time to catch your breath.’
She wanted to ask him about Kerim Pasha but he was looking towards Lady Westacote. ‘Excuse me, I must pay my compliments to your aunt.’ He bowed and strolled away.
Rose watched her aunt receive him with a formal dignity. She soon thawed, however as Tom continued talking. Sebastian chuckled. ‘He is the most complete hand, is he not? Able to charm the birds off the trees.’
‘That is my aunt you are talking about!’
His face changed. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon.’ His apologetic look changed to a grin as she burst out laughing.
‘Yes, my aunt has not forgotten his initial hostility. But if she had not pardoned him before, she certainly has now. Come, let us join them.’
As they walked towards the group at the front of the room, she noticed Sebastian limping. Rose put a hand on his arm. ‘You were really badly treated by those ruffians.’
He grimaced and nodded but said nothing.
Sir Philip was inviting Tom to dine with them the following day. He insisted on including Sebastian in the invitation.
‘And now, my dear,’ he said to his wife, ‘I do think it is time to call it a day here. It has been a capital success, capital. But at present we are all exhausted.’
At once, Rose found Tom by her side. ‘May I have the honour of driving you home?’
She opened her mouth to refuse. Then she saw Max offering his arm to Helena. She took a deep breath. ‘Thank you. That would be delightful.’
They set off behind Max’s curricle but soon lost it in the evening traffic. Rose waited until Tom had negotiated his team through the busy crossing into Piccadilly. He seemed to be in a good mood.
‘I wanted to ask you about Sebastian,’ she said.
‘Sebastian, is it?’ His voice was a growl. ‘You are mighty friendly with him, then?’
‘Who could resist him,’ she replied calmly. ‘I do believe Aunt Emily thinks of him as a son.’
The only response from Tom was a sniff.
‘He was always helpful to us. And you were very unwelcoming when we first arrived in Constantinople,’ she pointed out.
Tom shot her a sideways glance. ‘I had less than an hour to do those curst sketches.’
‘Is that why you and Kerim Pasha are here in London?’
The horses broke into a canter as Tom’s hands slackened on the reins. He got his team back under control and demanded in a thunderous tone, ‘Who told you he is in London?’
When Rose explained about the exhibition he sighed. ‘Trouble!’ He said no more until he drew up in Half Moon Street. Then he glanced at her again, taking in her new green gown. ‘Pity you’re so damned beautiful.’
‘I did not ask for insults!’ she snapped, preparing to get down from the curricle. ‘Thank you for the delightful drive, Mr Hawkesleigh.’
Rose swept away with her nose in the air. Behind her she heard a muffled curse.
Chapter Sixteen
The sound of the doorknocker came quite clearly into the sitting room. Rose and Helena looked at each other in dismay.
‘I declare, I cannot face any more visitors,’ grumbled Helena. ‘it has been an endless succession of mamas and daughters all morning. I wonder if they are truly interested in Egyptian antiquities or if their real aim is to show their daughters off to Max - who of course is not here.’ She stood up and smoothed her dress down. ‘I suppose he is rather good looking.’ she added thoughtfully.
Rose coughed to hide a smile. It would be no bad thing if Helena did feel a little jealous. But, while she agreed that Max was very handsome, in her opinion, the mamas were hoping for a glimpse of the mysterious “Count”. She went to peep in the mirror over the fireplace to tidy her curls. As she turned back she saw her sister whisking towards the door at the back of the room.
‘Helena! What are you doing?’
Her sister shook her head as she pulled the door open. ‘Sorry but I cannot endure any more false admiration for our intrepid adventures in Egypt,’ she whispered. ‘That was not what they were saying before we set off last year!’ She blew a kiss and gently closed the door behind her. At the same moment, Hudson appeared in the other doorway.
Rose assumed a social smile and braced herself. She turned to meet the next bunch of curious ladies.
‘Count Varow-shenyee.’ announced Hudson.
The surprise rooted Rose to the spot. She wavered for a second, then resolutely stepped forward to welcome him. He was devastatingly handsome in his claret coloured jacket and impeccable buckskins. She saw him smile as he moved towards her. He bowed over her hand. When he straightened up he gave her a keen look. Rose knew he had felt her hand tremble in his grasp. She was still too astonished to do more than stare at him.
‘You must pardon this intrusion,’ he said smoothly, his voice a delight to her ears, even in her flustered state. ‘I met Sir Philip earlier and he insisted I should call. And I owe you an apology for yesterday. It seemed better to appear to be strangers.’