Daughter of Isis

by Belinda Grey

  ‘Put your veil down, my love. The flies and heat are most troublesome even at this morning hour.’

  Mary Faversham was tapping her arm. Ellen pulled down the short veil that was stitched to the wide brim of her hat, and when she looked up again the horseman was gone.

  ‘Did you see him?’ she questioned.

  ‘See whom, my dear?’ Mary Faversham put up her fringed parasol.

  ‘The man on the white horse. He was an—Arab, I think.’

  ‘These people never seem to have been taught that it’s ill-bred to stare,’ Mary Faversham said. ‘Their own women are usually veiled.’

  ‘He looked at me as if he were learning my face by heart,’ Ellen observed.

  ‘All the more reason for keeping your veil down,’ Mary Faversham said. ‘It’s only a short drive to the hotel and there we will be able to get some breakfast. A decent English breakfast, and not those abominable croissants the French favour so greatly.’

  A short distance through the crowded streets brought them to a small square dominated by a handsome, pillared building with its name emblazoned in gilt over the portals.

  A short pock-marked man in European dress hurried out to assist them down, pouring out a flood of greetings in a strong French accent.

  ‘Madame Faversham, how truly enchanting to see you among us again! Your husband Colonel sends word that he will join you tomorrow, being now engaged upon military exercises. I have your room prepared and your breakfast too, for yourself and the young lady.’

  ‘Ellen, this is Monsieur Nicol,’ Mary Faversham said. ‘He is manager of the Hotel St Just.’

  ‘Indeed, I have that honour.’ The little man bowed. ‘But you must be Miss Ellen—Parry, is it not?’

  ‘Yes, I’m Ellen Parry.’

  ‘Then there is information to be conveyed to you. A Monsieur Bligh sends word to me a week ago by the hand of his servant, Abdul. Please to enter and I will send for him, for he has waited here for your coming.’ They were ushered through a wide foyer into a room shady with palms and filled with cane tables and chairs.

  ‘Please to make yourselves comfortable.’ Monsieur Nicol flicked imaginary dust from the cushions. ‘I will send for the man, Abdul. Ah! but I see him now! If you will excuse me.’

  He hurried out, returning a moment later with a tall, thin individual in red fez and striped robe.

  ‘Miss Ellen Parry? I am Abdul, personal servant to Mr. Henry Bligh.’ The man spoke English slowly, but with little accent.

  ‘Have you word from my guardian?’ Ellen asked eagerly.

  ‘Yes, Miss. When you have eaten I am to escort you to the boat. We have a two-day journey up the river to Wadi Amarna, so it will be tomorrow evening when we reach our destination. I will see to the disposal of your luggage and return in an hour.’

  ‘I said there would be word for you!’ Mary Faversham exclaimed, pleased. ‘Now we will eat, my dear, and then you must be on your way. You will be anxious to make the acquaintance of Mr. Bligh.’

  ‘And to see the place where my father lived,’ Ellen said.

  ‘I was also servant to your father, Miss Parry,’ Abdul told her. ‘It is a privilege to meet his daughter.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him as he turned to go, promising herself that she would draw him out to talk of her father when she knew him a little better.

  The breakfast was a substantial one of melon, bacon, kidneys and scrambled eggs. Ellen forced herself to eat well, aware that the journey remaining would probably be hot and tiring.

  ‘You will need to freshen yourself up, my dear, in preparation for your trip,’ Mary Faversham said kindly. ‘Come, we’ll go up to my room if Monsieur Nicol has it ready for me.’

  ‘Everything is in readiness,’ the manager bustled forward to say. ‘You will be most comfortable until the Colonel comes.’

  ‘Then we’ll go up.’ Mary Faversham inclined her head graciously. Since their arrival she had been behaving more and more like a visiting duchess, Ellen thought with amusement. Evidently she considered herself to be a person of some consequence.

  ‘The manager seems most attentive to your needs,’ she ventured, as they ascended the curving staircase to the rooms above.

