The Lioness of Morocco

by Julia Drosten

  “Oh, what do you know! The only thing you have ever loved is your work!” Emily ran out of the room and slammed the door in her wake.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  The atmosphere on the roof of the British consulate was peaceful and relaxed. Sunlight was shining through the straw sunshades and falling in golden patches on the floor. The air smelled of sea salt and freshly baked raisin buns. Sara Willshire’s guests sat on wicker chairs placed around two folding tables. Behind each of them stood a Negro girl who fanned the ladies with palm fronds. Sara Willshire opened to the first page of Wilkie Collins’s novel The Woman in White and began to read in a clear voice. Victoria picked up her teacup and, when she sniffed the bergamot aroma with her eyes closed, was transported back to England for a few bittersweet moments.

  “I’m making my opening bid,” she heard the French consul’s wife say at the next table. She was playing bridge with her daughter and two merchants’ wives from England and Portugal. Victoria, the Italian consul’s wife, and a young recent arrival from Hamburg had all brought their embroidery.

  Victoria felt comfortable here, in the company of women like her. These women thought like she did, dressed like she did, and spoke in languages she understood. Unfortunately, these gatherings only lasted a few hours. They were the highlights of her otherwise dreary and monotonous life.

  Victoria reluctantly opened her eyes again and caught a glimpse of one of the servant girls stifling a bored yawn while another made faces at the two green parrots sitting on a perch in the corner.

  Why must my mother-in-law be so unlike these women? she wondered. How can an Englishwoman prefer the company of Arabs to this refined social gathering?

  Her sister-in-law Emily was no better. She was actually an even greater disappointment than Sibylla. Victoria had imagined that she and Emily, who was almost her age, would become friends. But she had soon been disabused of that notion. She could not deny that Emily was always very pleasant to her, but the two of them were entirely different. Once, Victoria had tried to tell Emily about London. She had described the National Portrait Gallery, where she and John had first met, talked about the opera in Covent Garden, the elegant shops, department stores, and shopping arcades between Knightsbridge and Piccadilly. But Emily had not understood anything. She had actually said that it all sounded much like a souk!

  “I believe that our dear Signora Hopkins is miles away from us right now!” The amused voice of the Italian consul’s wife jolted Victoria out of her thoughts. She quickly bent over her embroidery and pretended to examine the pattern.

  “Will you not tell us what has you so preoccupied?” The Italian woman smiled amiably.

  Victoria, not wanting to admit her dismay with her sister-in-law, replied, “I was just wondering why my mother-in-law never accompanies me here. I had so hoped that she would do so today, but she once again turned me down.”

  Sara lowered her book. “Mrs. Hopkins usually has more important things to do than take part in our harmless pleasures.”

  Victoria was surprised. This irritated tone of voice did not suit the gentle wife of the British consul!

  The French consul’s wife tapped her cards on the table and declared, “I can understand Madame Hopkins. Franchement, ladies, our little rendezvous are dreadfully quiet. We embroider doilies nobody needs and play cards to make the time pass!”

  “You are welcome to spend your time elsewhere if you find my house boring!” Sara said indignantly.

  “Mille regrets, Madame Willshire! That was extremely rude of me,” the Frenchwoman said, trying to placate her. “But is not every day the same as any other in Mogador? Do we not all sometimes wish that we were far away from here? Madame Hopkins spends her time doing something useful, and I confess that I sometimes envy her. Although personally, I would wish for less work and more amusement . . .”

  “It seems Madame Hopkins prefers Moors,” the woman’s daughter remarked caustically.

  “She speaks Arabic?” The Prussian merchant’s wife was astonished.

  “Bien sûr, and fluently. There are those who say that her years in Mogador have turned Madame Hopkins into a Moor herself, but I don’t see it that way,” the Frenchwoman replied.

  “How do you see it, then?” Sara inquired with a sour expression.

  “Well, that she is more respected among the Moors than any other foreigner here. They have not forgotten how much she helped the city after the unfortunate affrontement with my country.”

