It would take ten days, she calculated, for the letter to reach Celia and for her requested escort to arrive. When Linah informed her that Papa was gone, and would be away for at least three nights, she should have been relieved, but was contrarily first offended that he had left without taking his leave of her, then simply hurt and very lonely. She missed him as if he had become part of her. His absence was like a permanent ache that served to emphasise the need to leave this place, for the more she had to endure his presence, the harder would their parting be. But part they must. And she must find the strength to get herself through the next ten days without betraying herself.
Tears, which had come so easily to her in the past, now refused to flow. Her grief was too great for such gratuitous expression; the devastation she was enduring at the destruction of her world was too fundamental a pain to articulate with extravagant gestures. The dramatic and flamboyant Cassie of old would not recognise this quiet, withdrawn and unutterably sad creature.
She endured. For Linah’s sake, she even managed to put on a brave face. Though her smile felt rigid, and every movement was an effort, she managed it—or thought she did. She smiled and shook her head dismissively when Linah asked what was wrong. Then she claimed a headache. Then Linah stopped asking, and took to staring at her in a disconcertingly worried way, holding her hand tightly. She did not like to let Cassie out of her sight.
That, too, Cassie endured. At times she felt as if she were watching herself in a play. She wanted to scream at the fates for the unfairness of it all. Why could not Jamil love her? Why not? Why not? Tears would have been a relief then, but still they did not come. She felt as if she were hewn from stone.
What did arrive, unexpectedly, was Celia. While Cassie was sitting in the courtyard staring absently into space, the heavy door was flung open to reveal the familiar figure of her beloved sister.
‘Celia! Oh, Celia, I can’t tell you how good it is to see you,’ Cassie said, throwing herself with relief into her sister’s arms. ‘But how do you come to be here so quickly? I only despatched my note the other day. And Mr Finchley-Burke,’ she exclaimed, catching a glimpse of Peregrine, hovering uneasily in the background. ‘Quite a delegation!’
Peregrine stepped forwards and made an elegant bow. ‘Lady Cassandra. Pleasure to see you again.’
‘Are you here in some official capacity? Is something wrong? Have you a message from home? One of my sisters? Oh goodness, is it Papa?’
‘No, no, do not be alarmed,’ Celia said, ‘it is nothing like that.’
‘Then what—oh, I beg your pardon, I am being most remiss, you will be wanting tea after your journey. Won’t you come and sit down?’
With resignation, Peregrine followed the two sisters over to the ubiquitous heaps of cushions, lowering himself down carefully. While Cassie poured tea, and Celia took covert note of the dark shadows under her sister’s eyes, Peregrine prayed for guidance. Warring tribes and broken treaties were one thing, but affairs of the heart and young lady’s delicate sensibilities were quite another. A specialised field, in his experience. A field he had become bogged down in before. He need not have worried, as it turned out. His plea for divine intervention seemed to have been answered.
‘I am so glad you have come, Celia,’ Cassie said, ignoring her own tea, ‘I wish to leave here as soon as possible.’
‘Leave!’ Celia exclaimed in surprise. ‘But I thought you were so happy here?’
‘Leave!’ Peregrine exclaimed in relief, ‘Excellent news. Capital!’ He was suddenly aware of two pairs of Armstrong eyes viewing him with disapproval. ‘Obviously hope there’s nothing wrong. Didn’t mean to imply—simply meant I’d be delighted to help in any way. Get you home, that is.’
Cassie addressed her sister. ‘I was happy. Very happy.’ Her voice trembled, but she took a quick breath, and straightened her shoulders. ‘I just—things have become complicated—I just need to leave.’
Peregrine clapped his hands together. ‘Righty-ho. What say we just turn the caravan around immediately? Camels will barely be in the stables. If I just pop round now,’ he said, creaking to his feet, ‘we can be on our way in jig-time.’
‘No, wait. I can’t go today.’
‘Nonsense. Best not to put it off,’ Peregrine said with an encouraging smile.
‘I can’t. I have to say goodbye to Linah properly. Tomorrow, maybe, or…’ The next day. When Jamil might be back.
‘Tomorrow’s not looking so good,’ Peregrine said, dismayed by the sudden indecision in Lady Cassandra’s voice. ‘Storms forecast apparently,’ he said, quite untruthfully. ‘Best to go now.’
