Whispers in the Sand

by Barbara Erskine

  ‘I hate it like this,’ she wailed at Hassan as she watched him pack away the soft gown, still warm from her body. ‘I want to be free!’ It was a useless wish, for even as she said it, she knew it could never be. Not as long as she had the two boys at home waiting for her. She saw him, just for a second, hold the material against his cheek, then it was folded away and the basket had joined the others in the boat.

  ‘My dear, we’ve been waiting for you.’ Sir John Forrester was on deck, reaching down to hand her up onto the dahabeeyah. ‘I particularly wanted you to meet our guests before they depart.’ He was leading the way into the saloon when he paused as though the thought had just struck him. ‘I trust your headache is now better?’

  ‘Indeed it is – thank you.’ She forced herself to smile, wondering why she had not taken the escape route his question had offered and claimed that her headache was still unendurable. Behind her Hassan had brought the food baskets up on deck. As he went back for her painting things she wondered what he did with her cool, soft clothes while they were on the boat. He could not give them to her. Jane Treece would have found them in her cabin and wondered why she took a nightgown with her on her trips ashore. As though reading her thoughts, he bowed a little in her direction and informed her that he would put the paints and sketchbooks in her cabin for her, then he was gone. For a moment she felt bereft.

  She turned and followed Sir John inside and found Augusta sitting there with their guests. Two gentlemen rose and bowed as she appeared.

  ‘Lord Carstairs, Mr and Mrs David Fielding, and Miss Fielding.’ Sir John made the introductions and ushered her to a seat. ‘My dear, we have a special favour to ask you.’

  Louisa brushed a wisp of hair off her face, aware that she must look flushed and untidy and that her clothes were somewhat in disarray after her hasty donning of them behind the bush on the island. Even as she thought of it she saw a sprig of greenery caught in the braid on her skirt and surreptitiously she pulled it free. She could feel the critical eyes of Venetia Fielding on her. She was David Fielding’s sister, rather than his daughter, she guessed. The young woman was dressed in the latest Paris fashions with her dress looped back into a slight bustle and her hair smoothed into intricate ringlets. Mrs Fielding was, in spite of her heavily draped efforts to hide the fact, as fashion demanded, clearly in an interesting condition; she looked exhausted.

  It would be a portrait, of course. One of them wanted a picture of themselves or possibly an Egyptian temple, or of themselves outside an Egyptian temple, to take back to London to show their elegant companions. Lord Carstairs’ words took her completely aback.

  ‘Sir John was telling us, Mrs Shelley, about the scent bottle in your possession and the Arabic curse that accompanies it. I wondered if I could see it?’

  She had been watching him while he was speaking. He had deep burnished copper hair and a narrow, sun-tanned face with prominent cheekbones and eye sockets, and a thin somewhat large nose which made him look, she thought with sudden suppressed mirth, like nothing so much as Horus, the hawk god. The effect was not entirely displeasing. He was a good-looking, imposing man.

  ‘I’ll fetch it for you, with pleasure.’ She rose, thankful for the excuse to leave them for a few minutes to freshen her face and hands and make a few adjustments to her costume.

  When she returned she found that tea had been served. The Fielding ladies were laughing prettily with Augusta and the three men had drawn a little apart around the saloon table. Unsure where to sit, she hesitated for a moment in the doorway. It was the gentlemen who rose and made room for her amongst them. The women continued their talk uninterrupted, but at least one pair of eyes were fixed on her back as she made her way towards the proffered chair. She glanced in their direction and found that Venetia Fielding was watching her with an expression of tight-lipped animosity.

  Sitting down she produced the scent bottle, laying it in the centre of the table. The paper which accompanied it she pushed towards Lord Carstairs. ‘Do you read Arabic, my lord?’ She smiled at him and was surprised to see his face light up in response.

  ‘Indeed I do, dear lady.’ He lifted up the paper, but she could see his eyes had gone straight to the bottle. He was obviously anxious to touch it, but restraining himself with enormous self-control.

  There was a moment’s silence, then he began to read out loud. His translation was substantially the same as Sir John’s and when he had finished he let the paper fall to the table.

