“They do not like you,” Olema explained. “You are more beautiful than any of them, and each is afraid you will take her place in the dey’s affections.”
“Tell them I don’t want to displace anybody, that I don’t want any affections beyond those of my husband, and that I don’t even know the dey.”
“It is not what you say that matters,” Olema informed her bluntly. “It is what the dey says, and he has called for you first on this day, even before his wives. Even more portentous, it is a rule that the dey does not see any woman before evening. An exception is made only for his mother. He has called for you to join him at breakfast.” Kate felt a chill of apprehension. She didn’t know what all this meant, but if she were to judge from the looks around her, it didn’t bode well. They passed out of the large chamber, crossed an open court, passed through a small garden, then through a larger one, then entered still another garden which led to a much larger building. As they moved along the paths, they passed a tiny woman with glistening black hair and hard eyes who glared at Kate with undisguised fury.
“Who is that?” Kate asked. “Why does she stare at me so?”
“That is Nuzhat al-Zaman, the dey’s first wife. Her son is the heir. She fears you because you are much more beautiful than she ever was.”
“But why, if she is the dey’s wife?”
“Your hair is white. That alone would make you one to be hated. These men, both the Turks and the Africans, prize women of white hair.” Kate was silent, but she noted that of the gazes she encountered, only the slaves were curious; the others seemed angry. It was almost a relief when they arrived at the dey’s compound. They were ushered in by two black Nubian eunuchs who were even larger than the ones she had seen in the harem.
Kate came to a halt just inside the door, unsure of what was expected of one upon meeting a dey. She was even more bewildered when she saw a slim, handsome, and relatively young man reclining on a bed piled high with cushions directing a penetrating gaze in her direction.
Chapter 22
“Come closer,” he said, his English excellent but heavily accented. “I did not expect Raisuli to bequeath me such a fine treasure.”
“You paid Raisuli to steal me?” Kate said before she could think whether that was a wise question.
“No,” the dey replied, beckoning her to move closer still. “I have never known Raisuli to do anything except what he wanted, whether he was paid or not. No, it seems it was your knife that destined you to end up in my possession.”
“P-possession?” Kate stammered.
“Perhaps that was the wrong word,” the dey corrected himself, inviting her to be seated on a cushion near him. “Shall we say ‘in my care’, instead?”
“Please, I want to see my husband. He’s an Englishman. His name is—”
“I know who your husband is, and I know his name,” the dey stated, his smile a little strained. “I also know what he came here to do, and that does not make him my friend.”
“I don’t really know what he’s supposed to do, but I’m sure he doesn’t want to do anything you would dislike,” Kate stammered wildly, trying to think of something to say that would not anger this cold-eyed man. “He only does what his government wants.”
“And I do only what I want,” the dey murmured. “I am the government in Algeria, you see.” Kate did see, and it frightened her half to death.
“How did I get here? How did you know I was on the ship?”
“I knew of your husband, but I knew nothing of you. That was a pleasant surprise.” Kate didn’t think he looked particularly pleased. “You see, your captain warned me your English husband was coming here to interfere with my plans.”
“The captain?” Kate squeaked, unbelieving. “He wouldn’t do anything like that. He is an Englishman.”
“It is not a nice thing to betray one’s own country, even for money, but your captain did so. I am very sorry Raisuli killed him. He has been very helpful.”
“Raisuli killed him?”
“You did not know?” Kate shook her head. “Ah well, it is done with now. How you came to be here is much more interesting.”
“I was carried off by a foul brute,” Kate asserted, remembering the rough man who had locked her in a cabin and then thrown her across a horse the moment they landed. Her body still ached from that terrible ride to the squalid village where she had spent her first night.
“I do not know what your brute intended to do with you, but that is no longer a concern. He was a Moroccan peasant. They are less than camel dung.” The dey spat out a grape seed. “He was also stupid not to know beauty such as yours cannot go unremarked anywhere, especially in a country like Algeria. One of my representatives tried to bargain for you. Unfortunately, the man would not cooperate. He will not go to sea again.” Kate was appalled at the dey’s complete indifference to death. “I think my servant meant you to become a concubine in my harem, but by the time you arrived last night, the news of your husband’s loss had spread through all of Algiers, and no one had any doubt as to who you were.”
“Then you don’t want me for your harem?”
“What I want is not a matter to be taken into consideration, at least not yet,” the dey said, his eyes as unblinking as a dead fish. “However, if your husband does not value you as he should, perhaps I may reconsider.”
“He wants me back,” Kate announced, desperately hoping Brett’s love for her was stronger than his desire to find Abd el-Kader.
“This may surprise you, but I hope he does, quite as much as you do.”
“Why?” Kate didn’t trust the dey at all.
“I hope we may be able to strike a bargain?”
“What kind of bargain?” Kate asked, but she knew already.
“He was about to do something I would not like. If I were to keep you for my harem, that would be something he would not like. Why should both of us be unhappy when it would be so easy for each of us to be well pleased with the other?”
“You’re holding me as a kind of ransom so Brett won’t talk to el-Kader?”
