Daughter of the God-King

by Anne Cleeland

  The man spread his hands. “Yes, of course—I am terribly sorry, Miss Blackhouse, but I fear we must assume the worst. It has been several months, and if they were able, they certainly would have contacted me.”

  “A search has been mounted?”

  He pressed his lips together and again, she held the impression he was disguising his extreme displeasure. “I assure you, I am not the only person who has been assiduously attempting to locate them, but to no avail.”

  “I would like to visit the site in an attempt to trace their movements.” The words came out almost without conscious volition, but Hattie realized she had been anticipating such a journey all along. The tedious god-king’s daughter was to have yet another pilgrim—there was truly no help for it. Remembering Berry’s suggestion, she offered, “Perhaps those who were reluctant to speak to the authorities would be more willing to speak to me.”

  With almost grudging approval, the man nodded slowly. “A very good idea, actually. On my end, however, I will need some information to begin the proceedings that will allow the authorities to release your parents’ effects to you.”

  Hattie shifted in her seat and reflected that once again she was to be fending off questions about her parents’ effects—and from their solicitor, of all people. Warily, she replied, “So soon? I always assumed missing persons could not be pronounced dead for years.”

  He made a vague gesture with his hand. “There are exigent circumstances which allow the procedure to be expedited—when there are minor children, for example.”

  Hattie corrected him, “I am turned eighteen, and not a minor.”

  His vague gesture was replaced with a sharp one of annoyance. “Miss Blackhouse, may I remind you this would be in your best interests? I would not be doing my job unless I move quickly to help you make all necessary arrangements in this difficult time. I owe it to your parents.”

  Hattie did not argue further, feeling she oughtn’t defy him on this—and at least he wasn’t quizzing her about the strongbox, which ironically appeared to reside in his antechamber. “And I do appreciate your efforts, sir. Do I need to sign any papers?”

  Mollified, he moderated his tone and re-aligned the inkwell on his desk with careful fingers. “I understand you are in possession of a password—a password that is necessary to obtain access to the safe deposit boxes.”

  There was a small silence while Hattie knit her brow and stared at him. “I am not certain I understand you.”

  The man stared in return, his voice once again sharp. “Surely you were given this information?”

  Shaking her head she disclaimed, “No, I am afraid I was informed of no password.”

  The solicitor’s eyes narrowed as he watched her closely. “Did not your parents send you correspondence? And this was not mentioned?”

  Hattie met his gaze, unblinking. “I did receive the occasional correspondence, but I was informed of no password.”

  The opaque eyes continued to study her and she had to suppress a sudden impulse to call out to Bing for reinforcements. Steady, she thought; you must sort this out on your own. You do not know whom to trust—even Berry, who watches you and remembers that kiss. Lifting her chin, she met the solicitor’s gaze with her own level one.

  “I must insist,” the man said with restrained menace, “that you turn over any correspondence of recent months.”

  “Perhaps the letter was lost in the mail,” she suggested with a hint of steel. “Or was sent to their solicitor in England.”

  “An unlikely possibility,” he ground out. Hattie had the impression he was struggling to refrain from leaping across the desk to strangle her.

  Striving to appear unafraid and unconcerned, she waited. “Is there anything else that is needful at present?”

  With an obvious effort, he pulled himself together and rose. “Allow me to draw a draft for your expenses. Wait here and I shall return shortly.” He then left the room and Hattie waited, the voices from the shop below floating up through the louvered windows. Impossible not to think of the letter her mother had sent four months ago, the text memorized word-for-word. “My dear Hathor,” it had said—her mother did not use her nickname, “I trust this letter finds you well. We are in the process of archiving the tomb of Seti’s daughter as you may have heard. I have discovered a disk that depicts Hathor and I thought you might like to keep it about you. It has great significance and is very valuable, so please do not misplace it. Use it in the event you ever need to identify yourself to Mr. Bahur, our solicitor in Cairo. Very truly yours, Mother.”

