Daughter of the God-King

by Anne Cleeland

  “I think not—he is indefatigable.” Eugenie preened in a self-satisfied manner, implying a carnal relationship.

  Nothing daunted, Hattie agreed with her own knowing smile.

  Rather than annoyance, the other accepted the riposte with another trill of genuine laughter. “You are not at all English,” she declared, quirking a corner of her mouth.

  Thinking of her parents’ shame, Hattie almost wished she weren’t. “And you—are you truly from Martinique?”

  “Mais oui; although I am from everywhere, now.”

  “I envy you,” Hattie said sincerely. “I have always longed to travel.”

  Turning, the other girl regarded her. “Quant à ça, you have never been to Egypt?”

  Hattie confessed, “I have never been anywhere. Except Paris, just now.”

  “It was unnatural, yes, for your parents to behave as they did?”

  Thinking this was not a subject she wished to discuss with Eugenie, Hattie simply replied, “They were dedicated to their work.” Thinking of their dedication reminded her of the golden disk, now firmly pinned to the inside of her shift. My wretched legacy, she thought with a twinge of revulsion. I don’t know why I longed for them so much—the god-king’s daughter was welcome to them.

  Eugenie turned to view the shoreline as they passed. “Voyons; Saqqara is next, I think.”

  Hattie stood on tiptoe in an attempt to view the ancient site as it came into view, but couldn’t see over the wheelhouse. “I cannot see—I shall have to walk to the bow.”

  Eugenie smiled as she rested her gaze on the men below once again. “Indeed; you are très petite. Go, then.”

  Berry does not mind that I am petite, thought Hattie as she made her way to the bow. And Eugenie is a minx; I wonder what her task is—he would not have brought her along, otherwise. Leaning over the rail, the weak breeze stirred her curls as Bing came to stand beside her.

  “Saqqara,” Hattie pronounced—although she wouldn’t have had a clue if Eugenie hadn’t told her.

  “Necropolis for Memphis, the ancient capital,” agreed Bing with satisfaction. “And I’m afraid you will be quite brown, Hathor.”

  “I left my hat somewhere,” she confessed. “How does Mr. Hafez?”

  “I am making casual inquiries about ancient Egyptian measurements.”

  Hattie was impressed. “Excellent sleuthing, Bing.”

  But her companion pursed her mouth for a moment, troubled. “Did Monsieur Berry indicate who would do such a thing—purloin your inheritance? Your parents certainly would not have stood for it.”

  This was a good question, and of course Bing was unaware that her parents were capable of much worse. Stammering a bit, Hattie equivocated, “Monsieur Berry does not know the nature of the trove, Bing—only that there is one. Perhaps they were merely secreting funds because they could not visit their banking house regularly.”

  “The whole thing may be a fish tale—a feint,” Bing warned. “Edward said your parents greatly enjoyed a joke; pray don’t get your hopes up.”

  Hattie smiled to show she was not upset about the fanciful loss of her fanciful inheritance. “Even if that is the case, it is an interesting puzzle, and will keep us occupied for the journey.”

  Bing nodded, somewhat reassured. “I will go below, if you do not mind, and make a note of what I have learned.”

  “I will be down in short order to fetch my parasol.” Although truth to tell, Hattie much preferred the sun on her face—here was one advantage Egypt had over Cornwall. Standing again at the rail, Hattie leaned over to watch the barge cut through the wide river and then saw Robbie appear in her line of sight, smiling and holding her hat in one hand.

  “Is this yours, Hattie?”

  “It is—thank you for fetching it to me.” She dutifully tied the broad ribbon under her chin as he came to stand beside her, resting his elbows on the railing so that his height was nearly level with hers. “Don’t lose it in the river as you did at Truro.”

  “Unfair,” she laughed. “Your wretched brother James threw it in.”

  “As I recall, Papa gave him a whipping as a result.”

  “And well deserved.”

  They stood together in companionable silence, watching the water. “Would you jump?” he teased.

  Assessing the distance, Hattie considered. “It is a longer drop than from the bridge on the River Fal—I’m not sure I would. You?”

