Daughter of Isis

by Belinda Grey

‘No, but I want to know—’ Ellen broke off as Farida rose to her feet, pulling her veil around her.

  ‘I’ll not discuss it,’ she said. ‘Not with you, not with anybody. And I’ll have nobody else discuss it either. Do you understand me?’

  ‘Yes, but I don’t understand.’

  ‘There’s nothing for you to understand,’ Farida interrupted. ‘These are private matters and you’ll be leaving Egypt soon, going back to your own country. It’s not your business.’

  She had gone before Ellen could say anything more, her low heels tapping down the narrow stairs. Ellen completed her toilet and went thoughtfully down to the dining room.

  Abdul was there, having evidently wheeled Christopher to his place at table, and his respectful greeting bore the hallmark of pleasure.

  ‘Henry and Farida will be down shortly,’ Christopher said, nodding towards the decanter. ‘Will you have some wine?’

  ‘Nothing for me.’ Ellen seated herself and smiled across at the red-haired secretary.

  ‘Abstemious as well as pretty.’ Christopher raised his glass to her.

  ‘I will have to accustom myself to less luxury’ when I return to Cwm Bedd,’ Ellen said wryly.

  ‘Luxury? I suppose one may call it that.’ Christopher looked faintly amused. ‘El Assur Pashe was a wealthy man.’

  ‘And married his daughter to a foreigner.’

  ‘I believe he was a great admirer of European culture. A pretty formidable character.’

  ‘It must be dull for you here sometimes,’ Ellen ventured.

  ‘Even though I am confined in luxury?’ He gave her an odd, slanting glance. ‘Oh, there are compensations, you know. I have a most comfortable home here, and it amuses me to watch people, to find out what makes them behave in the ways that they do. Other men collect butterflies.’

  ‘And what have you found out about me?’ she asked lightly.

  ‘That you’re a very charming young lady,’ he began, and smiled as she made an impatient gesture. ‘Very well, if you want me to be honest. You have a lot about you that reminds me of your father. He had the same dreaming look in his eyes. In his case it was a dream of the tomb of Amentisis. In your case, I cannot yet tell.’

  ‘You two are getting along well,’ Henry Bligh remarked, coming in. ‘You must take care not to let his compliments turn your head, my dear Ellen. Farida basks in such admiration, but I trust you have a cooler head?’

  ‘It is not easily turned,’ she said, a shade of coldness creeping into her tone.

  There was something about Henry Bligh, with his immaculate clothes and silver-winged hair, that she distrusted. The idea that she might even be thinking of marrying him sent a little shiver of distaste up her spine.

  ‘Farida has a slight headache and begs to be excused,’ he said now, gesturing to Abdul to serve the first course. ‘Indeed, she did seem a trifle upset. I hope you and she have not been quarrelling, my dear Ellen.’

  ‘Surely it would be impossible to quarrel with such an amiable lady!’ Christopher exclaimed.

  ‘You must not confuse pity with good humour,’ Henry said smoothly, and Ellen sensed, rather than saw the other flinch.

  ‘There has been no disagreement between Farida and me,’ she said.

  ‘I am delighted to hear you say so.’ Henry helped himself to salad. ‘I have a particular affection for you both. Indeed, I have hoped—but there! Hywel died only a short time ago, and Farida was very fond of him.’

  ‘She has no wish to remarry,’ Christopher said tightly.

  ‘Women sometimes change their minds, bless their hearts,’ Henry said. ‘Ellen, you must try some of this dressing. Cook uses crushed sesame seeds which give it a most subtle flavour.’

  She took some obediently, but her appetite was blunted. Christopher’s obvious embarrassment, Henry’s pointed barbs, her own memory of Farida’s face turned lovingly towards Rami in the old photograph, combined to trouble her. She was glad when the meal was ended and she could excuse herself, leaving the two men to their port and cigars, and wander through the lobby into the long avenue of trees beyond which the gates gleamed faintly under the rising moon.

  ‘Miss Ellen!’ A voice hissed to her from the shadows, and she jumped slightly as a small boy glided towards her, teeth flashing a white smile in his brown face,

  ‘You’re the boy I saw on my way here!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘You come with me. Missy,’ the boy said. ‘My master wishes to speak with you.’

