The Alexandria Affair (Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries Book 11)

by Ashley Gardner

  I lifted my hands. “I am not a magistrate. I wanted to tell you my thoughts on the matter. That is all. The verdict was that a foreign man committed the deed but managed to escape. Let the conclusion stand.”

  Haluk and Karem stared at me. Haluk wet his lips. “You would keep your silence about so grievous a thing?”

  I regarded the two men, one a father who would do anything to protect his daughter, the other a retainer who would do anything to protect his master.

  Ahmed would be unhappy that I could not find the true killer of his friend, but he would go on, fighting battles for the glory of the Ottoman Empire. He’d take a wife one day and have children of his own. Perhaps then he would understand.

  “I have a daughter,” I said. “She is eighteen, and very beautiful. I would go to hell itself for her.”

  Haluk nodded. “Yes.”

  “So the story is at an end,” I said.

  Haluk nodded again, sadness in his eyes. Grenville and I said good-bye to him, and we took our leave.

  “So you will say nothing?” Grenville asked me once we’d returned to our lodgings. “You usually are so keen to bring a killer to justice.”

  It depended on the crime and why it had been done. I’d faced this sort of decision before.

  “Why would the magistrates listen to me, a foreigner, accusing a wealthy Turk?” I asked. “Even if that Turk is here in disgrace? Besides, if Haluk is arrested, it will not only be he who suffers. What would become of his wife, his daughter? His servants? Karem? The laws here can be harsh. The death was accidental, I am certain of it.”

  “Which is why Karem tried to take the blame,” Grenville said. “In his opinion, he had less to lose.”

  I believed Karem when he’d said he’d covered up the body. He would do such a thing, to try to shield his master. His agitation when he’d found us in the place Ibrahim had been killed had not been feigned, but he’d hidden it well by pretending to be upset only for our sakes. He likely had been distressed that we’d been pulled into the mess—I remembered the sincerity in his eyes when he’d apologized to us at the time.

  “There is no evidence,” I said to Grenville. “None at all. And so, as I said, that story is at an end.”

  Grenville nodded, and we agreed to say no more about it.

  * * *

  The next day, we, along with Marcus, took ship for England, again on a vessel of Captain Woolwich’s line. We paused in Malta, where I returned the books to Grenville’s friend, and Grenville gave him a stone with hieroglyphs on it, similar to the seal I’d bought in the market in Alexandria. We left the man poring over it, eyes alight, but not before he graciously invited us for a long stay any time we wished.

  The rest of the voyage was uneventful. Grenville took to his bunk. I wrote up my journal for Gabriella, and reflected on all I’d seen. I talked with Marcus, the two of us sitting in the ward room on rainy days or on deck in full sunshine on fair ones. I learned much of his past, and told him much about mine.

  At long last, as November drew to a close, we sailed up the Thames, ending where we’d begun.

  On a rainy, foggy, November London day, I presented myself at Number 45 in Curzon Street, and asked to see James Denis.

  Chapter 29

  Denis’s house hadn’t changed at all since I’d last been in it, which had been in sunny June. I was shown to his study on the second floor, where Denis sat behind a desk that was empty save for a book open before him. A pugilist footman stood at the window, watching with sharp eyes as the slimmer, wiry butler ushered me in.

  Denis glanced up and waved me to a seat with the flick of his fingers.

  I settled myself in the armchair that waited in front of the desk, resting my hand on my walking stick. Before I could speak, Denis closed his book, set it aside, and gave me a full stare with his dark blue eyes. Again, I marveled at the weight of ages in those eyes, in the body of one so young.

  “I understand that you have come to tell me you were unable to obtain the Alexandrian book.”

  I did not let myself be surprised that he already knew. “I made a valiant attempt,” I said. “I saw the book with my own eyes. Then it was gone.”

  I gave him a brief summary of what had happened—I did not mention Miguel by name, referring to him only as a servant. I had no wish for Denis to scour the earth looking for him to express his displeasure.

