She replaced the locket in the box and tucked it deep in a corner of her valise. She had no time for this. Her fingers tight around the fabric binding her sketchbook, Lily abandoned her room for the sunlight and air above.
James was still there, wind playing in his thick, brown hair. He leaned with casual grace against the railing, his form set boldly against the backdrop of the ruins, and she suddenly was on fire to draw him again, like this, to take hold of time and make it stand still. With a pang she realized that soon the day would come where she would not see him each morning at the breakfast table. At best they might cross paths in society, introduce their spouses and children and pretend never to have held one another on the dark waters of the Mediterranean.
She studied the line of his jaw, his lips. Lips she remembered on hers. Her traitorous heart knocked against the door of her ribcage, but she refused to answer. She drew in a shaky breath.
“Lily?” His gaze was intent.
“We are here at last.” She summoned up a smile. “I can’t wait to sketch Tunis.”
“By all means.” But he remained looking at her, a questioning light in his eyes.
She turned away, staring at the city now coming into view. Domes and square minarets rose against a painfully blue sky. The huge bulk of the mosque dominated the tangle of streets and buildings in the medina, and a short distance outside the old city the Bey’s palace sprawled, surrounded by high walls. Near the palace were the European accommodations—more French than British. The party would stay in the hotel Le Palais before setting out.
Sketching the skyline, Lily tried to let the familiar rhythm of her work soothe her jagged emotions, but the lines did not flow smoothly—the buildings were too blocky, the shadows too deep. She could feel James near, his concern and his quiet strength. If only she could lean into him. Her pencil stuttered across the page.
The conversation around her abruptly ceased. Lily looked up to see Lord Reginald approaching, immaculate in his frock coat and pressed trousers. Immaculate, except for the dark bruise beneath his left eye.
“You’re not welcome here, Reggie.” James drew himself up to his full height. “Be on your way.”
Lord Reginald shook his head, as if his cousin’s words deeply saddened him. Then he turned to Isabelle.
“Oh, you have been injured!” She rushed to his side. “What has happened to you?”
Lily stiffened, but James signaled with a barely perceptible shake of his head. They could do nothing except wait.
Lord Reginald paused for what seemed an eternity, then spoke loud enough for the entire family to hear. “I was surprised on deck last night by an assailant who attempted to murder me. I drove him off, but he left me with this souvenir.” He lifted his face, displaying the bruise to better effect.
“Oh heavens.” Isabelle’s eyes were wide. “Lord Reginald, you must have that wound tended. Mrs. Hodges, go at once and fetch a poultice. Someone, bring cool water and a damp cloth.”
He sighed. “It’s too late—the damage has already been done. I had the ship’s doctor look at it. The disfigurement will heal in time, but little can be done for the loss of vision.”
Richard stepped closer. “I would never have thought it that serious. We must tell the captain—it won’t do to have a ruffian running loose on deck and attacking the passengers. Did you get a look at the fellow?”
Lily bit her lip, her heart flipping desperately between anger and fear. The man was an incorrigible liar—standing here in the midst of her family and eye-witnesses, spinning the grandest exaggerations. He deserved to be called out and exposed, except—except that would require explaining why she had been on deck, and with whom. It was a trap and Lord Reginald was baiting it with his outrageous lies.
“Did I recognize the assailant?” Reginald rubbed his temples and shot James and Lily a sly look. “I’m not certain—perhaps it was the force of his blow, but my recollection on that point is hazy. Although I understand such lapses are often temporary. You can be sure I will name the villain if the opportunity arises.”
Isabelle placed her hand on Reginald’s arm. “You ought to be resting, my lord. You have suffered greatly.”
“Indeed,” Aunt Mary said. “Blinded and bruised and with a loss of memory. Sir, you should not be standing here in the sun. You must go below and rest at once. Mrs. Hodges, do you have anything for Lord Reginald’s ills among your medicines?”
Mrs. Hodges pursed her lips. “A double dose of castor and cod-liver as a general curative. A very potent combination. I’ll fetch my dosing ladle straight away.”