  “My husband says that she just did it to make people forget her own disgrace,” the Portuguese woman added while staring straight at Victoria.

  Victoria looked at her in shock and remained silent.

  “What good are these old stories? It is nothing more than stupid gossip,” the Italian lady objected.

  “I would hardly describe it as gossip,” Sara said snidely.

  Victoria could no longer hold back. “What stories?”

  “Oh, there is a very interesting secret your mother-in-law is keeping,” Sara said. “Of course, no one speaks about it openly, but anyone who can use his eyes and do arithmetic . . .”

  “What do you mean?” the young Prussian woman now wanted to know.

  Sara leaned forward in her chair. “My dear, have you never noticed that Emily looks nothing like the rest of the family?”

  “She probably resembles her father,” Victoria ventured.

  “Exactly, she resembles her father. Benjamin Hopkins, however, was blond. But Emily’s hair . . .”

  “. . . is black,” Victoria completed in a toneless voice.

  Sara smiled with extreme satisfaction. “By the way, Victoria, have you met Monsieur Rouston? The Frenchman who sells his saffron to your mother-in-law?”

  Both Victoria and Emily were quiet and withdrawn over dinner. Emily poked at her food unhappily and wished that she and Sabri could run away to a place where no one knew them and no one could tell them whom to love.

  Victoria’s mind was racing too. Should she give any credence to the outrageous claims made by Mrs. Willshire and the other ladies? Was her mother-in-law really carrying on a scandalous affair with André Rouston? She had met Rouston just once at the souk with Sibylla. He was a charming, good-looking man. But she had not noticed her mother-in-law affected by his charm. Quite the contrary, her demeanor had been cool and distant.

  She looked at Emily surreptitiously. Like the Frenchman, she had dark hair and a brownish complexion. Her slightly curved nose was also reminiscent of his. The longer Victoria thought about it, the more likely it seemed that André Rouston, and not Benjamin Hopkins, was Emily’s father.

  She flinched when John touched her hand. “A penny for your thoughts, Victoria. I think you weren’t listening. Mother is planning to transfer sole responsibility for the business here to me when she goes to London with Emily in the fall. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Victoria feigned enthusiasm, but her thoughts quickly returned to Sara Willshire’s revelations. She pursed her lips in disgust. What kind of family had she married into?

  At the end of September, Sibylla and Emily had packed their trunks for their journey to England and the whole family gathered for a farewell dinner. After Sibylla had risen from the table, Thomas and John withdrew to John’s office to smoke a cigar, a stylish new habit they had acquired in London.

  Sibylla, Victoria, and Emily went to the drawing room, where Firyal served tea, candied almonds, and lemon peel dipped in rose syrup. Aromatic smoke wafted from the scented quartz in the coal pans. But the atmosphere in the room was uncomfortable. Sibylla looked furtively at her daughter. Emily had taken one of the embroidered cushions from the sofa and was hugging it. She seemed distant, as she had so often in recent days. She did not even seem to enjoy drawing anymore. Perhaps she was nervous about the upcoming trip to faraway London. Or did some secret sadness gnaw at her? Whenever Sibylla asked, Emily claimed nothing was wrong.

  Victoria was sitting on another sofa, staring into space. Like Emily, she
seemed unhappy and withdrawn. Sibylla so wished to have a warmer relationship with her son’s wife, but no matter how she tried, Victoria was unresponsive. Nor did she seek out the company of Emily, who should have been her friend. Sibylla stifled a sigh. Instead of laughter, her home was filled with sadness and ill humor.

  The conversation dragged terribly, Emily and Victoria speaking only when Sibylla addressed them and, even then, their answers were monosyllabic. So when Thomas and John at last came back from smoking their cigars, Sibylla smiled with relief.

  John, her hands-on younger son, was always full of drive, and immediately launched into his favorite subject: the advantages of steamboats over tall ships.

  Sibylla was of a different opinion. Her chief concern was the horrendous cost involved in the development and construction of coal-powered steel ships, and in no time, mother and son were absorbed in a lively debate.