  He leant forward, staring intently at the bottle. Neither of the other men had made the slightest attempt to pick it up. There was a long pause then he looked at Louisa again. ‘And have you seen the spirits that guard it?’ There was no levity in the tone of the question. It appeared to be totally serious. She was about to shake her head then she hesitated.

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Yes?’ It was the merest whisper.

  She shrugged, half-embarrassed. ‘I fear that I am somewhat imaginative, my lord. This country encourages one towards all kinds of fancies.’

  ‘Just tell me.’ His eyes were locked onto hers.

  She moved uncomfortably in her chair. ‘Once or twice I have had the feeling I was being watched. And in the temple at Edfu I thought I saw someone. I assumed it was my dragoman, Hassan.’ She hesitated almost imperceptibly over his name and was disconcerted to see the other man’s eyes narrow slightly.

  ‘But it wasn’t Hassan?’ he echoed. His voice was smooth.

  ‘No, it wasn’t Hassan.’

  ‘What did it look like? The figure?’

  She could sense his excitement, hidden beneath an impassive face. Glancing at Sir John and David Fielding she could see both men were uncomfortable.

  ‘It looked like a tall man in a white galabiyya. But it was no more than an impression, in the shadows of the temple.’

  ‘And you checked there was no one else there?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Yes!’ This time the single word was a hiss of satisfaction. She watched, a small frown on her face, as he stretched out his hand towards the bottle. With his fingers only half an inch from it, he paused and she saw him take a deep steadying breath, then at last he picked it up. He didn’t actually look at it, she noticed. He held it for a long moment, his eyes on hers, then slowly his lids dropped and he sat silently, eyes closed, totally withdrawn. There was an awkward silence, broken only on the far side of the saloon by a trill of feminine laughter.

  Louisa, watching Carstairs’ face, saw a sudden shudder pass through his body, before he opened his eyes and looked down at the bottle in his hands.

  ‘Yes!’ For the third time that was all he said. Just the one soft, sibilant word.

  Louisa could stay silent no longer. ‘You seem very interested in my bottle, Lord Carstairs.’ It seemed important to emphasise her ownership of it. He was holding it so gloatingly and with such proprietorial triumph.

  The sound of her voice seemed to drag him back to reality with a jolt. As though remembering where he was he laid the bottle down on the table. His regret at doing so was palpable.

  ‘Where did you say you got it?’ His eyes sought hers again and held them.

  ‘My dragoman found it for me in the bazaar in Luxor.’ She hoped the inference was that she had sent him to find her something as a keepsake of her visit to the town.

  ‘Indeed.’ He was looking down at it again. ‘May I ask what you gave for it?’

  The question floored her. She could not admit that it had been a gift. ‘I gave him money for several purchases. I am afraid I have no idea how much he beat them down to in the end. Why do you wish to know?’

  ‘Because I wish to buy it from you. I will reimburse you and give you the full value again, so you may purchase something else.’ One finger reached out to touch the bottle with an almost reverent delicacy.

  ‘I am sorry, Lord Carstairs, but it is not for sale. Sir John, in any case, feels that it is a fake.’

  ‘It is no fake!’ Carstairs flashed a look of pu
re disdain at his host. ‘It is genuine. From the 18th dynasty. Even so, the monetary value is not high. These are comparatively common in Luxor. Stolen, of course, from the tombs. But it pleases me.’ He turned back to Louisa. ‘Mrs Shelley, you would be doing me the greatest service by allowing me to have it. It is not irreplaceable. Your dragoman could probably find you several like it on your return to Luxor.’

  ‘Then why could you not find one like it yourself, my lord?’ Louisa enquired softly. ‘Why must you have mine?’

  Carstairs met her eyes again. His face was becoming disconcertingly florid. ‘I have a personal reason for wanting this one.’ As though becoming aware of the strange looks being directed at him by the other two men at the table he frowned, for the first time a little flustered. ‘The legend: it pleases me. You would be doing me an inestimable favour, Mrs Shelley.’ He smiled. His whole face lit up and she felt the radiance of his charm. For a moment she nearly wavered, then with a shock she realised she had almost changed her mind, almost been swayed to do what he wanted. Almost, she had to force herself to put out her hand and lift up the bottle. ‘I am sorry, I really am. But I intend to keep this for myself. I am sure you will find one just as intriguing, my lord.’ With her other hand she reached out quickly and scooped up the sheet of paper and standing up she gave a little bow. ‘My lord, gentlemen, please excuse me. I am very tired after my visit to Elephantine Island. I shall retire to my cabin for a little while.’ She turned to the ladies, and making a similar excuse, left them to it.