  ‘Naturally, my love. I am the wife of a British officer, the older woman said with tranquil assurance. ‘We British bring a stable government and the benefits of civilisation to every corner of the globe.’

  ‘Oh.’ A little deflated by the other’s assurance, Ellen stepped into a large, ornately furnished bedroom with long windows opening on to a narrow terrace. From there she looked down into a narrow street with tall buildings, their windows shuttered.

  ‘At Sheapherd’s Hotel in Cairo one may order cucumber sandwiches and cream cakes just as if you were in London,’ Mrs. Faversham was saying.

  ‘Really?’ Ellen spoke absently. In a gap between two of the opposite buildings a robed figure sat motionless on a white horse, head tilted slightly, dark eyes meeting hers.

  ‘Now where did I put my overnight bag?’ Mary Faversham was enquiring. ‘Ellen, dear, you didn’t happen to see—’

  ‘Would you excuse me for a few moments?’ Ellen interrupted. ‘I’ll be back directly.’

  Without waiting for a reply she turned and hurried down the stairs and through the foyer into the main square. It was crowded with people apparently intent on their own business, and she threaded her way between them into the narrow street at the side of the Hotel St Just. In contrast with the brilliant sunshine the patches of shadow were like pools of ink. Of the man on the white horse there was no sign at all. Yet she was certain that he had followed her, though she couldn’t guess at the reason for his interest in her.

  There was no sense in trying to look any further for the stranger. The network of streets that spread out behind the hotel made it ideal for anyone who wished to get away unobserved. Ellen took another look around and then made her way back into the square. Some ragged children were playing a version of Hopscotch in one corner and she paused briefly to watch their flashing brown limbs and listen to their squeals of laughter.

  ‘Miss Ellen? You are Miss Ellen?’ A soft voice intruded upon her attention and a slim brown hand on which an emerald ring gleamed was laid upon her arm ‘I am Ellen Parry, yes.’

  ‘You must go back to England. Back to England now, Miss Ellen.’ The girl who spoke sounded young, but it was not easy to be sure, for she was robed in black, her features hidden behind a thick veil with only two slits cut for the dark eyes that peered up between long lashes.

  ‘Go back? I don’t understand. I’m bound for Wadi Amarna,’ Ellen said.

  ‘You must go back,’ the muffled voice insisted. ‘Rami bids—’

  ‘Rami? Who is Rami?’ Ellen broke in. ‘And who are you?’

  ‘Please. Not to speak further,’ the girl said.

  A sudden note of fear had entered her voice and her hand dropped from Ellen’s arm.

  ‘Wait a minute! You must explain,’ Ellen began, but the veiled figure shook its head and melted away into the crowd of passers-by.

  ‘Miss Ellen? Was that woman annoying you?’

  She turned to look up into Abdul’s face. ‘No. She seemed to know who I am,’ she told him.

  ‘That is not very surprising,’ the servant said. ‘I have been here myself for some days and I mentioned that you were expected. I hope you don’t object?’

  ‘No, of course not.’

  ‘Did you want something out here, Miss Ellen?’

  ‘No. I just came out to look around.’

  ‘Alexandria is a very busy city,’ Abdul said, ‘but it is also very dirty and full of thieves, rogues and beggars. It is not a suitable place for a young lady to walk about in unaccompanied.’

  It was a reproof, no matter how respectfully offered.

  ‘Is there a city at Wadi Amarna?’ she asked, falling into step beside him as he walked back to the front entrance of the hotel.

  ‘No, indeed not.’ He allowed himsel
f a faint smile of amusement. ‘There is a small village about a mile from the house, and other little settlements nearer to the river, but nothing that might be termed a city or even a town. Did you wish to purchase anything here before we leave?’

  ‘No, but I must say goodbye to Mrs. Faversham.

  Going into the lobby she met that worthy lady on her way downstairs.

  ‘Rushing about is most inadvisable in this climate,’ she greeted her. ‘Must you leave at once? I had hoped for your company for a few hours.’