  Denis watched me as I spoke, his fingertips together. I could see that he did not altogether believe my tale, but he did not argue.

  He lifted his shoulders in a smooth shrug. “It is no matter. I considered it farfetched that you would find the book but thought I would take a chance. The fact that you saw it at all is somewhat surprising.”

  I stared at him, my anger mounting. “Farfetched? Thought you would take a chance?” I surged from the chair, and the pugilist tensed. “I was at much trouble looking for that blasted book. I fought for my life, was nearly caught in a fire, had your miserable agent wall me and my friends into a tomb, for God’s sake. And you claim you did not seriously believe I could find it? Why send me looking for it, damn you?”

  “I do regret the dangers to your life.” Denis spoke coolly, no hint of apology in his voice. “I forget how determined you can be. Mr. Sharkey acted without my consent. He had been doing things against my wishes, ignoring my instructions, for some time.”

  “Well, he’s dead now,” I said in a hard voice. “I saw him shot by three rifles, all pointed at his head. I imagine his bones have already been picked over in the desert.”

  “He is indeed dead,” Denis said. “My new agent in Cairo confirmed it.”

  Of course, Denis would have had a man to slide into place the moment Sharkey was gone.

  Did he do it on purpose? I wondered dimly. Wait for me to understand what he’d done, so he could enjoy my outburst of rage?

  I closed the space to his desk and slammed both my fists to its surface. The pugilist started forward, but Denis held up a hand, forestalling him.

  “Damn and blast you,” I said clearly. “You didn’t send me to fetch an ancient book—you sent me to deal with Sharkey. You knew bloody well I’d never let such vermin best me. I was to make certain he was taken care of. Why the hell didn’t you simply ask me?”

  Denis regarded me calmly, but that only made me angrier. “Because you would not have done it,” he said. “You would have torn up my instructions and ignored them. You would have decided that dissension in my ranks was my own affair. A search for an ancient book would be much more to your liking. And I confess I would like to have put my hands on it.” Denis’s eyes narrowed. “Are you certain this servant threw it overboard?”

  “I watched him,” I said, my fury not abating. “A crocodile ate the remains.”

  Even as I spoke, I wondered. Miguel had shown me a corner of papyrus with Greek writing on it. An ancient document, I was certain, especially in light of the way the brittle pages disintegrated.

  But had I seen the Aristarchus? Or simply an old Greek scroll that Miguel had been studying, or had prepared in case someone searched him?

  Was Miguel, even now, in some library in Spain or France or Amsterdam studying the scroll, copying it out, treasuring it as he’d said he would?

  I could picture him doing so quite easily. The man had been far more intelligent than Lady Mary gave him credit for. He’d planned, bided his time, acted.

  I snatched up my walking stick. I was finished with people manipulating me.

  “I have an appointment in Oxfordshire,” I said firmly. “Good day to you.”

  Denis nodded without rising. “My felicitations, Captain.” He flicked his fingers again, and his butler rigidly opened the door for me. “Please give your wife my best wishes.”

  * * *

  My anger dissipated as the miles to Oxfordshire fell behind me. I traveled with Bartholomew alone, Grenville remaining in London to put his house to rights. He also, I suspected, wanted some private moments with Marianne.

  Brew
ster also remained in London, returning to his Em with his gifts. He told me that Denis had said he deserved a rest, though Brewster vowed he’d be back watching over me as soon as he could. He didn’t trust any of Denis’s other men to do it right. I knew that I owed Brewster much, and I would stand him all the ales he’d earned when I returned to London.

  Marcus had accepted my offer to stay in my rooms in Grimpen Lane for a time. He would be close to Lincoln’s Inn for when he started proceedings to recover his inheritance. Marcus still did not quite believe I’d be willing to let him take over the house in Norfolk, but we could argue about it another time.

  The weather grew sunnier as we journeyed west and north, though it was cold, morning frost coating the ground.

  I descended the coach at the front door of Pembroke Court rather stiffly, already missing the desert’s heat. Donata’s father’s majordomo greeted me cordially, with the same sort of deference and respect Karem had shown Haluk.

