by Jane Jakeman
“I’m sorry to have alarmed you, but truly, it is not safe up here! You should not have ventured up this far!”
There was a gust of wind, and the door now seemed to slowly swing open of its own accord. And through it gradually appeared the sight of a great chasm, a black, yawning void in which a bird fluttered with alarm. Broken rafters jutted out over the depths. Over the depths in which I could see a glimpse of the ground, hundreds of feet below.
“Please, stay still for a few moments, till you recover.”
The stranger had taken my elbow, was turning me away from that terrible little door and towards the safety of the stairs. I stood with my eyes closed till the world steadied down.
Then I stared at the man who had come between me and my death. He was young, dressed in riding-clothes, with large, open, grey-blue eyes and light-coloured hair. There was a pause: I somehow had the impression that we were both trying to get our breath.
“Sholto Lawrence, Miss Lilian, at your service.”
How did he know my name?
He seemed to read my mind, and became rather flustered.
“Oh, forgive me, I fell into conversation with the lady waiting for you at the floor of the tower — Mrs. Jennet, is it not? She expressed much alarm about your safety, so I volunteered to hasten up the staircase to ensure that all was well with you ...”
His voice trailed away. We both looked at the doorway.
“I see that I was only just in time!”
I realised now that in the other direction was an archway, and through it there was a covered gallery leading round the tower, a safe walkway.
I watched with a kind of immobile fascination as Casterman came hurrying, his black figure moving between pillars and columns, running towards us. He was shouting something.
“Miss Lilian, thank God you are safe ... I had no idea ...”
My rescuer did not wait for Casterman. With a gentle pressure, he impelled me safely to the top of the staircase that wound down to the ground, back to Jennet and safety. I moved obediently, still numbed with shock and only half aware of what Casterman was saying as he joined us at the top of the stairs.
“Miss Lilian, Miss Lilian, thank God! I thought you were ... I saw you going towards that door ... I curse myself for leaving you alone ... I tried to warn you, but I fear you could not hear me. Those timbers decayed since I last was here.”
What was it Casterman had shouted as I went towards that little door that led to an abyss? Had he truly called out a warning? Perhaps. It could have been so.
In fact, was I at all certain about what I heard?
I had to admit that I was not.
Gradually, we descended. Mr. Lawrence was between myself and Casterman on the way down.
At last, we emerged into the sunshine at the bottom of the stairwell, and Jennet flung her arms around me.
“Why, miss, I’ve been that alarmed! This young gentleman here, he offered to go and find you out and make sure you was safe — oh, sir, thank you! Miss Lilian, the young gentleman is from Cornwall, only think of that!”
“A fellow West Countryman, indeed,” I exclaimed.
“Well, sir, this is a fine chance that brought you here, as it has proven, for my sake! Let me thank you with all my heart!”
Casterman was following on behind, and emerged from the tower. Should I accuse him? But of what? Of leading me carelessly into a spot that might prove dangerous? I had no evidence at all that he had acted maliciously, as I believe lawyers say, for there was no testimony apart from my own fleeting impression of his face as I moved towards the gap in the roof, a mere glimpse of an expression — why, no one would believe me, surely! I would be dismissed, as a silly girl who had got herself into danger and tried to blame it on another. And my impression of Casterman — I knew that was not “evidence.” People would say that was just a matter of the feelings of a young and inexperienced female who had been thrown into a state of panic by her near escape from a frightful danger. Nobody had listened to me after my riding accident, when I had tried to tell them about Selene. Nobody but Lord Ambrose — I recalled the serious way he had spoken to me, as if I were a real grown-up person whose word could be accepted, during our conversation in the first-class passengers’ saloon.
We made our way back to the carriage.
Suddenly, my spirits were raised. There was an unexpected sight, a fine horse tethered close by, in the shade of the walls. Mr. Lawrence knew something about horses, then.
Sholto Lawrence untied his mount, and prepared to ride along behind the carriage, asking as he did so, “May I escort you back to the town?”