  Hattie was careful to resist the urge to pull the disk from where it was hidden under her blouse and examine it yet again, in the event she was being watched. On one side of the disk was a crude figure of Hathor; on the other were engraved markings—not hieroglyphics, at least as far as she could tell. She hadn’t known what they meant and still did not—only that every instinct told her not to present it to this man, just as her instinct had told her not to confess its existence to Berry. I do not know enough, she thought; and I cannot like how events are unfolding.

  Returning with a draft on the bank in hand, the solicitor handed it to her, and she nodded her thanks and stood to leave. “Where do you stay in the city, Miss Blackhouse?”

  She almost didn’t want to tell him, but decided she was being fanciful. “The Hotel Corsica.”

  “Good,” he nodded with approval. “An excellent establishment—if you have need of anything please do not hesitate to contact me.” After a small pause, he then added, “If my manner was a bit brusque I must beg you to forgive me—I am over-anxious about your parents.”

  Not believing this change of tack for a moment, Hattie smiled her dimpled smile and sincerely hoped she would never have need to speak to him again as long as she lived. “Of course—I am sorry I am unable to be of further assistance.” With an effort, she refrained from fleeing, but instead walked from the room at a dignified pace.

  Chapter 17

  Exiting into the clerk’s antechamber, Hattie rejoined Bing and resisted the urge to depart with all speed, instead pausing to bid a friendly farewell to the young man who hovered, awaiting an opportunity to take her hand yet again. As Hattie descended the steps to the first floor she looked immediately for Berry, who stood on the crowded walkway out front, waiting for her with a watchful eye. Taking his proffered arm, she offered in a dry tone, “Such an amiable creature—it is a shame his face is disfigured.”

  As they began their progress down the bazaars he took a sharp look around. “What did he say?”

  Glancing up at him sidelong, she quizzed, “Oh—so now I am to tell you?”

  He rendered a small smile. “Yes.”

  She allowed her exasperation to show. “Why? You tell me nothing.”

  Tilting his head, he checked to ensure that Bing was not within earshot and then closed his arm so that her hand was pressed tightly to his side. “What would you like to know?”

  “What is your true name?”

  He considered the question in silence and she was curious to see what he would say, as he was making his professed attempt to be honest with her. “It is not Berry.”

  “I am unsurprised, my friend. Can’t you say?”

  With sincere regret, he met her gaze with his own. “No. I cannot.”

  While she was preparing another, less controversial question she was hailed from the crowd. “Miss Blackhouse! I beg a moment—please.”

  She turned in surprise to see that she was approached by a stout Egyptian man wearing a white linen suit and a red fez, vigorously waving at her.

  “Mr. Hafez, the Minister of Antiquities,” Berry said in her ear.

  She smiled in greeting but said in a low voice, “Friend or foe?”

  He shook his head. “I cannot say,” and Hattie was left to wonder if this was because he truly didn’t know or because he didn’t wish to tell her.

  Stopping before her, the panting man took her hand in both of his. “Miss Blackhouse
—I am truly honored to make your acquaintance. I asked at the hotel and I took the liberty of searching for you.”

  Unfortunately, the man’s hands were damp and Hattie hid a twinge of distaste. “How may I be of service, sir?”

  Flourishing a handkerchief, the minister paused to recover his breath, mopping the perspiration from his brow. “A regrettable business—may I beg a moment of your time?”

  After introductions were performed, they adjourned to a nearby café where lemonade was procured for the ladies. Hattie was then required to listen patiently while Hafez expressed his sincere admiration for her parents and his gratified feelings upon making her acquaintance. He then concluded, “I am sorry to intrude, Miss Blackhouse, but I am at a loss and I am hoping you may be of assistance.”

  Deeply regretting the interruption of her conversation with Berry, Hattie tried to urge the talkative man to the point. “Do you wish to speak of my parents’ disappearance?”

  The other sighed hugely, his massive chest rising and falling so that Hattie feared for his buttons. “Indeed. I have secured the site, but am now at a loss. Have you had any communication with them that would shed light on what has happened?”

