by Marie Laval
There were footsteps outside the room, the noise of keys rattling and of the door being unlocked. Archie came in, a candle in his hand. She recoiled against the wall, felt her belt for her dagger. She would kill him.
Her scabbard was empty. Someone had removed her dagger.
‘You’re awake,’ Archie said. He stopped in the middle of the room and looked down at her. ‘We need to talk, my dear.’
‘Keep away from me. I have nothing to say to you.’
He smiled, his moustache quivered lightly. How did he dare smile?
‘How can you say that?’ he sighed. ‘You are bound to be a little…upset.’ He put the candle on a low table before sitting on the couch next to her. She recoiled further, but he took hold of her leg, pulled her close and laid a hand on her stomach to pin her down.
‘Don’t touch me,’ she hissed, rigid with disgust and pain, before turning her head to the wall.
He lowered himself towards her.
‘Harriet, don’t make this more difficult than it already is. There are so many things you don’t know about your father. The respected Oscar Montague wasn’t quite the upstanding citizen you believed him to be. He had secrets, dark secrets.’
She turned to look at him. ‘My father was a good man. He lived for his work at the Museum, for the expeditions, for research.’ Her voice broke into a sob.
‘Among other things, he liked to associate with young ladies of loose morals.’
‘You’re lying!’
‘Ttt…ttt…Believe me, dear, that’s the truth.’
He released the pressure on her stomach but kept his hand there, ready to pin her down again should she move away.
Doubt crept into her mind. Her father had confessed to belonging to a secret organization today. He had looked deeply troubled, ashamed even, before he collapsed.
‘Is that what the Brotherhood of the Silver Wolf is about? Cavorting with prostitutes?’
He cursed under his breath. ‘What did the old fool tell you?’
‘Nothing. He collapsed before he could explain.’
Archie let out a sigh of relief.
‘Good. The less you know the better. If any of this comes out, not only will your father’s reputation be ruined and the work he has done over the years discredited, but you and your aunt will be disgraced.’
‘Do you think I care about what happens to me now?’ She let out a pitiful sob.
‘Surely you don’t want your father’s name to be sullied in a scandal,’ he insisted. ‘It would certainly kill your dear Aunt Elizabeth.’
‘You’re only thinking about yourself,’ she accused. ‘You belong to this Brotherhood too, don’t you?’ She looked at his hand, pointed to his ring. ‘If my father did something wrong, so did you.’
She tried to sit up but he held her down again. ‘Except that you did far worse than him. You killed.’
He didn’t answer. His hand slid over her stomach up to her breasts and her throat. She shuddered, tried to push him away but he placed the width of his hand across her throat and applied a light but suffocating pressure.
‘Listen to me, Harriet. We are going back to Algiers with Mortemer and his men, and then to London where you will marry me.’
He squeezed harder and she couldn’t breathe. ‘Nobody will be surprised. We were always very close, weren’t we? Then you’ll give me the Barbarossa map. Your father was very foolish to think he could keep it to himself. The map and the treasure are mine.’
‘And if I refuse to marry you? To give you the map?’ she asked, her voice a hoarse whisper.
He chuckled. ‘I don’t see that you have much choice, dear. As your husband, it will belong to me anyway. If you persist in denying me, I will make sure everyone finds out about your father’s dirty little secrets. I have documents incriminating him.’
He let go of her and at last she could breathe.
‘What kind of man are you, Archie?’ she said after taking a few deep, long gulps of air. ‘We used to be friends. No, we were more than that, we were family. My father taught you and trained you. He thought very highly of you.’
He tightened his lips in a harsh line.
‘Then he shouldn’t have threatened the Brotherhood. Before leaving for Algiers, he swore to expose us if we didn’t cut him free. He said he had files stashed away somewhere. What happened was his fault.’
She stared into his eyes. ‘It was your associates who killed my father’s men in Tamanrasset, wasn’t it? It had nothing to do with the Tuaregs, or the keepers of Tin Hinan’s tomb.’
