Ferguson, J. A. - Call Back Yesterday.txt
Page 11
she answered, “I’m not belittling him. I’m acting as a good
secretary, taking note of things you might have
overlooked.”
“Confine your work on my behalf to your typewriter.
Maybe it would be better if we ended this conversation
right now. After all, I can’t believe Andrew was anything
but a perfect gentleman with you.” His voice lowered.
“Which is more than can be said for me.”
Again Darcy could think of nothing to say that would
not create more anger between them. She could not wait
to lose herself in her work once more. That would give her
an escape from these odd relationships which everyone–
but she–seemed to understand.
***
~~~ “Who are you?” Meskhenet whispered as she
gazed up into eyes as dark as the night-serpent’s. “You
come here as a stranger. Then you take me in your arms
and it is as if I have known you since my first breath.”
“That is because I can never be a stranger to you,
Beloved of Thoth, for I am the man you have been destined
to love since Ra took his early ride from beyond the sea.”
He pressed her hands to his forehead as he knelt once more.
“My brother the Pharaoh admires the work you are
doing to build his tomb. When he speaks your name, it is
with awe.”
“As I would have it spoken in yours, Beloved of
Thoth.” He drew her to sit beside him among the flowers
at the edge of her garden. “I came to the palace today,
seeking an audience with the Pharaoh to inform him of
the progress being made. But my eyes beheld you and all
thoughts of anything but you vanished.”
She let her finger course along the firm line of his
brow and wished she had sweet, perfumed waters to wash
away the dust of his journey from the river’s far side. “I
am glad,” she whispered, “for I shall think of no one but
you from this moment forward.”
He slipped his arm around her. She had no chance to
enjoy its strength, for someone called her name.
“Who comes?” he asked.
She stood. “Ahwere, my sister who will soon become
the wife to our brother the Pharaoh.”
“She is not yet close.”
“No, but she will know to seek me here.”
“But she is not yet close.” His hands curved along her
shoulders.
Her soft gasp of delight rippled from her lips as his
mouth warmed her nape. His hands lowered to encircle
her waist, bringing her back to his muscular body. While
his lips continued to burn an abstract pattern along her
skin, he slowly turned her. Her hands rose along his brawny
arms to wrap around his shoulders. His mouth covered
hers, fueling the brisk fire of her impassioned breaths.
“Oh, Kafele,” she whispered as he traced her ear’s
contours with his tongue. “You are imperiling your life by
staying here.”
“But I cannot leave with only a single taste of you,
Beloved of Thoth.”
“You must.”
“You could come with me.” With a smile, he took her
hand and motioned toward the river.
“That is impossible.” She glanced behind her as she
heard her sister’s voice. Closer this time. “You must go.”
He nodded. “She seeks you. Go to her.”
“As long as you promise me you will go before you
are seen.”
“I shall, and I shall return.” His kiss was swift and as
heated as the desert sands. “Be sure of that, Beloved of
Thoth.”
Then he was gone.
Certain her heart had left with him, for a great void
ached within her, Meskhenet turned to greet her most
beloved sister. Would Ahwere, who knew her so well, guess
what had happened? Meskhenet could not imagine lying
to her sister.
She put her fingertips to her lips, where Kafele’s
enticing fire still burned. Slowly she turned to look at the
river. The Nile had never seemed so wide.
“Meskhenet! There you are. Didn’t you hear me calling
to you?”
Meskhenet forced a smile for her dear sister. As she
turned, she realized Ahwere was not alone. A taller shadow
reached into the garden. Dropping to her knees, Meskhenet
pressed her forehead to the earth. All the world, even his
sister, must acknowledge the Pharaoh Onuris as its rightful
lord, the son of Ra and the incarnation of Ra in one.
“Rise, sweet sister,” Onuris ordered, taking her hands
and helping her to her feet. As he kissed her cheek, his
round face stretched with a smile as bright as the sunshine
glinting off his shaved head. “You grow more beautiful
with the passage of each hour, sweet sister. Don’t you
agree, Usi?”
Meskhenet feared the sun had been eclipsed, for her
spirits became dark at the thought of greeting Usi, who
controlled all work on her brother’s tomb. Usi had the
respect of his Pharaoh, but she did not trust this man who
blamed others for his errors and took credit for all ideas
he brought to his Pharaoh, even those ideas that were not
his. Whispers throughout the palace warned Usi had not
yet tested the full extent of the powers granted by her
brother.
