Daughter of the God-King

by Anne Cleeland

  Hattie looked up to see Berry approaching in a purposeful fashion, his hands clasped behind his back. “If you would, Bing,” and thought her a very satisfactory chaperone.

  And so it came to pass that once again she leaned on the railing beside Berry, the sun and the breeze only adding to her delight in this turn of events while her cooperative companion found something of interest to view from the opposite deck. It soon became evident, however, that a light flirtation was not what the gentleman had in mind. Meeting her eyes very seriously, he spoke without preamble.

  “Mademoiselle Blackhouse, I must beg your pardon, and assure you the events of last night will not be repeated. You are without protectors at present, and I should not have taken advantage of you in such a way.”

  Primming her mouth, Hattie replied, “I can only agree—I have little experience in such pastimes and felt I was at an extreme disadvantage.”

  Looking out over the sea, he suppressed a smile. “Hattie—allow me to make my apology.”

  “I beg your pardon,” she said gravely. “Pray continue.”

  He bent his head for a moment, then added, “It would be best, perhaps, if such an opportunity did not arise again.”

  “Yes,” she sighed with some regret. “It would be best, I suppose.”

  “I meant no insult,” he explained, watching her. “The opposite, in fact.”

  She met his gaze in all sincerity and smiled. “I know it; we shall cry friends and not speak of it again.”

  Nodding, he looked away toward the sea again. Five days, she thought, keeping her expression carefully neutral—five days before he is seeking more kisses—six at the most. She had noted during his carefully rehearsed speech that he was unable to keep his gaze from resting on her mouth. Hiding a smile, she thought of it as an interesting paradox—she knew next to nothing about him but nonetheless, felt she knew him very well indeed.

  He added suddenly, “Miss Leone is not what she will appear to be.”

  “I am unsurprised,” she responded mildly. “No one is, apparently.”

  Responding to her tone, he turned to her. “I must ask again that you trust me; you will come to no harm at my hands.”

  She arched a dark brow. “No, I hold no grudge against your very capable hands.”

  A smile played around his mouth while he bent his head to chide her, “I thought we weren’t to speak of it again.”

  “Your pardon,” she offered, contrite. “I forget myself.”

  They stood together for a moment, his gaze stubbornly fixed on the deck. Since he seemed unable to move away from her, she asked, “Whose secrets do you hold? If you hold my parents’ secrets, then why can you not tell me of them?”

  “Hattie,” he said softly, the brown eyes raised to hers. “It is best you not know, believe me.”

  “I would like to judge for myself whether it is best,” she countered. “Were my parents double-dealing? Is that why they were killed?”

  Ah, this hit home and his eyes widened in surprise. “What?”

  Watching him, she revealed what she had discovered. “They were negotiating in secret with the British, I am told. I imagine Muhammad Ali would have been most displeased with such a development, if he found out about it.” Belatedly, she realized her source had been Bing’s Edward, and perhaps she shouldn’t be giving away state secrets—or at least not until she knew what was what.

  Nodding, he dropped his gaze again. “It is possible,” he admitted in a neutral tone.

  I did not tell him what he feared I would, she thought in surprise, and thought back over what she had just said. It was the reference to double-dealing—I startled him, at first; but why? With whom else would they be double-dealing, if not the British?

  Berry lifted his head. “Once in Cairo, I would ask a favor; I would ask that you accompany me to question those who may have information but are reluctant to speak.”

  She blinked, but could see no harm in it and indeed, would look forward to such an outing in his company. “Willingly. Because I would have their sympathy?”

  He tilted his head to the side in a now-familiar gesture. “That. And remember that you appear to them as the god-king’s daughter.”

  This seemed altogether fanciful, and she voiced her skepticism. “Truly? They will think I am some sort of reincarnation?” On the other hand, she was unfamiliar with local beliefs; perhaps they were indeed a credulous people, as Bing had suggested.

  “Any advantage should be taken,” he replied.

  With an effort, she refrained from making yet another saucy remark, and merely nodded.

