Freedom's Banner
Page 32
‘Oh, Uncle, there won’t be the slightest breath of scandal! Use your common sense! Are you honestly suggesting that Harry Sherwood doesn’t know all that? He’d have to be insane to encourage the girl’s interest – and she is, after all, little more than a child!’
‘They grow up very young out here,’ the colonel said morosely.
‘She’s half Irish!’
‘That,’ he said, ‘makes it worse.’
Hannah laughed outright at that, the clear, unfettered laughter that so characterized her forceful and uncomplicated personality. Her uncle’s reaction to it fairly represented his reaction to her; it exasperated and embarrassed him in almost exact proportion to the admiration and real affection it inspired. Lord, life would be so much simpler once she was gone!
‘So, it’s settled then.’ Hannah was brisk. ‘We leave after luncheon next Tuesday. You will join us for a meal aboard before we sail, won’t you? I’ll be so very disappointed if you don’t. Abdo has helped me find a very comfortable dahabeeyah, which we have named the Horus – don’t you find it rather charming, this habit of renaming a boat for every trip? – with what seem a reliable captain and crew. The boat is smallish, we are after all a small party, but I must say the accommodation is quite acceptable. Abdo as always was splendid, the price is quite a bargain –’
Colonel Standish admitted defeat. ‘I can’t think why you can’t travel upriver on a steamer, as any normal and sensible person does,’ he grumbled.
She was neither impressed nor discomfited by the inference. ‘You know very well why. Miss Nightingale travelled under sail; so shall I. Her tales of the Nile were the most enthralling stories I have ever heard. I formed the intention long ago to follow, so far as is possible, her itinerary exactly, and I can only do that under sail. And in any case, there can be no comparison between a noisy, smelly, crowded steamer full of those dreadful sightseers from Shepheard’s and one’s very own dahabeeyah silently gliding upon the face of the most fascinating waters in the world.’
‘Gliding against adverse winds and flash floods. At least the steamer gets there.’
‘We’ll get there, Uncle, you see if we don’t.’ Hannah stood composedly, awaiting his peck upon her cheek. ‘I really must go. As I’m sure you may appreciate, there are an awful lot of things to be seen to before we leave – the indispensable Abdo has of course obtained a first-class dragoman for us, but I don’t want to give him an entirely free hand. Some purchases I wish to supervise myself.’
The colonel delivered the kiss, a dry, awkward thing, as she had expected, and saw her from the room, remembering too late that he had once more forgotten to ask about her long-suffering betrothed. Hannah had been, as he remembered, a perfectly ordinary and acceptable child, a girl of whom his dead brother could have been justifiably proud. Now look at her. In the straightforward and, he was ready to admit, old-fashioned colonel’s books, the odious Miss Florence Nightingale had many things for which to answer; and in his firmly held opinion the subversion of such well-bred and normally sensible young women as Hannah Standish, came very high on the list.
* * *
The two-masted Horus was neatly moored against the eastern bank of the Nile, one of several vessels awaiting their passengers and leaving within the week. Three boats were to sail today, two carrying related families of French travellers and the smaller Horus with her British contingent. Harry went aboard at ten in the morning. The sun was already high and hot. The tasselled awning that shaded the passenger deck was more than welcome. In the days since he had been given this assignment he had become, on reflection, rather more enthusiastic at the idea of the trip. If he couldn’t yet get himself sent back to where the real excitement was, what better break from the hot, humdrum life of the barracks than to sail up the Nile in a native boat, however tourist-orientated both river and boat might be? And if Miss Standish were not the most perfect companion, at least she would make few demands. And as for his other unexpected charge, the little Egyptian girl, he had no doubt whatsoever that Miss Standish would have her own ideas about the proprieties where she was concerned, which suited Harry admirably. After Fenella, though he did not like to admit it, he felt the need of a rest.
And then there was the matter of the guns.
