A Grave Celebration

by Christine Trent

  De Lesseps’s ringing endorsement was as genuine as the imaginary pull of a coffin safety bell, but Violet wasn’t going to argue any further.

  “Thank you, monsieur, for your graciousness,” she said. “It is not my intent to cause you distress, nor to ruin your plans.”

  “Ah, no, it ees I who should thank you, madame, for such a pretty and heated display of temper. It was most entertaining, even more so than tonight’s fireworks and dynamite explosion.”

  He was being condescending, of course, but already Violet’s mind was racing forward on how to investigate the deaths of both the lumberyard owner’s son and the ship’s captain, even without having their bodies present. De Lesseps’s tepid response was of no more import.

  What was curious, though, was Pasha’s reaction. The khedive seemed deeply disturbed by what had transpired between Violet and de Lesseps.

  Violet turned to leave the men to their cigars and conversation, but de Lesseps stopped her.

  “Madame Harper, perhaps you and your husband would like to be seated with the writing dignitaries at tomorrow evening’s dinner.”

  “We will be happy to sit wherever you would have us.” She accepted the invitation with a gracious nod.

  Before she could once more walk away, de Lesseps nodded at both her and the khedive, offering his good night. Violet was left alone with Isma’il Pasha, who looked like a chubby specter, as enveloped as he was in cigar smoke in the moonlight.

  Acutely aware of the fact that she was standing alone in the presence of the leader—effectively the king—of Egypt, whom she had probably insulted countless times already in the few hours she had been in the country, Violet struggled for polite conversation. Or at least a polite statement about the night’s weather, even though the air had become chilled.

  She needn’t have worried about it, for Pasha opened up a discussion with her.

  “I do not trust you, Mrs. Harper,” he said blandly, drawing in on the cigar, whose flaring orange tip made for a demonic punctuation point to his words.

  It wasn’t an observation, exactly, but rather a pointed accusation. Violet sensed that the khedive was waiting intently for her reaction, which would then determine the outcome of the rest of the trip.

  “No one has ever said that to me before, Your Highness. But then, my customers are in no position for insolence and cheek.”

  The khedive choked and spluttered on his cigar smoke. “And who are you to believe me to be inso—” He stopped, straightened, and stared at Violet, then burst into rough, barking laughter. “Very amusing, madaam, very amusing. You are—what do the English say?—you are entrancing.” He grew serious again. “But I find it curious that a woman of no noble or political connection has managed her way into the canal festivities, and in fact you are poking about in these unfortunate accidents. Could your queen not send someone of more importance? Why is she not here herself?”

  Feeling the heat rush to her cheeks at the disrespect shown her sovereign, Violet said, “I would remind Your Highness that the Prince of Wales is here.”

  “Yes, yes, the little boy who plays with his women as he waits for the day the diamond circle will be dropped on his head.” He snorted his contempt. “Very impressive. The queen sent him in order to get him out of her sight, no doubt. But then she sends a commoner of no count in her own stead.” He shook his head as though the thought were impossible for any rational person to fathom.

  Violet cast about for a suitable excuse. “I’m sure it is very difficult for Her Majesty to make long journeys. Her responsibilities at home—”

  “Great princes of Europe are here to pay homage to Egypt, and have been here for weeks.”

  “Her responsibilities can be overwhelming for a widow, and the prince is training for the throne.” The words sounded hollow even in her own ears. How had she managed to put herself in the position of defending the royal House of Hanover?

  “Is Great Britain of such importance that its monarch—over all other kings of Europe—cannot be bothered to celebrate the most far-reaching technological advancement in history?”

  Violet tried once more. “Your Highness, I do not think that the queen would ever mean to imply that you—”

  The khedive still wasn’t finished. “And you are by some coincidence an undertaker, a most unseemly activity for a comely woman who would do well at managing her own little vegetable stand. But here you are, at hand for two regrettable deaths. It is as if your mere presence means doom for someone.”

  “Now that is something that I believe my customers would agree with,” Violet said.

