Tide of Fortune

by Jane Jackson

  That night he slept wrapped in Kerenza’s blanket. And dreamed. And ached for her.

  The next two days followed a similar pattern: kicking their heels at the Palace in the morning, dinner at the house, then back to the ship. By the third day the strain was beginning to tell on them all.

  When he wasn’t asleep, William Vyvyan’s grief and anxiety exploded in bad temper. Backed up by Broad, a witness to William’s surly impatience with Kerenza, Nick wanted to increase the laudanum dosage. But Kerenza had refused.

  ‘I really think it would be better not to. As for my father’s outbursts, I understand they are the result of our circumstances, so I do not take them to heart.’ Her throbbing head and the tension that lay like an iron bar across her shoulders told a different story. But though sorely tempted, she dared not agree. ‘What if the governor should summon us? What kind of impression would we make if my father were too befuddled to talk sensibly? The governor knows we are here. Even if it is his practice to make people wait before seeing him, surely he will want the matter settled soon?’

  Constant efforts to placate and occupy her father cost her enormous effort. Now she was aware of an additional pressure. For though he said nothing to her she had overheard enough to realise that Nick faced problems of his own. The longer they remained here the higher the personal cost to him. The crew were bored, restless. More fights meant more punishments and increased resentment.

  Caught in the middle, her sympathies torn between Nick and her father, Kerenza was also worried about her sister. Dulcie had always been close to their mother, particularly during their year of shared captivity, so must surely be feeling dreadfully isolated and afraid.

  With her own memories of how it felt to be excluded still vivid, Kerenza could imagine all too clearly Dulcie’s loneliness since losing her mother. Thinking about family and closeness reminded Kerenza of her grandmother, her acerbic affection, and the warmth of her welcome into the house at Flushing. But the memory, though comforting, seemed to belong to another time, a different life.

  As if all that was not enough, the wind had shifted. Maggot called it the cherqi.

  ‘Is a bad wind.’ He shook his head.

  Hot, damp, oppressive, it rasped raw nerves and frayed tempers already on edge. Kerenza’s skin was constantly clammy, her clothes clung, and her eyes were gritty and sore. There was no escape, no relief.

  Her father’s moods swung between incoherent rage and jittery apprehension. Nick returned from the palace tight-lipped with fury. Even Maggot was showing signs of strain. Kerenza felt as fragile as glass.

  After dinner on the fourth day, as Maggot and Nick prepared to return to the ship, Zohra sent Maggot back to tell Kerenza to put on her kaftan, headscarf, and veil, and meet her in the court.

  ‘Where are we going?’

  Maggot looked tired but his eyes held a glimmer of mischief. ‘Hammam.’

  ‘Where’s that? Is it far?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not far. No worry. You will like.’

  Zohra was waiting in the court carrying what looked like a leather bucket, its contents covered with a folded white cloth, when Kerenza came down from the terrace. A couple of minutes’ walk from the house, Zohra turned down an alley. As they passed an open doorway, the smell of freshly baked bread wafted out into the humid air. The door next to it stood open and, after handing some money to a woman sitting just inside, Zohra led the way along a short passage.

  It opened into a room where several women sat or lay on couches, their faces and heads uncovered. Kerenza saw with a dart of shock that two of the women’s faces were patterned with indigo blue: one on her chin, the other in lines down her cheeks.

  While some towelled damp hair, others drew combs through long, dark tresses as they chatted. All glowed and exuded a fresh fragrance that made Kerenza acutely aware of her perspiring skin and unwashed hair.

  She guessed this must be a public bathhouse, like the one for the seamen in Flushing. As the women exchanged greetings with Zohra, Kerenza sensed their curiosity at the sight of a stranger. Zohra led her through to another room, noisy with the talk and laughter of women and children in various stages of undress.

  Removing her clothes, she motioned to Kerenza to do the same. Shyness battled with overwhelming desire for a bath, and was swiftly vanquished. Though she was careful not to stare, Kerenza could not avoid noticing that many of the women, especially the older ones, were brown and plump and soft. They were, she thought wryly, fat roast duck to her plucked chicken. One older woman had a complicated orange-brown pattern running the length of her thighs and calves to her ankles.