Aunt Mary stepped forward and plucked her daughter’s hand from Lord Reginald’s sleeve. “I am certain that will be most helpful. Don’t you agree, sir?”
“It will not be necessary.” He showed his teeth, very white and even. “Perhaps another time—I was just about to go below. Good day to you all. Farewell, Isabelle.” He bowed and turned away.
Lily let out a breath she had not realized she had been holding. She felt as though she had narrowly avoided being bitten by something poisonous. No wonder James reacted as he did when Reginald was present. The man was despicable.
“Goodness,” Aunt Mary said. “He moves rather quickly for one so grievously injured.”
“Well, I trust that’s the last of him.” Uncle Edward brushed his hands together.
“I wish I shared your optimism.” James frowned after his cousin’s departing back.
“Well I for one am comforted he will be close by,” Isabelle said. “Lord Reginald is everything that is noble. It is you, Mr. Huntington, whom I’m not sure of. It is evident you do not want him in Tunisia. To what lengths are you willing to go?”
“Isabelle!” Aunt Mary’s voice was shocked.
“Now, now, my dear girl—” Uncle Edward began, but Isabelle would not be quieted.
“This expedition is a horrible mistake.” Her voice rose.
“Can’t you see that Reginald is the only one we can trust? Father, Mother, I must tell you that James is dishonorable—a complete scoundrel. To begin with, his family forced him to leave England because he was dueling—”
“Isabelle, I explained it to you,” Lily broke in. “He was defending his sister. It was not dishonorable in the least.”
“Quite right,” Uncle Edward said. “I am fully aware of his actions prior to leaving London—his uncle sent a letter that made it all clear. Isabelle, you are mistaken. I think you owe James an apology.”
She glared at them. “You have to listen. Lord Reginald told me—”
“My dear.” Aunt Mary took her daughter’s arm. “Quite plainly, Lord Reginald is not fond of James. You must consider what he hoped to gain by such accusations. I do not believe the man is completely honest.”
“How can you say such things!” Isabelle’s eyes were bright with unshed tears. “Don’t you understand?”
“Isabelle.” It was James, and the concern written on his face only strengthened Lily’s conviction that he was not the villain his cousin made him out to be. “I know how persuasive Reggie can be, but we are about to land on a foreign shore and it’s imperative that we trust one another. I promise you that I take my responsibility to your family seriously. Let me answer to Reggie’s charges, whatever they are.”
Isabelle folded her arms. She sent a dagger of a look at her parents, but said nothing. Lily hoped her cousin would remain silent. Already other passengers had edged closer, attracted by the scent of impending scandal. Publicly accusing James, however false the charges, could only cause a scene.
Isabelle seemed to sense the truth of it and dropped her gaze. “I apologize, Mr. Huntington.”
“No harm done,” he said. “But in future, come to me with your concerns. Give me the opportunity to answer any questions you might have.”
She only nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on the deck.
“Come, my dear.” Aunt Mary wrapped her arm about Isabelle’s shoulders. “We will retire to the ladies’ cabin where i
t is not so bright. We are not accustomed to such an exuberance of sunshine. You will feel better soon. Mrs. Hodges, would you care to accompany us?”
“Of course. I am sure I have something that will restore her spirits in my medicine bag.
“Sorry about that, Huntington,” Uncle Edward said when they had gone. “You were right about your cousin, I’d say. Imagine, telling Isabelle such lies.” He peered at James through his spectacles. “You do know we trust you.”
“Yes, and I thank you.” James glanced at Lily, his eyes searching.
She met his gaze squarely. “Isabelle is the one who is confused, not I.”
His look eased. “We must all take care. When we land it will be apparent how far from England we really are.”
“We’ll be on guard,” Uncle Edward said. “If that rascal causes trouble he’ll have to answer to me. I was considered quite handy with fisticuffs in my day, you know.”
Richard grinned. “And if that fails, there’s always Mrs. Hodges’s tonics and dosing ladle.”
