Night of a Thousand Stars

by DEANNA RAYBOURN

  “And a virgin,” she added. I looked closely to see if she were joking, but not a muscle of her face twitched.

  “Yes, well, he is a clergyman, so one would presume his conscience spotless. Although I suppose he can’t be entirely like Galahad if his quest is a glamorous widow instead of the Sangreal, but the similarities are there. And I am convinced that glamorous widow is the one responsible for my warning from the shadow yesterday.”

  Masterman gaped at me while I gave her a smug smile in return. “How do you account for that, miss?”

  “It’s quite simple. If the message were from Sebastian himself, why not just come and say ‘Hello, I believe you’re looking for me. I’m quite all right. Cheerio then,’ instead of all this melodrama? Because it didn’t come from him at all,” I told her, warming to my tale. “It must have been her. She somehow deduced I was following him. Perhaps he spotted me in Damascus and made mention of the fact that he helped me to run away or something. Her jealousy is piqued. Determined to get rid of me, she hires someone to play the role of the shadow and give me that warning to leave Sebastian alone.”

  “It does make a certain ridiculous sort of sense,” Masterman allowed.

  “Of course it does. And what’s more, I’ll lay money on it being correct.”

  Masterman sighed. “As a matter of fact, you’re not correct. I had a reply to my inquiries this morning. Mrs. Starke left Damascus in the company of her elderly aunt. Before we arrived.”

  I gaped at her. “Are you quite certain?”

  “Quite. I heard it from three sources just to be sure.”

  “Drat,” I said, sulking a little. “It was such a pretty theory, too. Now I don’t have the vaguest notion of who the shadow might have been.”

  “Don’t you? I mean, if you put your imagination to work...” she said, trailing off.

  I thought a moment. “As I said before, it can’t be Sebastian or a friend or he wouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of the theatrics. No, it must be someone who is a third party. An enemy would hardly take those sorts of pains to—” I drew in a sharp breath. “Unless he is working with Sebastian’s enemies and wants to keep us away because he knows we’re here to help. He doesn’t want to harm us because we’re Englishwomen and that would create a terrific international incident. So, he stages that ridiculous bit of mummery to get our attention and persuade us to give it all up. It was meant to frighten us off so he can get back to his filthy plan to harm Sebastian.”

  “What filthy plan?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

  I flapped a hand. “The one we don’t know about. But he must have one, otherwise why trouble us?”

  Masterman looked doubtful. “Say for a moment you’re right,” she said slowly. “What now?”

  I shrugged. “I go on until I’ve found Sebastian.”

  Masterman gritted her teeth. “But the shadow said he was fine.”

  I looked at her through narrowed eyes, my tone pitying. “Masterman, the shadow is in league with a villain. How do we know he is telling the truth? No. Until I see Sebastian for myself, I cannot simply take the shadow’s word for the fact that he is all right. I will go on searching until I find him.”

  She made a gesture of surrender. “Very well. And so long as you are searching for him, I will help—you know that. Someone has to keep an eye on you,” she added with a sour smile. There was the old Masterman, I thought with a grin. The hectoring, bossy lady’s maid still lurked under the exquisite skin of this lovely woman.

  She looked around at the bath, from the tiled floors and gilded dome to the clouds of perfumed steam. “I’m glad you enjoyed this. I thought it might prove informative.”

  “Informative?”

  “This is the hammam where Evangeline Starke bathed just before she went off and disappeared in the Badiyat ash-Sham.”

  I stared at her in astonishment. “Is it? How very extraordinary.”

  Masterman shrugged. “I thought perhaps we might discover something useful. I asked around before you arrived. The attendants remembered her, but she didn’t come back.”

  “You might have asked without going through all of this,” I pointed out, gesturing towards the elaborate setting. “I think you hoped to be struck by inspiration, a bit of lightning to illuminate the way.”

  “Perhaps I did,” she said slowly.

  “Then you’re a revelation, Masterman,” I told her. “You’re far more fanciful than I anticipated.”

