April and May

by Beth Elliot

  A shadow crossed her face. When they returned to Cairo, there would be no events of this kind. She liked going to the play or to picture galleries. And she liked being part of polite society. It had been another source of pleasure to receive visitors during the interval. True, Lady Benson had been cold and hostile again but Rose was not going to let that spoil her evening.

  Their other visitors had been most welcome, especially Tom. Rose wondered why she felt so very pleased to see him. Perhaps it was because the sight of his tall, strong figure made her feel safe, especially after the fright she had experienced the day before. And this evening he looked very smart and handsome, and then he smiled at her just as he used to do when …

  Rose pulled herself up. It was not wise to think of that. But instinctively she turned her gaze towards the box where he and his companions had been sitting. To her surprise, they were all still there. In fact, Tom was watching her intently. Rose looked again, more closely. Tom stood up. He was definitely trying to attract her attention. Now he was signalling to her to come, then holding up his hands as if pleading. And he had a white cloth wrapped round one hand.

  ‘Helena,’ Rose pulled her sister closer. ‘Look over there. I don’t know why but they want us to help.’

  ‘It does seem so.’ Helena turned to Max.

  He was checking discreetly that Sir Philip had woken up. Max gave Rose a wink. ‘I think we’re ready to leave now.’

  ‘Yes, but pray can you tell what Mr Hawkesleigh wants?’ Helena indicated the box opposite.

  After one glance, Max jumped to his feet. ‘I’ll go ahead.’

  When the rest of the party reached the box, there was no sign of Max, the door was firmly closed and Sebastian was standing in front of it. He greeted them with studied politeness and engaged Sir Philip and Lady Westacote in conversation. Somehow they were all walking down the stairs together. Rose was surprised but she supposed that the others had already gone on.

  A moment after they reached the vestibule, Sebastian disappeared. Rose suddenly knew that something bad had happened. She thought of the conversation she had overheard at Somerset House. She put a hand to her mouth to stifle her gasp of fear. You fool! Tom’s hand was bandaged. She whirled round, scarcely conscious of what she was doing. She must help him. She flew up the stairs but at the top she collided with Tom. He gripped her arm, none too gently.

  ‘I was afraid you would do that,’ he rumbled, obliging her to turn round and walk down the steps again. ‘Just act normally. We need you to stay with us for the moment.’

  ‘You’re hurt?’ she whispered.

  ‘It’s nothing. We are all fine but we must get away before….’ He broke off.

  Rose shook her arm free. ‘You were asking for help. I saw you.’

  He nodded. ‘And you sent it. Mr Kendal is assisting us.’

  She gave a huff of exasperation. ‘I don’t understand this. But I must clean your hand. How it bleeds. It needs stitching.’

  Tom muttered something and pulled the sodden cloth tighter. Rose fumbled in her cloak pocket. ‘Here.’ She handed him her own handkerchief. She then noticed Kerim Pasha walking behind them. His face was harsh, his gaze cold and keen, darting from left to right as if watching for a would-be attacker. Then she saw that he also had a bloodstained cloth wrapped round his right hand. It was partly concealed by the folds of his greatcoat but there were smears of blood on the skirts of the buff coloured fabric.

  Rose swallowed hard. She wanted to know what other injuries they had sustained. But they had reached her waiting uncle and aunt.

  ‘Come, my dear,’ said Sir Philip, still sleepy. ‘Our carriage is waiting.’ He nodded at Tom. ‘We shall see you gentlemen at dinner tomorrow.’

  ‘Is Mr Kendal not with you?’ asked Helena.

  ‘He is kindly helping us with some business.’ said Tom grandly.

  Helena shrugged. ‘Very well.’ She followed her uncle and aunt towards the door.

  Rose still hesitated. She looked from Kerim Pasha to Tom. Then Sebastian appeared. Following him were several tough looking men. Rose could sense Tom’s relief at the sight of them. By now, she was imagining all kinds of dreadful events. Still, they were all here and Max had only joined them five minutes ago, so he must be alright. But she wanted an explanation. She raised her eyes to Tom’s face.

  He gave her a half smile. ‘Thank you. Please go! We shall be fine now.’

