by Jane Jakeman
“Come away! Come out of this pestilent air!”
We stumbled to the other side of the room and through a doorway beyond which there lay a flight of stone steps leading down to the canal. There was a small skiff lying empty, which I conjectured belonged to the doomed household from which we had emerged and I drew a dagger from my belt and cut through the mooring rope. Leaping into the boat, I pulled Lilian down after me with an outstretched hand and then seized the oars and propelled us away.
“Do you know what it is?”
“I ... I think so. Smallpox?”
There seemed no need for an answer.
“Is that why — is that why the man’s hands were bound, Lord Ambrose? To prevent him from tearing at his scabs?”
“Yes, for pulling off the crusts ensures the most severe disfigurement — that is, if the poor wretch survives at all, of course. The flesh that comes away with the scabs of the pustules leaves deep craters behind that mark a man for life — but that poor fellow was not likely to live, Miss Lilian. We are in the very midst of an epidemic of one of the most vile and virulent diseases known. You saw the blood coming from his lips and mouth? This type of the disease, where the sufferer haemorrhages, is the most savage. There is little hope for any of them in that household, save one man alone.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you not know, Miss. Lilian? No, I see by your face that you have not guessed and who could blame you for not understanding such a twisted labyrinthine web of evil? This is how it was. Our friend Casterman has had his beauty spoilt, has he not? Upon his face the marks of smallpox are entrenched and there they will be till the day he dies. But there is one great compensation for the suffering he endured when he caught the contagion, for they say that those who catch the smallpox and live will never catch it again. No, Casterman is immune to it — he may walk freely through a household where the fever rages, he may breathe the pestilent air, touch the sufferers, even feel upon his own skin the ghastly effluents of their disease, and yet he himself will not take it. He is safe!”
By this time our little skiff was moving down to the point where the canal joined the Nile, which rushed in to scour it in the time of inundation and then subsided tranquilly, as was at that present time the case. Our small boat slipped without incident into the smooth stream of the great river; the sun shone dully upon it so that its waters had the lustre of molten lead.
Lilian Westmorland’s troubled face evidently reflected the thoughts which were flashing pell-mell through her mind.
“But, Lord Ambrose, you — you will be liable to ...”
“To catch the smallpox? No, I will not — I confess, I did not break into that plague-stricken household to rescue you at the risk of losing my life from the pestilence! I am afraid I must disillusion you of any notion about my heroic qualities, for an honest Scottish sawbones, a mere country physician, has like a good angel protected me from evil. You remember Dr. Sandys?”
“Oh, very well, for he treated me after my accident — and he was my mother’s physician also.”
“And if you had stayed long enough under his care, instead of being whisked so precipitately aboard the Great London, I doubt not that he would have vaccinated you also, when he knew that you were being sent to Egypt. But your uncle allowed no time for any such precautions.”
“Why, that is true! We scarcely had time to pack before Uncle Micah sent us away! Vaccinated, you say?”
“Aye, Sandys is a humble follower of the great Doctor Jenner, who supposed that infecting a patient with cow-pox, that disease to which dairymaids are prone, would protect him against the worse evil of catching the smallpox, or at any rate, against having it in any form which should prove mortally dangerous. So one fine day when Sandys was pleading for a patient upon whom to experiment, and myself contemplating travel at that time, I took myself to Sandys’ small laboratorium, where he cut my shoulder and inserted into the wound some matter from Sally Harker’s cowpox pustules — poor Sally being the latest person in the district to have fallen victim to the cowpox. I am therefore reasonably certain that I cannot or at any rate cannot dangerously become infected with that dreadful disease, the smallpox.”
“But I have had no such treatment!”
There was a look of dawning horror on the girl’s pale features, as she realised the implications of the strange and terrible scenes which she had witnessed in that household where disease was raging.
“You may well escape infection, for you were shut off from the world. But the servants took the disease and the very food which was brought to you was prepared by them, although I saw no such tokens upon the face of the poor girl who was found in the river.”
“Oh, Lord Ambrose, how dreadful! Who was she?”
For answer, I produced the brooch: the little gold horse within the crescent moon, in the protection of the moon-goddess, Selene, which Lilian Westmorland’s mother had commissioned for her daughter.
“The girl to whom you gave this token — they found her before she could reach me — but they did not notice this brooch pinned to her robes — or did not realise what it signified. At any rate, the old sheikh who is my eyes and ears in the city heard that a girl from a strange household had escaped and died — and the brooch told me the rest of the story.”
I spared Lilian the full details of the girl’s death: the same dark-reddish bruised marks of a hand which had seized her throat in a powerful grip and throttled the very life away, as it had done to another girl in another country, to that poor Maggie Dermott, the skivvy of Westmorland Park.
“I would say that your uncle quite possibly failed to have you vaccinated on Casterman’s advice, for they are men of the world who would have known of the risk and it was known even before your passage was booked that a serious smallpox epidemic was gripping the Middle East — word was in the London papers not two months ago.”
“Do you mean that my uncle deliberately sent me into danger?”