  Hattie did not answer the question directly, but instead shook her head. “I have just come from their solicitor’s office and he has already quizzed me on that subject at length, I’m afraid.”

  Crestfallen, the gentleman emanated another huge sigh and shifted his over-large frame in the small café chair. “It is a true mystery,” he noted sadly. “Such wonderful people.”

  Witnessing his severe disappointment, Hattie was struck by a thought. “Do you report to Muhammad Ali—is it he who holds authority over the site?”

  “Indeed,” he nodded, spreading his hands. “Although it is a delicate business, at present. There are vying concerns…” His voice trailed off.

  Hattie nodded in turn and was forced to reconsider her half-formed theory—it would seem that if her parents were killed for double-dealing with the British behind Ali’s back, his minister would probably not be chasing her down in the street, obviously distraught and eager to unearth the particulars. Perhaps her theory was not a valid one, then.

  “An unsettling situation,” the minister mused as he sadly studied his hands. “Most unfortunate.”

  Hattie noted that Berry offered no contribution, and it occurred to her he rarely did—choosing always to listen, instead. In the absence of any guidance from his corner, she decided to test her other theories. “Did any artifacts go missing along with my parents?”

  Shocked, Hafez assured her, “Your parents would never steal the artifacts, Miss Blackhouse—unthinkable.”

  “You misunderstand,” Hattie quickly corrected him. “I wondered if perhaps theft was the object and my parents were casualties of a random crime.”

  Straightening up, it appeared the minister was affronted by the implied insult. “The site is very secure—more secure than most. I have my best men standing guard—the Blackhouses deserved no less—and there have been no reports of attempted theft.”

  “I understand,” offered Bing to soothe him, “that the princess’s tomb has a dearth of artifacts to begin with.”

  The minister turned in his chair and regarded Bing for the first time. “That is true,” he admitted, showing some surprise that she would be aware. “And as it does not appear the tomb has been raided, perhaps the princess’s gender and age would explain the lack of riches.”

  “Although I do believe there were several Isisian pieces of exquisite workmanship.” Bing apparently felt a need to mitigate the perceived slight against the anonymous princess.

  “Indeed, fair lady; I have heard the same from those on site.” Recognizing a fellow enthusiast, the minister smiled upon Bing, and then saddened again. “But by all reports the Blackhouses have vanished without a trace and the status of the tomb is in limbo. I am nearly beside myself”—he turned to Hattie in apology—“which is why I must press you, Miss Blackhouse; if you have any information—even if it seems of little importance, I must ask that you share it with me.”

  Hattie knit her brow in puzzlement—not only from the startling discovery that anyone would describe Bing as a “fair lady,” but also from the complete absence of any information surrounding her parents’ disappearance. “It does seem very strange that no one has come forward—they were very recognizable people, after all. Surely someone must know something.”

  The minister leaned forward. “Perhaps you can be of influence, Miss Blackhouse.”

  This was what Berry had intimated—she could make a personal appeal for information as the bereft daughter. “Yes—I will help in any way I can.”

  The party sat in silence for a moment, Hafez drumming his fingers on the table, deep in thought. “Your ring,” observed Bing. “Is it a sacred scarab?”

  “Yes.” He took it off and handed it over for her inspection. “A cat’s eye sapphire, recovered from the statue of Osiris in Abu Simbel.”

  Bing examined it reverently and Hattie decided her conversation with Berry could wait; Bing had found an unexpected admirer. Feigning interest, she listened with half an ear as the two discussed the artifacts found in the main temple at Abu Simbel, many years ago. Across the narrow street she noted the man in the turban from the day before, leaning in a doorway and smoking, watching her. Hattie turned to Berry and indicated the man with a tilt of her head. “Have you an acquaintanceship with that gentleman?”

  Light brown eyes met hers. “Which gentleman is that, mademoiselle?”