Seeing that her sister was in the grip of strong emotion, Celia put an arm around her. ‘Tomorrow will be soon enough,’ she said firmly to Peregrine, ‘but there is nothing stopping you leaving today and returning to Cairo. After all, your mission would appear to be successfully completed without any need for your intervention.’
Cassie gave herself a little shake and freed herself from Celia’s embrace. ‘Mission? Precisely why are you here, Mr Finchley-Burke?’ she asked.
Faced with piercing eyes every bit as blue as he remembered, and a figure every bit as luscious and distracting, too, Peregrine felt his eloquence desert him. ‘I—your father, that is—worried about your safety, you know,’ he spluttered. ‘Thought you’d be keen to get back to England—enough of the heat and the flies and what not,’ he added, shuffling his feet.
‘As it happens, I do want to leave Arabia,’ Cassie told him with a wobbly smile, ‘though how my father…’
‘Oh, you know Lord Armstrong,’ Peregrine told her bracingly, ‘always one step ahead, always knows what’s best.’
‘Cassie? Are you sure you really want to go back to England?’ Celia said.
Cassie nodded. ‘I must.’
Peregrine rubbed his hands together and began to shuffle backwards towards the courtyard door. ‘So, in that case I’ll be off then, back to Cairo. Secure you a place on a ship. Or I could stay and escort you, if you wish.’
‘No. Really, Mr Finchley-Burke,’ Celia interposed, ‘my husband will wish to make those arrangements personally.’
Peregrine had reached the doorway now and made a bow from the safety of the other side. ‘As you wish, happy to oblige. Lovely to see you again, Lady Cassandra. Your humble servant, Lady Celia. If I can’t be of any further service then? No. Right. Well. I’ll bid you adieu.’ With a final flourish of his hat, Peregrine Finchley-Burke concluded his visit to Daar. An hour later, anxious to be off before either Armstrong sister could dream up another commission for him, he was seen heading out into the desert with only a guide, a mule and a camel for company.
‘How very strange that Papa should have sent for me at this time,’ Cassie said to her sister, back in the Scheherazade courtyard. ‘I suppose I should not be surprised; he never wanted me to out come here in the first place.’
‘And I thought you did not want to leave,’ Celia said. ‘Your letters have been so full of Linah this and Linah that. Where is she, anyway?’
‘Visiting friends. She is permitted to do so once a week now.’ In the excitement of Celia’s unexpected arrival, and the need to preserve face in front of Mr Finchley-Burke, Cassie’s woes had retreated to the back of her mind, but now they returned to her with full force. ‘I sent you a note,’ she said, slumping back down on to the cushions by the fountain. ‘You obviously haven’t got it yet. I’m so glad you’re here, anyway.’
‘No.’ Now that they were alone, Celia took the opportunity to look more closely at her sister. It was not just the dark shadows, but the lack of animation in her beloved sister’s face that worried her. Cassie’s eyes were dull, her attention seemed to be turned inward. When she smiled, as she was trying to do now, it looked more like a grimace. Something had hurt her; her misery was obvious in the tense way she was holding herself. But to hold a tight rein on her emotions—that wasn’t like Cassie. Nor was the distinct lack of tears. Her sister was being mo
st un-Cassandra-like, Celia noted with growing alarm. ‘What is it, dearest? Tell me what on earth has been going on. And no shilly-shallying, if you please, I want the truth.’
Under her sister’s concerned gaze, Cassie’s throat clogged. She shook her head, avoiding eye contact. ‘I can’t. You will think I’m so foolish. And you’re right, Celia, I am.’
‘Please, Cassie, tell me what’s wrong. I can’t bear to see you like this. You look as if someone has died.’
Cassie’s chin wobbled. ‘Not someone, but something. Crushed to death. I love him so much, Celia.’
‘Love him? Who?’
‘Jamil. Prince Jamil. I am in love with him.’ Her confession came out in a rush.
‘Oh, dear.’
Her fingers plucked feverishly at the embroidery on one of the satin cushions. It was almost a relief to say it. ‘I know. I know. I know. And he wants to marry me, and he’s so angry that I said no, and now he’s gone away and he hates me. He hates me, Celia, and I love him so much.’
