Lord Penworth, wrapped in his comfortable old brown dressing gown and seated in the comfortable armchair in the chamber he and his wife had been given, watched Lady Penworth brush out her hair. He had enjoyed this ritual for more than thirty years, and it had yet to pall. His wife’s hair was still thick and lustrous. The few gray hairs only highlighted its inky darkness. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever known. And the least docile.
“Anne, my dear…”
“Yes?” She met his eyes in the mirror.
“Now that we have come too far to turn back easily, are you going to tell me why we are all here?”
“Now, Phillip, you know that Lord Palmerston asked for your opinion on this railway proposal.”
He noticed with amusement that her eyes evaded his just as that answer evaded the question. His Anne disliked telling fibs. “Yes, I know that, and I could have told him it was a foolish idea without leaving my own fireside.”
She drew the brush rhythmically through her hair. “Well, I have been worried about Emily lately. She’s been bored.”
“Really? She seems busy enough.”
“Yes, but she has been busy with social events that do not truly interest her. Boredom can be dangerous. She needs a challenge, something new before she decides to do something drastic.”
He looked unconvinced. “If you had simply wanted to take the girls traveling, we could have gone to Paris or even Vienna. We’ve never been to Vienna.”
She put down the brush and turned around, a look of resignation on her face. “That would not have done. It would have looked as if we were running away.”
Now he was confused. “Why would anyone think Emily was running away?”
“All right. It would have looked as if Julia were running away.”
He waited.
Lady Penworth sighed. “There has been talk about Julia’s mother.”
“Lady Doncaster? The Dowager Lady Doncaster, I should say.” He smiled. “It did rather put her nose out of joint when she discovered that our Elinor had married Harry and is now the Countess of Doncaster. At any rate, I thought she was now living quietly, or at least distantly, in Naples.”
“That creature could enter a nunnery and there would still be rumors about her. But it isn’t so much what she’s doing now.” Lady Penworth wrinkled her nose in distaste. “It seems that Robby Sinclair has taken it upon himself to remind people—or at least any young men who seem inclined to pay court to Julia—of Lady Doncaster’s past indiscretions and to suggest that Julia is likely to follow in her mother’s footsteps.”
Lord Penworth remained motionless for some moments. He finally broke the silence. “I take it that Doncaster was told nothing of this either?”
“Of course not.”
“I believe I know something of the reason for this. I don’t know the details, but there was a story going around last year that young Sinclair had done something less than honorable and Doncaster called him on it. There was no open scandal, but these days there’s always a slight hesitation when Sinclair’s name comes up.”
“He was trying to get back at Harry through his sister? What a vile little wretch.”
“No doubt. But this won’t do, Anne. He can’t be allowed to get away with that.”
“Well…” Lady Penworth hesitated and a slight smile hovered.
Lord Penworth sighed. He knew his wife. “What did you do?”
“You know that Sinclair has been looking for a wealthy bride?”
He nodded. “I had heard that the Sinclair finances are not all that they should be.”
“I was speaking with Mrs. Heath-Robinson. Sinclair frequently partnered her daughter. She commented that he was such a charming young man, just like his father. I reminded her that his father had been so charming that he gave his wife the disease that killed her and that left him a drooling idiot before he died himself, and, from all reports, it appears young Sinclair is indeed following in his father’s charming footsteps.”
He drew in a swift breath. “And is all of this true?”
“Oh yes. It’s hardly the sort of thing I would make up. It’s just that Sinclair’s parents dropped out of society so long ago that people have begun to forget.”
“But now they will remember.”
“Assuredly,” she said. “Sinclair is no longer invited to the Heath-Robinson house, and Mrs. Heath-Robinson is sure to tell everyone why.”
He shook his head slowly. “Skewered with his own weapon.”
“After all, if we had told you or Harry, you would have felt obliged to thrash him or do something equally violent. There would have been a scandal and that would only have made matters worse. Now we are all on this voyage because you could not leave me behind, and I could not leave Emily and Julia unchaperoned for the season. By next season, all anyone will talk about, if they say anything, is how brave and adventurous the girls are.”