Lily closed her sketchbook, picture unfinished. At least they would no longer be confined on a ship with Lord Reginald. She hoped Isabelle would see sense once she was away from his influence. The baronessa was right—he offered nothing but ruin and heartbreak.
The rising wind teased a strand of her hair loose, tickling it against her cheek. She tucked it firmly back under her bonnet, aware that James was watching her. Unable to meet his eyes any longer, she turned her attention to the bright bay, the city, the exotic land that awaited them.
Chapter 15
Tunis, Tunisia, April 1847
Lily closed her eyes and took a sip of tea. It was Aunt Mary’s favorite blend, retrieved from somewhere in her satchel and provided to their hotel’s mâitre d’ with strict instructions on brewing and service. Its taste evoked rainy afternoons at Brookdale.
That in itself spoke well for the beverage since nothing else here was even remotely like England.
Sliced figs and sweet almond cakes accompanied their tea and the air was deliciously warm. The murmur of French spoken at the other tables on the hotel’s terrace was punctuated now and again by shouted Arabic floating up from the crowded street outside. A pomegranate tree was flowering in the courtyard, and the scents of honeysuckle and jasmine hung heavy in the air.
Lily opened her eyes. This was it. This was what she had fought for and promised for—to be here in this strange new place with her senses alive to everything around her. She traced the intricate pattern of the tile tabletop with her finger. Even the furniture was different, decorated by artisans with a sensibility so alien to her own. Tunisia was everything she had dreamed of.
She should be content, not feel as though her heart were as fragile as that thin glass bowl holding figs. But oh, how could she be content when thoughts of James followed her constantly, when the memory of his touch burned through her, leaving her wanting more? And when she knew it was only ephemeral—a mirage that soon would vanish into the desert air.
“I hope James returns soon,” Aunt Mary said. “It was good of him to see us settled before returning with Richard for the baggage. You don’t suppose they have run into trouble?”
“Not to worry, my dear.” Uncle Edward helped himself to another fig slice. “Huntington knows his way about foreign places. We all saw how he managed the bedlam at the docks this morning. Richard will be fine with him. We all will.”
Her uncle was right. James had been quite resourceful. As soon as the family disembarked they had been met with a chaos of carts and conveyances. Drivers shouted at them in Arabic and broken French, pushing each other to get to the baggage and load it into their vehicles. It was all very unsettling, but James had quickly taken charge. His piercing whistle startled everyone into silence and, seizing the advantage, he quickly selected several drivers to transport them. With the newly appointed drivers’ help, he was able to shoo the others away. Lily had to admit that he had been both commanding and impressive. And thoughtful—he had insisted on finding suitable transport for Dr. Fenton and his wife before they left.
Lily looked across the table at Isabelle. She hoped her cousin’s opinion of James would improve now as Lord Reginald’s influence waned. James was certainly not to be blamed if Isabelle insisted on considering him a scoundrel.
“Look, there they are now.” Uncle Edward stood and waved an arm.
“Do sit down, dear. I am positive they have spotted us,” Aunt Mary said. “Isabelle, would you be so kind as to fix them each a plate?”
James chose the chair beside Lily, which, for such a simple thing, gave her more pleasure than it ought. She tried not to smile too broadly, but she was suddenly filled with delight. Tunisia truly was a splendid place.
“Tea?” Aunt Mary poured out a cup. “The French know nothing about brewing a proper pot. It is fortunate we have our own supply.”
“You brought tea, mother? In your luggage?” Richard shook his head. “I can only imagine what else you have in that mountain of crates we unloaded. The best silver? A harpsichord?”
“Don’t be foolish.” She handed him a cup of tea. “I would never risk the best silver on an outing such as this. I brought the travel silver, of course, and a few other items to maintain a minimum of civilized comfort. If you disdain such comforts we can always have Mr. Huntington procure you a native gourd. You can drink your tea from that.”
“Richard can sleep in the dust if he likes,” Isabelle said. “I’ll take mother’s cots and pillows, thank you very much.”