  In her cabin she sat down on the bed with a sigh, looking at the bottle in her hands. Hassan’s gift. Since those special moments on Elephantine Island it had become doubly important to her. Trebly so. Almost without thinking she raised it to her lips and felt the glass cool against her hot skin.

  The knock on the door made her frown. Surely it could not already be time for Jane Treece to help her get ready for dinner. To her surprise it was Augusta Forrester. She pushed her way into the small cabin and closed the door behind her.

  ‘I want you to reconsider Roger Carstairs’ offer, Louisa. You would be doing a great favour to John and myself.’ Both women looked down at the scent bottle which was still lying on the bed. ‘I appreciate that it is an intriguing little souvenir for you, but surely you are not so attached to it as to be obdurate!’ She sat down, her petite frame suddenly voluminous in her magenta silk as she perched on the small powder stool and smiled at Louisa.

  ‘I’m sorry. I hate to upset him, but I do not want to sell.’ Louisa folded her hands in her lap.

  ‘Why? What, if I may ask, is so special about it?’

  ‘Well, the romantic story, for one thing. And that presumably is why Lord Carstairs wants it so much. That is what makes the bottle special after all. And for me there are other reasons. It was found especially for me, exactly what I wanted. No, I’m sorry. I do not want to upset your friend, but that is an end to the matter. If he is a gentleman he will not pursue it.’

  She saw Augusta’s lips tighten a fraction. ‘You do know who he is, my dear?’

  ‘I don’t care who he is.’ Louisa’s fists clenched in her lap. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I should like to get ready for dinner.’

  ‘Roger is staying for dinner. It will be embarrassing for us all if you refuse him.’

  ‘Then I shall not appear. I’m sorry, but I shall not change my mind.’ Louisa could feel her temper rising. With an effort she curbed it, stood up, and picking up the scent bottle she proceeded to lock it in her dressing case.

  Augusta sighed. ‘Very well, I shall explain to him. Please do not absent yourself from the meal. That would upset John and myself exceedingly.’ She stood up, allowing the folds of magenta silk to fall in place around her with an expensive rustle. She never looked anything other than cool and elegant Louisa realised, no matter how hot the temperature. Augusta smiled at her coldly. ‘I am sorry this has happened. I trust it will not distress you too much. I am sure that he will drop the matter when I tell him that you are adamant. I shall send Treece to you now, so you may prepare for dinner.’

  Louisa stared at the door for some time after she had gone. Then she stood up and taking the tiny key from the lock of the dressing case she slipped it onto the fine gold chain she wore around her neck. There was to be no possibility of the bottle disappearing. By the time Jane Treece arrived she had already removed her gown and was sitting at her dressing table brushing out her hair.

  Anna laid down the diary and stared across her own cabin. Dragged out of Louisa’s world with heartstopping suddenness she sat up.

  ‘Who is there?’ She sensed rather than heard a movement beyond the half-closed door of the bathroom.

  Outside the window the night was still very black. She glanced at her watch. It was two forty-five. She had been reading for hours. The boat was totally silent. Forcing herself to get out bed, she tiptoed across the cabin and pushing open the door she switched on the light.

  The room was empty, still a little steamy from the shower she had had before she went to bed. She checked it twice but there was nothing there. Slowly she pushed the door closed, clicked off the light and went back to bed. She was totally exhausted, half her mind still on the dahabeeyah with Louisa, picturing the scent bottle lying safely in her dressing case, conscious of the acquisitive fingers of Lord Carstairs gently touching the glass, sensing Louisa’s fear of the figure in the white robe hovering near her in the shadows. She shivered and lay back on the pillows. There was no point in trying to compose herself for sleep, and she soon gave up. There would be no rest for her that night, so why try? Turning on her side with a sigh she reached for the lightswitch again and picked up the diary once more.