  “Hah!” the khedive barked again. “Yes, yes, they would. Well, I suppose no harm can possibly come to me by your presence, which I admit is an agreeable one.”

  Violet breathed a silent sigh of relief. “Your Highness is kind to me when I have perhaps been a bit abrupt. You must understand that the care of the deceased must always come first with me.”

  Pasha nodded blandly. “And you must also understand that the glory of Egypt must always come first with me. There are those who believe that Egypt belongs to dusty museums and even grubbier public servants. When our two goals conflict, then Egypt will be preeminent. We have an accord, Mrs. Harper?”

  Violet thought he might spit on his hand and hold it out for her to shake in a trader’s pact. But she was no trader, and she wasn’t sure she could hold to the bargain anyway. “I comprehend you perfectly, Your Highness,” she said without actually accepting what she believed to be his insistence that taking Egypt’s ancient treasures was his birthright.

  Pasha seemed satisfied with her response. “De Lesseps invited you to dine with the art and writing dignitaries tomorrow evening. That will be a good place for you.”

  Had she just been complimented or insulted?

  “Monsieur de Lesseps is a man of detailed plans,” she said. “I’m sure he has personally decided where every potted plant should be set.”

  “No!” Pasha said, mercurially reverting back to anger. “Egypt and all of the celebrations are mine, madaam. I have spent almost two million pounds sterling for these festivities, depleting my own treasury and borrowing everywhere to ensure the canal and its opening are the most awe-inspiring attractions ever beheld. De Lesseps spends, but never his own money. Egypt’s grandeur is due to no one else but me. Never forget this.”

  “Of course, Your Highness, of course,” she said, soothing him as she would a widower outraged that his wife had died and left him saddled with their children. “You command a great nation, clear to everyone.”

  The storm passed, and a much-mollified Pasha spoke. “At least you realize this. I have brought many modern reforms to Egypt. There are more railroad lines in my country now than there are wrinkles on an old woman’s face. We have greater opera and theater than the Italians. The city of Cairo today reminds every visitor of Paris in its magnificence. I have worked tirelessly for the past six years to bring these things about, and my name will be in children’s history books as the greatest king—I mean, viceroy—that Egypt has ever known.”

  Violet hardly knew how to respond, but was saved from doing so by Sam’s opportune arrival. “We will arrive in a few moments to transfer back to Newport. Your Highness,” he said, bowing to Pasha, who nodded absentmindedly at Violet’s husband.

  She took Sam’s arm and excused herself from the khedive’s presence, grateful that her audience with him had come to a merciful close. In just a few minutes she would be rinsing soot and filth from her skin.

  “Mrs. Harper.” Pasha raised his voice, causing her to turn around to face him once more. “I still do not trust you.”

  Violet made no response, but turned back and continued walking with Sam.

  I do not trust you, either, Your Highness.

  Chapter 9

  By the time they arrived back at Port Said, the flotilla had been arranged with the French ship, L’Aigle, at the front, followed by Pasha’s El Mahrousa, then Newport, followed by the remaining deleg
ation ships, all in a neatly ordered line for the morning’s procession.

  Back aboard Newport, Violet was relieved to cleanse herself with the washbowl and pitcher provided. She changed into her nightgown and slipped into bed next to Sam, who was already snoring softly after the strenuous activity of putting out the fire and dynamiting the ship. Whether it was her husband’s snoring or just agitation over everything she had seen and heard that day, Violet wasn’t sure what was keeping her awake. But after more than an hour of restlessness, she climbed back out of their creaking bed, donned a clean dress, and went topside for some fresh air to clear her mind.

  Lanterns glowed from posts at various points along the rail, and the ship was almost completely motionless in the canal water. A breeze blew gently across the deck, as if lulling all of the ship’s passengers to sleep but her. Violet heard raucous laughter in the distance, and in the direction of the noise saw light emitting from what she thought might be the Russian ship. Apparently they weren’t sleeping, either.

  She spotted another figure on deck, staring out at the dying lanterns and torches scattered along the shore. The winking and sputtering lights made it seem as if the star-filled sky was also blanketing the ground. It was peaceful and unnerving at the same time.