  Hattie turned but discovered that the turbaned man had disappeared. “Ah—he has left. Perhaps his name is not Berry, also.”

  “I would not be surprised. You were going to tell me of your conversation with the solicitor.”

  “Which conversation is that, monsieur?”

  But he was in no mood for teasing. “These are dangerous people,” he reminded her quietly. “Make no mistake.”

  Suddenly exasperated, she retorted, “But I am not to know who they are or why they are dangerous or what any of this has to do with me. I will hear no more of your dire warnings, if you please.” Angrily, she turned a shoulder on him.

  Bing glanced at her in surprise and Hattie realized she had spoken out too loudly. Subsiding, she refused to look at Berry and tried to pay attention to the tiresome details under discussion—for the love of heaven, what difference did any of it make? It was thirty centuries ago—let the poor girl molder in her tomb and have done. Realizing that Bing was hastily gathering her things in preparation to depart, she was ashamed of herself for interrupting her companion’s tête-à-tête with her new admirer and so to repair this lapse she asked, “Will you visit the pyramids, Bing? Perhaps Mr. Hafez can make a recommendation.”

  “Assuredly,” the minister beamed as he contemplated Bing. “I will insist upon organizing a private tour for you—I can see to it that you will receive every consideration. Would tomorrow be too soon?”

  “I’m afraid I am too fatigued,” confessed Hattie, who had never been fatigued in her life. “I intend to catch up on my correspondence tomorrow in my room.”

  Bing firmly delivered her regrets. “Thank you, Mr. Hafez, but I am a companion to Miss Blackhouse and I cannot leave her unattended.”

  Taking her cue, Hattie urged, “Please go ahead, Bing. I will stay indoors and do some reading—I truly do not intend to go out tomorrow.” Definitely nowhere with any overly secretive and extremely vexing persons who did not hail from France; that went without saying.

  Bing was thus persuaded and despite her annoyance with him, Hattie shot an amused glance at Berry as her companion took the minister’s proffered arm when they began to head back to the hotel. He leaned down to remark, “Here is an unexpected turn of events.”

  Hattie unbent enough to comment, “Perhaps I shall be called upon to chaperone my chaperone.”

  “She would tell him nothing she shouldn’t?”

  Thinking it over, Hattie reali
zed there was every possibility. Setting aside her pique, she conceded, “Perhaps. Edward relayed some information in confidence.”

  “You might wish to caution her, then,” he advised, his expression unreadable.

  Hattie eyed him. “Are you saying the Egyptian minister is another to be included in your lengthy list of dangerous people?”

  “At the risk of incurring your wrath again, I will only say it is best to remain cautious.”

  Hattie made a sound of extreme impatience, but said nothing further. She regretted losing her temper with him and knew she was on edge because she wasn’t certain what to do; she had been pinning her now-dashed hopes on her parents’ loathsome solicitor and to add to her dilemma, the mysterious strongbox had apparently made an appearance.

  “What is it?” he asked softly, watching her.

  “Nothing,” she replied, and wished it were true.

  Chapter 18

  “We may have solved the problem of what is to be done with you, Bing.”

  Her companion, always straightforward, did not pretend to misunderstand the reference. “A very nice man—we have a common interest, is all.” Hattie could not help but note that the other’s cheeks were a bit pink.

  They were preparing for bed in their chamber after spending a satisfactory afternoon exploring the bazaars and making a few frivolous purchases. Berry had been in dutiful attendance and had taken every opportunity to guide Hattie with a hand on the small of her back on those occasions when Bing was unable to observe such a maneuver. There had been no mention of the solicitor, her missing parents, or the tedious mummy and as a result of this combination of happy events Berry was now back in her good graces.

  “Are the plans to see the pyramids in train?” Hattie had a keen interest in the excursion; she gauged that with Bing in distant Giza she would hopefully soon feel more than Berry’s warm hand on her back. It has been seven days since his apology on the ship and she was aware, in the way that women are, that his self-imposed restraint was fast coming to an end.