“I am not sure whose idea it was to lead you into such dangers as you have endured, your Uncle Micah’s or Casterman’s. It was Casterman, was it not, who placed you in such peril in the tower at Alexandria?”
“Lord Ambrose, however did you hear of that episode?”
“Ah well, let us merely say for the moment that I have my means of knowing things! But after that attempt had failed, there was another easier route — all that was needed was to get you to Cairo — or any other Oriental port — and into a house where you were beyond the reach of help. Then Casterman, who can walk into chambers ravaged by the smallpox with impunity, had only to keep you there till the contagion struck. He could even have encouraged it — perhaps he offered to have some sufferers nursed in his own household, out of his great magnanimity, and then he opened the door of your quarters and turned you loose — into the very cock-pit of infection! Think, then, how plausible their case would be — ’Miss Lilian Westmorland tragically passed away during an epidemic of smallpox’ — why, we see such reports daily in the newspapers! Such deaths happen frequently to Europeans travelling in the East — you may see their tombstones in the graveyards here! Some of the better-informed would think ‘Well, foolish girl, she should have had a vaccination!’ but no one would consider your death in the slightest degree suspicious!”
“But Casterman virtually kidnapped me and took me away from Hill’s Hotel! There were many people who must have known of that — Jennet, for instance.”
“All that he would have had to say was that he was protecting you to the best of his ability by taking away from the crowded and busy centre of the city so as to lessen the risk of infection. As for anything Mrs. Jennet might say, he could easily say that she had misunderstood his intentions and foolishly returned to Hill’s Hotel of her own accord; in any case, most Europeans are fleeing from the city, some south to Aswan and Luxor, some north to Alexandria to leave the country altogether, and Hill’s Hotel is deserted, for word of the pestilence has spread about. Mrs. Jennet, I understand, has
gone to Alexandria to raise the alarm and ask the British Consul to launch a search for you. But if Casterman had announced that you had fallen a victim to the smallpox, what could the Consul have done? Your death would have been accomplished and with no evidence whatsoever to point towards him.”
Lilian Westmorland looked down at the swirling waters of the ancient river. “He would have killed me? In that horrible way! To let me die of that disease!”
“Oh, yes, almost certainly you would have died. He survived, but he was a strong man and must have had good nursing when he himself contracted the smallpox, but you would probably have received no medical attention and would surely have succumbed. He could have ensured that you were left unattended in your illness. The sufferer will die of dehydration in such circumstances, if not from the fever and haemorrhaging.”
“But my uncle, would he truly have committed me to such a death? After all, I am his own flesh and blood!”
“Your uncle may not have understood what Casterman intended. As to their motive, you are the heiress of Westmorland Park; either your uncle may wish to obtain absolute control of the estate, or Casterman, as his man of business, may have a financial interest in the affairs of the Westmorland family.”
“But I have never done him any harm!”
It is a terrible thing when you are young to understand the abyss of malevolence which another human being may feel towards you. I saw by Lilian’s horrified face that she was even then struggling to grasp the depths of Casterman’s malice. Why should he hate her so? How could he contrive such a cruel end?
I knew what she felt. When I was a young man, I sensed it myself — that innocent strain that protests at the back of one’s mind. “But I have done nothing,” it sings. “Why should I be hated so? — What has provoked this? — I deserve it not! Why should another human being encompass my death?”
There is ultimately no point in even asking such a question. Creatures such as Casterman hate and kill, not because they are provoked, but for reasons of their own, inexplicable to the common run of humankind. That cool and calculating mind had contrived the most excruciating death for an innocent young woman as dispassionately as others would crush a fly.
*
The skiff pulled up on the opposite bank of the river and the bulk of the Zubeida loomed up, moored next to the shore.
I hailed the houseboat from the land.
The figure of Charles appeared on deck.
“Will you not come aboard, brother-in-law? And that young lady who accompanies you? Dear me, Ambrose, you undertook to keep out of trouble here!”
“Charles, don’t be facetious! Listen, seriously, there’s something terrible happening in the city — an epidemic of smallpox has broken out. For God’s sake, pull up the gangplank and let no one aboard! I’ll return in a couple of weeks — until then, I advise you to make a fortress out of the Zubeida.”
Some rumours had already reached them, it seemed, for Charles was willing to follow my advice. I explained our dreadful situation, and though Ariadne, who by this time had appeared at Charles’ side, pressed me warmly to come aboard, saying freely that they would share our risks and expressing the utmost anxiety for the plight of poor Miss Westmorland, I would not do so. To put the Zubeida, her crew, and her passengers, in danger of a most horrible death was unthinkable.
I made some arrangements for communicating with the houseboat eventually, if we should once again be able to face humankind. Then I turned away from the friendly bulk of the boat and all the safety and comfort which it promised. I knew suddenly how it must have felt to those afflicted with leprosy, doomed to remain beyond the reach of the common kindness and companionship of their fellow men.
I joined Lilian Westmorland where she waited near the little skiff. We left the river and began walking across sands which shifted in soft creaks under our footsteps. The scorching heat of day had now begun, and struck up from the ground as well as down from the heavens. But we had several miles to trudge through the sand before we reached our destination and safe hiding place.