He was smiling as he stepped from the narrow gangplank onto the shallow, flat-bottomed boat to be greeted by Hassan, the Reis, master of the vessel. ‘Effendi, welcome! Come, I show you to your cabin – very nice cabin, Effendi, very comfortable.’
It was indeed, Harry noted with approval, though small, both nice and comfortable, as was the rest of the boat. Miss Standish, Hassan informed him with a wide, stained smile, and a man-to-man gesture with his long-fingered, dirty hands, had been aboard since the day before. Did not the Effendi admire the way she had arranged things? In honesty, the Effendi did. There were flowers in his sleeping-cabin as well as neatly stacked fresh sheets and towels, and there was, luxury of luxuries, a bar of European soap upon the washstand. The mosquito net was fresh, clean and reassuringly whole. There were flowers too in the saloon and on the open, awning-shaded upper deck with its comfortable chairs, small tables and scattering of rugs, as well as books, magazines and guides to the antiquities of Egypt, sketching and painting materials and a series of small pictures upon the walls of the saloon. Bright shawls had been thrown over some of the couches and chairs, and comfortable tasselled cushions added. Bowls of fruit had been set upon the tables. ‘Well –’ Harry looked around in approval, grinning at the incongruous sight of a small piano tucked into the corner of the saloon ‘– quite home from home!’
‘Yes, Effendi. Of course, Effendi. The Miss Standish, Effendi – she has gone to fetch her companion. She said to tell you she would be back in time for luncheon. The Colonel Effendi is coming – we have very nice food, Effendi, very nice. The cook – he is good, you’ll see. The Horus – she’s the best dahabeeyah on the river, Effendi, the very best.’
‘I’m sure. Thank you, Hassan.’ Refusing politely the offer of a servant, Harry packed his sparse possessions into the cupboards of the cabin himself and then, moving with determinedly even strides, went up onto the awning-shaded passenger deck. Within a moment a silent, barefoot servant was by his side – would the Effendi care for tea? Well satisfied, Harry settled comfortably into a deep armchair, enjoying the cool breath of wind from the water and watching the bright, colourful life that flowed like a river itself along the bank.
Hannah Standish arrived, brisk and energetic despite the heat, an hour later. With her were the little Egyptian girl, a large woman attendant swathed to the eyes in musty black and Abdo, the colonel’s body servant. Abdo was a Nubian from the southern deserts and, like others of his people, the bones of his face were strong, the skin black as pitch and of the texture of velvet, light-absorbing and without sheen. He was a giant of a man, though lightly built, graceful and easy-moving, a striking and remarkably dignified figure even barefoot and in his khaki shirt and shorts. Harry had once seen him in the city, on an errand of his own, walking through the shaded, carpet-hung bazaar dressed in the simple robes of his people, and had been startled into a moment’s unexpected admiration both for the grace and for the oddly powerful presence of the man. That night he had watched as the Nubian, with quiet efficiency, had served the colonel at dinner, and wondered at the contrast. Certain it was that the colonel was known to trust the man, literally, with his life. Looking at him somehow it was not hard to see the reason. For all his grumbling it was a measure of the colonel’s affection for his niece that he was ready to put up with the faithful Abdo’s absence for a month or more.
Beside him on the quay, her small, proud head only a little higher than his elbow, stood Laila, daughter of the merchant Ayman el Akad. She was dressed today in Egyptian style, the folds of her robe in no way disguising the slender, softly rounded figure beneath. Her skin was golden, her hair beneath its filmy veil shone black as the wing of a raven; but her eyes were the eyes of the exiled Irish girl who ha
d been her mother, blue as sapphires. Harry surveyed her with a mixture of feelings. The child was a beauty, there was no doubt about that, and there was a liveliness and generosity in her nature that was extremely attractive. Unfortunately she was also indulged, capricious, swift-tempered and dangerously self-willed. In a few years she would be a fascinating woman; with her father’s power to protect her she would always be a dangerous one.