“Your sister Meskhenet is a glory unto the gods,” Usi
murmured, his narrow features reminding her of a hungry
hawk. He was wearing his ceremonial wig, and rivers of
sweat flowed down his face. She doubted if he would
remove the wig on even the hottest day, for he wished to
relinquish none of his prestige. “It grieves me to take you
from her side, my Pharaoh, but we have urgent matters to
discuss . . . alone.”
“I will send for you later, sweet sister. A matter exists
which I wish to discuss with you.” He paused and smiled
at Usi. “. . . alone.”
“Send for me,” she said, “and I shall fly to your side,
my dear brother.”
Meskhenet sighed as Onuris walked away with that
evil serpent slithering at his side, whispering his venom in
the Pharaoh’s ear. When Ahwere, who was shorter than
she, took her hand, Meskhenet said, “I wish Onuris would
rid himself of Usi.”
“He will not heed your voice any more than he did
mine on that matter. He is enchanted with Usi, and he will
hear no wrong of the man.” Ahwere sat on the ground
where Meskhenet had been sitting before Kafele stepped
from the reeds. She smiled at Meskhenet. “Tell me why
your eyes glow like stars, younger sister. Your voice, even
in anger, is soft and hushed. Did you dream of the lover
who will seek the Pharaoh’s permission to make you his?”
“Not a dream.” Folding her legs beneath her, she sat
beside her sister. “This lover came to me, unbeckoned,
bringing such joy in his touch my ka surely will resonate
with it until the end of time.”
“Who is this man who dares so much?”
“Kafele.”
“The architect of our
brother’s tomb?” Ahwere shook
her head. “He serves Usi, the very man you hate. Be wary,
sister, for Usi would use you to gain more power with our
brother. If he were to learn of your affection for Kafele
and of Kafele’s courage in coming to you here, a curse
might be placed upon Kafele that shall endure past Ra’s
final journey.”
Meskhenet laughed, unable to restrain the joy rising
within her like leavened bread. “I shall be wary, but I shall
see Kafele again. He brings music to my heart and fire to
my body. I wish to be with him. I wish . . .” ~~~
***
Darcy scowled at her page as she put the top on the
bottle of ink. This was utter drivel. Only in a fairy tale
could life unfold this smoothly. She stood and kneaded a
knot in the center of her back. As she heard the clock across
the library chime ten times, she sighed. She should be in
bed. Tomorrow might be as worrisome as today.
Would Simon be less angry if she explained her distress
with what Reverend Fairfield had revealed to her? She did
not want to remind Simon anew of the accident he must
never have forgotten.
She turned down the gaslights in the library. She should
turn them off, but she could not abide the idea of being in
the darkness. Not even the many books and the statue of
Thoth would offer her comfort in the oppressive shadows
she loathed.
“Darcy?”
She turned to see Simon standing in the door to an
upper terrace. Silhouetted against the beacon of a single
lantern glowing there, his broad shoulders looked even
more impressive, belying his life as a scholar. She recalled
Reverend Fairfield’s comments Simon had been in India.
Had Simon been serving Queen Victoria? He had the wellhoned
strength of a military man.
“Yes?” she answered.
“I would like to speak with you a moment, if I may.”
“Of course.” She placed her book on the table as she
went out onto the terrace.
Overhead the stars wheeled beyond Thoth’s moon. She
shook such nonsense from her head. She should not be
thinking of Meskhenet now. That silly story. Why had she
even begun working on it? Every word seemed to scare
away the ones to follow. She should concentrate on the
stories she recalled with ease. Yet, this story refused to go
unwritten.
As Simon walked past the lamp where insects flitted,
risking everything for one moment of brilliance, a dull
fire burned through his hair. She was astonished to see the
breeze playing with his shirt sleeves. Not once before had
she seen him without a coat.
He grasped her hand and sat her on the wall next to
him. She considered pulling her fingers away. Even as she
thought that, his hold tightened on them, giving her the
uncomfortable impression that he was again privy to her
thoughts.
“We must talk,” he said, “about today and what
happens from this point forward.”
“We did. In the carriage. You stated you would not
ask for my resignation.” She took a steadying breath before
asking, “Have you changed your mind?”
“Not on the issue of having you finish the typing of
my manuscript. As your employer, I need only one thing
from you, Darcy.”
“What is that?” She sat very still, although her pulse
thudded in her ears.
“I want you to be honest with me all the time.”
“Honest?”
He nodded. “Completely.”
“Then believe I’m being honest when I say it would
be wise if you released my hand.”