Lily nodded. “And the tea service and the portable writing desk.”
James winked at Richard. “Just the minimum to maintain civilized comfort.”
Richard leaned his elbows on the table. “Civilized indeed—we’ll hardly know we’re not in Sussex. James was telling me how he had to eat lizard in the East Indies.”
Isabelle wrinkled her nose. “Did you really, Mr. Huntington? How disgusting.”
“It tasted rather like partridge, actually. And since it was pressed upon me by a local warlord and his armed henchmen, I thought it unwise to refuse.”
“Not much different from a London dinner party,” Lily said, “where you must either pretend to enjoy what is served, or if it is unspeakably awful, feign a dizzy spell and retire to the drawing room.”
“Just like you did last October when Count Karlov served his infamous jellied boar’s head,” Richard said. “How was it prepared? The lizard, I mean, not the boar.”
Aunt Mary placed the teapot firmly in the center of the table. “I think we have had enough of this topic. James, how did the baggage fare?”
“Yes, yes,” Uncle Edward said. “Is everything in order? What about the botanical equipment?”
“Everything arrived intact. Our supplies are being loaded into one of the hotel’s storerooms as we speak. Richard was a great help, and has agreed to take on the responsibility of overseeing the baggage when we set out.”
Richard nodded as he refilled his plate.
“When will we set out?” asked Isabelle, setting up straight in her chair.
James frowned. “That depends on how soon we can obtain travel permission from the Bey. Having a letter with his official seal will allow us to travel unimpeded. Without it, we would have to negotiate passage with every local official and tribe.”
“How long will it take to get such a letter?” Aunt Mary asked.
“Difficult to say. If it’s too long, we’ll have to go without it and pay whatever bribes are necessary. We want to be out during the flowering season. Isn’t that right?”
Sir Edward nodded. “It’s imperative. Our time is limited if we are to locate the valley and your grandfather’s flower.”
“Before we depart I should like to go to the native marketplace,” Aunt Mary said. “What do they call it?”
“The souq,” James said. “In the old city.”
“And we must see the truly old city,” Uncle Edward said.
“We will never
have a better chance to explore the ruins of ancient Carthage.”
James leaned back in his chair. “I’m certain we can arrange that. I’ve already been solicited by half a dozen would-be guides. One even offered to sell me tiles from the ancient mosaics. He claimed to have gone up to the ruins at night and pried them loose himself.”
“Pried the tiles loose from the mosaics?” Lily asked. “How criminal! Did you report him? He has to be stopped. Those mosaics are treasures of antiquity, not souvenirs for tourists to cart home.”
James just smiled, a reaction she found infuriating. Didn’t he realize what a serious problem this kind of vandalism was? Why one might just as well condone cutting up the paintings of the great masters into postage stamp size souvenirs. Selling the tip of the Mona Lisa’s ear, or a bit of shell from Botticelli’s Birth of Venus.
“Something must be done.” She thrust forward in her chair.
“They need to post a guard. The mosaics must be in tatters if the locals are selling pieces to tourists.”
James was still smiling. “Lily, he was lying.”
“Lying? How can you possibly know that?”
“The mosaics are in the Bey’s palace.”
“But I thought…”
“They were moved so that people like my friend in the street couldn’t get to them.”
Lily picked up her napkin. “They aren’t in Carthage any longer then?”
“No. They are well protected in the palace.”
“Oh.” She bit her lip. They could easily go to Carthage, but it was unlikely she, as a woman, would get an invitation to the palace. “I wish…” She stopped in mid sentence. She should be relieved that the mosaics were protected from thieves even if it meant that she would not have an opportunity to view them.
Aunt Mary set down her teacup. “We should see to the unpacking.”
“Certainly, my dear.” Uncle Edward rose and pulled out his wife’s chair.
James did likewise for Lily, then offered his hand. She took it, her fingers sliding beneath his. He gave her that particular smile, the one that lit his eyes with warmth and carved a line in his left cheek. They walked together, allowing the rest of the family to go ahead.
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