The Egyptian Coffin (A Lord Ambrose Mystery)

by Jane Jakeman

  “He sounds the most interesting man in the world!”

  “Oh, don’t you give him a second thought, Miss Lilian! Why, he’s all mixed up with foreigners! He lets them thieving gypsies take their caravans on to his land and camp on Malfine ground for all the world as if it belonged to them! And his own mother was a foreigner — Greek, or some such! So you see, Miss Lilian, the man is very probably close kin to the Devil himself, and no fit creature for the company of a young lady such as yourself. And now I’m going to take you home, for you are getting far too interested in the gentleman, it seems to me, and we had best try and get back as soon as we may.”

  Until that glimpse in the drawing-room at Westmorland Park, when I was so ill, this was all I knew of Lord Ambrose, and of course I was dying to meet him after all the terrible things that Jennet had said. So you may imagine how excited I was to encounter him again on board the steamship that was carrying me, with Jennet and Mr. Casterman, to Egypt.

  The first day I ventured out of the cabin was when the ship was ploughing through rough seas in the Bay of Biscay. I had not felt anything as invigorating as that scudding air since I had galloped on Selene’s back through the fields of home. The white crested waves swooped up and down, like great hills in perpetual motion, but I sensed no fear. As a matter of fact, I felt better than I had done for weeks.

  I had improved from the first day on board. The pain and nausea had stopped, and my fevers and night sweats evaporated. I slept well, rocked on the sea, trusting to it even when it grew rough and ready.

  On that morning, I had eaten the invalid food Jennet had ordered (the devotion Jennet had displayed in giving the menu to the steward, when her own face was a delicate shade of green, could not be underestimated). I had partaken of (“partaken” is the ladylike word, is it not? — should it be partook?) — anyway, I had eaten, that is what I mean to say, neat’s foot jelly, chicken cream, and eggs beaten with sherry, but I was still hungry, and was planning to order a substantial dinner for myself upon my return to the cabin.

  But then, a most unladylike thing happened! I literally fell into the arms of Lord Ambrose!

  I had no idea even that he was on board, but he seemed to have sprung out of nowhere, and saved me from falling headlong along the deck as it tilted with the waves. All was confused while he propped me up and made some polite remarks, and the next thing I knew was that we were taking tea and I had a chance to contemplate him in more detail.

  Long, long legs! They were clad in snuff-coloured twill trousers, and their owner was also wearing a plain black dress-coat with a white cravat. Above the cravat, a dark, lean jaw, with the traces of a scar that did not detract from his visage. I hope he will forgive me for mentioning that his mouth had a nice amused smile, as he gazed across the table at me. And those eyes, yes, those were the eyes, and that the penetrating gaze, which I remembered from his visit to Westmorland Park. We had a conversation, which was sorrowful for me as we talked about dear Selene (though I felt better afterwards), so I will not put it down here as it would start me weeping again and I would spoil the paper.

  And then, after Lord Ambrose and I had finished our tea, we stood up to leave and to don our cloaks and scarves and gloves, when who should come rushing in but Casterman!

  He was threatening and shouting, but then something happened, and seemed to happen fast — very fast indeed.

  Casterman is not a small man, by any means, but Lord Ambrose Malfine, without appearing to move at all, was suddenly towering over him, and a long black-gauntletted fist had grasped Casterman’s throat, and just lifted him up and threw him into a chair! Just like that — I must put in some exclamation marks!!!

  Then Lord Ambrose said something nasty to Mr. Casterman and something nice to me — I can’t remember exactly what, except that he said that he would help me if ever I needed it and I must be sure not to forget that — and off he stalked!

  Mr. Casterman seemed very shaken by the incident, and somehow it had altered him. He seemed a different sort of man, somehow, as he apologised to me, which is something he had never done before and I would never have believed he would do to anybody.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Lilian — I was afraid that a stranger might have tried to detain you in conversation for evil purposes. I was concerned only with your safety, and I had no wish to offend you — or Lord Ambrose.”