Those great distinctive shapes suddenly loomed up on the horizon.
“The Pyramids!” Lilian exclaimed.
“Yes, we are in the desert. We shall have to live for a while in their shadow, for I must ask you to remain patient for a while longer. You have borne your captivity in the midst of the city — now I must ask you if you can withstand the isolation of the desert — that is, with my company alone, for some time, I am afraid.”
“Cannot we go to find Jennet in Cairo? Oh, I do long to see Jennet again!”
How to answer this innocent plea?
“Miss Lilian, I have to tell you this: you are not yet out of danger.”
But Lilian was fast understanding the full implications of her plight.
“Oh no, of course! I may have taken the infection though it does not yet show upon my skin! I was in that house, where the sick were being nursed. That woman I saw cradling the man in her arms — she may probably have taken the disease from him — and I perhaps have anywhere touched something that was infected! And if I have caught the disease then ...”
“Then you may pass it to others. Yes, but in any case Mistress Jennet is not in Cairo at present, for she went to Alexandria to speak to the British Consul and persuade him to launch a search for you. And I know that your generous spirit will be patient a little while longer; I am afraid that we must consider the possibility that you are infected with the smallpox. We must watch your state of health carefully over the next ten days or so, but from my understanding of medical matters if you have no symptoms after two weeks have elapsed then you may be pronounced clear of infection. Until then, Miss Lilian, I must ask you to lead the desert life with me! We shall shelter here in the tomb of an old Egyptian, which will provide us with roomy chambers, and I will account myself your cook and physician until such time as we can be sure you are clear of the disease. My sister’s houseboat is moored not far from here and we may have some supplies from thence.”
By this time we had reached a stony cliff amid the desert sands, which had a flight of steps cut into the living rock. The dark entrance to the tomb was almost imperceptible at a distance; I myself had discovered it quite by chance and cleared away some of the dune that partly blocked the entrance, and had brought some planks and palm-branches to bridge the mouth of a pit which lay a short distance inside the mouth of the tomb, a deep hole dug by the ancient builders of the tomb in order to entrap any thieves who should attempt to raid that solemn burial chamber. The chances of anyone else apprehending this God-given hiding place were remote, especially as the smallpox meant that fewer travellers than before were likely to come visiting the area.
Lilian paused and looked up before she moved down the steps after me, and saw the great shadow that stretched over her head, almost as if protecting her. Strangely enough, the Sphinx which loomed so close to where we tiny mortals were standing seemed to promise security and strength, an ancient benediction held out high above us. The girl clearly did not fear the ancient monolith, nor the desert tomb into which we now descended. They were clean and innocent compared with the entrapments of Casterman.
*
The weeks that followed were desperately uneasy, for it is much harder to prudently wait out the course taken by an invisible enemy than to launch an attack upon a dozen fighting men, and all the time the poor girl was aware that at any moment sentence of death might be passed upon her. Day by day she begged me to recount the symptoms of infection and day by day I reassured her and pronounced her still free — yet we both knew that the next morning she might awake with the tell-tale signs upon her.
Daily I tried to recall the Arab physicians’ accounts of the course of the fever and watched my young charge for signs of the appearance of the sickness, the shivering and backache, the influenza-like symptoms which precede the onset of the smallpox.
So the days passed slowly and painfully. Some of the time she spent on exploring the tomb which had be
come her temporary residence and perhaps her last, with its wall-carvings of gods and men, of a goddess with great wings of midnight blue, of jackal-headed creatures bending over a corpse, of a mighty boat that filled the starry heavens: These I endeavoured to explain to her, with as much as I had understood of their ancient learning.
“Who was buried here?”
“I do not know. His body has disappeared without trace and so has the sarcophagus which contained it. He was some great man, that is all I can tell.”
We penetrated as far inside the tomb as we could, to where a fall of rubble blocked the way, and I sketched for her the various tunnels and chambers, and showed her where the robber-trap lay at the entrance, the pit over which I had laid some planks, and where we must take care always with our footing, lest we stumble and the flimsy bridge should shift and tumble away. I had at that time no means of making it more substantial: this was the best that could be managed for the time being.
At night I slept outside in a tent where a yellow oil-lamp hung through the small hours as I wrote or studied, for I had books and papers with me, carefully stored in boxes just outside the entrance to the tomb. It had been my intention as I had told Ariadne and Charles to live here alone for some weeks and devote myself to recording these antique inscriptions upon the walls, but as it chanced this seclusion now made the perfect retreat for the ordeal which Miss Westmorland now had to undergo. The tomb which should have been my study had become a quarantine or lazaretto.
And yet, I must confess it, even in these circumstances, I did not entirely experience the virtuous and monk-like existence of some Desert Father, for I was at close quarters with a young woman who intrigued me and not only with her courage and determination. Lilian Westmorland’s large blue-green eyes, her tall slim figure, the charm of her brow and hair — ail these had a powerful attraction, and my feelings for her threatened to move from the category of the safely paternal to that of a lover. Elisabeth, perhaps, would wish no more of me, would not be waiting when I returned to England. Should I not, thrown together with this beautiful young woman, follow my natural inclinations?