  Thomas stood by the fireplace, sipped his steaming tea, and looked over at Emily. Ever since he had told her that Sabri’s parents had long ago chosen a bride for their son, she had not been the same, and he often asked himself if it might have been better to keep the information to himself. Her little infatuation with Sabri would likely have ended anyway once she left for London. He sat down on the sofa and gave her a friendly nudge. “I thought you were looking forward to London, but you are as gloomy as can be.”

  Emily merely shrugged. She’d been thinking about how she had nearly collided with Sabri outside the hamam today. When he asked why she no longer visited him at the office, she had run away like a silly child.

  John’s impatient voice rang through the drawing room. “Believe me, Mother, if we invest now, we will be light-years ahead of all our competitors. Trust me! Why did you have me educated in London for all those years if I am not allowed to implement my knowledge now?”

  “Why don’t you write to Father and ask him for support?” Victoria asked. “My family’s steelworks will surely help keep the costs tolerable.”

  But John impatiently waved her off. “You don’t understand these things, Victoria. I have already written to your father and asked him for advice. Incidentally, Mother, he feels that the steamboat business is going to be very profitable. We would be faster than the competition with steamships made of steel, we would have more cargo space, and would make more money than other shipping companies.”

  Sibylla poured herself a fresh cup of tea. “Even if you’re right, the harbor here in Mogador is too small for steamships.”

  “That’s why I’m so keen for the qaid to expand the harbor,” replied her son.

  “John.” Victoria’s voice sounded brittle, on the verge of breaking. “Please do not dismiss me so.”

  He turned around in surprise. “What? Why, darling, what’s the matter?”

  “You really want to know? If you weren’t only concerned about your business, you might have noticed that you have neglected me for months!” Her voice grew louder with every word. But before John could come up with an answer, the door was opened and Nadira entered with the twins. Charlotte had her favorite doll in her arm.

  “Say good night to your parents!” Nadira gave them both a little pat on the bottom.

  Victoria’s expression relaxed for a moment. Only, instead of running to her, the children turned toward Sibylla. Nadira quickly took their hands and led them to Victoria, who was stiff with rage.

  “Go!” she hissed at the toddlers. “Go to your grandmother! That’s who you want anyway!”

  She grabbed Charlotte, who had a look of utter confusion, by the arm and gave her a little shove. The little girl stumbled, her doll fell from her hand, and the porcelain head shattered as it hit the floor.

  “Victoria!” John exploded. “Have you gone completely mad?”

  Charlotte began to wail. Sibylla rushed over and picked her up. The little girl sobbed into her shoulder.

  Victoria suddenly felt very hot. Her heart was beating wildly under her tight bodice. She had not wanted to be rough with her children! At the same time, frustration with her husband and mother-in-law spilled over into rage.

  “How dare you reproach me?” she shouted at John. “Don’t you see what’s happening here? Your mother is trying to steal my children from me!”

  “Victoria, I would never do anything of the kind.” Sibylla tried to assuage her. She handed Charlotte to Nadira, who hustled the children out of the room. “I was only trying to help. We . . .” Sibylla gestured to all those present. “. . . are a family.”

  “A scandalous family!” Victoria said before she could stop herself.

  “Victoria, I can’t believe this!” John intervened.

  Thomas, who was as dumbstruck as Emily, said loudly, “Now you owe everyone an explanation.”

  “Victoria didn’t mean anything by it,” Sibylla quickly assured him. She was pale and clutching the handle of her teacup so fiercely that her knuckles had turned white.

  Victoria scrutinized her with a feeling of triumph. Time for Thomas, John, and Emily to learn what kind of woman their mother really was!

  “Don’t the three of you know what everyone in Mogador is saying?” She turned to the siblings with vehemence. “Well, I do. Respectable people, whose word is their bond, have told me the truth. I am talking about your mother and, Emily, of your father.”

  “Let the dead rest in peace,” Sibylla countered.