  I barely acknowledged him or the rest of the staff who’d turned out to welcome me, hurrying as fast as my leg would let me to the suite of rooms upstairs.

  My wife reposed on a chaise in the winter sunshine, her dark hair cascading across her shoulders. Though she’d covered herself with a thick shawl, her distended belly could not be hidden.

  She looked up at my step, and the sudden dart of joy in her eyes gladdened my heart. My lovely lady was delighted to see her battered and broken husband.

  “Good heavens, but you are sunburned,” Donata said as I came to her and kissed her lips. “But there is lightness in you. It seems that three months under the hot sun was good for you, Gabriel.”

  I could not think of a word to say in response. I wanted to crush her in my arms; I wanted to hold her in the night. I wanted to sit beside her and tell her everything.

  All I could do was seat myself on a chair next to the chaise, pull out the slim box I’d carried all the way from Cairo, open it, and lay the contents on her white coverlet.

  Donata stared down at the fire-colored rubies, the deep blue of the lapis, the burnished, ancient beauty of the gold.

  “Oh, Gabriel,” she breathed. “This is … I’ve never seen …”

  The fact that I could render my wife of the many opinions speechless pleased me.

  “Found buried far beneath the earth,” I said. “I will tell you all about my adventures discovering them.” I touched the diadem. “This is for you, for your hair.” It would gleam like fire in the darkness. I laid down the comb Haluk had given me, ostensibly from his wife to mine. “This is also for you, from a Turk who loves his daughter.”

  Before Donata could begin her questions, I moved my fingers to the lapis lazuli and gold necklace. “This is for Gabriella.”

  “Yes.” Donata brushed it, her hand meeting mine. “Perfect for her. She will adore it. What is this?”

  She lifted the seal and the copies of the hieroglyphs I’d taken from the tomb. “For Peter,” I said. “He will enjoy puzzling out the writing.”

  Donata smiled. “He will indeed. And this one?” She moved to the smallest strand of jewelry, gold and lapis beads strung on a gold chain.

  “For our new daughter,” I said. My touch moved to Donata’s abdomen and the life inside.

  Donata raised her fine brows. “Your time in the desert has made you clairvoyant, has it? How do you know it will not be a son?”

  “I know.”

  I remembered the vision I’d had in the tomb, of a little girl with dark hair, brown eyes, and her mother’s face. She’d laughed at me, stretching out her hand. Here, Papa, she’d said, her voice as warm as daylight.

  “I know,” I repeated with conviction.

  Donata sent me a questioning glance. “I ought to put down a wager. But we will discover which of us is correct soon enough.” She touched my face, then her practicality faded, and her eyes softened. I saw pain in them, loneliness, and annoyance that she’d missed me so much.

  I gathered her into my arms, showing her how much I’d missed her.

  “You’ll stay, won’t you?” Donata whispered, her hands tightening on my back.

  “Unless you have me abducted and taken away, yes,” I said. I smiled at her, and she returned it, a wicked look in her eyes. She’d enjoyed besting me.

  “I’ll be here until there is one more of us,” I went on, laying my hand on her abdomen again. “That is our next grand adventure.”

  Author’s Note

  Thank you for reading! Captain Lacey’s adventures will continue in Book 12, A Mystery at Carleton House.

  The Alexandria Affair was first conceived, in concept if not in detail, soon after I began writing the Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries. Once Grenville brought up the possibility that he would return to Egypt and take Lacey with him, I knew I had to one day write this book.

  I went into the story knowing I could not include many of the recurring characters who have become familiar over the books, as it would be unrealistic for all Lacey’s friends to simply turn up in Egypt. I decided to return to the original characters, Lacey and Grenville, having them solve crimes together, with the footmen, Bartholomew and Matthias, assisting. I added Mr. Brewster, Lacey’s bodyguard provided by James Denis, as Denis would never think to let Lacey roam the world without one of his men to keep an eye on him.

