Emily began to cry. “Oh, Mummy, I shall miss you and Father so much!”
“And I you, dear child. But I know that you’ll have so many wonderful experiences. There’s no reason to cry.” Sibylla opened her nightstand and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe Emily’s nose the way she had done in years past.
“Mummy! I’m not little anymore.” Emily managed a crooked smile. She took the handkerchief from her mother and blew her nose noisily. “I have something I want to ask of you, Mummy. Do you promise not to be angry with me no matter what happens?” She seemed tense.
“What do you imagine could happen? Is something weighing on your mind?”
Emily avoided looking at her. “Oh, nothing. A lot can happen in a year.”
Sibylla took Emily in her arms. “Don’t you worry! You and your brothers are the most important people in the world to me, and nothing and nobody can change that.”
On the Queen Charlotte, December 1861
After finishing his breakfast of hard dry rusks, tea, and corned beef, Sabri stepped from the mess hall onto the deck of the Queen Charlotte and looked up at the azure blue sky. A strong wind hurried along the puffy white clouds. The Atlantic rushed, lifting the ship up and dropping it back down on the waves. With one hand, Sabri held his turban firmly on his head and clutched the railing with the other.
It was their third day at sea and he had yet to catch a glimpse of Emily. But the steward had assured him that Miss Rouston and Mrs. Hopkins had indeed come on board.
“With this kind of swell, the ladies are not feeling well,” he had informed Sabri as he swayed to keep his balance on the unsteady surface, carrying a metal bucket from which the smell of vomit emanated.
The Queen Charlotte had only been at sea for a few hours when the trade winds had worked themselves into a mighty storm. The sailors had managed to tie down anything that might be swept overboard, but the cow meant to provide fresh milk for the thirty passengers had fallen and broken a leg, so Sabri had had to assist the ship’s doctor with emergency butchering during the heavy storm.
He was among the few passengers not afflicted with seasickness. During the day, he sat in his cabin listening to the creaks and squeaks of the wooden hull, the roaring winds, the crashing waves, and the shrill sailors’ whistles. At night, he lay awake and tried to forget the pain of the separation from his family. If he did nod off for a little while, he would invariably be awakened from restless dreams by the ship’s bell announcing the change of guards.
Mealtimes were a welcome distraction, even though only a handful of passengers appeared at the captain’s table. The steward had tied down cotton strips crosswise on the tablecloths. This way, the dinnerware and glasses would not empty their contents into the passengers’ laps.
There had been decidedly more people at breakfast this morning, but Emily and Victoria were not among them. Captain Comstock had good-humoredly announced that the storms were now behind them—they had reached the more temperate westerly winds at last.
Now Sabri spotted the captain standing on the stern next to a sailor who was measuring the ship’s speed using the Dutchman’s log. He tossed a log attached to a rope knotted at regular intervals into the water and counted the number of knots that passed through his hands. A second sailor stood on the other side of the captain with a sand timer.
“Four knots!” the sailor called when the sand had run through the timer.
“Hmm,” Comstock grumbled and chewed on the mouthpiece of his pipe. “The Queen should easily manage nine knots in this weather.” He rubbed his hands together. “Into the shrouds, men. We’re going to pick up some speed! The group to finish first gets extra tots of rum!”
The boatswain blew his whistle and boots rang out across the deck. The sailors quickly and nimbly scaled the masts.
Sabri rubbed his chin and grinned. Many years at sea had made the captain of the Queen Charlotte hard and gnarly like an old Atlas cedar. But his crew obviously respected him. The passengers told stories of how he had courageously stopped a mutiny on this very ship many years ago. It had cost the former captain his life, but Comstock, who was only a helmsman at the time, was rewarded for his valor by being put in charge of the Queen.
Sabri leaned his head back and watched the sailors balancing above him at dizzying heights. Soon, the first sails were unfurled and began to flap in the wind. The sailor on watch turned the hourglass and rang the ship’s bell three times: half-past nine and still no sign of Emily. Sabri sighed longingly and looked out at the ocean.