  ‘Mr. Bligh is anxious to welcome Miss Ellen as soon as possible,’ Abdul said. ‘He only regrets that press of business did not allow him to come into Alexandria himself, instead of sending his unworthy representative.’

  ‘And you must convey my good wishes to Mr. Bligh, even though I’ve not had the pleasure of meeting him yet,’ Mary Faversham said. ‘Ellen, my dear, if circumstances permit. I will prevail on the Colonel to bring me up to Wadi Amarna to pay you a visit, and if you “wish to contact me I can always be reached at the Hotel St Just.’

  ‘You’ve been very kind to me,’ Ellen said, returning the other’s embrace.

  ‘A pleasure, my dear. The voyage is usually such a tedious one that I was truly glad of your company. The Colonel will be very sorry to have missed you.’

  ‘The boat will be leaving very soon. Miss Ellen, Abdul warned, ‘I took the liberty of having your baggage taken aboard and of hiring a carriage to take you to the quayside.’

  ‘Then I’ll say goodbye, my love, and don’t forget to write to me, or to send to me if you require anything. I’ll write to Lord Buckleigh myself to tell him that we are safely arrived.’

  As Abdul handed Ellen up into the small, open carriage she glanced back and saw Mary Faversham gesticulating to her to lower her veil. Leaving her was almost like leaving Aunt Kate Evans all over again.

  ‘Mrs. Faversham is an old friend of yours, Miss Ellen?’ Abdul enquired.

  ‘No. Lord Buckleigh asked her to chaperone me during the journey.’

  ‘Then you have no acquaintances in Egypt? Mr. Bligh feared you might find it lonely with no companions of your own age,’ Abdul said, stepping beside her.

  ‘Oh, I shall be interested in exploring Wadi Amarna,’ she answered eagerly, looking about her at the surrounding confusion.

  The streets through which they were passing were crowded with people, some of them mounted on horseback, others walking. The medley of races and costumes was exhilarating, and she almost bounced out of her seat when she glimpsed the first camel she had ever seen out of the pages of a picture book.

  ‘The woman who spoke to you, Miss Ellen?’ Abdul was saying. ‘You said she seemed to know your name.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, she called me by name.’

  ‘Begging, I suppose? Some of these people believe that all Europeans are very rich.’

  ‘She didn’t say,’ Ellen murmured. There was no reason not to confide in the man who had been her father’s servant, but instinct counselled silence. The veiled woman had sounded sincere—her voice husky, her fingers tense on Ellen’s sleeve. And no beggar would have worn such a handsome ring. ‘Are there regular boats up to Wadi Amarna?’ she changed the subject by asking.

  ‘Once or twice a month. Miss Ellen. That was why I had to go into the city to wait your arrival. Your ship docked ahead of time, otherwise I would have been at the landing stage to greet you. But Silver Moon itself is built at a little distance from the river. There are two wells there, so we have our own water supply.’

  ‘Is it a large place?’ she asked.

  ‘Mr. Bligh wishes you to see it for yourself, Miss Ellen,’ Abdul said, politely but firmly.

  They were approaching the quayside again and a cacophony of sound assaulted her ears as she stepped down. Fat tugs were blowing shrill whistles as they fussed like bumblebees about the giant hornets of the passenger liners, while further out in the bay brilliantly painted skiffs moved like dragonflies, their rowers chanting faintly as they bent over the oars.

  The white launch on which they were to sail was berthed at a short distance from where the carriage stopped, and she accepted Abdul’s arm as they picked their way between wooden crates, coils of rope, and the inevitable swarming children.

  ‘Mr. Bligh hired a private cabin for you. Miss Ellen, so that you can enjoy a good night’s rest,’ Abdul told her as they came aboard.

  ‘He’s very considerate,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, Miss Ellen. Mr. Bligh is always thoughtful of others.’

  ‘And my father?’ She freed herself from his guiding grasp and looked up at him as they stood on the deck under a stretched canopy of blue and white.