  Chapter 15

  Hattie stood with Bing in the spacious lobby of the Hotel Corsica while Berry arranged for the transfer of their luggage, currently contained in a donkey cart outside.

  Leaning in toward Hattie, Bing noted, “I must say it is useful to have a gentleman’s assistance, Hathor.”

  “You will have no argument from me, my friend—it was a good thing the resourceful Monsieur Berry maneuvered his way onto the ship.” Not to mention she had noted with amused delight that the aforesaid gentleman had begun to waylay Hattie with increasing frequency so as to be able to touch her. He couldn’t help himself, poor man; it was that forbidden fruit effect. For her part, Hattie was content to treat him with an arm’s length, casual friendliness and await the inevitable heated embrace that would put an end to the delicious tension that was building between them.

  At midday, they had disembarked from the peaceful confines of the Sophia and had plunged into the chaotic sights and sounds of Cairo. Donkey-boys, beggars, and guides clamored for their attention as Berry ably procured a transport cart and handed them in, speaking in Arabic to the driver while his hand held Hattie’s as though he had forgotten to let it go.

  “Hold on to your reticule,” he cautioned, tucking this accoutrement under her arm with a solicitous gesture. “And ignore the requests to throw coins or we may be swarmed.” He then sat across from her, knee touching knee. “Patience is necessary—you will find little that is done well or efficiently.”

  It was definitely not London or Paris; a slow progress was made to the hotel in the clogged and busy streets that twisted and turned with no apparent logic. The houses that lined the streets were high and narrow, with upper stories that projected outward. The heat was oppressive, and Hattie noted that most of the narrow streets were roofed with matting to provide a measure of shade. Hawkers shouted at them and brandished silks, brass objects, and smoking paraphernalia that did not bear close scrutiny. Caged birds called, donkeys brayed, and blocked cart drivers shouted at each other, making conversation impossible. Hattie caught Berry’s gaze upon her and mustered a small smile, but in truth it was a bit daunting. I hope I can acclimate to the heat and dust, she thought, and stayed beneath her parasol with no urging from Bing.

  By contrast, their hotel was an oasis of quiet and calm, and Hattie breathed in the scent of blue lotuses while they waited on the marbled tile floor for the arrangements to be made. Bing was gazing about her with extreme interest, her sharp features alight. “Quite satisfactory,” she pronounced. “And so wonderfully warm.”

  To each his own, thought Hattie, who for her part was hoping the city was suffering from an unusual heat wave. But there was no denying that Bing’s color was much improved and she offered, “You are finally back on terra firma, poor Bing.”

  “It is amazing how quickly the discomfort disappears; I own I am eager to reconnoiter, now that we have arrived.”

  Berry approached with the keys to their room, which he distributed to the ladies, his fingers lingering on Hattie’s in the process. “The porter will deliver your trunks to the room—do you think we can plan on meeting for dinner in the hotel restaurant after you have settled in this afternoon?”

  “We can,” agreed Hattie. “Unless you would like to escort me to visit my parents’ solicitor this afternoon? I confess I am eager to meet with him as soon as may be.” Now that they were here, she was impatient
to take action—not to mention such a visit would provide further opportunities to build upon that delicious tension that crackled between them.

  But he declined with a shake of his head. “It will be more serviable to meet him in the cooler morning, which is when most business matters are handled.” He then added in a neutral tone, “I’m afraid it would be for the best if you do not mention that you travel with me.”

  “Such a shame that the two of you do not get along,” Hattie noted, eyeing him.

  “Quel dommage,” he agreed, refusing to rise to the bait. “But I will provide an escort to his office, if you will permit.”

  “Thank you. I suppose the morning is soon enough.” He took her hand briefly as they parted, and ran his thumb over its back.