“Have I ever told you, my dear, how grateful I am to have you for my wife and not my enemy?”
“Don’t be silly, Phillip. You would never do anything dishonorable to make an enemy of me. That’s why I love you. Or at least, that is one of the many reasons.”
*
Nuran, the maid who had been assigned to Emily and Julia, had nearly finished. After helping them remove their gowns and corsets, she had folded the garments and put them into the huge wardrobe. Next she poured warm water over their hands for washing, took down their hair and brushed it thoroughly before plaiting it for the night, and finally laid out their night robes while glancing at the girls frequently to see if she was doing everything correctly. She seemed to speak very little English, if any, so they had rewarded her with smiles and nods of assurance.
When she finally left, Emily looked around the room and sighed. The brass bed looked almost identical to the one she shared with her younger sister. The dark walnut wardrobe with a looking glass between the two doors and the marble-topped washstand could be found in a thousand London houses. “How very familiar everything is. We’ve come all this distance, and the only exotic note is the head scarf Nuran wears.”
Julia laughed softly. “Did you hear Lady Bulwer complaining? She managed to insist that all the servants wear Western clothes, but they were adamant about the head scarves. If she wanted female servants, they could work only in the women’s rooms and they had to wear the head scarves.”
“The scarf does look bizarre with crinolines, doesn’t it? Why does Lady Bulwer bother, do you suppose?”
Julia shrugged. “I expect she is homesick. But Mr. Oliphant said that the sultan has been trying to modernize his empire and wants his subjects to wear Western clothes. Perhaps it’s not what she wants so much as what her husband wants.”
Mr. Oliphant? Had Julia pronounced that name in a tone that hinted at interest? Emily perked up. She was not certain, but she thought there had been slight hesitation that might signify something. She did hope so. Julia had been so sad—more than sad. She had been almost hopeless last fall, showing no interest in anyone or anything. She hid it well, however. A stranger looking at her would never have guessed that she was distressed. One had to know her well to guess that anything was wrong, and even so, Emily did not know precisely what the problem was.
Perhaps Mama had been right to insist on this trip. At least Mr. Oliphant seemed to bring a spark of interest to Julia’s eyes.
“It seems we shall have a pair of young men accompanying us on the way to Mosul. The Frenchman seems quite interesting.” Emily curled up in the middle of the feather bed—made from English feathers, she would wager—and tried to look uninterested in Julia’s response.
“Do you think so?” Julia frowned slightly. “You should be careful there. I suspect he may be an adventurer.”
“Really? That would be exciting.”
Julia frowned more sharply. “I’m sure this trip will be quite exciting enough without looking for additional dangers. Do not forget yourself and do something you will later regret.”
“What
I will regret will be returning to see the same dull people having the same dull conversations at the same dull parties and always doing precisely what is expected. Do you not tire of it all? Every young man I meet seems like every other young man I meet. They all do the same things, think the same thoughts, say the same things. They are so boring.”
“Boring? I might not use that word, but yes. There is indeed a sameness in the way they all think.”
Emily looked at her friend sharply. Julia seemed to mean more than she actually said. Emily decided to ignore that for the moment. “M. Chambertin,” she said, “seems quite different. He doesn’t even look English. Well, of course he doesn’t.” She laughed at herself. “He is French. But it is more than that. He may not be terribly good-looking, but he has a lively countenance and a ready smile. A very attractive smile. He seems to find everything amusing. Since he does not seem to be bored himself, he is unlikely to be boring. And I like the way he moves. He is rather catlike, prepared to pounce if necessary.”
“Emily…”
“Now Mr. Oliphant,” said Emily, ignoring Julia’s frown, “is quite handsome. Indeed, he is almost excessively handsome. Do you not think so?”
“His manner is perfectly gentlemanly.” Julia managed to sound slightly repressive, but there was a blush rising on her cheeks.