  “Without hesitation.” He shook his head in a mock reprimand. “Fie, Hattie—you were always so fearless.”

  “I’ve grown old and decorous,” she agreed in a grave tone. Berry would jump, she thought. He has already jumped to and from the balcony with little effort—and if he jumped into the Nile I suppose I would jump right in after him. She wondered if Berry could swim and guessed that he could; I would like to swim with him, she thought, and felt a heat that had little to do with the hot sun.

  Glancing toward the stern, she spied Hafez walking with Eugenie. He appeared to be explaining something to her whilst she paid rapt attention and clung to his arm. Ah, she thought; here is her task—my poor Bing stands little chance, although I truly do not think her heart is at risk. Thinking to tease Robbie, she indicated the couple with an arch look. “Best look lively.”

  He glanced at her warily, trying to gauge the tenor of her remark. “I have no interest there—far from it.”

  “Oh,” she said easily, looking back at them. “I was mistaken, then.”

  Robbie noted in a neutral tone, “She seems very friendly with Monsieur Berry.”

  “Yes,” Hattie agreed. “It certainly seems that way.”

  Robbie bent his head for a moment and contemplated his hands on the railing. “I wanted to mention something to you—now, don’t fly up in the boughs, Hattie—but perhaps you should keep him at arm’s length, so to speak.”

  Hattie feigned ignorance. “Monsieur Berry, you mean?”

  Meeting her gaze with his own, he nodded. “His manner toward you borders on the proprietary, sometimes.”

  She teased, “He is French, after all—perhaps it comes naturally.”

  “Perhaps,” he agreed, treading carefully. “But you are such an innocent, Hattie—I only wanted to mention it, so that you are made aware.”

  Not so very innocent, thought Hattie, hiding a smile—and shockingly ready to be made less so. “Do you think him a fortune-hunter, then?”

  “No—not at all. It’s just that we know so little about him.”

  She gently pointed out, “He was my parents’ agent, Robbie; and it does appear they trusted him completely.”

  Nodding his head in acknowledgment, her companion nonetheless cautioned, “I know. But I must stand as your protector on this journey—you have no one else, after all.”

  “Then you should not goad me to leap into the Nile, if you please.”

  He laughed, and they were easy again. Until, that is, he asked in a causal manner, “Have you had an opportunity to ask him if he is aware of a strongbox?”

  Hattie only shook her head whilst grinding her teeth.

  Chapter 26

  That evening, their party dined with three other passengers to make up the table of ten. Mr. Canton was a jovial Englishman in the best tradition, who took Hattie’s hand with great interest. “Are you related to the famous Egyptologists?”

  “I am,” she replied, and hoped her smile didn’t wobble. “I am their daughter.”

  “What a happy chance, to have met you—I am financing a dig in Abu Simbel and I follow their work with great interest.”

  Apparently he had not heard the latest news and so Hattie only nodded, trying to decide whether she should explain that they were missing or put if off and hope it needn’t be revealed—in the end she decided to put it off.

  “Do you join them?” the gentleman asked, clearly presuming that this was the case.

  Unsure of how to respond, she temporized, “I hope to.”

  Bing came to her rescue by interjecting smo
othly, “What dig do you finance, Mr. Canton?”

  “The Temple of Amenophis,” he explained. Somewhat abashed, he added, “I’ve made precious little profit, but I find the subject fascinating.”

  “An expensive hobby,” nodded his fond wife, who sat by his side and methodically buttered her bread.

  The gentleman explained, “The authorities hold you hostage—charging fees or requiring concessions that are nothing short of extortion. It hardly matters, though—I live to see what is under the next sand dune.”

  “I completely understand,” said Bing. “I follow the subject very closely, myself.”