“That’s not exactly the way I had it planned.”
“You mean you won’t give me back?”
“Certainly I will give you back to your husband. I keep my promises, but not for a mere pledge not to seek out el-Kader. I think it would be more prudent to keep you with me until your husband has quit the country, maybe even left the Mediterranean, before I returned you to him.”
Kate’s heart sank. “He’ll never do that. It would humiliate him too deeply. He may agree to your requirements if they are reasonable, but he won’t work against his country, not even to save his wife or himself. He will never compromise his honor. He couldn’t go back to England if he did.”
“I see.” The dey paused. “I must think about this further. It would be foolish to offer conditions which are impossible for him to accept. How fortunate that you are here to consult with me. You can guide me, help me decide just how far I can press him.” His words made Kate feel like a traitor.
“I will call for you again as soon as I have taken council with my ministers.” He clapped his hands and the two enormous eunuchs swung open the door to reveal Olema waiting for Kate just outside. “Treat her well, and provide her with anything she needs for her comfort,” he commanded, then turned away in dismissal.
Kate hurried from the chamber wondering what this cold-blooded man was going to think of next. She knew Brett’s love for her was strong, but she also knew his sense of honor was at least as strong, and was of much longer standing. She prayed the dey would not demand so much of Brett he couldn’t accept it, but she had a feeling deep in her heart the dey understood nothing of the honor that operated in Brett or anyone else in England. She didn’t want to spend the rest of her life in a harem, and she didn’t want to ever be forced to endure the embraces of that cold, conscienceless despot, but it looked as though her chances of seeing Brett again were growing dimmer.
Behind the closed doors, th
e dey leaned back on his pillows, the lingering excitement from Kate’s presence amiably teasing his senses. He found himself wondering if it would be possible to keep her for himself and at the same time induce Brett to stay out of his affairs. Maybe he would wait to let the Englishman know he had his wife. There was always a chance the French would keep him, or send him to England themselves, or that he would go on his own. If any of these occurrences materialized, there would be no need for anyone to know he had the white-haired woman. He would have achieved his objective without using her as a pawn. And he could think of several other ways he would very much like to use her.
Wiggins studied the French commander with a frosty eye. “It should not be necessary for us to even hold this conversation. Our envoy was handed over to you during an act of war, as it were, for his safety. Holding him in confinement, and most particularly in chains, can be viewed as a breach of diplomatic ethics.”
“France does not appreciate what he was to do here.”
“Neither do I appreciate what you do here,” Wiggins replied with a hauteur the Frenchman could not equal, “but I do not hold you in chains.”
“That you cannot do,” the French commander replied, indignant at the thought, but feeling a little superior as well. “You do not have the means.”
“In diplomatic circles it is not, and never has been, the practice for strong nations to hold the ambassadors of weaker nations under restraint.” Wiggins spoke as though he were addressing a particularly slow student, which infuriated the Frenchman. “If that were the case, England would hold all of France’s emissaries in fetters.” The Frenchman seethed with fury, but there was no denying that England ruled the seas.
“Do you propose to take him from me by force?”
“As you’ve so acutely observed, I do not have the means. However,” Wiggins continued, wiping a smile of satisfaction off the commander’s face, “my government may see a precedent for future behavior in this single act. It is quite possible they may wish to make an issue of it. I do not say they will— one can never speak for one’s government in every instance—but would you wish to be the cause of an international incident? Do you consider your actions to have been so well thought out that your government would stand behind you?”
The French commander had put Brett in chains because it was the only way he could control him; he had kept him there because it was convenient and would annoy the British, but he had no wish to attract the attention of his superiors. The reason he was in this hellhole now was that he was in disfavor with the government at present.
“I see no reason why a single man should be the cause of so much trouble,” the Frenchman said at last. “After all, what can one Englishman do?”
“I agree with your first statement. As to the second, perhaps a perusal of history would enlighten you,” Wiggins said, rising to his feet. “We dine at eight o’clock at the consulate. I should hate for Mr. Westbrook to be late for his dinner.”
Brett managed to stand still long enough for Charles to help him into his coat, but he was bursting with eagerness to see Wiggins. The French commander had released him just hours earlier, and he had come straight to the consulate intending to corner Wiggins and demand he begin an immediate search for Kate. Instead he’d been handed a message saying Wiggins wouldn’t be back until dinner but that he hoped to have some news of his wife’s fate by then.
Even though he knew there was nothing he could do until morning, Brett strained at the bit to do something immediately. It had been three days since Kate was captured, and thoughts of what had happened to her, what might be happening to her now, kept needling him, accusing him, destroying his peace and his control over his temper. He had told Kate they would be helpless if she were captured, but he had never realized the full weight of his words until she had disappeared and he found himself powerless to do anything, unable to even make up his mind where was the best place to begin. In England, the government could have been called upon to deploy the combined expertise of all its separate departments to hunt down and punish her captors. Here, the government was more likely to reward the villains and take a share of the profits.