He sandwiched it between his far larger ones. “Don’t
your fingers grow tired from working at your typewriter?”
“Yes. Does your question mean you have more work
for me tonight?”
“What I have for you is an apology for what I said
earlier. I can’t expect you will be comfortable immediately
with Andrew. I’m accustomed to his irritating ways, which
you have mistaken for a cold heart. Trust me when I tell
you he does what he thinks is for the best.”
“I’d like to believe that.”
“And I’d like to believe, in spite of your words, you
aren’t planning to leave. I need you to stay until the
manuscript is finished. It may take even longer hours of
work than you envision.”
“I understand. I know this is a difficult time for you.”
In the dim light, she could see his brows lower. “What
do you mean?”
Cursing her tongue which did not wait for her common
sense to curb it, she said, “You were curious why I was so
upset in the carriage. It was because the vicar told me some
things.”
“Exactly what did he tell you? As if I can’t guess.” He
released her hand and stood. Walking a few paces along
the wall, he stared out at the gardens which were stripped
of color by the moonlight. “No doubt he took it upon
himself to warn you to flee because I bring ill-fortune to
everyone around me.”
Darcy rose and moved toward him. He lifted his hand,
warning her away. She halted, but said, “He said no such
thing. How can you believe he’s your friend and yet believe
he would say things like that?”
He closed the distance between them in a single step.
“Look at me, Darcy,” he ordered in the same taut voice.
“Simon, what’s wrong?”
His face was now masked by the night shadows. “I
am what’s wrong. Once I believed I knew everything and
nothing could defeat me. I was such a fool I couldn’t see I
was endangering everyone I loved.”
She put her hand on his arm, but he shook it off.
“Reverend Fairfield told me about the carriage accident
on the old bridge. That wasn’t your fault.”
“No? I shouldn’t have listened to my pride which
convinced me I knew enough about the history of that old
bridge to have it repaired when I returned to Rosewood
Hall.” Each tormented word sliced into her as he went on,
“That accident took my mother and sister’s lives, and it
deprived my father of his good health, for it stole his heart
from him. When he began to fear dying alone, I came home.
Home?” He shook his head. “A prison of memories I can
escape only within my work. But the past no longer
matters.”
“You really believe that?” She had not guessed his
stern veneer concealed such heartache.
“All that matters now is my manuscript. That’s why I
am asking you to stay.”
“I told you I would.”
“And it must be only business between us, for I shan’t
hurt you, too. There must be no more of this.” He framed
her face with his hands. His kiss was fierce and deep. Then
he released her and strode away.
She did not move as he went into the library. This
should be just what she wanted. She had the job that would
provide he
r with funds to return to Egypt. She had the
chance to steal a few hours to write her own story. She
should be happy.
She had never been so miserable in her whole life.
Seven
Darcy stared at the lights flickering through the garden
like a parade of stars. She had not intended to look out the
window, because Reverend Fairfield’s advice about not
spying on one’s neighbors was well-taken. Yet, when she
had come to raise the window for fresh air, as she did each
night after Mrs. Pollock must have had it lowered each
day, her eyes had been caught by the lights.
They were, she could tell now, coming along the ridge
of the hill before disappearing into the wood. Were they
torches carried by the villagers? Or was someone else
entirely trespassing on Rosewood Hall’s property?
She let the drapery fall back into place. Hugging her
arms tightly around herself, for she shivered even though
the night air was unseasonably warm, she knew she had
no answer for either question. On the morrow, she must
ask Simon if he had seen the lights. Maybe he could explain
what or who was causing them. And if he could not . . .
She shuddered again. She did not want to think how she
would be able to submerge her curiosity much longer.
Yet she must. She got into bed and drew her knees up.
Leaning her chin on them, she glanced toward the ceiling.
Where was the light that always came to her at night? She
scanned the ceiling, panic twisting down her throat. She
could not imagine being without this soft glow she
understood—somehow—connected her past and her
present.
There it was. She smiled when she saw it floating
where it always did. Her smile faltered as the light edged
toward her. It had never moved so close to her in all the
years she had found comfort in it.
“What are you doing? Stay away,” she cried aloud,
then clapped her hands over her mouth. She hoped her
voice had not carried to other ears.
The light stopped. It drifted back to where it had been.
A sensation she could not name—Sorrow? Loss?— surged
through her as it had when she saw the gauzy glow in
Simon’s office. She had had no idea why she had felt that
way then . . . and she did not now.
Burying her face in her pillow, she sighed. There were
too many unanswered questions in Rosewood Hall. She