The tears became open weeping.
“It’s only you who keeps me sane,” she continued. “I curse myself for being so weak, but I look to you. If you are strong, then I can find my courage. Oh, Sophia, I know it’s cowardly of me to need you so desperately. Stay strong for me, please.”
The last few words were muffled against Sophia’s shoulder as she hugged her cousin tight, uttering soothing, nonsense words.
Escape or death. They were her only choices. And if death meant being reunited with Kit, surely it was better than being here. She cursed her own weakness when Laura needed her now more than ever.
A few days later, she and Laura told Yasmeen of the pregnancy, not only as chief attendant answerable only to Rabia herself, but also as the only other person they could trust.
“Do you know if you carry a boy or a girl?” she asked.
Sophia and Laura looked at one another askance. How on earth could they know that? Laura shook her head.
“It would be better for you if you did not have the child at all,” said Yasmeen, “but if it is a boy, you will become a favorite. It could bring you great power – but also great danger for you and your son. The women of the harem are jealous creatures, as you well know. If it is a girl, her fate will be in the hands of Rabia. She may either order her killed or sell her on.”
Laura’s face paled.
Yasmeen’s own face was full of compassion. “These things are out of our hands for now. Rabia is more concerned with the performance of her women in a few days’ time. I will help you as much as I can, but that is all I can promise.”
Chapter Forty-Two
AUGUST 1816
Every morning, Sophia woke before the sound of dawn prayers and returned to her vigil in the window. Each day, she had been disappointed. The schooner she had seen two weeks earlier had not returned.
She unlatched the shutters quietly, looking back over the sleeping odalisques and concubines. She identified Laura’s sleeping form amongst the others and saw she still slept soundly.
She eased open the screen, her hands still feeling the ache of where Laura had squeezed them crushingly tight. She squinted through the glare until the view before her came into focus. The steady roll of the swell, lit by the rising sun, chased away dark shadows on the sea until they resolved themselves into fishing boats at anchor, waiting for the harbor to open for the day, like cats at the front door proudly bringing home their catch. But sitting further away from the crowd of vessels was a larger ship, its port side glowing gold in the morning light.
A light twinkled from the deck. Sophia supposed someone on board had swung a telescope about, but then it continued – three flashes in quick succession, a pause and three more. A signal!
From her vantage point, she couldn’t tell if the sign was returned from someone within the casbah, but whoever was on the schooner was clearly looking for one. She would give them a sign in return. She stepped around a sleeping woman to grab a hand mirror from their shared dressing table. She experimented for a moment to get the correct angle until the sun reflected off the surface, visible to the crew of the ship. She tried three flashes, a pause and three flashes. It had to be worth a try. It was clearly a European ship, perhaps even American.
If the captain made inquiries, then maybe he would learn there were women kept as slaves. Maybe he would insist on our release…
She stopped herself there. That was just too many wishes. And, besides, there was no answering response to her signal. Her heart sank. She would try one more time. Three flashes, a pause, three flashes. She held her breath, but not for long. In seconds, she saw an answering signal. First three flashes, a pause, three flashes, a pause, then two flashes.
They’ve seen me!
Sophia mimicked the signal and was rewarded with another variation – two flashes, three flashes and two flashes. She suppressed a giggle. The pattern repeated itself once more. Sophia prepared to move the mirror when prickles crept up the back of her neck. Someone was behind her.
The mirror was forced from her hands. It was now in Malik’s. She backed against the wall, putting a meager distance between her and the large eunuch. He growled and stepped closer.
“Malik!”
The big man stopped at the sound of Yasmeen’s voice. Sophia faced a dozen confused, sleep-filled waking faces, and her eyes fell on Laura’s, who looked alarmed, then ill. She forced herself off the pallet and ran for the latrine. Sophia dodged around Malik and ran after her cousin, only stopping when she heard the pitiful sound of Laura retching. She searched around for a cup and filled it with water from the fountain.
Laura rubbed her mouth with the back of her hand and accepted the cup. Sophia stepped closer to prevent them being overheard.
“The schooner is back,” she whispered urgently. There was no telling how much time they had before someone came looking for them. “I signaled it with a hand mirror before I got caught, but they saw me.”
Laura’s eyes widened and, for the first time in weeks, her face showed something more than exhaustion. “Is it the Calliope?”
She shook her head. “I can’t tell, but I have to find a way to get word to the ship. If they knew we were being held here against our will, they might press Selim Omar for our release.”
Laura nodded, sweat beaded her forehead but at least there was color on her cheeks. She handed back the cup and looked sly.
“If you go to the markets, perhaps you will encounter a sailor from the ship. The old woman who serves us from the kitchen sleeps heavily after lunch. Borrow her abaya and no one will recognize you. I can fool the harem into thinking you sleep alongside me when we rest in the afternoon, but it has to be today. Write a note using my paints. Take off one of your bangles, tie them in a corner of the cloth and drop it by the feet of an honest looking sailor. The first one you see. You must be back before the afternoon prayers.”
“You’ve given this a great deal of thought.”