Casterman suddenly interspersed, with an edge of indignation in his voice, “Thank you, I can look after the ladies!”
I spoke out determinedly. “Mr. Lawrence, I am sure we should be glad of your companionship.”
And, fortunately, Mrs. Cornwallis added her agreement.
“Yes, to meet a British gentleman in such a spot as this — how could we reject your offer, sir? I am sure that my son in the Ministry would think it quite appropriate in such circumstances, and he is a stickler for etiquette, I assure you!”
It was settled, and when we reached the town, it was even agreed that the young man should come and take dinner in our hotel. Casterman glowered throughout the meal, but could do nothing in view of the politeness which we were all determined to show to the stranger.
“But, Mr. Lawrence, where do you travel from Alexandria? Shall we not see you in Cairo?” enquired Mrs. Cornwallis when Sholto expressed his regrets that his stay at our dinner table could be but a brief one, as his imminent departure was planned and could not be delayed.
“Alas, madam, I am taking the steamship for Marseilles in the morning. I am returning to England, you see — my mission in the East is accomplished.”
“And may we enquire what it was?”
“Indeed, ma’am. I am interested in horse breeding, and I have been studying the Arab methods — and I have purchased some fine Arab specimens of horse-flesh, which I hope to have at stud on my estates near Newquay. But I do not wish to bore you ladies into stupefaction with the tedious details of my passion for those animals!”
“You could not have said anything that would interest me more!” I exclaimed. But our conversation could not be prolonged: young Lawrence was waited for at the livery stables where his charges were to pass their last night upon Egyptian soil before embarking for the green pastures of England.
And now I must confess that I thought about Mr. Lawrence for some time after he had ridden off down the dusty street and I made a very long entry in my diary,
but I will not put it down here, for it consists of my private reflexions. Suffice it to say that Sholto Lawrence had quite put Lord Ambrose out of my mind.
*
Lord Ambrose has said that it is most important that I should continue with my narration (and also he has lent me a dictionary; he just put it into my hands without saying anything!). Even though some of what I saw in Cairo was very frightening and still troubles me greatly, I will set it down as well as I can, though it is about the wickedness of a man who must have brought misery and despair to many. How anyone could be so cruel is beyond my mind to understand, but that it was so, that it happened, I am a witness and must make my record.
So I am going on with my history of what occurred, although nothing of any interest at all seemed to happen for some days after the departure of Mr. Sholto Lawrence from Alexandria. At least, nothing that I took any notice of, though Jennet was forever telling me to stop daydreaming and regard the scenery, etc, as we travelled from Alexandria to Cairo. But I will not set my daydreams down here, only what really happened to me after we had got to Cairo, where we arrived late one afternoon.
That first view over the city is so clear in my mind that I can see it yet. In my room at Hills Hotel there was a finely carved screen of dark wood inlaid with mother-of-pearl which sheltered the room from the heat of the Egyptian sun, and in this scree
n was a door. When I stepped out through that door on to the balcony of my room, Cairo lay before me in the early sunset: a golden and pink flush over a city of pencil-thin towers.
There was still a hustle in the streets below. I had already become accustomed to some aspects of Egyptian life, even from our very short stay in Alexandria: the shouts and calls of water-sellers, perfumers, food vendors with their wares set out on trays slung from their necks. The cries of women sitting by the roadside with mountains of fresh fruit for sale, great weeping strawberries and melons like small suns, mingled with the shouted commands of some wealthy merchants pushing their silk-clad way through the crowd. To all the human cries that echo through the city are added the exotic animal noises, the shrieks of pet parakeets, the braying of donkeys ringing through the narrow alleys.
I could identify the angry groaning noises of a camel train: Mr. Casterman had explained to us that camels always make that terrible noise when their heads are turned away from the river and out towards the deserts they must cross. He knew about fear, I think, in animals and in humans.