“While I’m at dinner, see if you can learn anything from the natives who work in the consulate,” Brett told Charles. “Make it clear I’ll pay generously for any information they can give us, even if it’s only a rumor.”
“And after that?”
“I’ll be able to tell you more after I’ve talked with Wiggins and whoever this man is he’s invited to dinner.”
Brett found no one in the salon when they came down, and he cursed vigorously. Three days of waiting while he lay flat on his back had exhausted his patience and his Christian charity. He craved something to do, someone to fight, or an arduous physical task to accomplish, anything but this infernal waiting. He felt so utterly useless, so frustrated and helpless, that he had the urge to run into the street and beat the first man he saw into a bloody pulp. But before desperation could cause him to turn his back on Wiggins and take the whole thing into his own hands, the consul walked into the room as imperturbable as ever.
“Thank you for arranging for my release,” Brett said, struggling to control his impatience and his dislike of a man who seemed to think his wife’s disappearance was of no more importance than dinner. “It’s galling to have to be grateful for such a damnable mess.”
“Put it down to overreaching ambition,” Wiggins replied. “The commander hoped to restore himself to favor by detaining you. I merely pointed out the possibility he had made a miscalculation.”
“And . . ?” Brett asked encouragingly.
“I implied our government might take his action as a sign of future policy and feel required to express their disapproval.”
“And his government would undoubtedly sacrifice him rather than back him up with ships.”
“I said I thought it the more probable course of events.”
“Even though you know the French government is just looking for an excuse to bring their troops into Algiers and that England has no intention of fighting over Algeria?”
“If his superiors have not seen fit to inform him of the current opinion in government circles, then I see no reason why I should do it for them.”
“I can see why you’ve been so successful,” Brett said, his admiration genuine. “I’m surprised they haven’t called you back to England.”
“I can’t stand the climate,” Wiggins replied in clipped tones.
“Who is this man you’ve invited to meet me?” Brett asked abruptly. He was all out of patience with polite conversation.
“Someone I hope might be able to help us discover the whereabouts of your wife. I have set inquiries of my own afoot, but to no avail. It is possible this man can succeed where I have failed. He may also agree to help you recover her, but it will be up to you to convince him it would be to his advantage to help you.”
“What is his name?”
“Ibrahin. He is the second son of Mohammed Ali, governor of Egypt. He is a relatively young man, but it is a sign of the respect in which he is held that his father has sent him here alone. This is one of the most sensitive spots in Africa and one that needs expert watching. In thirty years, Mohammed has raised himself from a tobacco merchant to ruler of Egypt, as well as the Sudan and Crete. He does not often make a mistake in the people he appoints to act for him.”
“I can find Kate myself,” Brett said, realizing all the time it was wounded pride speaking and not his common sense. “Why should I ask for his help?”
“Because he has the best network of spies in all of North Africa. There is nothing that happens along the Mediterranean coast he doesn’t know or can’t find out. If anyone can find your wife quickly, it is he. If there is anyone who would know how to go about arranging her return, it is he also.”
“I’m not going to haggle with anyone where my wife’s safety is concerned. I’ll buy her back. I’ll send agents to every auction within a thousand miles if necessary
. Cost is not an object.”
“You will of course do what you think best,” Wiggins stated with prim indifference, “but I would strongly recommend that you talk to Ibrahin first.”
“What can I offer a man such as this to cause him to help me?”
“He would be better able to answer that question than I, but I imagine he would appreciate anything you can do to help him toward his goal.”
“And what is that? Or does he have several?”
“He would of course have several, but I think his primary objective in Algeria is to bring the country under the influence of his father. He is always looking for opportunities to weaken the Turkish sultan.”
“How does he plan to do that?”
“Probably by any one of several ways. Mohammed has never been known to be hampered by a lack of choices.”
“And you think he will help me?”
“I hope he will. Unless the dey decides to find her for us, Ibrahin is your best hope.”
“And you don’t think the dey will help?”
“What do you think?”
“If he knows why I’m in the country, he would do anything in his power to stop me.”
“He knows.” Brett felt the muscles at the back of his neck tighten. He had to keep the nightmarish images of what might be happening to Kate from his mind; he couldn’t think at all if he didn’t.
“I am not yet sure of the source of his information, but I know he was informed of your coming and the nature of your mission before you arrived.”
“Then if he knows where Kate is, he’s likely to use her to force me to go back to England.”
“If he can get her into his possession, that is what I think he will do.”
“You’re not sure he has her?”
“The dey’s influence does not extend very far from Algiers, and thus he is not feared by those on the fringes of his power or those in neighboring countries. Raisuli operated out of Morocco, and they don’t particularly care what the dey thinks. On the other hand,” Wiggins continued, looking at his nails, “the dey is not above sending agents into Morocco, Tunisia, and Libya as well, with orders to kill for what they want. For your sake, I hope he does know where your wife is to be found. She will be far safer in his hands.” There was a brief pause before Wiggins spoke again. “When Ibrahin arrives, let me do the talking. I suspect you lack the temperament to handle him properly.”
Seductive Wager Page 29