Laura sobered. She placed her hands heavily on Sophia’s shoulders as though placing her burden on them. She opened her mouth to speak but halted to draw a deep breath. Her words were low but unmistakably earnest. “Every night since you told me you thought you’d seen the Calliope, I’ve thought and dreamed of nothing else. I can’t go back east. I won’t. This is the closest we’re ever going to get to our freedom. I will do anything to escape from here. You have to do this.”
Shrouded in the voluminous black robe and wearing stolen sandals, Sophia forced herself to still the foot tapping an impatient beat while Laura used watercolor paint to age her face so, in passing, her eyes would carry the wrinkles and heaviness of the old woman.
She felt the weight of the bangle in a pocket. The note with it had been committed to memory.
Dear Sir,
We are two English women held against our will in the palace of Selim Omar. Hope of our rescue is with you. Help us please.
They hadn’t signed it. Identifying themselves as English was dangerous enough. Giving their names would be suicidal.
Laura had not been joking when she said she had given the matter thought, Sophia thought ruefully. Her cousin had known the time for the changing of the guard, even the roster of the kitchen servants sent to the markets. So now, she followed a procession of them out the small gate into the casbah itself. Laura had even known the way down the winding streets into the marketplace by the docks.
She touched the black scarf at her nose to ensure her disguise still held. In a moment of irritability, she had asked Laura why she didn’t go herself if she’d planned it so well. The response was to touch her hand to her stomach while her eyes filled with tears.
Sophia gritted her teeth as much against the memory, as it was her own heart-pounding fear that set a thin ache along her ribs. The tang of sea salt, the pungent smell of fish, lemons, olives along with spices impossible to name, beckoned her closer to the bazaar. She hesitated. It had been so long since she had been in a crowd of so many people she felt an unaccountabl
e panic. Perhaps she should turn back?
She squeezed the bangle. No. It had to be now. Who knew how long the schooner would remain in port? It could be gone tomorrow. She watched the crowd of men browse the stalls – they all looked the same in their long tunics and bearded faces; none seemed candidates from the small flotilla of European ships outside the harbor walls.
One circuit. Just one and she could go back and tell Laura she had tried her best. She prized herself from the shadows and hurried toward the markets. She forced herself to linger for a short time at each one as though browsing. She ignored attempts to engage her in conversation and the associated curses when she didn’t purchase.
After a few moments, she trailed behind two other women. A flash of red elsewhere drew her eye. It was one of the eunuchs, but he was too far away and there were too many other people about for her to identify him.
This was a mistake. She’d be caught. They would beat her. Or worse, they would sell her and punish Laura, too. She had to get back to the palace before Rabia and the other women noticed. What about Yasmeen? The woman had become a friend, but would Yasmeen betray her?
Despite her best efforts, she was powerless to stop the rising tide of panic. She pushed through the throng, determined not to burst into tears.
“Easy there!”
The words spoken in English brought her to a halt. She dared a glance at the swarthy-looking man. A gold earring caught the sun. Her mind noted the breeches and linen shirt. He was not a Barbary pirate!
Her eye caught the color red. The eunuch was coming closer. A group of women crossed in front of her, giving her precious seconds. Sophia surged forward, pressed the kerchief in the sailor’s hand, whispering, “Please, Sir, help us.”
The man looked confused, but before he could ask questions or detain her, she ran to catch up with the other darkly-clad women, losing herself amongst them, only daring a glance back just before they rounded the corner of a building.
Standing across the street staring at the group was Malik. She stood frozen and waited for the large man to grab her. He did not. A trader pulling a recalcitrant donkey and cart moved between them and, by the time the donkey’s owner passed, Malik was gone.
She fled, running as fast as she could, back to the palace.
Sophia read the panic in Laura’s eyes the moment she hurried back into the grand dining room where they would be performing in just a few hours’ time.
“You!” The finger pointed at her was fearsome enough without the angry face of Rabia behind it. “Where have you been? A servant has been looking for you all afternoon.”
Sophia dropped her eyes and looked at the floor fearful that she had not done a good enough job in washing off her painted disguise. She stared at the glossy red satin of her dancing slippers on the pale, textured sandstone. They looked like freshly spilled blood. Hers.
She thought quickly.
“Mistress, I rehearsed in a room by myself while the others slept because I did not want to fail you. I lost track of the time.” She fell to her knees. It was the most demonstrative way to show contrition. “Forgive me, Mistress, I beg you.”
She waited for the verdict. If Rabia believed her, it could be a beating or a few slaps and harsh words. The woman had shown herself partial to using both punishments. She held her breath and listened. The other women were quiet. No doubt, they were standing in suitably humble attitudes, too, with heads bowed. After a moment, she heard Yasmeen’s low voice murmur something. To Rabia most likely. She held her breath and felt the pressure build in her chest.
Malik had seen her in the marketplace. Sophia was sure of it. She closed her eyes. Perhaps that would be less frightening. The moment stretched on.
“Get up, stupid woman. You will make everyone late.”
*
“I will make you a gift of her.”
Selim Omar relished his role as a rich and powerful emir, lavishing favors on those who were politically or commercially advantageous, and giving away women as if they were animals. The words he spoke now always sent a shudder of revulsion through Sophia. She had heard them a dozen times during her captivity, and each time it struck her anew – terror, grief, anger fueled by the injustice and helplessness of it.