He nodded. ‘They tried and failed before, on the way to the Hoggar. Your father was surprisingly good at eluding their ambushes. For a time, that is.’
‘They killed everybody. Men you knew and esteemed, men you worked with for years.’ He disgusted her. Bile rose in her throat, almost choking her.
‘They were your father’s friends. We thought he might have told them about us. We couldn’t take the risk of letting them live.’
‘The raiders who attacked us were your men too, weren’t they? You told them where to find us.’
‘I did. I always managed to let them know of our route, even if it was a close call in Bou Saada. Saintclair almost caught me talking to my contact in the tavern. I had to start a fight to distract him.’
‘There were men following me around too.’
‘You had to be kept under surveillance. I wasn’t sure whether your father would try to get in touch with you or not.’
She opened her eyes wide as another truth dawned on her.
‘It was you who shot Lucas’ men in the Arak gorges. That’s why they didn’t have time to react and defend themselves.’
‘Correct again.’
‘You were prepared to let me die back there. You and your associates took the horses and the camels away, trashed the camp. You shot at Lucas. If he had been killed, I wouldn’t have stood a chance on my own…’
He pursed his lips, narrowed his eyes. ‘Well, you’re still here, aren’t you?’
‘You tried to steal the ransom.’
‘Let’s say that it was never any intention to surrender Callaghan’s gold to your father’s keepers.’
He stood up, walked to the door. ‘Get some rest now. We’re leaving tomorrow at dawn.’
His hand on the handle, he turned to her.
‘What was in the tomb, Harriet? Did your father find out at last where the emerald mines are? You must tell me.’
She took a deep breath. ‘Why don’t you go back there and take a look for yourself?’
‘I can’t. Nobody can. The Tuaregs sealed the tomb and are keeping guard. They won’t allow anyone near it.’
‘Then Tin Hinan’s secret is safe.’
Immediately her chest felt tight and she couldn’t breathe. Her father and Lucas were now entombed with the Tuareg queen and her treasures, forever. This time she couldn’t hold back the nausea. She leaned to the side and vomited on the floor.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Algiers—August
There was a place beyond tears, beyond pain and despair. A place where nothing brought any joy or peace. Where it didn’t matter if the sky was a deep blue and the waves rippled and shimmered under the sun. She felt neither the bracing, salty breeze from the Mediterranean which blew petals around like confetti, nor the sirocco wind which covered the town under a layer of fine, red hot Sahara sand. She was dead inside.
Every time she closed her eyes she only saw the immense, fawn-coloured desert plains and the rugged blackened peaks of the Hoggar mountain range rising in a transparent dawn, and the clear blue of Lucas’ eyes. When she tossed and turned on her mat every night, she heard his voice and the soulful melodies of the Tuareg imzad. Both Lucas and the Sahara had captured her heart and burned her soul.
They had travelled back from Abalessa in the summer heat, escorted by Mortemer and his men to Ghardaia where the lieutenant had left them. He was going to Bou Saada to deal with Saintclair’s rebel friend
s there, and with one man in particular—Ahmoud—who had been captured and thrown in jail along with his family. Harriet dreaded to think what would happen to them.
She bit her pencil and heaved a sigh, lost in the contemplation of the arrows of light that pierced the canopy of the fig tree in front of her and fell onto the two white graves underneath. Since their return to Algiers a couple of weeks before, she came here as often as she could. The tiny cemetery of princesses N’Fissa and Fatima—the two princesses who had died of despair after their lover disappeared in the desert—had become her refuge. She closed her eyes and a tear fell on her drawing pad, smudging the drawing of a Tuareg camp she was completing. Now she had her own cavalier to mourn. All she had left of him were a few sketches.
Their return to Algiers had caused a sensation. Archie had told Lord Welsford how he had snatched Harriet from the clutches of their renegade guide and his rebel Tuaregs who had captured and ill-treated her father, causing his fatal heart attack. To everyone around them, Archie was a dashing hero and she a tragic heroine. Having vowed to safeguard her father’s reputation, there was nothing Harriet could say to set the record straight. She remained silent, indifferent, withdrawn into her own world of dreams and memories.