“Oh, perfectly gentlemanly! You mean he behaves just like a proper English gentleman. How perfectly boring! It would be a pity to come all this way and spend our time with people who are just like the ones we left behind in London.” She eyed Julia cautiously.
Julia’s head snapped up. “No. People here are not at all like those in London. There is one enormous difference. No one knows me here. And no one knows my mother.”
“Oh, Julia, darling Julia!” Emily sat up, stricken. “You cannot be serious. You worry far too much about your mother. No one who knows you at all could possibly think you are anything like her.”
Julia gave her a cynical look. “Robby Sinclair?”
She dismissed him with a wave. “You know he was just trying to retaliate on your brother. No one paid him any heed.”
“People did, of course. As you said before, they all think the same thoughts. But that is not the problem.” Julia’s mouth tightened, and she looked away. “I don’t know who my real father is.”
“Poof. That’s nothing. The same is true of half the members of society.” Emily waved her hand airily. “It’s not as if your father—the late earl, I mean—was a devoted parent whom you loved dearly. As I have heard it, you rarely saw either him or your mother.”
“You don’t understand. I am not complaining about the lack of paternal—or maternal—love. I don’t care a fig about that. I don’t even care that my mother was a notorious whore. Not really. Now that my brother has married your sister and taken over as my guardian, I need never see her again. But because I don’t know who might have fathered me, and because my mother claims that she does not know either, I cannot know who his other children may be.”
Emily realized what the real problem was. Her hands turned icy. How had she failed to consider this? How could she have been so lacking in perception that she never saw Julia’s real fear?
Julia turned to face her and gave a short, angry laugh. “You do see, don’t you? Every time I meet a young man I wonder, ‘Are you someone I could marry, or are you my brother?’ How can I know? Should I ask him if his father knew my mother? That will simply remind him of the scandals. Shall I ask, ‘By the by, do you happen to know where your father was in October 1838?’ I cannot ask, so I can never know.”
“Julia.” Emily held out a hand, and Julia grasped it.
“I will never forgive my mother. Never.”
Two
The sounds of the gentlemen returning from their formal visit to the palace drifted into the salon where the ladies were having tea. Lady Bulwer, almost completely overwhelmed by her dress of purple and yellow plaid taffeta, tilted her head to listen, and then continued to pour from an elaborate silver tea service. Two handsome young footmen in livery—purple, laced with gold—passed trays of pastries.
Utterly delectable pastries of flaky pastry with some unusual nut, dripping with honey. Emily had to force herself to wipe her fingers on her napkin, when she really wanted to lick them clean. She felt as if she were six years old again, with her nurse insisting that a lady would never lick the crumbs of icing from the plate. Being a lady had many advantages, she knew, but looking greedily at the beads of honey on her plate, she recognized some disadvantages as well.
There were pastry crumbs all over her lap, she noticed, as well as a few more drops of honey. She tried dabbing them unobtrusively with her napkin, but only smeared them. Her mother and Julia were, as usual, immaculate. She did not know how they managed to keep their crumbs from falling all over the place. Did they know some secret to selecting only well-behaved pastries?
“Well, that went quite well, I think,” declared Sir Henry, leading the way into the salon. “Abdülmecid was exceedingly gracious. He must have received good reports of you from his ambassador in London.”
“I hope so. I fear that my command of French does not equal the sultan’s.” Lord Penworth shook his head ruefully. “I trust I did not commit any insulting solecisms.”
“On the contrary,” said Chambertin cheerfully. “You make it that the sultan feels superior. There is no flattery that could be so effective.”
That produced a bark of laughter from Sir Henry. “And talk of a railway fits in nicely with his Tanzimat, the modernizing reforms he’s been trying to bring about. He’d be pleased to see a railway connection to Baghdad and Basra, especially if someone else pays for it, eh?” He rubbed his hands. “Well, now that that’s taken care of, I think we could all do with a cup of tea.”