Hannah had seen him and given a cheery wave. Harry could hear her rapid-fire instructions above the hubbub of the quay. The unexpected, wiry cloud of red hair glinted like fire beneath the sturdy straw hat. ‘Careful with that crate, Achmet – we want the chickens alive, not dead! Well, not yet, anyway! Abdo, you will make sure they put the grains and the rice in the earthenware jars? And you’ll instruct someone in the use of the rat trap?’
Amused, Harry pushed himself away from the rail and returned to his chair. The Horus was obviously in capable hands.
Hannah joined him on the deck a few minutes later. ‘Captain Sherwood.’ She extended her hand. ‘I hope you’re looking forward to the trip?’
‘Very much, Miss Standish.’
She nodded. ‘Good. Heavens, I could do with a cup of tea, but I suppose it’s too near luncheon. Poor Uncle will have a fit if I don’t tidy and change. Letting the side down and all that. Your cabin is comfortable?’
‘Perfectly.’
‘Splendid. Laila and I are on the other side of the boat. Mary was to have had the cabin next to yours –’
‘Was to have had?’
She nodded composedly. ‘Mary isn’t coming. She threw one too many fits. I really couldn’t stand it any longer, the girl’s a dear but quite unsuited to travel in what she calls “foreign parts”. The poor thing has become a liability; I spend more time coping with her vapours than I do concerned with my own affairs.’ She had turned away, moving towards the stairs. ‘Anyway I’ve allocated her cabin to Laila’s nurse – the old thing is utterly devoted and threatened to follow us upriver in a rowboat if she wasn’t allowed to come!’ Her clear laughter sounded for a moment.
‘But – your uncle – does he know you’re leaving your maid behind?’
At the stairs Hannah turned, looked at him steadily. ‘My uncle won’t learn of the change of plan until it’s far too late for him to cause a fuss,’ she said, calmly. ‘I don’t need a lady’s maid, Captain. I need peace and quiet to study and to paint. I’ve coped with Mary and her nerve storms for convention’s sake for quite long enough. Life will be much easier, for both of us, if she stays in Cairo. Luncheon is in an hour, Captain, and we sail at three.’ She smiled, suddenly, her wide, pale mouth curving, the glint of delighted excitement in her face unguarded. ‘The fulfilment of a dream, Captain. Not something that happens every day.’
Hassan’s cook, surprisingly, was excellent. For two months the year before he had been in the employ of a Frenchman, whose gastronomic demands were higher than most. Lunch was delicious, and was washed down with a more than drinkable date wine. The colonel was in expansive mood, Hannah quietly amusing and Laila, under the eyes of her nurse, who squatted on her haunches beside the girl’s chair, quiet and demure, the brilliant blue of her eyes veiled by lashes as dark and silky as her hair. Harry felt himself relax. A month or so of this would be a very welcome break from the tedium of barracks life. At the end of the meal Abdo produced a more than passable brandy, and Hannah Standish played for them on the piano. At ten minutes to three the colonel took his leave and retired to the quay to watch the last-minute preparations for departure. Exactly on the hour the great sail was hauled up, the muskets fired in salute and farewell, and the Horus, trailed by the small felucca tied to her stern and waved off with friendly cheer by the crews and passengers of the other boats, slid gracefully away from the bank and into the stream, sail belling in the wind. Hannah joined Harry on deck, watching in silence as the roofs and domes and minarets of the city, glinting in the sun, dropped away behind them. The great, mysterious pyramids of Ghiza dwindled as they watched, though they remained in sight for a long time, appearing to float, shimmering in the dusty heat haze. When at last the Horus rode the wide waters below the city, heading south between banks dressed in the lush green of gardens and palm forests, and edged beyond with the golden distances of the desert, Hannah drew breath and lifted her face to the vast, bright sky. ‘The Nile,’ she said, softly. ‘At last!’