  Egypt in the early 1800s was at a crossroads. Muhammad Ali, the wali, or governor, of Egypt, had taken control in 1805. Albanian by birth, he was a soldier who rose to command armies and then was granted the governorship of Egypt.

  Muhammad Ali declared that the Ottoman Empire was dying and that he would build a kingdom on its ruins. He nationalized the agriculture of Egypt and pushed for modernization, inviting Europeans to bring him Western ideas, technology, and medicine. He allowed the early archaeologists to take what they could find of ancient Egypt, sparking heated rivalries among them.

  Modern archaeologists cringe at the methods used in the early years of excavation, the tombs basically plundered for treasure to be displayed in museums and private collections throughout Europe, with artifacts then considered of no value shoved aside or destroyed. A terrific description of early archaeology of Egypt and the rivalries of the period can be found in the book, The Rape of the Nile, by Brian Fagan.

  Archaeologists were somewhat hindered at this time by not being able to read hieroglyphs. The Rosetta Stone, found by one of Napoleon’s soldiers in 1798, had not yet been deciphered at the time of The Alexandria Affair (1818). The Rosetta Stone has three scripts: Greek, hieroglyphs, and demotic (a simpler form of ancient Egyptian writing), each a copy of the same text. Jean-Francois Champollion finally deciphered the stone in 1822.

  Therefore, Lacey and his friends would not know the Egyptian names of the pharaohs or queens in the tombs they found or visited, or be able to read the elaborate inscriptions on the walls or the papyri. At this time, knowledge of ancient Egypt came mostly from Greek writings—Herodotus, who’d visited Egypt in the fifth century bc, was still used as an authority.

  The City of Alexandria itself was at a crossroads. Once famous for its scholarship, library, and huge lighthouse—one of the Seven Wonders of the ancient world—Alexandria had long been in decline. Wars, earthquakes, and invasions had cut the city off from the Nile and severely altered its geography, until by Captain Lacey’s time, there was nothing left of the Hellenistic city.

  The pasha, Muhammad Ali, began an extensive renovation of Alexandria, which included cutting a canal from the Nile, expanding his navy in the port, and building lavish buildings. All this renovation was just beginning when Lacey visited, and continued throughout the nineteenth century, rendering Alexandria a modern cosmopolitan city.

  Captain Lacey could see only what was visible in Egypt in 1818—not all the monuments were cleared and accessible as they are today. I also used the spelling for names of people and places, such as Aboukir and Rosetta, that would have been used in Lacey’s time.

  Captain Lacey may well return to Egypt, perhaps wi
th his growing family, to see what changes have occurred over the years.

  Meanwhile Gabriel has much to do in London with his friends and family in A Mystery at Carleton House.

  To be kept up to date with new releases, join my newsletter here: http://eepurl.com/5n7rz or check my website: http://www.gardnermysteries.com

  Also by Ashley Gardner

  Books in the Captain Lacey Regency Mystery Series

  The Hanover Square Affair

  A Regimental Murder

  The Glass House

  The Sudbury School Murders

  The Necklace Affair

  A Body in Berkeley Square

  A Covent Garden Mystery

  A Death in Norfolk

  A Disappearance in Drury Lane

  Murder in Grosvenor Square

  The Thames River Murders

  The Alexandria Affair

  A Mystery at Carleton House

  The Gentleman’s Walking Stick

  (short stories)

  And more to come!

  Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries, Vol 1

  Includes

  The Hanover Square Affair

  A Regimental Murder

  The Glass House

  The Gentleman’s Walking Stick

  (short story collection)

  Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries, Vol 2

  Includes

  The Sudbury School Murders

  The Necklace Affair

  A Body in Berkeley Square

  A Covent Garden Mystery

  Captain Lacey Regency Mysteries, Vol 3

  Includes

  A Death in Norfolk

  A Disappearance in Drury Lane

  Murder in Grosvenor Square

  More boxed sets will follow as the series grows

  Murder Most Historical

  (A Collection of Short Historical Mysteries)