‘Marry you!’
‘It was the most awful thing. He sounded like Papa, and he said it would be a pleasant duty for him to produce an heir, and he said that his betrothal to the Princess Adira didn’t matter, and…’
‘He is already betrothed!’
‘Not any more. He’s off breaking the news to her family at the moment. And now he won’t have anyone to give him an heir. And I don’t want anyone else to give him an heir. Except I don’t want him to be alone either.’ Cassie gave a hysterical little laugh. ‘Oh, Celia, it’s hopeless, all of it. I must get away from here, you see that, don’t you? I can’t see him again, but I can’t bear the thought of never seeing him again. I can’t. I just can’t. Please, please, please, just take me away.’
At this point, Cassandra would normally have thrown herself on to her sister’s shoulder and sobbed, but she did not. Cassie simply resumed her frantic plucking, unravelling a beautiful fringe of emerald-and-gold passementerie, winding the strands around and around her fingers, rocking back and forth, staring off into space with an expression of misery on her face that Celia had not seen since their mother died. Then, Cassie had not cried either. With a sense of foreboding, Celia began patiently to extract the story. From the things Cassie left out, together with her own experience of just how very seductive the desert and its princes could be, she surmised with some accuracy the full extent of Cassie’s indiscretions. She could not blame her, having been just as indiscreet herself when first she met Ramiz, but nor could she see a way out of the tangle. Nothing Cassie said gave her the slightest hope that Prince Jamil loved her. And on this matter the sisters were in complete accord. Without love, Cassie could not—should not—marry.
‘So you’ll take me away from here?’ Cassie said, looking at the carnage she had wreaked on the cushion with some surprise. ‘Tomorrow. Only I must stay to see Linah first. She will be so upset; we have become very close. My only consolation is that I have done some good there. Jamil—Jamil—he loves his daughter, and she loves him.’
‘Then you have indeed done some good, and should be proud of yourself,’ Celia said bracingly. ‘Tomorrow, then, we’ll start back to Balyrma. If you’re sure.’
White-faced but determined, Cassie nodded.
But Linah took the news very badly indeed, and Cassie’s self-control was tested to the limit. The child was distraught, blaming herself, pleading with her governess to stay, promising never to misbehave again. Touched to the core by this evidence of her affection, Cassie was overwhelmed with guilt.
Broken-hearted, Linah begged for one final outing on horseback together. Desperate to make amends, Cassie agreed. But when they arrived at the stables the next morning as dawn was breaking, they discovered that Jamil’s groom, who always accompanied them when he was not able to do so himself, was smitten by a fever. Linah’s disappointment knew no bounds. Cassie was powerless against her frantic pleas. Though she knew it was forbidden, she decided just this once to take Linah out alone.
They set out at a slow trot through the city, out of the gates and into the desert, taking the familiar route to the Maldissi Oasis, where they stopped for a refreshing drink of water. The sun was rising in the azure-blue sky. They sat in the shade of a cluster of palm trees and sipped from a goatskin flask, dangling their bare feet in the shallows of the pool.
Anxious not to be away too long from the palace, Cassie put her stockings and boots back on, and helped Linah into the saddle, but the little girl wasn’t ready for her treat to end and begged that they go on just a little bit, that they have a race. Cassie agreed, unwilling to deny Linah on this their last ever day together. They set off, Cassie giving Linah a head start.
Spurring her pony into a gallop, the little girl headed due east, directly into the sun. Cassie’s stirrup had come loose. She took some time to adjust it, and by the time she was back in the saddle, Linah was lost in the dazzle of the sunlight. A knot formed in Cassie’s stomach. She should not have let her out of her sight. Pulling on the reins, she set off towards the speck in the distance that must be her charge. How had the child got so far so quickly? Urging her grey mare into a gallop, Cassie called her name, but Linah either ignored her, or her voice was lost in the wind. She called again, and saw the speck slow. Relieved, she began to do the same.
She was only two hundred yards from Linah when three men on camels appeared from behind an outcrop of ochre rock directly into their path. The child pulled her pony up so quickly she tumbled off, and Cassie gave a cry of dismay. Leaping down from the mare almost before she came to a halt, she gathered Linah to her, relieved to find her dazed and bruised, but with no broken bones.