  Kerim Pasha did not speak. He seemed hardly to see her. After an instant’s wavering, she nodded and followed Lady Westacote outside.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Tom winced as old Hanley stitched the torn flesh together. ‘Are you sure that is a proper needle you are using?’ he growled between clenched teeth. ‘It feels like a fork.’

  ‘All done,’ Hanley surveyed his work with pride. ‘That’ll heal all proper, that will, Cap’n. But as for your clothes-’ He broke off and shook his head. ‘In a proper mess, ain’t they?’

  ‘It was a price worth paying,’ put in Kerim Pasha. ‘We can always get new clothes. Now we have drawn the villains out into the open. I think they will keep coming. They are desperate to spoil my mission.’ His eyes gleamed and he threw back his head and laughed.

  Hanley rolled his eyes and muttered, ‘Well, I never! His hand is all cut to ribbons an’ he can laugh like a boy.’

  Kerim Pasha held up his stitched and bandaged hand. ‘I am an old soldier, like you, Hanley. In times of war, such minor injuries are less than nothing, as you know.’

  Tom sat up straight. He wished he had not made that remark about the fork but borne the pain in silence. He looked at the suddenly smiling Pasha.

  ‘So what do we do now, sir?’

  ‘We keep offering them a chance to get close. Then we can pick them off one at a time or we send them for interrogation.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘There are some of them I would want to take back with me…’

  ‘The French ones?’ asked Tom, wondering what the Pasha intended.

  ‘If we can find them, yes.’ Kerim Pasha’s teeth showed.

  Tom felt just a little sorry for any French spy on that ship. Then he remembered how the thugs had beaten poor Seb and he shrugged.

  ‘By morning we should have some news of the two we caught this evening,’ went on the Pasha. ‘I wish I had my own men here to interrogate them.’

  ‘Oh, our fellows will do a good job, never fear,’ Tom exchanged a glance with Hanley. The former soldier was from a unit that now specialised in undercover work. Hanley winked and nodded agreement.

  They left the kitchen and Kerim Pasha indicated the library. ‘There is another matter I wish to discuss with you before we retire.’

  Once settled in chairs either side of the fire, he gave a sigh. Tom waited. Kerim Pasha stared into the flames for a long time. The silence stretched out. Tom began to wonder if he had offended in some way. He racked his brains. It had been a long day and he was sure the next day was going to be just as hard. A few hours’ sleep would be welcome. Then he noticed that Kerim Pasha was considering him earnestly.

  ‘I wish to talk about Rose,’ he announced.

  Tom frowned forbiddingly and shook his head. His thoughts on this subject were absolutely private. But Kerim Pasha was not deterred.

  It is clear to me that you and Rose are attached to each other,’ he continued.

  ‘-were attached,’ croaked Tom, ‘a long time ago.’ He scowled and looked away. What business was it of this man’s?

  A soft chuckle made him look up. ‘I am not blind, Tom. And I sense your anger when I get a smile from her.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘Yes, I am very attracted to her – but I see that she likes her life here and I also see how she looks at you.’ He held up a hand. ‘Do not frown at me for desiring her. She is beautiful in her character as well as her face. And she has such spirit. A man could search all his life and never find such a woman.’ He paused and rubbed his chin, smiling absently into the flames.

  Tom watched him, torn between anger a
t such an open avowal of desire and wonder at why the man wanted to discuss the matter. He bit back the angry retort that rose to his lips. Yet it was ridiculous to fight over her, when he was the one who had caused all her misfortunes. But she should have been his.

  The anger surged again as he recalled how she smiled at Kerim Pasha. It was plain that she enjoyed the man’s company. Yet she was not willing to give up her freedom even for all that he could offer. Poor Tom was not sure that made matters any less difficult to bear. He stole a look at his rival and was astounded to see that Kerim Pasha was watching him with a sympathetic smile on his face.

  ‘It is not a matter for discussion!’ snapped Tom, glaring at something clenched in his good hand.