Lady Welsford, the consul’s wife, invited her to countless tea parties and barouche rides in the newly opened Jardin d’Essai which overlooked the bay of Algiers. She had also arranged for her seamstress to cut new gowns for her and was most put out to see that nothing, even an entire new wardrobe, could bring a smile to Harriet’s face. In the end, the consul’s wife had decreed that only a return to England would soothe the young woman’s sadness.
‘You need to be far away from this brutal land and to focus on the future. You have your wedding to look forward to,’ the woman said with a broad smile. ‘Archibald is such a brave, honourable man.’
If only they knew.
Harriet’s throat closed. Marrying Archie was out of the question. She would run away when they reached London. She would take the Barbarossa map and go looking for the treasure, as her father wanted.
‘Mademoiselle.’ Aicha’s agitated voice drew her back to reality. Lord Callaghan’s maid pointed to the entrance to the cemetery where two armed men stood guard and stared at her, a disgruntled look on their face. ‘They say it’s time to go back.’
Harriet tilted her head, defiant. ‘They can wait until I have finished.’
She was under constant surveillance by Archie’s associates. The two men followed her everywhere. Archie claimed it was for her protection, but he must be afraid she would escape, although alone and without money, there was nowhere for her to go.
One of the men, a brute called Stevens, walked into the cemetery.
‘Mr. Drake said we were to make sure you’d be back in time for tonight’s reception.’
‘What reception?’
The man shook his head. ‘The reception at the British consulate.’
She frowned. She had forgotten all about it.
‘The man picked up her bag, a stubborn, determined look on his face, so she tidied her things and followed him out in the Kasbah.
They pushed their way through the crowd gathered in the steep, narrow alleyways where food stalls sold everything from thick slices of watermelon to fried pancakes dripping with honey or filled with minced lamb and vegetables, from cups of mint tea and strong coffee to fresh pomegranate juice. All the way back to the palace, she had the uneasy sensation eyes were boring holes in her back. Yet every time she glanced above her shoulder, all she saw were blank, anonymous men’s faces and veiled women.
Archie was waiting for her at the palace. He was already dressed for the reception, his shirt crisp and white, his cravat tightly gathered under his chin, his black evening suit impeccable.
‘What kept you out so late?’
His eyes trailed to her bag, then narrowed.
‘Been drawing again, have you?’ He lunged forward to snatch it from her.
‘Ah! Here are your precious sketches. I bet there are a few of our friend Saintclair in there. Let’s see.’
She swallowed hard. Begging him to give the book back was futile. It would only make him more determined. She held her head high as he flicked through the pad and started tearing pages off. Her silence as the papers fell onto the marble floor only seemed to make him more enraged. He tore out every single page of the sketchbook and looked half mad, his eyes bulging, his mouth mean and twisted when he threw what was left of the book on the table.
‘There, no more drawings! Get ready now. I don’t want to be late.’ He turned round and walked out.
Through a blur of tears, she knelt down on the blue and gold mosaic floor to gather torn pieces of her sketchbook.
‘Poor mademoiselle, all your beautiful drawings,’ Aicha said as she knelt down close to help her.
Lord and Lady Welsford’s summer residence was a large one-storey house in the hills overlooking the bay of Algiers. A light breeze blew from the sea, rustling palms and brightly coloured shrubs, and mixing its fresh salty scents with the deeper, sweeter aromas of the exotic vegetation.
Archie’s hand gripped Harriet’s elbow over her long white gloves and directed her through an elegant gathering of Royal Navy officers, personnel from the British embassy, French government officials and army officers, wealthy sea merchants and businessmen. Women were in short supply and every one of them commanded a small crowd of admirers. Music drifted into the gardens from an interior courtyard where a quartet performed. Servants walked around carrying silver trays with flutes of champagne, glasses of lemonade, and canapés.