Eventually, everyone settled down with a cup of tea. To Emily’s regret, Sir Henry dismissed the footmen with their trays of pastries. She consoled herself with the fact that M. Chambertin had immediately come to her side and requested permission to join her. Permission she gave, of course. How could she resist? He had a remarkably attractive smile. Mr. Oliphant, she noticed, did not sit beside Julia, but he did stand where he could look at her without appearing to stare. Clever.
After watching to make certain that the servants closed the door, Sir Henry turned to Emily’s father. “Shouldn’t take too long now. The grand vizier will know you have the sultan’s approval, and he’ll send over the firman with no delay.”
“Is a firman a who or a what?” asked Emily.
Sir Henry looked at her in annoyed surprise, which annoyed her in turn. Did he think she was unable to speak? Or simply too deaf to have heard him speak? She noticed M. Chambertin’s mouth twitching to suppress a grin.
“Yes,” said Lady Penworth. “What is a firman?”
Since he could not ignore Papa’s wife, Sir Henry huffed, but resigned himself to being asked questions by women and adopted a tolerant tone. “It’s an order issued by the sultan, or rather, by the grand vizier in the sultan’s name. In this case it will give you permission to travel through Mesopotamia and will require all his subjects to give you any assistance you request.”
“How very convenient,” said Lady Penworth. “Does it actually work?”
Chambertin’s grin could no longer be restrained. “It works quite well in theory. In practice…” He shrugged. “In practice, it depends on how far away the sultan’s troops are.”
“True enough,” Sir Henry said. “That’s why Oliphant here will be finding you a reliable kavass, an official courier, and he’ll make sure he has some troopers with him. That’s to make people pay attention to the firman.”
“Are you truly determined to make this trip, Lady Penworth?” Lady Bulwer frowned and pursed her lips in distress. “We could make you quite comfortable here at the embassy, and you can avoid almost all contact with those nasty natives. One can go for weeks without seeing any of them. Except for the servants, of course.”
; “Thank you, but I have no desire to avoid the inhabitants of a country where I am a visitor.”
Lady Bulwer did not seem to notice the icy tone of her guest’s voice and continued. “The Turks are bad enough, but on your journey you will be forced to deal with Arabs. They are utter barbarians, all of them—dirty, filthy, and completely untrustworthy. You can never believe a word they say, even if you can find one who speaks English. And to expose innocent young ladies like your daughter and Lady Julia to such creatures—I can’t believe you have truly considered how distressing it will be.”
There was an awkward silence, broken when Mr. Oliphant carefully put down his cup. “You will excuse me,” he said, and walked stiffly from the room.
The door had scarcely closed behind him when Sir Henry turned on his wife and burst out, “Blast it, Matilda, can you never learn to keep your fool mouth closed? He’s a damned useful fellow, and we need him.”
Shaken by this attack, she lifted a hand to her mouth. “I didn’t mean… I forgot…”
The visitors all looked confused. Chambertin leaned over and murmured to Emily, “Oliphant’s mother is an Arab. I must go to him.”
*
Oliphant was staring out the window when Lucien came into his room. It was a quintessentially English room, Lucien thought. Tortoiseshell brushes on the dressing table, Dickens novels on a shelf—David Copperfield and Bleak House—and On the Origin of Species beside the bed. Nothing out of place, everything in shades of brown, a hard chair by the writing table, and doubtless cold water in the pitcher of washing water. A typical room offered by the British embassy to its British employees and to visitors. Ugly and uncomfortable. He was grateful that he was staying at the French embassy, where one could expect a reasonable level of elegance.
I will never understand the English. When discomfort cannot be avoided, one must bear it. But to deliberately seek it? Idiocy.
“Enough, mon ami. There is no need to enact a tragedy. We all know that Lady Bulwer is a narrow-minded idiot. Even her husband knows this is so. No one pays her any heed.”
“I am not ashamed of my parentage…” He swung around angrily at Lucien’s snort of disbelief. “I am not! But I do not wish it to be sneered about by that old…”
Lady Emily's Exotic Journey Page 2