  Though they openly studied her, there was none of the condemnation she had seen in the men’s glittering eyes. She sensed what intrigued them was the whiteness of her skin.

  Gently turning Kerenza around, Zohra unpinned her hair. As it uncoiled, two of the women reached out and gathered a handful, nodding and smiling. Kerenza smiled back. Then Zohra took her into a room cloudy with steam, where they sat side by side on stools in front of a cistern.

  Using the bucket to pour water over her head and body, Zohra handed it to Kerenza and began to soap herself. After Kerenza had done the same, Zohra half-turned on her stool, grasped Kerenza’s arm, and began to scrub it gently with a fist-sized piece of light grey stone. She scrubbed Kerenza’s arms, back, legs and feet, and, when she had finished, rinsed her with buckets of water. With a tentative smile, Kerenza held out her hand for the stone and raised her brows. Beaming, Zohra handed it to her and held out her own arm.

  They washed each other’s hair, and as Zohra gently massaged her scalp, Kerenza closed her eyes. Minnie usually did this for her. Imagining the maid’s expression, Kerenza smiled.

  With their wet hair hanging in thick ropes down their backs, Kerenza followed Zohra to two marble slabs. Signalling someone across the room, Zohra lay down on one and waved Kerenza onto the other. Wondering what was coming next, Kerenza started as strong fingers, slippery with scented oil, began to knead her shoulders. It hurt, and she tensed, resisting. A hand slapped her twice, and a voice scolded. Though she couldn’t understand the words, the tone made the meaning plain.

  About to sit up and push the hand away, she felt Zohra’s touch on her arm, coaxing, reassuring. Making a deliberate effort to relax, she received a pat of approval. The deft fingers resumed, moving down her back and legs then returning to work more deeply on her neck, arms, and shoulders.

  Kerenza felt painful knots begin to loosen and tight muscles grew soft and flexible. As tension dissolved and evaporated, her anxieties drifted away. She felt boneless, weightless, and blissfully detached.

  After one more soaping, another hair-wash to remove any traces of oil, and several rinses, the two women dried themselves. Twisting towels around their hair, they returned to the outer room to dress and relax. Kerenza felt as if every nerve was wrapped in velvet.

  Zohra chatted with several women who had put on kaftans over a fine cotton garment resembling the one Kerenza had found on her bed in place of her nightdress the night she arrived. Pulling on her chemise, she looked at her peach muslin, grubby and damp with perspiration. Touching Kerenza’s arm, Zohra shook her head.

  Amazed at her daring, Kerenza rolled up her dress. She allowed the emerald kaftan to float down over her chemise, emerging to see Zohra clap her hands, laughing.

  They combed out their damp hair and pinned it up. As they put on their headscarves and veils, it occurred to Kerenza that she had shared greater intimacy with a woman she had known less than a week, a woman whose language she did not speak, than with her own mother.

  Even as the sadness struck deep, she found herself able to accept it. She wondered if the odd feeling of detachment was responsible for her reaction, wondered if she might feel differently when it wore off. She decided she wouldn’t.

  Zohra picked up her bucket containing the soap, stone, and hair wash. Handing the wet towels to the waiting attendant, they walked out into the late afternoon.
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  As they crossed a wide street, Kerenza heard the sound of horses’ hooves. Grasping her arm, Zohra drew her back as a party of men came from the direction of the main city gate and turned on to another street. Though she saw them for only a few seconds, the image was imprinted on her brain.

  Black-skinned guards in loose white trousers and red leather boots carried long muskets, presumably to protect the richly dressed young man at their head astride a grey horse whose embroidered and tasselled bridle and ornate leather saddle gleaming with gold proclaimed him someone of importance. Behind them, led by three muleteers, six mules trotted laden with baggage.

  Kerenza turned to Zohra. ‘Who –?’ The question died on her lips. But Zohra guessed what she wanted to know.

  ‘Mulai Aruj.’

  Kerenza repeated the name to herself as they hurried home. Maggot might know who he was. The young man was heading toward the castle. Might his arrival push the governor into action?

  Chapter Seventeen

  That night, Kerenza slept long and deep, not stirring even when the muezzin called the faithful to prayer at three in the morning. It was Dina who woke her, bringing in a jug of water.