  It appeared that the Fieldings, who, Louisa discovered, had known the Forresters some years before in Brighton, had rented their boat in Luxor two months before. It did not take Louisa long to work out that a combination of his wife’s ill health and his sister’s ill temper had proved too much for David Fielding who was an easy-going, good-natured man, ill equipped to act as a referee between two singularly spiteful women. It also became obvious that the reason for their protracted stay was their meeting with Roger Carstairs whose own boat had been tied up north of Luxor at Denderah. He was wealthy, titled, and recently widowed. Any family with an unmarried lady in her late twenties or early thirties would agree that he could not be allowed to escape. When both boats turned south to cruise towards Aswan they did so in convoy, and Carstairs did not appear to have discouraged the obviously predatory plans of Venetia and Katherine Fielding.

  ‘I don’t think I should have risked staying out here in your condition,’ Augusta Forrester commented a little tartly to Katherine during a moment’s lull in the conversation.

  Katherine blushed scarlet. Her husband came to her aid. ‘It was not our intention to stay out here so long, dear Lady Forrester, I assure you. I had hoped we would have returned to London long before this. Now we shall have to remain in Egypt for Katherine’s confinement.’ He sent a baleful glare in his sister’s direction. ‘It is far too late for Kate to travel.’

  ‘Lord Carstairs has two delightful children, Augusta,’ Katherine put in amiably, in an obvious attempt to change the subject. ‘Alas, now motherless, poor little dears.’ She smiled archly at Venetia.

  ‘There is nothing delightful about them,’ Carstairs put in, his attention suddenly caught by the sound of his own name. ‘They are a couple of small heathens. I have lost three nursemaids and a tutor already and I’m thinking of sending them off to a cage in the Zoological Gardens!’

  Louisa suppressed a smile. ‘Are they really so dreadful? May I ask how old they are?’

  ‘Six and eight, Mrs Shelley. Old enough to be totally unmanageable.’

  Louisa laughed. ‘My two boys are the same age exactly,’ she exclaimed. She shook her head sadly. ‘I miss them so much. Are your boys out in Egypt with you, Lord Carstairs?’

  ‘Indeed they are not! I left them in Scotland. I hope not to s
ee them again until they have learnt some manners.’ He leant back in his chair and suddenly he smiled at her. ‘I suspect with your experience of children, Mrs Shelley, you do not see them with the naïve eye of the childless!’ The remark was designed to cut and it did. She saw Katherine flinch visibly whilst the other two ladies looked crestfallen and indignant in turn.

  ‘That is a little harsh, my lord. Some children are delightful,’ she returned with some asperity. ‘Mine are, for instance.’

  He had been paying her particular attention since she had returned to the saloon but not once, to her relief, had he mentioned the scent bottle. Instead he had gone out of his way to entertain her. He bowed affably now. ‘Your children, dear lady, could be nothing but delightful, I am sure. Perhaps I shall need to ask you for some guaranteed training methods.’ To her relief he turned back to the Fieldings and with some skill proceeded to soothe Katherine’s ruffled feelings. To Venetia, she noticed, he paid no particular attention at all.

  It was not until the guests were on the point of leaving that Lord Carstairs dropped his bombshell. ‘Mrs Shelley, may I suggest that tomorrow you might care to accompany us to the quarries to see the unfinished obelisk? It is a fascinating excursion and I have promised to escort David and Venetia.’

  How could she refuse? How could she say, But I want to go there with Hassan, in my soft cool gown?

  Sir John sealed her fate. ‘Excellent plan,’ he boomed. ‘She was intending to go there anyway. I heard the dragoman giving instructions to the cook to put up a picnic. Now there will be no need for him to go. He can stay here and help me with a few errands I have to perform in Aswan.’

  Anna shook her head. How unfair. Poor Louisa. That was truly sod’s law. Or was she going to fall for the suave Carstairs and forget her burgeoning love for the gentle dragoman? Her head was aching with tiredness but she could not resist flipping over a few pages to see what happened next. A roughly scribbled passage under a pencil sketch of a woman veiled in black caught her eye and she frowned.