  Joy, unmixed with any other emotion, welled in her strong as a mountain wind. With only a brief glance back at the lobby she hurried towards the gate.

  He stood beyond them, his robe glinting white, the curved scimitar at his lean waist.

  ‘Ellen? Come nearer. I’ve no plans to abduct you tonight.’ His voice was pitched low but it reached her clearly and his arms catching her to him, were strong.

  ‘You wanted to speak to me?’ She drew back, studying his face. His head was bare, black hair close cut above a hawk-nosed, broad-browed countenance.

  ‘And to see you.’ His black eyes searched her face and he shook his head as if in wonder. ‘I am beginning to realise that the day is empty unless I have seen you. It was not what I intended.’

  ‘What did you intend?’ she asked.

  ‘To persuade or frighten you back to your own country,’ he returned. ‘For the sake of your father, whose memory I hold in deep respect, I wanted his daughter to be safe. Now, if you were to go away, I would know that my life lacked something that I believed was dead and buried long since in my nature.’

  ‘Are you saying—?’ Ellen drew a deep breath and threw convention to the winds. ‘Are you saying that you’re in love with me?’

  ‘Yes, my green dove!’ He ran his finger lightly down her cheek. ‘I swore I would enjoy women but never love one. A boy’s vow, but boys grow into men and old passions cool into affection. And you come, in your foolish European clothes and with your obstinate expression, and become important to me against my will.’

  ‘I saw the photograph of you and Farida when I was at Tel-El-Aton,’ Ellen said. ‘You were in love with her, weren’t you?’

  ‘At seventeen and she being two years younger. I thought it was love. I thought nobody had ever loved as truly as I did, nor longed so deeply for the object of his desire. We even contrived to meet in private, and Dr. Ford took a photograph of us. I thought it had been lost or destroyed long ago.’

  ‘Why didn’t you marry her?’ Ellen asked.

  ‘We intended to wed.’ His hands had dropped from her shoulders and in his voice was the bitterness of a youthful defeat. ‘We had been childhood companions, and it was our hope that we would be allowed to marry. I confided in my father without fear, for I knew he was fond of her. He persuaded me that we were still very young, that it would be wiser for me to complete mv education first. And I listened, believing him. I agreed to go off to Europe for a few years—to test the strength of my feelings. Farida was disappointed, but like myself she had been bred to obedience.’

  ‘She was married to my father,’ Ellen said.

  ‘Because both her father and my own knew what Farida and I did not know. She is unable to bear children. Can you imagine what that means in a country where the only value a woman has lies in her fertility? Oh, at that time it would have meant nothing to me, for I was young and romantic, ready to defy the world for love. I still feel a woman should be loved for herself alone, not for the children she can produce.’

  ‘My father wanted a son,’ Ellen said in a small voice.

  ‘Oh, they said nothing to him.’ His voice was scornful. ‘Farida was told that I had met someone else, and she was married to Hywel Parry. He was a foreigner, you see, and less likely to cast her aside when her infertility was discovered. They were right, of course. By the time I returned both El Assur Pasha and my own father were dead, and Farida had been Mrs. Hywel Parry for nearly four years. It was Dr. Ford who told me the truth of it all. It had been a plot wit
h kindly motives, he said. Cheating a foreigner was permissible, you see.’

  ‘Did you see Farida again?’

  ‘Briefly, once or twice. She was contented enough with her marriage. It would have been cruel to have expected her to greet me as a friend—in this country friendship between a married woman and a single gentleman is regarded with the greatest suspicion. Your father never knew of the love we shared when we were little more than children. The photograph—I’d forgotten about that.’

  ‘Do you still—have an affection for her?’ she ventured.

  ‘And always will have. She was my first love, and a boy never forgets his first love.’

  ‘She’s a widow now,’ Ellen reminded him in a small voice.

  ‘And has no more desire to marry me than I have to marry her,’ he said. ‘Farida has grown plump and sleek and dull. The wife I want must be ready to ride at my side, to share my tent and water bottle, to travel at a moment’s notice when circumstances require it. That woman is not Farida.’