  But there was no stopping Victoria. “Oh, I am not speaking of Mr. Hopkins, but of the Frenchman, André Rouston. He is Emily’s father, is he not?”

  The room was filled incredulous silence.

  “Who makes such allegations?” Sibylla finally inquired in a strained voice.

  “The wife of Consul Willshire! But it was obvious that this scandal was very old news indeed for all the ladies assembled,” Victoria declared with her head high.

  John seized his wife’s wrist and pulled her up from the sofa. “How dare you!”

  “Leave her!” Emily’s voice was shaking. “I want to know everything, Victoria!”

  Sibylla stood up. “You ought to go to bed, Emily. It’s late. We’re all tired.”

  “Please don’t treat me like a child! I want to know the truth, either from her”—she looked at Victoria—“or from you.”

  “It is not a good idea,” Sibylla replied. Her expression was like stone.

  Thomas piped up. “Victoria has made a grave accusation against you, Mother, and thus against our entire family. We have a right to know the truth, especially Emily.”

  Sibylla closed her eyes. She would never have dreamed that her past would catch up with her after all these years. Especially not through the instrument of her daughter-in-law. All of a sudden, the past was present again. The agonizing pain when she discovered that André had betrayed her with the Berber woman, the fright when she discovered that she was expecting his child, and the bitter disappointment of seeing her happy future with the man she had loved so dearly slip away.

  Victoria could feel her pulse in her throat. She regretted causing such an uproar, but she could not take back her words now, and who was to say, it might even be better to have the truth finally come out. Maybe John would be so disappointed in his mother that he would leave Mogador and they could all return to London at once. The very thought almost brought her to tears. And anyway, Selwyn’s lungs were healed by now. There was nothing keeping them in this horrid country! She eyed John carefully, but the look he gave her was so angry that she quickly lowered her gaze.

  Sibylla was beside herself, but had no choice but to confess the truth to her daughter and her sons. She looked at her children one by one. “What Victoria has said is true, Emily. André Rouston is your father.”

  For a few seconds, everyone was paralyzed by shock. Emily gasped.

  “This is not how I wanted you to find out,” Sibylla added faintly.

  “I rather think you didn’t want me to find out at all!” Emily’s animosity cut Sibylla to the quick.

  “I so wanted you to have a h
appy and carefree childhood. I did not want the stigma of illegitimacy to cast a pall over your life. Benjamin had just died, I was alone and had no idea what would happen next. In that moment, Rouston offered me support and stability. I was convinced that we would have a future together, but unfortunately . . .” She choked on her words. “But things turned out differently. Believe me, Emily, I kept silent only to spare you this heartache.”

  Emily got up. “All my life, you have told me that my father was dead. I will never forgive you for lying!”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Mogador and Qasr el Bahia, December 1860

  André stopped in front of the door to Sibylla’s office and closed his eyes. He had not felt this happy, almost elated, for quite some time. He took a deep breath, then opened his eyes and knocked on the door.

  “Come in!”

  Sibylla was standing by the window and looking down over the harbor. Her clerk stood behind a high desk, pen in hand, looking at her expectantly.

  “We hope that the shipment meets your expectations and we look forward to a long and successful collaboration with you. Yours sincerely, etc.,” she dictated. “That’s all for now, Aladdin. Leave the letter here so that I can sign it.”

  “Very well, Mrs. Hopkins,” the clerk said as he left the office.

  Sibylla turned. “Hello, André. I’ve been expecting you. Did you bring me more saffron?”

  The sight of her evoked in him the familiar feelings of pain, tenderness, and admiration. The sunlight sparkled in her white-blonde hair and was refracted in her tiny diamond earrings. Her straight shoulders and back radiated authority, but he also took note of the worry lines around her eyes.

  “As I do every December.” He placed his saddlebag on the desk and took out the linen sack. Then he looked up with concern. “You don’t look well.”

  “Why, aren’t you gracious! Is that what you call the famous French charm?” Sibylla opened the sack and poured out some of the saffron. But she did not inspect the quality of the pistils with her customary diligence.