  She gave me a sad, faraway little look. “Some would consider that a failing.”

  “I think it makes you human.”

  She grinned in spite of her moment of melancholy and rose, adjusting her sheet so that it fell in stately folds. “I shall go now, miss. I’ll be in touch. Give me a quarter of an hour’s start, then dress and leave, if you please.”

  I waved her off. I was perfectly happy to recline on my divan and order another glass of sherbet. As I was swallowing the last of it, I watched another woman emerge from the pools. Women had come and gone as Masterman and I had talked and I’d taken little notice of them. But, like Masterman, this woman seemed to command attention. She emerged on the far side of the bath with her back to me, moving gracefully up the steps, and if I’d thought Masterman was stunning, she couldn’t hold a candle to this woman. Long black hair waved to a narrow waist, stopping just above the point where her hips flared, lush and shapely. Her thighs were long and slender and the backs of her knees were dimpled. She turned then, the water cascading down her smooth flesh, and I gave a little gasp.

  It was the last place I had expected to see the Comtesse de Courtempierre.

  Mercifully, the comtesse hadn’t seen me, and by shrinking down into my divan, I was able to avoid her notice until she had passed into the dressing room. I gave her a full half an hour to dress and leave, and by the time I had hurried into my own clothes, Faruq was pacing the pavement in front of the hammam.

  “I am sorry to have taken so long,” I told him. “But the baths were just heavenly.”

  He gave me a sour look and moved to open the door. I stepped back smartly.

  “I think not, Faruq. You’re very kind, but the heat from the baths has left me quite sleepy. I need a good, brisk walk to clear my head.”

  He opened his mouth, but I had anticipated his refusal. “I will walk through the souk and meet you in two hours outside the Palace Hotel,” I told him firmly. It was the hotel where Armand and I had dined, so I knew Faruq was familiar with it, and I brandished my Baedeker at him so he would understand I had no intention of getting lost.

  His mouth thinned into an unpleasant line, but he gave me a short, sharp nod and got into the motorcar. I was astonished he had let me go so easily. And as I walked away, I wondered exactly where his mistress was and why he made no mention of seeing her. Moreover, why had she sent her car to haul me around the city when she clearly had need of it? It was a peculiar sort of attention to pay the employee of an old friend, and it all felt a bit Gothic. Except for the short walk to the stationer’s and the first hour in the hammam, I hadn’t been properly alone outside the hotel since I’d arrived in Damascus. Between Hugh’s impassioned efforts and Armand’s attentions, I was in demand, I thought as I turned away from the hammam. It was interesting to weigh the two men on the basis of what they wanted from me. Hugh had hinted at something permanent and respectable, even if he couched it in cryptic phrases about his standing in the world.

  But Armand’s intentions seemed a trifle less conventional. Conversation with him felt like a fencing match, all strategy and innuendo. He was sophisticated—most Frenchmen were in matters of seduction—and he had the exoticism of the East to strengthen his charms. Did he think I was sophisticated, as well? That I would play along for the duration? Or was that part of my charm? Would it amuse him to pick up a naïve English girl and play a few games until someone el
se took his fancy?

  My thoughts weren’t particularly nice ones, but it all made sense. If Armand was bent solely on bedding me, it explained everything—from the comtesse’s coolness to the colonel’s insistence on getting me out of the hotel under Faruq’s chaperonage. The comtesse would feel responsible for her son’s misdeeds, but a doting mother always blamed the temptation, not the sinner. And the colonel couldn’t very well warn me off directly even if he suspected Armand’s intentions. It would be too insulting to his dear friend, the comtesse. No, he had no option but to be watchful and keep me as far away from Armand as possible by sending me out into the city to see the sights. I wondered if he and the comtesse had discussed the possibility of a misalliance between myself and the heir to the Courtempierre name. The very idea of it made my cheeks burn with indignation. The thought that they might have discussed it over tea and pastries...