I was getting used, too, to the apparent chaos that always seemed to prevail, yet always resolved itself into orderliness in some unexplainable way. This city of Cairo, through which we had journeyed on the previous day, did not seem to me to merit what some of the British people on the ship had said about it. It was certainly no dirtier than Bristol or Southampton, the biggest English cities I had seen, and by all accounts Cairo was no worse than London, which my poor mother had always said was the grimiest place in the world! To my country-bred eye, the filth and mud churned up by the wheels of carriages is one of the most striking features of our great cities, though I daresay many of our countrymen and women would prefer me to keep quiet about it, but I am like the child in the fable, who would blurt out that the emperor had no clothes! And I was much shocked on my first visit to Bristol by the ragged creatures who made a precarious living by sweeping a path for the rich through the muck of the streets. Cairo seemed to be kept much cleaner. Little carts drawn by donkeys were continually collecting up rubbish and the dust was laid by men who sprinkled water regularly in the streets.
We had taken rooms in Hill’s Hotel, as I have mentioned, where I believe most British travellers stay when in Cairo — most respectable British travellers, anyway, said Mrs. Cornwallis, who had attached herself to our party. Jennet was very grateful for her company.
Mrs. Cornwallis said there was an area of the city called the Frankish quarter where some Europeans had taken up residence, but the only Britishers there were eccentric and unreliable — artists and so forth, and a young girl such as I had no need of such raffish company! Of course, I longed to go there, but it was quite impossible!
On this first afternoon, just after our arrival in Cairo, Jennet was still asleep. She had spent the previous days packing and unpacking in agitation and was constantly asking me questions that I could not answer. Had we brought enough clothes ... were they the right garments ... what would the washerwomen do with our fine lawn underwear ... would we be cool enough ... warm enough ...?
Jennet had finally retreated to bed for a nap in a state of acute exhaustion and had not yet arisen. For the moment, as I looked out from my balcony, I could enjoy Cairo undisturbed.
And enjoy it I did! As I gazed out over the city, I actually felt for a moment the inclination to bless Uncle Micah for sending me there after all, so exciting was the prospect before me. His decision about my future had led me to this view. Just below my window, some men were working on a cart which was tilted up with its wheels spinning, as yet turning idly in the empty air. It suggested to me strange journeys that were yet to come, across rocky wastes and through enchanted streets. Just beyond the cart was a row of chairs of an old-fashioned type, rather like sedan chairs, which I had seen only in illustrations but never in use. Those chairs, I knew from Mrs. Cornwallis, were for European women to travel in if they wished to venture to certain parts of the city which were unaccustomed to women who did not wear the veil, the covering garment of all respectable Mahometan ladies. And the closed chairs were also a protection against the sun of Egypt. Casterman had warned me against it. “I know that you love the outdoors, Miss Lilian, but I beg you to revise your ideas for the time that you are in Egypt. You will find that the sun, though it may not seem so sharp and fierce as you imagined it, can even on a cloudy day pierce the clothing and burn the skin. Sunstroke is common in those who have recently arrived and do not take proper precautions against the dangers of the heat. When you are in Cairo, you must take care never to go out without a veil and a sunbonnet, and then you should travel in a closed chair, the kind that has a screen or gauze through which you may see the sights, yet pass through the crowds quite unobserved yourself.”
Did I really want to be cut off from the world by a veil of gauze?
I was pondering this when I remember that suddenly on that afternoon there came an extraordinary noise, like the screeching and spiting of an enormous cat. I saw with a shock where the sound emanated from, a creature like something in a fairytale: a huge and beautiful spotted cat, with white-frosted whiskery face and ruff of cream and gold speckles, long tufts of fur at the tips of the ears, and eyes of a devilish green. This poor beast was imprisoned in a long and narrow cage; scarcely able to turn, it writhed its slim body against the iron bars. Using long hooks on poles, a group of men were cautiously trying to load the cage on to a cart. The prisoner shrieked with anger and tried to bite the bars.
I winced as its teeth clashed against the cruel metal. Was it a lynx? I thought I recognised it from a picture in a book. No doubt it was bound for one of the zoos of Europe where it would be put on display and prodded at by children with sticks.