‘Thank you,’ she said to the nearest man, who had a hold of the pony’s reins, but when she made to take them from him, he growled and snatched them back, spitting an oath. The pony shuffled nervously in the sand. Linah shrank against her side. Cassie looked from one man to the other, noting the ragged clothing, the straggling beards, the hungry look in their eyes beneath their red-and-white chequered head dresses. Brigands.
Fear ran like an icy river down her spine, but she knew better than to show it. Cassie cast the man holding the reins a haughty look. He had a vicious scar running from his ear down to his neck. ‘Thank you for your kind help,’ she said again, holding out her hand imperiously. ‘I will take these now.’
The man growled something incomprehensible. Linah whimpered and huddled into Cassie’s skirts. Cassie’s mare was some fifty yards away now, for she had let her go in her rush to get to Linah. She surveyed the motley group. The other two men were watching the one with the scar, obviously taking their cue from him. Each man wore an unsheathed scimitar tied around his waist. She had no weapon but surprise.
Without giving herself time to think, Cassie made to snatch the pony’s reins. The scarred man leapt from his camel, pulled a dagger from behind his back and grabbed her. She did not know whether they meant to rob or murder her; her only thought was to get Linah to safety. As the thin point of the blade made contact with her neck, Cassie dealt him a vicious kick on the shins. He yelped and dropped the reins.
‘Run, Linah, run,’ Cassie screamed, pushing the little girl towards her pony, grabbing the man’s belt and digging her heels in to prevent him from giving chase, at the same time sinking her teeth into the hand that held the knife. The scarred man howled, his two henchmen dismounting in order to come to his aid, were already on the sand when Linah scrabbled into her saddle and spurred her pony into a wild gallop. As Cassie kicked and bit and threw sand indiscriminately at each of the men, she caught a glimpse of Linah’s terrified face looking over her shoulder. ‘Ride!’ she screamed. Then a vicious blow to her temple from the hilt of a scimitar knocked her unconscious to the sand.
She awoke to darkness and agony. Her mouth was dry; it felt as if it had been washed out with sand. Her head was a ball of fire, centred on her right temple. She tried to sit up. White light blazed, a searing pain, and she lost consciousness. Some ti
me later, she came to again and this time lay completely still, trying to assess the situation The ache was now a dull throb. Her mouth was almost glued shut with thirst. She was lying on her back in the sand, in what appeared to be a cave. She wriggled her toes, then tried to move her feet, only to find them bound. Her arms, too, were tied at the wrists and bound to a stake in the ground. She had only a groggy memory of how she had come to be here.
‘Linah?’ Her voice was the merest croak, echoing eerily into the darkness. No reply. ‘Linah,’ Cassie said again. Nothing. Good, she had escaped. Or else she was being held separately. Or else—no, no, don’t think that.
Time passed. She had no idea how long. She lay fitfully between sleeping and waking, waiting, trying not to wonder, for to wonder was to panic. Linah had escaped. She would fetch Jamil. No, Jamil was not there. She would fetch Halim. Not there either, he was with Jamil. The guards then. Or—or Peregrine Finchley-Burke. Light-headed with dehydration, Cassie giggled as she tried to picture apple-shaped Peregrine riding to her rescue. He would not get even as far as the Maldissi Oasis. And even if he did, how would he know where to look next? He did not know the desert. Besides, he was probably halfway to Cairo by now. Only Jamil knew this desert well enough. And Jamil probably didn’t care. And even if he did, he wasn’t there. And…
Tears rolled down Cassie’s cheek. She could taste them, salty and hot on her tongue. They made her even thirstier. What would she rather die of—thirst or whatever the brigands had planned for her? A thousand cuts? Were they going to stake her out in the heat of the sun and leave her to the predators? Or maybe they would first ravish her. Maybe they intended not death, but life as some sort of slave. She recalled the hungry look in their eyes and shivered so hard her bonds dug into her wrists. If only she had not read all of those tales in One Thousand and One Nights. To think that she used to believe them romantic, even the most bloodthirsty. She did not want to die like a heroine. She had a sneaking suspicion that she was not going to make any real sort of heroine anyway. A real one would surely have found some way of freeing herself by now.
The Governess and the Sheikh Page 20