  His speech was very polite and civil. I confess that I cannot like him, however, though I do pity him for the marks of the smallpox that he carries on his face, and for the suffering he must have undergone.

  Anyway, let us forget about him for a little while. I had put it all out of mind, and was in high spirits as I looked upon the wondrous shores of Egypt! The Great London steamed majestically into the harbour of Alexandria. It was an afternoon of golden sun, and we on board had a sense of achievement. We had outrun the grip of winter. That was how Mrs. Cornwallis, another first-class passenger with whom we had become acquainted, put it, in rather a poetical way, she being quite a literary lady.

  Passengers and crew had now enjoyed a week of calm voyaging, so that most of us had recovered from bouts of “landlubberly” mal-de-mer, and were sufficiently interested in the world again to crowd to the ship’s side and watch the process of navigation into the great harbour. Aches and pains, slights and squabbles, seemed all to have been forgotten in the excitement.

  I had continued in the improvement in health which the voyage seemed to have brought me, and I am sure that my walks on deck, breathing in the healthful salt air, had greatly contributed to this. There I was with the other passengers, hanging over the rail and gazing at the ancient harbour of Alexandria, the home of the lighthouse that had once been one of the Seven Wonders of the World. Piles of ancient, golden stones surrounded the harbour: what had they once been, I wondered. I saw ancient columns here and there, a fortress in the distance.

  “Will we have the chance to do a little sightseeing?” I asked Mrs. Cornwallis, who stood beside me at the rail. Mrs. Cornwallis, as all the passengers knew by now, was an experienced traveller, voyaging to see her son who was a high-ranking civil servant in India. But I must not say anything to the detritus of Mrs. Cornwallis — she is truly the kindest of ladies and had pressed many remedies for mal-de-mer upon poor Jennet. None of them had worked, but that does not detract from Mrs. C.’s generosity, does it?

  “Why, yes, I believe so. We will disembark and then spend the night at an hotel here in Alexandria before we depart again on our way to Cairo,” she said as we watched the bustle in the harbour.

  I confess, I had been hoping that I might see Lord Ambrose upon deck to view the harbour of Alexandria with the other passengers, but he kept to his quarters, or so it seemed. There had been no repetition of our previous encounter and I had always been accompanied by the friendly Mrs. Cornwallis or by Jennet, as I took a turn about the deck, with Mr. Casterman following behind. His behaviour had been beyond reproach since that incident in the first-class saloon. Perhaps Lord Ambrose had frightened him into good behaviour; I was delighted at the thought that there was someone in the world who might be capable of putting a fright into the seemingly imporous Casterman.

  Considering that Lord Ambrose’s cabin was next to mine, I might have fairly expected to see him in the ordinary course of the voyage, but he appeared to keep his quarters much of the time. At night, I could see the light from his neighbouring porthole shining out upon the sea, as I gazed out of my own cabin. “He must be studying late into the night,” I told myself, and derived some comfort from the gleam from his cabin as it flickered out over the waves, like a friendly night light that promised me safety. I expect he always uses a dictionary when he is not sure which word to use: I confess that it is a very bad habit of mine to guess with difficult words.

  “Why do you think he insisted on having that cabin?” I asked Jennet.

  “Oh, he’s a strange one — it’ll be some whim or other, believe you me!” said Jennet, brushing my hair. “You don’t w
ant to take any notice of that!”

  But I could not stop myself from thinking of my neighbour, sitting there reading alone, late into the night.

  I had myself collected up some books on Egypt, which Uncle Micah had approved of, and had set myself to do a little study of the exotic country to which we were bound. I had pondered a few pages of Mr. Wilkinson’s advice to travellers.

  “Many persons ask if bathing in the Nile is advisable. Nothing can be more conducive to health and comfort ... the crocodile is not so much dreaded by bathers as might be expected ...”

  “No one can visit the harems and courts of the private dwellings of the Cairenes without recalling the impressions he received on reading The Arabian Nights ...”

  “Passing through the court of the hotel the traveller sees the various preparations for a journey across the desert ...”