  She felt deliciously rested. Refreshed, she put on a clean chemise and her apple-green muslin – returned washed and ironed with the rest of her laundry. As she combed, coiled, and pinned up her hair, her stomach fluttered with pleasure at the prospect of seeing Nick. Was this wise? Wise or not, to prevent or deny her attraction to him was beyond her strength or will.

  Outside on the terrace, she paused, filling her lungs as she looked down toward the sea over purple-shadowed alleys and whitewashed houses gilded by the morning sun. Kestrel rode at her anchor on water that glittered like diamonds. She shaded her eyes, searching for the cutter. Had it not yet left? Was he still aboard Kestrel? Or could she not see it because it was even at this moment pulling into the beach? He might even be on his way up through the streets. Anticipation sped her along the terrace, down the steps and across the court.

  ‘Azoufl’ouen.’ Zohra greeted her with a beaming smile and ushered her into the salon where a dish of apricots and dates, a bowl of yoghurt, and warm fresh bread were waiting. Kerenza ate hungrily and had almost finished when Zohra brought in a pot of coffee and set it down.

  ‘Ateikum-saha,’ Kerenza said with a tiny thrill of pride at her hostess’s visible pleasure.

  Zohra asked a question, closing her eyes and resting her tilted head on her hand, clearly miming sleep.

  Smiling, Kerenza nodded. ‘Oh yes, really well. Thank you.’

  Murmuring her approval, Zohra bustled out, passing Maggot, who was on his way in.

  ‘So.’ He grinned. ‘You like hammam?’

  ‘Oh Maggot, it was wonderful. I’ve never felt so clean. Last night was the best night’s sleep I’ve had since we left Flushing.’

  ‘Good morning.’ Nick strode in.

  ‘Good morning.’ Kerenza’s heart gave its familiar leap. ‘Would you like some coffee?’ Without waiting for his reply, she filled one of the small cups and offered it to him. ‘Zohra took me to a hammam yesterday. It’s a bath house for women where –’

  ‘Indeed.’

  Startled by his brusqueness, her smiled faltered. ‘Is something wrong?’ She caught her breath. ‘Has there been news –?’

  Maggot set down his cup. ‘Excuse, please.’ He walked out, catching Zohra on the threshold and murmuring in her ear as he drew her with him.

  ‘No.’ Nick pushed a hand through his hair. ‘Nothing’s wrong. Except –’ He broke off, gazing at the floor as he jarred his booted heel against the rug. He looked up at her from beneath dark brows. ‘I don’t think you should be talking about such things to Maggot.’

  ‘But I only – He knew Zohra was taking me, and because I didn’t see him when we got back last evening –’

  ‘You didn’t?’ He was very still.

  She shook her head. ‘No. Then this morning I woke late. He came in only a moment before you did, so when he asked if I had enjoyed it –’

  ‘And did you?’ His tone was softer, his posture more relaxed.

  ‘It was blissful. We were there for hours.’

  Puzzlement drew his brows together. ‘Why so long?’

  She hesitated, but his interest seemed genuine. ‘Well, because it wasn’t just a bath.’ She stopped, wary and confused. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. Why is it wrong for me to talk about it to Maggot, even though it’s part of his culture, yet acceptable to discuss it with you?’ She was astonished to see a blush darken his face.

  ‘Because you’re – I’m –’ He swallowed. ‘I –’

  His voice was so quiet, so muffled, she wasn’t sure if she had heard correctly. It had sounded like “miss you”. A pulse drummed in her ears as her thoughts whirled. But what if she was wrong? What if it was wishful thinking?

  He shook his head abruptly. ‘How is your father this morning?’ Though still warm, his tone was more guarded.

  ‘S-still asleep.’

  ‘It’s perhaps as well.’ He made a brief formal bow. ‘If you’ll excuse me?’

  ‘Of course.’ Bewildered, she watched him stride out, radiating tension.

  An hour later, she was sitting in the salon, reading, while upstairs Broad tended to her father. Zohra had invited her to go to the market once more, but she had declined. With the cherqi still blowing it was cooler in the house. Besides, she wanted a little solitude, and some time to think. But her thoughts just went round in circles, growing ever more tangled.