  ‘But I’ve never been anywhere in my life,’ Ellen said. ‘I’ve always lived with Aunt Kate Evans in a narrow valley with the quarry behind.’

  ‘And came all the way out here to see the place where your father spent most of his life. A girl of eighteen, with nothing but a parcel from her father and an invitation from a guardian she’d never seen.’

  ‘Henry Bligh wants to marry Farida,’ Ellen said abruptly. ‘She doesn’t want to wed him, and she fears he might turn his attentions to me.’

  ‘You’d not allow it,’ he said, with such assurance in his voice that she was impelled to exclaim, ‘You know a lot about me!’

  ‘I know you are the woman who is going to be my wife,’ he said serenely, ‘and the woman I choose wouldn’t waste five minutes on a character like Henry Bligh.’

  ‘He was my father’s friend,’ Ellen said stiffly.

  ‘Your father found it impossible to dislike anybody. Only at the end, when the fever came upon him, did certain things become clear.’

  ‘You said there was danger for me at Silver Moon.’

  ‘Henry Bligh wants to find the tomb of Amentisis. It’s my belief that your father in his final delirium gave some indication that he had found it, and sent some kind of message to you. So you were invited here.’

  ‘And you think Farida might be part of it?’

  ‘Not consciously, but Farida might have her own reasons for wanting to find the tomb.’

  ‘As you have,’ Ellen said. The words shot out like an accusation and his fingers reached out to fasten on her shoulder.

  ‘As I have, but I don’t need to marry you to get what I want.’

  ‘You expect me to trust you.’

  ‘Without even knowing my name,’ he nodded.

  ‘But I do know that,’ Ellen said, with a small air of triumph. ‘Your name is Rami. I bribed the old fortuneteller, so please don’t be angry with him.’

  ‘When he has such a beautiful advocate? But I’d be glad if you’d not bandy the name around. Rami has nothing in common with the man called Hawk.’

  ‘Who rides the land, often being seen in two places at the same time?’

  ‘Hawks multiply,’ he said cryptically, ‘and disaffection has many heads. And the one thing I cannot allow is for my wife to disturb me with talk of politics.’

  ‘I haven’t said I’ll be your wife,’ Ellen protested.

  ‘No need of words between us,’ Rami said, and his eyes and voice were tender. ‘There was never any need of words from the first moment I saw you and you saw me on the quay at Alexandria.’

  ‘But to marry you,’ she whispered.

  ‘As soon as circumstances allow for us to follow our own hearts. I’ve not forgotten that Henry Bligh is your guardian.’

  ‘He’d not consent to our marriage,’ she said in a defeated tone.

  ‘My green dove, the time is coming when Henry Bligh will have no control over your affairs,’ Rami said.

  She would have questioned him further, but he bent his head and kissed her, and as she responded her instincts told her that it was true when he said there was no need for words between them.

  ‘The gift my father sent to me,’ she began breathlessly as the long embrace ended.

  ‘Not now. I’d not have you believe that I kissed you for that,’ he said swiftly. ‘At the feast of Amentisis, if you are still of the same mind, give it to the one who beckons you. Will you promise me that?’

  She barely had time to nod before he gave her a little push towards the gates and strode away across the moonlit clearing to where the boy waited with two horses.

  She went swiftly up the path towards the lighted lobby. Abdul was just closing the double doors and paused as she hurried up. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Ellen. I didn’t know you had gone out,’ he greeted her.

  ‘Only for a breath of air,’ she said. ‘I find the courtyard limiting.’

  ‘It is not wise to stray too far beyond the gates, Miss Ellen,’ Abdul said expressionlessly. ‘It is easy in this country for a stranger to get lost.’

  ‘I’ll remember that. Thank you, Abdul.’ She went past him into the elegant sitting room out of which the dining room led. The door between was ajar and the sound of voices drifted through, Henry’ and Christopher sat still over their port, and Ellen hesitated, wondering whether to interrupt them or to slip away quietly.

  ‘... foolish notion must come to an end!’ That was Henry Bligh’s voice, low pitched but with a cutting edge.

  ‘... great respect and affection,’ came the secretary’s voice.