  ‘Oh, but I think it is,’ responded his tormentor. ‘You look as if you wish to fight a duel with me. Believe me, that is not necessary. In a few days I shall be just a memory for both of you.’ He placed a hand on his heart as he added, ‘For Rose I am just an exotic man who appreciated her courageous spirit. Surely you will allow me that much?’

  Tom looked at him and Kerim Pasha held his gaze. At length Tom nodded reluctantly. ‘She is so beautiful,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I have never managed to forget her.’ He dashed a hand through his hair. ‘God knows I tried.’ He jumped up and strode restlessly round the room.

  Kerim Pasha waited patiently. At last Tom came to a halt, facing him. ‘It is not just because she is lovely to look at,’ He gestured despairingly. ‘We just seemed to fit together right from our first meeting.’ He turned away again and resumed his pacing. ‘But we were both so young. I had no money and my father was not willing…’ He struck his fist hard against the wall.

  ‘So you lost her.’ Kerim Pasha’s voice was thoughtful. He glanced at Tom’s broad back. ‘And now…’

  Tom swung round. ‘And now,’ he said, ‘she appears to prefer her independence.’ He glared at Kerim Pasha. ‘Or maybe…’ he bit off the rest of what he had been going to say.

  The other man shook his head slowly. ‘No!’ He got to his feet and put a hand on Tom’s shoulder. ‘You will find your way through this. I know it.’

  The door closed silently behind him. Tom stood rigid for a while. Then he went to the bureau and poured himself a measure of brandy. He took the glass back to his chair and sat down again. After a few sips, he shook his head and uncurled his fingers from the object he had been clutching. It was Rose’s handkerchief, spoiled now with bloodstains but still it was hers. His mouth twisted in a mocking smile. ‘You fool,’ he said and picked up his drink.

  *

  The sky was growing light and still Tom could not sleep. He went over the conversation for clues. Kerim Pasha had noticed something in Rose’s behaviour that told him she preferred Tom to himself. Tom was sure he looked like a lovelorn idiot whenever she appeared. And even if she did prefer him, it did not mean she was willing to give up her independence.

  She had developed an icy shell and he could find no way to crack it. She had made it plain that anything between them was in the past. Without a word being said, Tom knew her marriage had not been a happy one. That appalling sister-in-law had no doubt forced Rose into a speedy marriage for fear of scandal. How quick the harridan was to assume the worst.

  At last, he drifted into an exhausted sleep, into which came images of Rose riding away from him on a swift horse or else smiling her beautiful smile but never for him.

  *

  Rose was also lying awake, wondering what had caused the wounds on the men’s hands. They did not want any mention of the matter – and Max was likely to be just as taciturn. However, maybe she could get Sebastian to tell her what was happening. After what she had overheard at the British Institution, she understood Kerim Pasha was in danger – and that meant Tom also was in danger. Villains were even stalking them all in the Opera. She shuddered. Where they would strike next?

  She stifled a sigh and resisted the urge to get up and pace about. It would disturb her sister, who was sleeping peacefully. Although she was cross that Max had not returned at the end of the opera, Helena was not particularly interested in the undercurrent of intrigue that now enveloped them all.

  Lucky Helena, thought Rose. She sighed again, more loudly this time. If she was to look her best at the party, she must get some sleep. She turned over and determinedly set herself to imagine painting a gentle landscape. It pushed more alarming thoughts out of her mind, and gradually she relaxed.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  When they all assembled at breakfast, Aunt Emily expressed her hopes that the forthcoming dinner party would be a fitting occasion to mark Helena’s engagement.

  ‘It is wonderful to see another marriage of two like-minded people, my love,’ she told Helena. ‘Together with dear Max, you will make a formidable team and advance our understanding of ancient cultures.’ She beamed fondly, while pouring out the coffee. Then she looked at Rose. ‘Such a pity you never had a grand celebration to mark your wedding. Really, your father hardly made any effort at the time.’

  ‘I expect Augusta wanted to economise,’ put in Helena drily.

  ‘It did not signify, Aunt,’ said Rose hastily, with a frown at her sister. ‘Today I shall enjoy myself very much, seeing my sister so happy.’