Harriet stiffened, dreading the evening of meaningless chatter and polite conversation ahead. As if sensing her reluctance, Archie held her more tightly.
‘You are going to smile and look happy, dear,’ he whispered in her ear. He looked up and his face lit up. ‘Mortemer! I didn’t know you were in Algiers.’
The French lieutenant stood in front of them in his red and navy uniform. He took his hat off, bowed to Harriet.
‘Mademoiselle, what a great pleasure it is to see you again.’
She barely acknowledged his presence with a flicker of her eyelids.
‘I’m surprised you’re not asking me for news of Bou Saada.’ Mortemer arched his eyebrows and looked down at her.
She held her breath.
‘Come on, tell us how you got on with Saintclair’s rebel friends,’ Archie urged.
Mortemer’s lips stretched in a cold smile.
‘Saintclair’s involvement with the rebels has been proven beyond any doubt. Among other things, we now know that he organized the raid on the bordj in which army cannon were stolen, that he masterminded the attack on our Blida ammunition depot, and that he took great pains to destroy and relocate rebel weapons and supplies hideouts.’
He sighed, shook his head. ‘It seems he had his own motives for travelling with you to the Sahara and was intent on carrying out acts of rebellion against the French army all along.’
She tightened her mouth but still didn’t say a word.
‘Naturally, now that he has been declared an enemy of France, his property was confiscated.’
‘You can’t do that,’ Harriet cried out at last. ‘What about his mother and sister?’
Mortemer shrugged. ‘Young Rose Saintclair let me know in no uncertain terms what she thought but even she had to accept the inevitable in the end. I have full jurisdiction to do whatever I see fit in the interest of my country, mademoiselle. Madame Saintclair and her daughter have until the end of the month to leave their property. I will, of course, be the administrator of their estate.’
‘What about Ahmoud?’ she asked.
The Lieutenant’s lips hardened. ‘Unfortunately, the man escaped, but it’s only a question of time before we capture him again.’
He stared at a point behind her. ‘What’s going on over there?’
Archie and Harriet turned towards the garden gates. She let out a startled
cry. A short, dark-haired man argued with the guards. She remembered him very well. It was Rachid, the man she had saved from Lucas’ wrath outside the Seventh Star.
‘Excuse me for a moment, there is someone I need to speak to,’ Mortemer said before walking over to the gate.
‘I wonder who that is,’ Archie muttered under his breath.
‘Only one of his informers,’ she replied coldly.
Archie glanced at her.
‘He seems rather agitated. Look, he is leading Mortemer away from the gardens…’
He was right. Mortemer now stood in the alley outside the consul’s residence, a deep, unhappy frown on his face. He grabbed Rachid’s arm and shook the small man, who retaliated by yelling and waving his fist in front of him. She shrugged. They could kill each other for all she cared. She was about to turn away when she heard a strange whistling sound. Immediately Rachid collapsed, followed by the lieutenant. Someone started screaming and the British guards rushed out, shouting for help.
It was too late for the two men lying dead on the ground, a dagger between the shoulder blades. As she walked nearer, Harriet saw that both daggers had symbols carved on the hilt—Tuareg symbols.
‘Egha,’ she whispered as she recognized the arrangement of patterns and dots Lucas had once showed her.
‘What did you say?’ Archie snapped at her.
‘Egha.’ She pointed to the daggers. ‘It means ‘revenge’ in Tamasheq.’
Archie recoiled, pale.
‘Come back here this instant. Whoever killed Mortemer and the other man might still be around.’
He didn’t need to add that as the man responsible for shooting Lucas Saintclair in the back, it was likely he would be the next target of a well-aimed dagger. He took her hand and dragged her away. Her heart beating hard and fast, Harriet cast a glance towards the thick vegetation all around, but saw only shadows.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
September—Aylesford, Kent
‘Have some petit-fours, my dear,’ Lady Callaghan gestured for her maid to bring a silver tray laden with pastries. ‘I had them made especially by Monsieur Philippe, Lady Portman’s very own pastry chef. They are simply divine.’