  Ellen stepped nearer to the door, forgetting Aunt Kate Evans’s strictures against eavesdroppers. Through the gap she could see Christopher’s sharp profile and crest of red hair as he hunched forward over the table.

  ‘Farida is a beautiful woman, not to be wasted on a crippled nobody,’ Henry was saying. ‘When sufficient time has elapsed I hope to persuade the lovely widow—’

  ‘Do that and I will let her know where the profits of the estate are diverted.’

  ‘Do that and you condemn yourself to beggary, my dear friend. You are not the world’s most efficient secretary and your affliction scarcely makes you worth the trouble of employing.’

  ‘Save by a man whose business affairs will not endure too close an examination.’ Christopher’s voice was bitter.

  ‘Do you think it amuses me to sell defective guns to the rebels?’ Henry asked. ‘One day they’ll find out the source of their supply and I want to be away from here by then.’

  ‘With the riches from the tomb of Amentisis?’

  ‘That tomb exists, and Hywel found it. If he’d lived a few days, a few hours longer he’d have babbled of it before he died. The Fords would have been interested.’

  ‘You think he—’

  ‘No, no. He was in a coma when they arrived. If he’d said anything to Selina or her father they’d have let it slip. Neither of them is made for intrigue. But that tomb exists, and I’ve still a notion the girl knows something.’

  ‘Perhaps she’ll confide in Farida?’

  ‘Perhaps, but Farida will tell me,’ Henry said, ‘so you may put out of your mind any idea of sharing it with her.’

  ‘If the tomb is found the girl will talk,’ Christopher warned.

  There was a little silence and then Henry Bligh laughed softly and blew a smoke ring into the air. ‘The girl will not talk,’ he said, and his voice was chilling.

  Ellen turned and went swiftly back into the wide lobby and up the stairs into her room. The lamps had been kindled and the covers turned back, and the apartment glowed softly as if in welcome. She was trembling, not with cold but with fear. Silver Moon was no longer beautiful but menacing. Her guardian was a ruthless man who would stop at nothing to obtain what he wanted. Farida and Christopher Tyrrell had their own reasons for wanting to find the tomb, as did Dr. Ford and Selina. She was ringed round by people who might be enemies. Only Rami, who called himself Hawk, offered an escape.
/>   ‘And I can’t agree to marry him simply as a means of escape,’ she thought. ‘Why, I might be walking out of one trap into another.’

  Remembering how his fingers had caressed her face how his mouth had pressed her own lips into surrender, how his voice had woken passion in her own being, she hoped fervently that it was not so. In a world grown suddenly dangerous, her feelings for Rami were the only safe, unshifting emotions. That was a fact she could no longer refuse to acknowledge.

  CHAPTER

  ELEVEN

  It was the eve of the festival of Amentisis, and an air of excitement pervaded the house. The kitchens were redolent with the scent of herbs and spices, and the two maids had been busy all day twining blossom into garlands.

  ‘The festival takes place in the evening,’ Farida said. ‘The whole thing is very pretty, even though nobody is sure now what it all means. Afterwards there is a banquet in the village, with dancing and music. It’s quite an occasion.’

  ‘We have festivals like that at home,’ Ellen commented. ‘In some parts of the country we have men who dance with stags’ antlers on their heads on New Year’s Day. Nobody is sure how the custom began, nor what it means.’

  ‘This is a purely local custom,’ Christopher said. ‘I don’t usually bother to attend myself, but Farida likes to go.’

  ‘The people expect it,’ her stepmother said lazily. ‘My mother always went and presented the garlands to those who took part, and Hywel liked to continue the custom.’

  Farida was wearing white as usual, the gown glowing loosely from her plump shoulders, a white velvet cloak repelling the chill. Her litter had been decorated with flowers, strings of them looped around the poles on which the leather structure was stretched. Reclining on her cushions, she looked like some plumply benign deity of harvest-tide. Christopher’s eyes had never left her face.

  Ellen had chosen to wear her blue dress. Its ruffled bodice and bustle were edged with narrow coffee-coloured lace to match the trimming on her broad-brimmed hat. Under the high-boned collar of her gown the ivory heart rested against her flesh at the end of its chain, and in the lining of her bag was the card, its edges thumbed now, for she had read it so often that she knew the poem by heart.