  Hattie and Bing ascended the main stairway and found their room, which was well-appointed and spacious—the walls white-washed in the manner of all the buildings in the area. Across the room, French doors opened to a small balcony and Hattie went out to lean on the railing and view the busy street below. Everything was so different—the heat, the noise, the manner of the people milling about—Syrians, Egyptians, Greeks. She looked down upon it in wonderment. “Come see, Bing—it is extraordinary.” Her companion joined her and they contemplated the chaos below them. Teasing her, Hattie asked, “Is it worth the miserable voyage?”

  “Absolutely,” said the redoubtable Bing. “I have always longed to make this journey, but never thought to have the opportunity.”

  Yes, thought Hattie as she looked out over the noisy throng. It has not been easy for either one of us to be the ones observing from a distance, sharing only vicariously in the excitement. Spying a small clothing establishment across the way, Hattie asked, “Should we journey over to the shops?”

  “We should,” said Bing agreeably. “I believe it is time to cast off my blacks.”

  The next half hour was spent rummaging through cottons, silks, and linens in the small stall that was stacked to overflowing with clothing items. In dire need of hot weather clothes, Hattie considered some pretty gauze blouses and lightweight skirts and as she held up a blouse to gauge for size, she noticed that a man in a turban was narrowly watching her from the back entryway. Uncowed, she met his gaze with her own level one and he immediately turned and disappeared out the back. Reminded that perhaps she shouldn’t be making her presence quite so obvious, she signaled to Bing that they should complete their purchases. They had no local money, but the proprietor indicated in an obsequious manner that English funds were acceptable and that it would delight him beyond measure to wait upon them. Before the transaction was completed, however, Berry appeared and smoothly interceded with the result that the proprietor returned some of their coins with gestures that were meant to be interpreted as apologies for a mere misunderstanding.

  Taking up their packets for them, Berry remarked with polite diffidence, “In the future, it may be best not to wander without an escort, mademoiselle.”

  “I did have a qualm,” Bing confessed, “but as it was only across the way I thought there would be no harm done.”

  “My fault entirely,” volunteered Hattie in a cheerful tone, anticipating the effect her new clothes would have on Berry. “I commandeered poor Bing when she would much rather be taking in the sights.”

  Bing confessed, “I do hope to visit the Great Pyramids whilst we are here.” They waited for a dray to pass before crossing the busy street, and Berry placed his hand on the small of Hattie’s back, where it remained as they followed Bing toward the hotel.

  Berry offered, “The hotel can make arrangements for a tour of Giza—I believe they are held nearly every day.”

  The prospect did not excite Hattie, who never could muster much interest in the subject that had served to captivate her parents at the expense of herself. The events of recent history, by contrast, seemed much more compelling—particularly as the world had just survived a bloody war. “Were the pyramids damaged in the Battle of the Pyramids?”

  “Not at all,” Bing replied. “The battle did not actually occur at the Giza site—Napoleon called it such so that it would seem more historic.”

  Hattie found such a deception rather juvenile, and expressed her disapproval. “It seems so—so pushing; to be so preoccupied with establishing one’s place in history—rather like the pharaohs and their grandiose tombs. It speaks of a full measure of self-absorption.”

  “Indeed; and I imagine Napoleon is very much vexed about the forced curtailment of his plans,” Bing replied in a dry tone. “A man such as he does not concede easily—wouldn’t you say, Monsieur Berry?”

  Berry had listened without comment to their conversation as he held the hotel door for them. “I would,” he agreed. “A foe formidable.”

  “Did you serve in the Coalition, monsieur?” asked Hattie, curious as to his allegiance and hoping for a hint of his mysterious origins.

  “I did,” he answered. “Shall we look to sit at eight o’clock?”

  But Hattie would not be put off. “On whose side did you serve?” She could hear Bing’s small sound of dismay at such indelicacy.

  “The winning side,” he explained patiently. “Naturellement.”

  Chapter 16

  The next morning saw them arrive at the solicitor’s office, situated on the second floor over a busy apothecary shop in the El Khalil area of Cairo. Hattie ascended the steps with Bing while Berry explained that he would take coffee at a nearby café and wait while Hattie conducted her business. Hattie found that she was anxious to finally address Mr. Bahur, who could hopefully cast some light on the uncertainties she faced; she would very much like to obtain some advice that was untempered by whatever motivations were driving all the others.