“Where are you going?” Victoria asked her sister-in-law. She sat on the edge of her bed in her dressing gown, brushing her hair.
The cabins for passengers who could afford the afterdeck were tiny and separated by thin canvas partitions. Beds hung from the ceiling by ropes to compensate for the ship’s rolling, but the table, chair, cabinet, and washstand were bolted to the floor. Still, traveling like this was considerably more comfortable than on the lower decks, where the poorer passengers slept together with animals and freight in unventilated, tight, frightfully damp spaces.
Emily turned around, her hand already on the door handle. “I want to go on deck. When three persons have spent days vomiting in an extremely confined space, the only thing to do is get some fresh air. I also want to ask the steward to bring us something to eat.”
“You might also ask for some tea,” Victoria suggested. Like Emily, she was wan with dark circles under her eyes, but compared to Firyal, they were in excellent condition.
Poor Firyal was incapable of helping her mistresses. Whenever she was not vomiting, she would curl up and recite verses from the Koran, certain that they were all doomed. After several days of this, she had finally fallen asleep and was snoring softly on her berth.
Emily slipped out. Food and fresh air were, of course, not as pressing as finding Sabri. She had spent these terrible days tormenting herself with the notion that he had changed his mind and decided to yield to his parents’ wishes and marry the qaid’s daughter.
The fresh, salty air helped Emily overcome her queasiness, but she was still not accustomed to the swaying of the ship. She anxiously pressed her back against the wall behind her while her eyes scanned the deck. The sailors were cleaning the Queen Charlotte after the storm. With buckets and brushes, some scrubbed the wooden planks while others polished the brass fittings on the railing, and still others pumped out the water that had been swept into the lower decks. Suddenly, Emily spotted Sabri and her heart started beating faster. He stood at the railing looking eastward, where somewhere in the blue haze lay the coast of Morocco. He had not noticed Emily, but she could see the melancholy on his face. She understood all too well the sadness he felt at leaving behind his family and home, perhaps forever.
She ran toward him, overcome by the need to feel his arms around her. But the ship swayed and the wooden deck was slick with sea spray and soapsuds. She slipped and fell on her bottom with a loud cry. Sabri spun around and rushed toward her. He almost slipped himself but was able to catch himself just in time and help Emily to her feet. The sailors roared with laughter.
“Finally!” Sabri put his arm around Emily’s shoulders and led her away to the bow, which offered a little privacy thanks to its thick foremast and large sails.
Sabri pulled Emily close to him. “How are you? You look very pale.”
Instead of answering, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Nothing and no one can separate us now!” At this moment, the joy and relief of being with him outweighed her guilty conscience about having lied to her family. She looked at him carefully. “You look well. Didn’t the storm affect you?”
“Other than that the shield in front of my porthole came off during the night and I got a face full of ice-cold seawater, I’m fine.”
“Oh dear, you poor thing!” She kissed the tip of his nose.
He beamed at her. “The sight of you makes me so happy that I could sing. Although I must say, you look a little different in Wester
n clothing.”
“I feel different too,” she replied with a laugh and looked down at herself. Under Victoria’s form-fitting blue wool coat, she could see a pair of her mother’s old lace-up boots. Her curls were gathered in a bun. “These European clothes are rather stiff and uncomfortable.” Emily grimaced.
“Now it’s my turn to feel sorry for you!” He kissed her tenderly.
“So that’s why you were suddenly in such a rush to go to London!” shouted an irritated voice behind them.
Emily and Sabri nervously let go of each other and turned to see Victoria glowering with her hands on her hips. “Am I correct in assuming that this trip is all some sort of ruse?”
“I don’t wish to be lectured by you, who, of all people, would accept any excuse to get to England!” Emily shouted.