Chapter Fifteen
Hannah Standish knew – and was not discomfited by the knowledge – that she was not entirely the person she allowed the world to think her. Some facts, of course, were indisputable. Certainly she was thirty years old and as certainly – to the bewildered exasperation of her family and despite a friendly and long-standing arrangement with a kindly man of whom she was extremely fond – she was in no hurry to change her marital status from that of independent spinster to dependent wife. There were times when she herself wondered if it were not some perverse flaw in her nature that had prevented her, at the time when her contemporaries had been determinedly – in some cases desperately – set upon marriage, from pursuing the path considered the only suitable one for her sex. Again she knew, and did not particularly care, that this was the general belief. No-one but she ever seemed to consider the possibility that quite simply the man for whom she would, or could, sacrifice her freedom had never yet crossed her path; she had long ago accustomed herself to the thought that he probably never would. As a girl she had been too tall, too thin – her mother had said too plain – and too outspoken to be much in demand with the young men who had courted her sisters, her cousins and her friends. There had been no white knight to stride into her mother’s overpoweringly velvet-draped and stuffy drawing room and lay before her a different world, a different notion of love than that which she observed about her. The best she had managed was an irreproachably proper and extremely dull young solicitor’s clerk called Hubert. She smiled still, wryly, when she recalled her mother’s astonishment when he had offered for her, her outrage when she had refused him. Later, after her grandmother’s bequest had added modest independence of means to independence of mind and she had achieved her dearest ambition in going to London to meet and study under Miss Nightingale, she had met Leo, dear Leo, bookish and wise, who had in friendship and with humour suggested the mutual benefit of marriage. She supposed that the world assumed she would one day come to her senses and marry him; she herself sometimes thought that she would. But something, always something, held her back. She had long grown used both to the occasional loneliness and to the satisfaction of her eccentric independence. She well knew the persona that she showed to the world, and indeed the Hannah who was so crisply displayed was no fake. Her sharp, sometimes impatient intelligence, her capable good sense, her caustic dislike of the pettiness and triviality of unnecessary convention, were absolutely honest and as intrinsically a part of her character as were the slightly wayward sense of humour and the occasional unnerving and mule-like obstinacy with which she managed sometimes even to exasperate herself. It was that other Hannah, who had once so absurdly and impenitently dreamed of chivalry and the enchanted gardens of the soul, who was of necessity most severely kept in her place. Standing now beneath the fringed awning of the passenger deck of the Horus, her elbows upon the rails, watching the stately flow of this wide, brown river that had for so long exercised her imagination, and the passing of its green, flood-fed banks that lay fertile and rich between the shimmering mystery of the desert and the life-giving, death-dealing waters of the Nile, she knew, and was pleased to know, that in her unruffled grey-and-white striped cotton and her no-nonsense scarf and hat she looked as if she might be considering how to curb the enthusiastic extravagances of their dragoman or counting the hours lost by yesterday’s adverse winds rather than, as was the truth, dreaming of the splendour of desert cities and of god-kings, of power and the chanting of priests, of the infinite enigma of a lost civilization.
‘Miss Standish? I’m sorry – I’m not interrupting?’
He smiled. ‘Reis Hassan wished me to tell you that we will be in Benisuef by sunset. But he says the wind is dropping again. The afternoon’s journey will be slow.’
Hannah lifted her face to the breeze. ‘The wind still seems strong.’
‘The Reis is certain it will drop.’
‘Then I expect he’s right. He certainly seems to know his business. I suppose –’ she glanced towards the lower deck where barefoot, robed crewmen sat in circles about their cooking pots ‘– I suppose that means we must track again?’
‘It does.’
She made a small grimace. ‘Oh dear. Well, if we must we must, I suppose.’ On the second day out of Cairo, with that city still hovering on the horizon like an enchanted mirage, the wind had deserted them and the crew had had to resort to the practice of tracking; nine or ten men harnessed like oxen pulling the great, sluggish Horus against the current from the towpath. Hannah had found it an uncomfortable experience to stand at leisure at the rail whilst human beings slaved so. ‘Benisuef – it’s a fair-sized town, I believe?’