  My stomach gave a little lurch. I was hungry in spite of the tasty sherbets in the hammam. If I hurried, I would have time for a luscious luncheon at the hotel before I headed back to the house with Faruq. I walked, Baedeker in hand, down the street called Straight, determined to see the most historic byway in the whole city on my way to the hotel. It was at a house in this street where Paul’s eyesight had been restored to him, and since the time of the Romans, spice merchants had traded their wares under the colonnades. It was invariably crowded, thronged with fabric pedlars and their customers, tradesmen plying their wares of leather and incense, and errand boys weaving through the press of bodies.

  Just as I stepped off the kerb, my shoe felt loose, and I stopped to check the buckle. Without warning, I felt a blow to my back, and I flew into a bale of unspun cotton, landing hard but unharmed. I blinked hard, hearing shouts, and struggled up just in time to see a donkey cart out of control, the animal plunging and braying as its driver struggled to direct it. It was standing precisely where I had just been, and between us was Faruq, panting heavily, sweat pouring down his face. At the last moment, it swerved to the side, grazing him only a little as it plunged on.

  He reached out a meaty hand. “Miss, are you all right?” he demanded.

  “I—I think so. Oh, heavens, Faruq, what happened?”

  “The driver lost control of his cart and it plunged down the street. Did you not hear me shouting for you?”

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Faruq. I was wool-gathering, I’m afraid.”

  His expression was stern. “What does this mean?”

  “It means I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “This is not acceptable, miss. Damascus is a dangerous place for those who are not careful. Come now. I have left the motorcar in the next street.”

  He guided me back to the car. As he opened the door, I paused and looked up at his impassive face.

  “Faruq, we were supposed to meet at the hotel. Why did you come looking for me here? Were you following me?”

  The expression in his eyes did not change. “Some things only Allah himself knows,” he said. And no matter how much I pestered him, he would say no more.

  The colonel was horrified to hear of my close call, and he closed his newspaper with a decisive snap. “That tears it, my dear girl. You can’t possibly go out again without Talbot. And furthermore, I think we must accept your kind offer, Sabine,” he added, turning to the comtesse.

  “Kind offer?” I asked.

  The colonel turned back to me. “The comtesse has graciously invited us to stay with her. Now, I refused at first because I don’t like to put an old friend out, but this hotel is not up to my standards, and with this nastiness happening to you today, I think we have no choice but to decamp to the villa.”

  I started to protest, but I understood immediately it was futile. The colonel’s colour was high, and the comtesse backed him up. “Unrest grows in the city,” she said as gloomy as any pythoness at Delphi. I resisted the urge to pull a face at her. “You will be far safer at my villa.”

  Little wonder she was gloomy. As a hospitable friend to the colonel, she must make the offer, but as a mother she couldn’t much like the idea of my staying under the same roof as her son.

  “Colonel, really, please don’t change your arrangements on my account. It isn’t necessary.”

  “’Course it is,” he said flatly. “You don’t know what it means to lose a soldier under your command,” he added, emotion making his woolly eyebrows dance up and down. “It’s not a thing I care to repeat. You’re under my protection here, and I won’t take any chances with your life, child.”

  The comtesse gave her a thin smile. “Is it such a trial to be forced to spend time with us, Miss March? Or to be escorted by the handsome Talbot? I assure you, not many young women would think it a tribulation.” She finished on a peal of laughter, and I hated her cordially for her casual vulgarity.

  I excused myself with icy politeness and went straight to my room to pack. I had just enough time to slip down to the lobby and leave a note for Masterman explaining my whereabouts before Faruq arrived to whisk us away to the Courtempierre villa. A guest suite in the comtesse’s wing had been put aside for the colonel’s use, but Hugh and I were given rooms in a second, smaller wing, closer to the entry court and just over the archway leading into the main fountain court.

  “I suggest you unpack,” the comtesse said coolly. “And have a little rest. I will put dinner back. Something simple tonight, Cyrus. I worry about your digestion,” she said with a fond glance at his ruddy cheeks. The colonel was only too happy to agree to the plan and I was left with a sulking Peeky and a soft-footed maid to lead me to my room. The girl was even younger than I was, and clearly in awe of her mistress. She never looked around once but hurried to my room, throwing open the door and making no attempt at conversation.