  The two enthusiasts compared notes for a few minutes while Mrs. Canton and Hattie smiled at each other in the manner of those who did not share the call. While she listened absently, Hattie thought about how Napoleon had used his authority to extort her parents’ support for his ambitions. Perhaps they were without a choice in the matter—like Mr. Canton—and had to do as they were told. Or perhaps it had been a small matter, at first, and then they had been unable to disentangle from the web, once they were caught up. Impatiently, she discarded the attempted excuses—treason was treason and was not to be condoned, no matter the devotion to one’s work.

  To her other side was Mr. Smithson, a short, spare man who was revealed to be a vicar from Shropshire. He listened in a friendly fashion but had little to offer by way of conversation. “Are you interested in Egyptology, Mr. Smithson?” Hattie asked, to draw him out.

  “Very little, I’m afraid—I was to travel to the Holy Land but my tour was canceled; I thought I may as well sail up the Nile, as I was stranded in the vicinity.”

  “A different sort of holiday than you expected,” Hattie noted with a smile.

  But the gentleman was philosophical. “It is always interesting to learn new things—we never know why we are led.”

  “I suppose that is true.” Indeed, Hattie’s temper had led her out the window at the Prussian embassy in Paris, and her life had changed irrevocably as a result. As they ate their repast, she noted some constraint between Canton and Hafez, and overheard the latter’s pointed remark, “Very altruistic people, the Blackhouses—greed was never a motivation.”

  Hattie could feel herself color up and briefly met Berry’s eyes across the table. She surmised that Canton intended to take artifacts back to England, which naturally put him in the minister’s black book. Still, all parties were civil in discussing the upcoming ports of call.

  “Do you stop at Thebes?” Canton asked Bing, his fellow devotee.

  “Yes—we will visit the Blackhouses’ latest excavation.”

  “Ah—the tomb of the god-king’s daughter; best beware of the curse,” he warned, half-serious.

  “Bah—we fear no curses, do we, Monsieur Hafez?” asked Eugenie, who prettily sought his confirmation that he would protect her from all enemies, real or imagined.

  “There are times,” the minister admitted with a huge sigh, “that I do indeed feel cursed.”

  He was probably thinking of Monsieur Auguste’s untimely death; or perhaps his country’s crumbling infrastructure, or the loss of priceless artifacts to entrepreneurs like Canton, or even the missing strongbox—it was enough to make one feel quite sorry for him. Hattie wondered what information Eugenie had been dispatched to beguile from him.

  Into the small silence, Berry addressed Robbie in a deferential manner. “Mademoiselle Blackhouse tells me that she has a long friendship with your family, Monsieur Tremaine; it is fortunate that you are at hand to assist her.”

  “We’ve grown up together,” the other agreed. “Why, just this afternoon we were reminiscing over some childhood misadventures.” Robbie turned to smile warmly across the table at Hattie, but she was already warmed by Berry’s attempt to extend an olive branch.

  “Where was this?” asked the vicar, and a comparison of Cornwall and Shropshire ensued, during which Hattie shot Berry a grateful glance and in this brief exchange she was given to understand he would speak to her privately before the evening concluded.

  Thus it was with some impatience that Hattie sat through a discussion extolling the merits of the tedious New Kingdom and the equally tedious Middle Kingdom until Mrs. Canton finally tugged on her better half’s arm and insisted they retire before she fell asleep on the tabletop. With good humor, the dinner party broke up and Hattie felt free to tease Bing as they walked out on the deck, “Mrs. Canton had best look to her husband or you’ll have another one hanging on your sleeve.”

  Bing rendered her dry smile at the jest. “A common interest, is all.”

  But Hattie found it amusing in the extreme. “Honestly, Bing—had I know it would be so alluring to the opposite sex, I would have paid more attention to the museum exhibition in hopes of securing a beau.”

  Bing smoothed her gloves and said only, “I have no fears on that front, Hathor.”

  They took a turn around the deck, Hattie lifting her face to feel the cool breeze. “Thank heaven there is a breeze at night, Bing—we can open our porthole and be more comfortable.” Their stateroom was more spacious than on the Sophia, but Hattie continued to dislike the feeling of being enclosed in a small space. “Where do you suppose we are?” Pausing at the railing, they viewed the shoreline that would reveal an occasional cluster of lights in the darkness, evidencing small outposts. Toward the shallows, a random lit lantern would reveal a fisherman on a small wooden vessel, his spear poised to stab the fish attracted by the light. The air was close and heavy, and smelled of rich, wet earth.