  I recalled Casterman saying to Jennet, “Why, Mrs. Jennet, please to remember we are not going to an uninhabited wilderness. Cairo is a great city, with hotels and merchants and bankers. But do not forget you will need a good woollen cloak.”

  “Mr. Casterman, shall we not be broiled like lobsters in the heat?”

  “No, no. The nights in the desert can be very cold. There is a night sky of unimaginable brightness and glittering stars — but cold, cold!”

  As we prepared to disembark, all these fragments whirled round in my head like gleaming flashes from a prism, promising delights and excitements ahead.

  PART III

  EGYPT

  NINE - The Further Narrative of Miss Lilian Westmorland

  We were to spend two nights in Alexandria before travelling to Cairo along the Mahmoudiyah Canal, and Mrs. Cornwallis, who was resident at the same hotel, had proposed that a little sightseeing party be made up. This needed little encouragement, and four persons, Jennet, Mrs. Cornwallis, Mr. Casterman, and myself had hired a carriage and a guide for the day. Dislike Casterman though I might, I could not but admit that he was extremely useful on an expedition such as this, fixing a price in advance after much negotiation, and pointing out the sights of the place, which was evidently well known to him.

  Thus aided, we had viewed Pompey’s Pillar, had marvelled at the obelisks called Cleopatra’s Needles, had driven through the Christian quarter and seen the Coptic church. It was then late afternoon, and the party was all somewhat hot and dusty; but I, with the recovery of my usual high spirits, wanted to continue our expedition and feared that the weariness of Mrs. Cornwallis and Jennet might put a stop to it just as I was getting a taste for the exotic colours, the date palms, the noise and bustle of the streets.

  I was, therefore, both pleased and surprised when Casterman proposed further sightseeing.

  “Do you see the old fort out there, at the end of the promontory? We could drive out to it, if you wish. That fort was built by the great Sultan, Qait Bey, over three centuries ago on the site of the Pharaohs of the Ancients, the lighthouse that was one of the Seven Wonders of the World. Qait Bey started his career as a slave who was bought in the market place, and intrigued and murdered his way up to the throne. But he was a great warrior. Very few Europeans visit that fort; it would be quite an unusual thing for you ladies to have seen it.”

  Jennet, as might be predicted, exclaimed that she was too weary and dusty even to set one foot in front of another, but I was intrigued and excited by the prospect, and Mrs. Cornwallis said that she would be quite agreeable, provided that she might be allowed to stay behind in the carriage and rest while the others explored the place — it would be something to write to her son in India about, after all.

  We all finally set off, accompanied by Casterman and a guide from the hotel.

  The towered fortress looked like a mere speck at this distance, but within half an hour we were close to it. As we drew near, I was suddenly aware of how high those towers were, how dark and forbidding seemed the entrance.

  The carriage came to a halt.

  Mrs. Cornwallis remained in the comparative cool of the conveyance. There was a burst of Arabic between Casterman and our guide, and the driver and the turbaned dragoman both settled down in the shade of the ancient walls. “There is no point in their accompanying us,” said Casterman. “I know the place and can show you ladies the way. And it will be better if they stay with Mrs. Cornwallis, in case she is in need of anything.”

  The entrance seemed suddenly cold as we passed beneath it. In the courtyard, various pieces of lumber seemed to be lying about, dusty and neglected. There was no sound from the outside world, except for the occasional cries of birds and the occasional sight of a wing over the edge of a parapet: perhaps they were nesting in the great crinolines. A corner of the yard was still in direct sunlight; otherwise, the shadow of evening seemed to be descending. But, looking up, I could see the golden stone of the towers still outlined against a brilliant blue sky, and my enthusiasm for exploration was not checked. “There must be a wonderful view from there,” I exclaimed, my head bent backwards as I peered up.

  “Miss Lilian, I beg you, it doesn’t look at all safe to me!”

  “Why, Jennet, there’s a staircase in this archway!”

  The door was open.

  “Oh, Mr. Casterman, I beg you, don’t let her go up it! I’m sure there’ll be some mischance or other!”