  They entered an outer antechamber manned by a young clerk who looked up in surprise from his cluttered desk. Bemused, he leapt up and stumbled over a stack of files as he introduced himself to Hattie. Doesn’t often entertain young women, she thought, hiding a smile. He took her hand reverently and upon hearing her name exclaimed, “Why—how fortunate that you are here in Cairo, Miss Blackhouse; you must be wondering what on earth has happened to your books. I’m afraid the fault is mine—well, not entirely—but I will willingly shoulder the blame.”

  With a hurried movement, he turned to clear several stacks of rolled documents from a small table and indicated an unlabeled package of moderate size that had rested beneath them.

  “My books?” asked Hattie, at sea. “Which books are these?”

  “From your parents,” the clerk explained. “They wanted them delivered to you but unfortunately the man at the post labeled them ‘Coventry’ instead of ‘Cornwall’ and they were returned last week—I was so annoyed when they arrived with the ‘Improper Address’ notation. I have not yet wrapped them up anew and I do apologize for the delay—unforgivable.”

  “Pray do not concern yourself,” Bing soothed. “We have been traveling and would not have known the difference.”

  But Hattie wasn’t paying attention as her gaze was fixed on the package which, she imagined, was the approximate size of a strongbox. What to do? She couldn’t carry it away; Berry would guess in an instant and she needed to think this over. Dimpling at the clerk, she asked, “Will you store them here in your office a bit longer? I will send someone for them shortly—there is so little room at our hotel.”

  “Certainly,” the young man agreed, eager to do whatever she bade.

  Hattie leaned in toward him. “Tell no one,” she instructed in a low tone. “They are a gift.” She did not explain for whom and fortunately the clerk did not presume to ask.

  They stood in the anteroom while the young man went in to announce them to the solicitor. Hattie glanced briefly at her companion in the ensuing silence. “Pray do not mention the books to anyone.”

  “I wouldn’t think of it,” said Bing.

  The door to the solicitor’s office was flung open in a dramatic manner and a tall, thin man dressed in a very fine suit of linen stare
d at them. It was apparent to Hattie that beneath his implacable façade he was suffering from a strong emotion. “Miss Blackhouse,” he said in a quiet tone. “I cannot tell you how pleased I am to finally behold you.”

  “Sir,” responded Hattie, sketching a bow. She couldn’t help but note the man had a recent scar that ran from the corner of his eye down his cheek; she had little doubt as to who had bestowed it.

  “Won’t you come in? Your visit is fortuitous—we dispatched an agent to seek you out in England only to discover that you were not at home.” He said it as though annoyed that she had inconvenienced him, and Hattie had to tamp down a hostile retort. Apparently, everyone else had converged on Cornwall but—for once in her life—she was not there; it would be ironic if it weren’t so ominous.

  The solicitor addressed Bing rather abruptly. “You are the young lady’s guardian?”

  Hattie forestalled Bing’s answer, not appreciating the man’s patronizing attitude. “No, sir; Miss Bing is my companion.”

  The man made a gesture toward the door. “Then I am afraid I must ask you to wait without, madam. The matters upon which we speak are privileged.”

  Hattie nodded at Bing, who shot her a glance that promised reinforcements if reinforcements were needed; apparently she had sized up the solicitor and had also found him off-putting. I should find out how much Bing is paid, Hattie thought as the woman departed; and double it forthwith.

  Hattie was then seated while the solicitor shuffled some documents on his desk, gathering his thoughts in a cool manner despite the heat that seemed to radiate from the white plastered walls. Hattie could only be grateful for her gauze blouse and light muslin skirt, newly purchased. I don’t see how anyone becomes accustomed, she thought; one constantly feels like a damp washrag.

  The man raised his eyes and smiled a dry little smile that did not reach his eyes. Rather than wait for him to speak she said into the silence, “I imagine if you had any information about my parents I would have heard.”