  Violet approached the figure standing along the rail, which turned out to be the captain himself, staring distractedly out to shore while stroking his very luxurious dark beard. He resembled a great sage contemplating life’s greatest questions.

  “Commander Nares?” she asked, standing next to him. “I see you are having trouble sleeping, as well.” She reached for the ship’s rail to steady herself, even though there was little movement beneath her.

  “Ah, Mrs. Harper. Good evening. I am frequently up at all hours. Whenever I am out to sea—even if it is just a small canal—I feel an overwhelming sense of . . . responsibility . . . for my men and ship. I doubt I sleep more than two hours a night when aboard. My poor wife must believe I transform into Rip Van Winkle when I am home, though.” Nares chuckled softly at his own joke. “Does the sea air bother you? Is that why you cannot sleep? I trust that none of my men have distressed you.”

  “No, nothing of the sort. I am just a bit troubled in my mind over what has happened this evening.” Violet hardly knew how to sort out what had been the most disturbing aspect of her short time in Port Said.

  “You mean the death of the lumberyard owner’s son? Or that of the Egyptian captain?” Nares said gently. “I understand de Lesseps was in quite a turmoil over it, although I suspect for different reasons than you were, madam.”

  “Yes, it’s hard to know whether Monsieur de Lesseps is genuinely concerned or if he is merely—” Violet bit her lip. She shouldn’t be speaking of this to anyone else, despite the captain’s kindness, and she faced out to shore once more to avoid him.

  The captain chuckled again. “You mean to say, ‘If de Lesseps is merely concerned with his own grandeur.’ He will one day soon have his comeuppance, I assure you, Mrs. Harper.”

  She turned sharply toward Nares. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean nothing at all. It’s just that when ordinary men set themselves up as kings, others find the crown is ill-fitting.” Nares, then seemingly wanting to leave the topic of de Lesseps entirely, said, “Are you and your husband looking forward to the real festivities, which will start tomorrow in Ismailia?”

  With all of the commotion that had already occurred, Violet could hardly think about more festivities. She chose a more diplomatic route. “I understand there is to be a special dinner tomorrow evening. Will you be in attendance, Commander?”

  “Me? No, I leave the merrymaking to you and your husband, the prince, and Sir Henry. I shall remain behind with my duties aboard the ship while you are at the Dinner of the Sovereigns.”

  “Is that what tomorrow night’s dinner is called? Monsieur de Lesseps did not tell me this.”

  “It is intended to laud all of the countries participating in the ceremonies, get them fantastically stupefied on Egyptian beer and French wine, and leave each delegation member feeling as though he were personally responsible for all of the greatness, even though very few of the sovereigns here had anything whatsoever to do with the project. I expect it to be quite the lavish affair.”

  “But I am of no moment to such a cause.”

  “No, but you are British, and so you will have to do since you do have some personal connection to the queen, and beyond that de Lesseps was only able to secure the prince from the royal family.”

  Violet wondered what the source of Nares’s chagrin was. “You imply that this dinner will help France. Or Egypt.”

  “Undoubtedly de Lesseps and Pasha believe that everyone will command all of their shipping concerns to immediately begin using the Suez Canal and pay whatever exorbitant passage fees that the Ditchdigger and Pasha conjure up. De Lesseps will allow each country to believe he is giving it the absolute best rate, while in reality he will swindle them all.” Nares grunted his displeasure. “I presume you will spend tomorrow night ashore?”

  Perhaps she needed to pay more attention to the program in her cabin. “Why? Will other guests be doing so?”

  “I’m fairly certain everyone has lodgings assigned to them. The khedive has had them constructed—rather hastily, I’m afraid—to house all of the delegation in Ismailia. What sort of condition they will be in, I can only imagine.” Nares shook his head. “I’m glad I will remain upon Newport with my crew while we are there.”

  Yet something else for Violet to worry about. “Do you know, Commander, why no one else from the royal family other than the Prince of Wales is present, since their absence seems to agitate the khedive?”