  “Asyut, perhaps,” guessed Bing. “It is difficult to discern with so few landmarks along this stretch of the Nile.”

  “If I may be of help, ladies,” said Smithson from behind them. “I have just returned from the wheelhouse and the captain informs me we come to Girgeh within the hour.”

  “Excellent,” said Bing with a nod. “I believe we are ahead of schedule.”

  She and the vicar moved toward a hanging lantern to examine his map, and Hattie leaned on the railing with her forearms, listening to their voices and the lapping of the water against the hull. Berry materialized beside her with gratifying promptness, and taking a quick glance about, lifted her hand to kiss the knuckles.

  “Bonne nuit,” she said with a delighted smile.

  “Très bonne,” he agreed, his gaze on her upturned face. Everything has changed, she noted with a jolt of pure happiness; he no longer attempted to shutter his emotions when they were alone.

  “What did you discover at the consulate?”

  “Hattie,” he remonstrated, his head bent close to hers. “That is not very romantic.”

  I should tell him that I love him, she thought with some nervousness, gazing into the brown eyes that held such tenderness. He told me, and it is only fair. However, as she had never said the words before she felt ridiculously awkward and could not quite bring herself to do it.

  The moment passed and he indicated Bing. “Any progress with the senet board?”

  “Now who is unromantic?” she teased, and ran her fingers lightly across the back of his hand, which caused a gratifying intake of breath as he moved closer to murmur in her ear.

  “Do not, I beg of you—I do not dare kiss you for fear Monsieur Tremaine will call me out.”

  Hattie had little doubt who would prevail should such an event occur, but instead said with mock severity, “It is just as well—I have decided there will be a price for these kisses I have given so freely.”

  Chuckling, he turned and leaned back against the rail, looking down upon her. “I will pay any price,” he declared, which she considered a very satisfactory answer.

  “You must tell me something about yourself—that is the price.”

  He smiled, glancing up at the stars. “What is it you wish to know?”

  She shrugged lightly in her best imitation of Eugenie. “I don’t know—anything you are willing to tell me, I suppose. Do you like dogs?” Hattie had never owned a dog but she adored the Tremaines�
�� dogs.

  Eyes gleaming, he brought his chin down. “I have four dogs.”

  Very pleased with this bit of information, she laughed, “Four? Isn’t that excessive?”

  “No.” He smiled back at her. “They hunt with me.”

  “Oh.” She considered. “Are they allowed in the house?”

  “They are not small,” he explained. “I do not argue with them.”

  Laughing, she had to quieten when Bing and the vicar looked up from their conversation.

  “So now I have told you four things,” he noted, his gaze focused on her mouth.

  “I believe that only counts as one,” she disagreed in a pert tone.

  “Four,” he repeated firmly, leaning in to whisper next to her ear. “I shall keep an account.”

  Hattie’s compliant chaperone had apparently decided enough was enough and she returned to her charge’s side. “Shall we play cards?” Bing asked. “It would be a means to pass the time.”

  “Certainly,” agreed Berry, and Hattie was given to understand that a game of cards was not the true object of this request.

  “What shall you play?” asked Smithson hopefully. “I am rather fond of cards.”

  Without missing a beat, Bing invited the vicar to join them and they made their way to the dining room. After having determined that they would play whist, the four settled in while Hattie hoped the vicar would not stay long—she was tired from her late night the night before.

  As the cards were dealt, Berry said, “You are a military man, I believe.” Hattie looked up in surprise; Smithson did not appear so to her.

  “Indeed,” the other agreed. “I was a chaplain with the 3rd Division on the Peninsula.”

  Berry nodded. “You saw heavy action, then.”

  “Yes,” the man sighed. “Unfortunately my services were much in demand.”

  The players took up their cards. “You were under the command of Le Marchant?”