  “Pour vous,” she told me in halting French.

  “Merci,” I started, but before I could continue, she was gone, closing the door softly behind her.

  “So much for the welcoming committee,” I said to myself. “Come along, Peeky. Let’s inspect.”

  Peeky claimed a cushion for his own and refused to budge another step, but I spent the next few minutes surveying my little corner of the villa. It was up on a corner of the first floor, perfectly situated to take in the breezes from either direction. It was a comfortable enough suite, with a small bedroom and a tiny boudoir. Both were furnished in the French style with loads of gilding—a little out of place in such a warm climate, but the gauzy curtains that stirred at the windows helped. The carpets were Turkish and pretty but very nearly threadbare, and I was not entirely surprised to find Eastern plumbing. There were pale patches on the walls where I fancied art had once hung but been removed. And the bedcover was silk but positively ancient, shredded a little at the seams. At least the bed was comfortable, and to my delight, I found a small stone staircase leading directly from my rooms to the entry court we had first driven into. It would make slipping away so much simpler, I decided. And slip away, I intended to. The villa’s location beyond the walls of the old city was a nuisance, and I had little doubt I would be chaperoned everywhere I went, but if they thought they were going to keep tabs on me all the time, they were sorely mistaken.

  I fluffed up my hair and went down to dinner, a little surprised and more than a little relieved to find Armand was not in attendance. The comtesse seemed pleased as well, and I anticipated our stay was going to be punctuated by her attempts to keep us apart and his to throw us together. It promised to make for interesting times.

  The colonel was peevish, having bashed his bad leg about a few times in the move, and the comtesse clucked and fussed over him until he purred like a cat. I settled Peeky with him, and he waved me away, just as happy to be alone with his beautiful companion. I could well see what he admired in her—all the more since I had spied her in the hammam. It was the attraction on her side I couldn’t quite understand. The colonel was a d
ear old fellow, but he was thoroughly and decidedly English and a soldier at that. His life had been one of activity and purpose and now that he was aging, he felt his limitations keenly. I had seen him carp at Talbot when he had hefted a trunk easily or managed some other bit of manliness the colonel was no longer capable of. Did it soothe his ruffled vanity to have a lady as lovely as the comtesse play up to him? And what did she hope to get out of the bargain? Surely she had plenty of admirers. The colonel could not be the only one to notice her considerable gifts—beauty, a title, a lovely home.

  But it was the home itself that suggested a motive for her friendship with the colonel. My suite was not the only place where I noticed faded grandeur and new economies. There were empty niches and stripped alcoves all over the villa. Marks in the carpets showed where furniture had once stood before being hauled away, no doubt to a sale room. The little maid was the only servant I saw in a house that ought to have had at least twenty indoor staff to maintain it.

  “All the more reason for the comtesse to dislike me,” I murmured to myself as I went to my suite. “She wouldn’t half like her son to marry a secretary companion. That wouldn’t go far to refilling the family coffers.” If he were the marrying sort, I thought darkly. There was still a significant doubt in my mind that his motives were anything other than illicit.

  My thoughts were tangled as I closed the door of my suite and dropped the slender bolt. Damascus was particularly ravishing that night. It was unseasonably warm, and the shutters had been thrown back to reveal a large pearly moon hanging over the minarets of the city like a jewel. The air was thick with the scent of orange blossom, and the calls of the faithful to prayer were exotic as the city itself. I stood on the balcony, where the vines from the courtyard wound their way upwards, watching the moon rise and the stars wink to life.

  Suddenly, just as on the balcony of the hotel, I felt I was not alone. The balcony ran across my room and down the length of the arcade, joining all the rooms on that floor. I turned my head, and there, in the shadows was a deeper darkness, a figure of a man. Hugh emerged, his coat discarded and his shirt open at the throat.