  The outside door slammed and she looked up as swift footsteps crossed the court and entered the house. Nick strode in, followed by Maggot. The strain that had etched lines on their faces had gone, replaced by a mixture of relief and determination.

  ‘At last.’ Shrugging out of his jacket, Nick inserted a finger between his neckcloth and throat. Sweat beaded his forehead.

  ‘Good news?’ she ventured.

  ‘The best,’ Nick grinned. ‘The Governor will see your father this afternoon.’

  Kerenza shut her book. ‘Thank goodness. Broad is with him now. I’m sure this will make all the difference.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Nick said with a touch of grimness. ‘Anyway, let’s hope we can settle the business and get on our way. This wind –’ He wiped his forehead on his shirt sleeve. ‘There’s something going on up at the palace. It seems the sultan’s son returned last evening.’

  ‘We saw him,’ Kerenza said. ‘We were on our way back from the hammam. It was only a brief glimpse. He had a party of bodyguards with him, and pack-mules. Why has he come?’

  ‘He live here,’ Maggot explained. ‘He like to hunt in hills. He is coming from visit to his father. The sultan is in Rabat and sent for him.’

  ‘Why should his return have caused tension?’ Kerenza asked.

  Nick shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea. But people are certainly moving faster, and everyone looks a bit nervous.’

  ‘I listen,’ Maggot said. ‘But I hear only that Mulai Aruj very angry. This is making governor very nervous. So now he want we go away quick.’

  ‘Please take me with you to the palace,’ Kerenza said. ‘While you and my father are with the governor, I must see my sister. She may not even know we are here.’

  After a brief hesitation, Nick nodded. ‘I’d be surprised if she didn’t. One of the servants is sure to have said something. Still, seeing you will convince her she’ll soon be free and on her way home.’

  Kerenza’s mouth grew dry as remembered instances of Dulcie’s spite sprang up, taunting her. She shuddered. Then reminded herself that was all in the past. She was a different person now. Perhaps Dulcie was too. For surely no one could live through what she had experienced during the past year and not be changed by it?

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asked softly.

  Rubbing her arms, she nodded again and tried to smile.

  He stepped closer, his voice low. ‘You needn’t be worried or afraid. There’ll be no m
ore bullying. You were alone then. You didn’t have anyone to look out for you, to protect or care for you. But that’s not true now.’

  Startled, she looked up, grateful for the reminder. The threatening memories shrank and receded. ‘No, you’re right. My grandmother –’

  ‘Your grandmother likes to play the dragon. But she has a kind heart. She will always care about your happiness.’ His smile had a bitter edge. ‘She made it very clear to me that she would protect you from anyone she considered unworthy.’

  Recalling her grandmother’s tart dismissal of what she had considered Nicholas Penrose’s presumption, Kerenza blushed hotly.

  ‘I respect her for it,’ he added before she could even begin to try and explain. ‘But she isn’t here now. I am. And while I breathe, no one will harm you. Do you understand?’ His eyes flashed like blades. ‘Do you?’ he repeated.

  ‘Yes.’ But she wasn’t sure she did. What exactly was he telling her? That he would shield her from Dulcie and her father? But who would protect her all-too-vulnerable heart from him? Perhaps his words held deeper meaning. But, fearful of being wrong, of laying herself open to embarrassment or, even worse, his pity, she dared not ask.

  On his way back from the palace that morning, Nick had called at the consulate and asked Henry Corbett’s advice, determined to avoid any situation the governor might seize upon as an excuse for further delay.

  The vice-consul had agreed to accompany them, and to bring along the consulate’s Jewish interpreter with whom the governor was familiar. Maggot’s presence would reassure William Vyvyan and Nick of the interpreter’s accuracy. Also, the larger the party the more impressive it would appear to the governor.

  Next was the question of clothes for Maggot. Should he wear Tamazirght dress or his packet uniform? Maggot clung determinedly to his uniform, reminding them that in the governor’s eyes he was already set apart by his mixed ancestry and the fact that he sailed with a foreign infidel. At the same time, his uniform proclaimed his employment in the packet service and thus a connection, however tenuous, with the British government. The governor was too shrewd not to take that into account.