  ‘Well, for someone so pleased with life you look very heavy-eyed to me,’ objected her aunt. Rose wished she would not be so sharp at times, when usually she was lost in her studies. ‘But I am afraid,’ went on Lady Westacote, ‘that I shall have to leave the preparations in your hands, Rose. I am going with Philip to meet the committee about funding our next expedition. And Helena will come with me, of course.’

  ‘Everything is organised,’ Rose assured her aunt. ‘It only remains for Uncle Philip to agree with Hudson about the wine.’

  ‘Eh?’ Sir Philip looked over his spectacles at her. He folded away the letter he was reading. ‘We will have champagne of course! Demme, Helena is getting engaged – and to my trusted colleague, Max.’

  Helena’s eyes were sparkling. ‘You are all very kind to me,’ she was saying when Hudson came into the breakfast parlour bearing two large bouquets. He presented them to the girls, who were silent as they looked at the message on the cards.

  ‘Count Varoshenyi,’ said Helena in a mystified tone. She looked at her sister, who nodded. Helena shook her head. ‘Why?’

  ‘It is your engagement party.’ Rose almost snapped. ‘No doubt he feels it is the correct way to compliment you.’

  Helena pulled a face and glanced at Rose’s flowers. ‘And you?’

  Rose shrugged. ‘Of course he would not leave me out.’ She stared fiercely back as Helena looked at her, then she shook her head. ‘I assure you, it is only that.’ And she knew that while she was pleased to receive his flowers, she felt nothing more than a warm admiration for the man himself, however handsome he was and however much he made it plain that he admired her.

  By the early afternoon, everything was ready for the dinner party. Rose and Mrs Phelps, the Housekeeper, had agreed on all the details. Rose had arranged the flowers in the drawing room and dining room, and now her head was aching so badly she decided that it was time for some fresh air and exercise.

  She sent for Prue, who grumbled but nevertheless accompanied her mistress on a walk to Bond Street to look for new gloves and silk stockings. The day was overcast and the light poor but still it was an outing.

  They had just passed the entrance to Bolton Street when Prue muttered ‘Good for nothings.’

  ‘What did you say?’ Rose had been preoccupied with her own thoughts.

  ‘Them two cheeky fellows.’ Prue jerked her head to indicate the general direction. ‘They stared at you real hard an’ then they come along the street. They’re still walkin’ along behind us. I don’ like it one bit.’

  Rose glanced back. ‘I cannot see who you mean. There are lots of people going about their business.’ But she quickened her step.

  The two ladies carried on and in the throng of people, Prue cou
ld no longer tell if the men were still there. Having selected several pairs of stockings and a charming pair of gloves, not without Prue objecting to the price, Rose thought she had still enough time to call in at Hookham’s Circulating Library. Eventually Prue came to fetch her while she was still hesitating between several exciting looking novels. With a sigh, Rose accepted she must indeed return to oversee the last minute preparations for the evening.

  They hurried out into the dim afternoon and walked briskly along the busy streets. Carriages rolled past and a few men on horseback trotted by, making Rose think of her ride in the park with Kerim Pasha. However, she was recalled from her pleasant daydream by Prue’s voice. The maid sounded uneasy.

  ‘Miss Rose, them two men is still followin’ us. I don’ like it. They must be plannin’ to steal your purse.’

  Rose tried to tell herself that it was just a coincidence. A chill crept across her shoulders but she refused to allow herself to look round.

  ‘Don’t look in that direction again, Prue. We shall be home in less than ten minutes. And there are lots of passers-by. Nothing will happen.’ She gave a giggle. ‘Maybe it’s you they are following. One of them is smitten by your beauty.’

  Prue gave a snort. ‘Give over, Miss Rose, do!’ She marched on purposefully, the parcel under one arm, her other hand clenched into a fist and her face forbidding. They got as far as Berkeley Square and Prue confirmed that the two men were still following them. They hurried across the road then Rose heard somebody call out, ‘One moment, please.’

  Her heart leapt as she recognised Tom’s voice. His deep rumble was infinitely reassuring. At the same time it sent a shiver of awareness down her spine. She turned gladly towards the two men approaching them. Kerim Pasha and Tom raised their hats and smiled. Rose greeted them with more warmth than she usually allowed to appear.