Victoria ignored the objection. “I take it your mother is not cognizant of the fact that Dr. bin Abdul is also on board?” she inquired frostily and, when Emily said nothing, raised her eyebrows histrionically. “And how do you two conspirators intend to proceed from here?”
“I understand your anger, Mrs. Hopkins,” Sabri began. “But Emily is not to blame. I begged her to elope with me. You have to understand that my family is absolutely opposed to our liaison.”
“Victoria, please understand! Sabri’s family will disown him if he doesn’t marry the bride they have chosen,” Emily added, moved at Sabri’s attempt to cover for her. “You see, we had no choice.”
Victoria swallowed hard. How cruel to be disowned for loving the wrong girl!
“So you shall never return to Mogador?” she gasped.
Sabri shrugged helplessly. Emily nodded, tearing up at the thought.
“I don’t like this at all,” mumbled Victoria, thinking of both the elopement and their plan never to return. They may have been the same age, but Sibylla had appointed her Emily’s chaperone and Victoria intended to fulfill her duty as such.
“I have no idea how to explain this to Mother. It will surely break her heart. Have you not thought about that?” she wanted to know.
“I’ve thought of little else.” Emily wiped her eyes. “But what are we to do?”
“Well, you are going to write to her and confess everything. Your mother will be disappointed, but I’m sure she will do everything in her power to ensure you two can return home. But first of all,” she closed with all the authority and dignity becoming a chaperone, “you two are going to get married!”
“We are planning to be married by a clergyman as soon as we reach London,” Sabri assured her.
“And until then, you expect me to be your chaperone?” Victoria again put her hands on her hips.
“Upon my honor, you can trust me, Mrs. Hopkins!” Sabri replied with dignity.
Victoria thought of the passionate embrace she had caught them in. “No, I don’t like it, but”—she paused and gave them a sly look—“I have another idea. Don’t move from this spot—I shall be right back!”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Mogador, February 1862
“Do you think that Miss Emily and Miss Victoria will have reached London by now, my lady?” Nadira asked.
“Pardon?” Sibylla replied absentmindedly and took a sip of mint tea.
A pale yellow sun was rising over Mogador. Sibylla was already dressed and sitting at her vanity while Nadira pinned up her hair.
Sibylla had moved jars, bottles, and hairbrushes aside to make room for a tome the size of an Encyclopedia Britannica. Every year, Lackington Allen bookstore in London published their book catalogue, and Sibylla had been waiting impatiently for it.
The catalogue had finally arrived yesterday together with her book trunk and several editions of the London Times. Ever since then, she had been leafing through it every free minute she had and marking all the titles that interested her.
The servant knew her mistress disappeared into another world whenever the Lackington Allen list arrived. But the house had changed, become empty and quiet since Emily, Victoria, and Firyal’s departure. Nadira missed their faces.
“It was two months ago today that Miss Emily and Miss Victoria went on board,” she started again as she took the two mother-of-pearl combs lying on the table and pushed them into Sibylla’s hair. “How long did you say until they arrive in London?”
“If the weather is good, they should arrive any day now. I’m sure Emily will write to me immediately. But it will take several weeks more before her letter reaches Mogador.” Sibylla again leaned over her catalogue.
“Astonishing that the qaid’s soldiers haven’t found the saffron thief yet. I’m sure he’s long gone by now,” Nadira remarked.
That got Sibylla’s attention. “I hold out hope that he’s caught and receives his proper punishment!” she said.
Neither the break-in at her home nor at her office had been solved, a fact that caused her great distress. Almost every night, Sibylla was tormented by nightmares about a black shadow that followed her through the alleys of Mogador and lay in wait in the rooms of her house.
“Who are you? What do you want from me?” she would demand. The shadow would whirl around and throw back the hood of his cloak, but before she could recognize him, he would vanish and she would awake, drenched in sweat. After that, she would wander restlessly through the house, look into every room, and make sure that all the doors were bolted.
“All finished, my lady.” Nadira was smoothing a few wrinkles in Sibylla’s tunic when there was a knock at the door.