  ‘He was also a considerate gentleman,’ Abdul said. ‘We will be casting off in a few minutes. Do you wish to go to your cabin?’

  ‘I think I’ll stay on deck for a while. There are other passengers?’

  ‘A party of French tourists, Miss Ellen. I took the liberty of making enquiries but unhappily none of them is English speaking.’

  ‘You think of everything, Abdul.’ She had allowed a faint dryness to creep into her tone, but he gave no indication of having noticed as he bowed slightly, saying in his slow, precise English,

  ‘A good servant anticipates his master’s wishes, Miss Ellen. If you will excuse me, I’ll go and obtain a chair for you so that you may sit in comfort.’

  She nodded and went to stand by the rail, looking out across the crowded dockside. The other passengers, chatting volubly in French, were coming aboard, their gaiety contrasting with the grave imperturbable expressions of the native porters.

  There was no sign of the tiny veiled woman nor of the man on the white horse. Neither was there any reason why she should couple the two of them together in her mind, nor feel her thoughts returning more and more to the ivory heart and the strange poem that her father had sent to her.

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  It was difficult to realise that she was really here, sitting on the deck of the boat as it nosed its way up the wide, rushing river. Only a few weeks before she had been Ellen Parry of Cwm Bedd, who was never likely to travel very much further afield, and now she was actually in a foreign land, watching a strange landscape lit by the brilliance of an unfamiliar sun. From where she sat she had seen the pyramids, distant against the sky. The other tourists were crowded at the rail, talking and gesticulating, occasionally turning to smile and shrug at her because the barrier of language made it impossible for them to draw her into their fellowship. They had lunched in the small dining saloon and afterwards some of the ladies had gone to loosen their corsets and lie down for a couple of hours. Ellen, however, had returned on deck, to watch the green banks of the Nile glide by.

  ‘The boat will berth for several hours this evening to allow the passengers to go ashore,’ Abdul told her, bringing lemon tea during the afternoon.

  ‘I’d like to go ashore too,’ she said eagerly.

  ‘Of course. Miss Ellen. You will require a warm wrap. The nights can be very cool.’

  ‘I’ll go and get one.’ Her tea drunk, she went to the tiny cabin where her corded trunk, her portmanteau and overnight bag had been placed. Taking a cloak from the portmanteau gave her the opportunity to glance into her sewing box. The heart and the poem were still tucked away safely in the lower compartment. She went back on deck with the cloak over her arm, her anticipation mounting as the day wore on.

  They berthed at a wooden landing stage and almost immediately a crowd of boys were swarming over the rail, offering various small articles for sale, white teeth flashing in their thin brown faces. Other natives had set up rough stalls on which woven rugs and samples of bead embroidery were displayed. There were camels grouped nearby and some of the tourists were venturing to ride them under the guidance of their drovers.

  Ellen decided against the camel ride and amused herself by examining some of the handicrafts laid out for sale. She would have liked to buy something for Aunt Kate Evans, but a li
ttle reflection convinced her that the opportunity to do so would arise more than once, and she shook her head smilingly at the various articles held out for her inspection.

  ‘Dinner is to be served ashore, Miss Ellen,’ Abdul said, joining her as she strolled about. ‘There will be shish-kebab—lamb and onions and sweet peppers grilled over charcoal and served on beds of rice. The food is eaten with spoon and fingers, and is quite palatable.’

  ‘It sounds delicious,’ she said.

  ‘There is also going to be a display of horsemanship by some local tribesmen. Do you ride, Miss Ellen?’

  ‘I can just about stay on a very tired pony,’ she admitted ruefully.

  ‘There will be opportunity for you to learn to ride at Silver Moon,’ he informed her. ‘Mr. Bligh has a mare quite suitable for a beginner. Your father spoke of your riding her when you came to visit him.’ was going to ask me to come?’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ he assured her. He spoke often of becoming acquainted with his daughter. It was a very great shock to us all when he died before the invitation could be issued.’

  ‘I would like to have known him.’ Ellen said.