  Nares tapped the rail and stepped away, offering his arm to Violet for a promenade around the deck. “You see, Mrs. Harper,” he said as they strolled, “the British government has a very complicated relationship with Egypt. British merchants have worked diligently to find trading opportunities in the Nile Valley, while Her Majesty’s government has worked just as hard to ensure that this entire region stays stabilized. To that end, our government openly supports Sultan Abdülaziz, who controls the entire Ottoman Empire.”

  Should Violet expose her own ignorance? “I’m afraid I’m not sure what the empire encompasses, Commander. Egypt, for one, I presume.”

  Nares paused to consider Violet’s question. “Albania, Cyprus, Bulgaria, Libya, Iraq . . . there are more, but they don’t come to me at the moment. Despite the number of countries under its auspices, the empire has been in decline since the Crimean War, having taken on far too much debt in that conflict than it could ever hope to repay. Great Britain is trying to help it along, although between us, Mrs. Harper, I don’t see a great future for it. The empire will fall apart, and the individual nations will begin warring with one another, as they always do. They are not as gifted at empire building as we British are.”

  Violet was glad Sam wasn’t privy to that comment, as he would have reminded the commander of the American colonies’ break from Britain. She couldn’t help but wonder if Great Britain’s “help” was resented by Egypt. “The khedive—he is aware of our country’s support of the sultan?”

  At that moment, Nares stumbled but quickly righted himself, then grabbed a lantern that was burning nearby on a large metal chest. Kneeling down, he held it over the decking. “What the deuce, how did this board come loose? Well,” he said, rising up, “that will not do. Someone will have to fix this at first light. But for now, I believe it would be beneficial if we walked with our light.” The ship captain was on constant alert as they walked now, almost as if the ship were his own skin that he needed to protect from any abrasion or disfigurement.

  “As you were saying, Commander . . .” Violet prompted.

  “What? Oh, yes, Pasha is clever. He has managed a much higher position for himself than what is granted to the rulers of other empire states. They are mere governors, but he is now viceroy. The other states rely on the sul
tan to guide them, but Pasha is forging his own way. He knows that Great Britain will support whoever will provide the most stable environment for us to have flourishing trade. Right now that is the sultan, but I believe Pasha is elevating himself so that he will be on equal footing with the sultan. Or, at the least, will be able to operate without the sultan’s interference.”

  Violet and Nares were now walking along the portion of Newport’s rail where Violet had first seen the commander. He paused to hang the lantern, then resumed his original position, his elbows on the rail as he gazed into the dark. “If that happens,” he continued, “Great Britain would be forced into dealing directly with Pasha, at the risk of alienating the sultan. This canal not only elevates Pasha’s position, it weakens ours, as Great Britain’s domination of shipping could be crippled by our dependence on it. Worse, it gives glory, as well as stronger claims to the Mediterranean, to France.”

  Did the man just actually shudder at the thought? Regardless, Violet was beginning to understand the situation. “So for the queen to attend would suggest that she is supporting the khedive’s rise to power instead of the sultan’s?” she asked.

  “Precisely, madam. To send the prince leaves the impression that it is more of an honorary visit. What offense could the sultan have at the royal son visiting one of his nations?”

  And a royal prince should be enough to satisfy the khedive, Violet concluded mentally.

  “Our ambassador walks a fine line, does he not?” she asked.

  “More than you know. Pasha is very enthralled with de Lesseps at the moment, for obvious reasons. Such slavish devotion causes him to forget that Great Britain was instrumental in helping Egypt’s national building projects long before the Ditchdigger came along.”

  Violet smiled. “Building projects? I know you aren’t referring to the pyramids or the temples.”

  Nares shared her wry amusement. “Nor has Great Britain participated in erecting the Great Sphinx. No, what we have done is far more important. Pasha brags that he has laid thousands of miles of track, but he neglects to say that it was the Robert Stephenson Company that came here from Newcastle in 1851 to build Egypt’s first standard gauge railway. In fact, it was the first railway inside the entire Ottoman Empire. Stephenson even built Pasha his own specially appointed carriage, something that even the sultan does not have.”