Saddened by the sight I turned my head away, and yet I breathed in still the inescapable strange scents of Cairo. There was at that instant an odour which I will always associate with that city, full of a heavy sweetness, yet underlying it something sharp and wild, a strong catlike stench from the cage in which the lynx was still fighting its useless battle. A city of powerful scents and colours, intense heat, extremes of pain and pleasure.
I confess that I was, if truth be told, rather hurt that Lord Ambrose had not said farewell at Alexandria, when the passengers had disembarked from the ship. I had expected to see him thereafter on the way to Cairo, but there had been no sign of him till now.
“Well, if he wants to pop up like the devil in a pantomime and give everyone a nasty shock, I’ve no doubt we’ll see more of him,” had been Jennet’s comment when I ventured to ask her if Lord Ambrose had been seen in Alexandria by any of our party. (Lord Ambrose, you did ask me to set it all down — and I do possess some tact — I did not mention your name to Mr. Casterman!)
There were two ladies who arrived later, the Misses Harvey, who occupied the room adjacent to my own, and introduced themselves almost as soon as they got into the hotel. They had news and it was all quite exciting, what with the Ostrich. We were drinking lemon water from little gilt-rimmed glasses on the terrace of the hotel when the great excitement occurred.
“Oh, sister, is that not an Ostrich?” shrieked out Miss Harvey, staring over the terrace and dropping her glass of lemon water in alarm.
I am sorry to say that, much to the alarm of the Misses Harvey, it was indeed an Ostrich! It stalked round and round the courtyard of the hotel on its great long legs, pursued by its keeper and a gang of small boys. The Misses Harvey stood up nervously as it approached the terrace and the monstrous turkey-head peered at them sideways on.
They fled indoors, dragging me with them, so alas here the Ostrich part of my story draws to a close!
TEN - Letter from Lord Ambrose Malfine to Sholto Lawrence, Esquire
To be despatched from Cairo with all haste.
After you departure from Alexandria it was my plan to watch the disembarkation of my fellow passengers, and their transit to Cairo, from a distance. I preferred to keep my self-appointed watch over Miss West
morland unobtrusive — a stratagem which did not succeed in keeping her safe. I had given instructions that luggage despatched after me by Belos should be conveyed directly from the slow packet which brought it, pitching along a few days later in the swift wake of the Great London, to the Zubeida, my sisters houseboat, moored upon the Nile. But the damn fools loaded it for Hills Hotel, as was usually the custom, and I caught up just as it was being taken off the coach outside the hotel. I watched from a small shop across the road.
The coach was heavily laden with trunks and boxes and I was forced to sit through the lengthy unloading which was accomplished by porters clad in the magnificent livery which the hotel provided. The uniform was lavish with red and gold and a tall major-domo, his shoulders adorned with swashbuckling epaulettes, was supervising procedures. An encouraging crowd of onlookers rapidly formed; jeering children and friendly advisers shouted various cries of help and encouragement from the sidelines. Suddenly, I caught sight of the name stencilled on one of the trunks waiting to be carried into the hotel: MALFINE. And there was the crest, the wolf’s head surmounted by a golden “M” adorned with all manner of twirls and curlicues.
Nevertheless, I hoped still to avoid discovery of my presence in Cairo, and not just to keep watch over Miss Lilian from afar like some pantomime wizard, but because I ardently desired to avoid the idle gossips of the English residents in Cairo, a tedious brigade for whom discerning the faults of the native inhabitants is the major pleasure of the day.
Unfortunately, there were two ladies who arrived in this coach, the Misses Harvey, who were to occupy rooms in the hotel.
“Lord Ambrose was to have travelled with us,” said Miss Harvey whose voice I could hear from the other side of the street. “But he made only the briefest of appearances, did he not, Jane?”
Miss Jane Harvey, who is somewhat younger than her sister and has a still-beautiful face marred by a squinting eye and a habit of putting her hand up in front of it as if to hide the defect from the world, gave a smile at the memory.