Sibylla closed the catalogue and rose. “That must be John. We plan to have breakfast and go to the harbor together.”
But it was the voice of the gatekeeper who called. “My lady, a messenger has brought a letter for you!”
Sibylla’s heart began to beat faster. Perhaps André had finally written to her! How she longed for news from Qasr el Bahia. But since Aynur’s death, André seemed to have withdrawn completely.
Nadira went to the door and took the letter from Hamid, who waited respectfully on the threshold.
“It’s from Emily! She posted it in Lisbon,” Sibylla said in surprise, taking the envelope in her hands. She opened it, unfolded the long letter, and skimmed it in joyous anticipation. Her eyes grew wide.
“Oh, my lady! Did you receive bad news?” Nadira asked.
Sibylla stared at her numbly. “I cannot call it good.”
“What do you mean, my lady?”
Sibylla took a deep breath and swallowed. “Emily and Dr. bin Abdul have married. The captain of the Queen Charlotte married them—three days after they left Mogador.”
“God be praised!” Nadira was delighted, but when she saw her mistress’s expression, she fell silent. Sibylla looked shattered.
“You are not happy, my lady,” Nadira observed.
Sibylla raised her shoulders. “Is there reason for me to be happy when my daughter elopes as though she did not trust me? Is there reason for me to be happy when she marries in secret and presents me with a fait accompli? And to think Captain Comstock was complicit in this plot! The next time he comes to Mogador, I shall have a serious talk with him.”
She looked again at the sheet of stationery. The tearstained words swam in front of her eyes. Her servant placed a cup of steaming tea in front of her, but Sibylla did not touch it as she processed more outrageous news still.
Emily revealed that not only had she and Sabri eloped, but they planned never to return to Mogador because Sabri’s family was so vehemently opposed to their union.
She thought back on the evening before Emily’s departure. She had intuited her daughter’s aggrievement and now she reproached herself bitterly for not having pressed her about it. What if she could have prevented this precipitous flight?
She quickly reread the end of her daughter’s letter.
Sabri and I left the Queen Charlotte in Lisbon. We know that we shall be happy together, Mummy, but we cannot bear the thought of forever being separated from you. I beg you to help us, even though I know t
hat I have disappointed you terribly. But if you go to Sabri’s family and convince them to forgive, we will be able to return home. If anyone can persuade them, then it is you, Mummy. Please help us! Sabri and I love each other; we have not committed a crime!
Dearest Mummy, I will wait in Lisbon with Sabri and pray that you send us good news soon!
P.S. Victoria is with us. She wishes to forgo London and return to Mogador because she misses Charlotte and Selwyn too much. But she has said that she will stay here until we get word from you.
Sibylla took a breath, folded the letter, pushed it away from her, and groaned as though struck.
“My lady!” Nadira cried in alarm.
“Emily writes that she might never be able to return home.”
“Almighty God!” Nadira gasped. “But our little girl cannot leave her family!”
Sibylla thought frantically. “I wonder,” she finally said, “if the Abdul bin Ibrahim family have received a similar letter. Sabri is their only son. I cannot imagine they will so readily renounce him just because he’s married a Christian girl. Sabri too has a mother who is about to lose her child and surely she is as unwilling to accept that as I am!” Sibylla stood and pushed her chair back forcefully. “I shall go speak to Sabri’s mother at once. Nadira, you’re coming along. Together we will find a way to help our children!”
“I always thought I knew Mogador well, but I have never been in this alley before,” Nadira told her mistress.
The closer they drew to the mosque, the clearer it became that they were in the quarter of religion and scholarship. Booksellers and bookbinders, calligraphers and miniaturists had their small stores and workshops here. A merchant offered prayer rugs and embroidered prayer caps for sale by the entrance to the house of worship. Opposite, an instrument craftsman had set up his stand. Contentedly smoking his water pipe, he stood among large and small drums, flutes, zithers, and lutes the faithful could purchase for holiday processions.
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