  “Mrs. Jennet, the staircase is safe, I do assure you. Miss Lilian, I will lead the way, to make sure there is no insecure footing, and you follow. Mrs. Jennet, you may stay here and wait for us, in the shade of the wall, if you desire.” And Casterman stepped through a doorway at the bottom of a tower.

  Jennet, already breathless on account of the heat, would not bring herself to tackle the winding stone stairs. She remained at the bottom, where there was a bench cut into the stone, but she was irresolute and anxious. I stayed with her for a few minutes, trying to persuade her she might safely ascend. But when it became clear that I would not prevail upon my companion, I turned towards the stairs, and followed where Casterman had led.

  The stairs were firm and secure underfoot, though ancient

  and worn, for the stones had been so closely fitted by the old builders that I was sure they could be trusted still.

  The cool, dim interior of the tower was a relief after the heat outside. There was a slit window at each turn of the stairs, and I could see quite well enough to climb.

  After a few minutes, I found Casterman was waiting for me. He was sitting on a window-seat at one of the turns in the tower.

  “I waited to see you were quite safe, Miss Lilian. Do you know, the sultan who built this fort, Qait Bey, put out the eyes and tore out the tongue of an alchemist who failed to change lead into gold?”

  At that, I must confess I suddenly felt quite dizzy. Why did Casterman have to tell me that?

  I remember that his face seemed very pale. There were drops of sweat upon it, yet it seemed to me that it was not that natural perspiration that comes from some exertion in the heat.

  “There’s a wonderful view from the top,” he continued. “You can see the ships out in the bay, with all the people looking like so many ants.”

  Is that what human beings truly are to you, ants? The thought crossed my mind as we confronted each other upon the stairs.

  “I want to go all the way to the top, Mr. Casterman, but is it very far?”

  “No, miss, not very far. Follow me.”

  We continued to climb and I followed Casterman’s footsteps as they echoed round and round the winding stair, tramping endlessly just out of sight and just beyond. Steadily, the ground glimpsed through the window slits fell away. Now Jennet was a tiny black doll, sitting on a toy bench far below.

  Birds flew past our tower: Casterman and I were in a different kingdom now, the kingdom of the air.

  I glimpsed sheets of blue water through the slits in the stone. The bay was spread out before them, as Casterman had promised.

  The footsteps above me seemed to be going faster and faster: I was having difficulty now in keeping
up. Perhaps I was beginning to feel a little giddy again; perhaps I had overtaxed my strength. But I would not give in; I would not call out to Casterman to stop or even to slow down. I had set out to get to the top of this tower, and get to the top of it I would.

  Suddenly, the echoing footsteps ahead of me ceased, and I emerged through an archway into blazing sunlight, so that I had to stand still for a few moments and rub my eyes till they adjusted to the appalling brightness.

  Then I saw that I was on a little roof, with a parapet on the side overlooking the sea. And there, as Casterman had promised, was the great sweep of the harbour, with tiny creatures moving across toy ships, their sails like shreds of white and their masts like matchsticks. Delighted, I watched the scene for a few minutes before I wondered what had become of Casterman, who must have come out ahead of me on to this roof but was not visible.

  Then I saw, a few yards away from her, a door in a low wall, and, a little further away, Casterman’s head and shoulders appearing above a wall that divided my section of the parapet from a stretch beyond. As I looked, he turned and smiled at me, and opened his mouth, calling something out, but I could not hear what it was, for a gust of wind swept it away with the cries of the gulls that circled around them. But he was surely beckoning me, smiling, urging me on. There was a, little door in the parapet between us. I walked towards it.

  The door was of weathered oak, with an iron latch, the handle smooth and worn, I suppose from the fingers of the innumerable sentries who had paced these ramparts and walked through this doorway.

  I was just about to set my hand upon it when there was a shout, and a figure dashed in front of me.

  “No! Not that door!”

  It was a young man who must have fairly hurled himself across the roof of the tower to get between myself and the door. I could not take it in for a few moments, so astonished was I, and it was a minute or two before it dawned on me that he had shouted in English.