Every time the odalisques and concubines were displayed for these men, she felt the dread of potential separation from Laura. She glanced over to see her cousin biting her lip as tonight’s honored guest, a corpulent man who stank of sweat and something else, dusky and nameless, touched her cousin’s face and ran his hand over her breasts and between her legs. They would all be subject to the same humiliation.
Please, not Laura!
“Yasmeen, step forward.”
Sophia forced down involuntary surprise. His molestation of Laura was no more than abuse in passing. It was Yasmeen he had expressed an interest in. Yasmeen…
It was usually the youngest of the harem who caught the eye of these visitors, but Yasmeen was about her age, closer to twenty-five years than twenty. She was Rabia’s right-hand. She protected them from the jealousies of the other women, she was the one who settled disputes between the girls and, when needed, enforced discipline aided by Malik. Yasmeen was one of the few comforts in this place. Without her, Laura was vulnerable. They all were.
The initial shock on Yasmeen’s face disappeared, leaving only a cool mask of indifference. She stepped forward and bowed gracefully before Selim Omar and the Arab.
“Go with him. He is now your master.”
Sophia heard Laura’s involuntary gasp. Apparently, she had not realized the full import of what was happening here. A glance to Malik told Sophia that he did. He stood to attention at his post at the doors, but his eyes registered his true feelings. He looked ready to wield his scimitar, but a single glance from Yasmeen stopped him. They all watched her being led away by the guest.
Selim Omar stood. With a flick of his hand, he dismissed Rabia. The woman bowed stiffly. It was clear she had expected to be her husband’s consort for the night, but she did not leave. She stood out of the man’s line of sight while he examined the harem. Dymphnia offered him a coquettish smile and he lingered, Sophia noted. The girl may only be sixteen, but she had worldly cunning and ambition to be more than a concubine. It was written on her face. Selim Omar dropped an open-mouthed kiss to the girl’s lips, but when he spoke it was not to her.
“You!” Selim Omar pointed to Laura. “You will join us.”
Sophia touched her cousin’s hand in comfort as she passed.
As soon as the emir’s retinue left the room, the remaining girls gathered in a huddle, expressing regret at Yasmeen’s fate of being permanently gifted to the fat man – while expressing relief at their own escape. Sophia had been witness to so many of these conversations that she couldn’t bring herself to participate in them anymore.
The women before her looked so young. Now, she was the eldest. Sophia felt her maternal instinct well up. All of them, but especially Laura, needed someone to care for them.
“Come girls,” she said, drawing their attention. “We’ll order food from the kitchen and retire.”
Eventually, worn out by their evening’s performance and their talking, they slept – all but Sophia. She was so weary even her teeth ached, but she could not sleep. She felt stretched thin, close to the breaking point, and the worrying thing was she didn’t know how much longer she could last.
Aided only by weak moonlight through the shutters, she navigated her way past sleeping bodies to the balconet window and, as quietly as she could, opened the shutters wide. The night breeze brought with it the faint scent of jasmine and gardenia from the gardens below. The casbah was quiet, being well past the midnight hour, and the harbor beyond was shrouded in a light mist.
There was a change in the air.
Chapter Forty-Three
“Remember, remember, the fifth of November.”
The whispered words, just inches away from her ear sent shivers up her spine. She recognized the voice.
She gripped the rail and forced a scream of surprise back down her throat. She took several deep breaths before answering.
“You’re three months early, Captain.”
“I’m a year too late.”
She heard his regret and turned. He remained in the shadow of the pillar to her left.
“Can I see you, or have I finally lost my mind and need to remind myself you’re a ghost, a phantom conjured from my memory?”
She heard the rustle of fabric as he swung himself to the broad ledge beyond the balconet railing, then felt the warmth of his body as he embraced her across it. The tang of orange, cedar and his own unmistakable scent made Kit Hardacre even more alive to her. Sophia rested her head against his chest to count out the heartbeats. They were real; he was real. She breathed in deep, filling her lungs with him while his arms tightened their hold on her.
It was only now she could trust herself to look into his face, a final confirmation he was alive. Lit by just a sliver of moon, the sharp planes of his face were still the same and, yet, there was something different about him. She wished she could see his eyes more clearly. They would tell her the truth about him, but the light was too dim.
“Kit, we need to move.”
Elias! The shadows refused to give up their second secret. He remained out of sight. As though he read her mind, Kit answered. “Yes, bella. Jonathan, Giorgio, Marco, we’re all here. Get Laura – we leave now.”
Sophia shook her head. “She’s not here, she’s with Selim Omar.”
She couldn’t be sure, but she thought she heard Elias’ intake of breath. Kit’s night-darkened face revealed nothing. There was a pause, and Sophia imagined him considering and discarding options. Then he asked, “How free are you and Laura to move about the palace? Can you get to the women’s infirmary on the ground floor later today?”
Sophia nodded. She reflected on Laura’s pregnancy but thought better than to mention it now. “We can find an excuse,” she said.
Regency Scandals and Scoundrels Collection Page 169