Daughter of the God-King (18 page)

The next morning dawned clear and hot as Hattie, Robbie, Bing, and Smithson prepared to cross the Nile so as to explore the Necropolis of ancient Thebes. Hafez was not in evidence and despite keeping a sharp eye, Hattie had yet to catch a glimpse of Berry this morning. In truth, she was rather surprised that Robbie had volunteered to come along; he was not one to be interested in ruins and she imagined that he would have his own mysterious errands to complete elsewhere—he also seemed rather preoccupied, now that the French visitors had made their appearance.

“The Ramesseum, or the Temple of Medinet?” asked Bing, referencing her guidebook as they strolled to the river bank. “Where should we like to start once we are across?”

“I must defer—I am afraid one ruin is very like another to me,” Smithson admitted with a small smile.

“The Ramesseum,” Robbie decided. “I mentioned to some friends we may make a tour this morning.”

“You have acquaintances among the locals?” Hattie regarded him with an amused arch to her brow, well aware that this was a fish tale—she could read him like a book. Hopefully, whatever scheme he was hatching didn’t involve yet another suitor for Bing—it was already hard enough to keep track.

“Friends who are with the British consul’s office,” he explained in a casual manner. “I met them when I was last here.”

“With your bride,” added Hattie, ruthlessly needling him.

Robbie met her gaze, a playful light in his eyes. “As a matter of fact, I did meet my bride at the British consul’s office.”

“Such high romance,” she remarked, and quirked her mouth.

“Indeed.” He then grinned in a way not at all in keeping with a bereft bridegroom.

Shaking her head in amused disapproval, Hattie resolved to get the full story from him before the outing was over—she had been distracted by other matters, otherwise she would have done so before now. How extraordinary that Robbie’s strange betrothal had slipped so much in significance, the other matters being much more compelling—to the good and otherwise.

“Are you betrothed, Mr. Tremaine? My congratulations.” The vicar offered his hand as they waited for the ferry.

Taking it, Robbie explained with a rueful smile, “I’m afraid the engagement was short-lived.” There was a pause, and Hattie had to bite her lip.

“Hard luck,” said the other. “Better luck next time.” Smithson’s gaze rested for the briefest moment on Hattie.

But I will never be a bride, thought Hattie, watching the ferry’s approach and pretending not to notice the byplay. With sad resignation, she examined this aspect of her life now that she was coming to terms with the cataclysmic news of yesterday. As a little girl, one never pinned one’s hopes on becoming a mistress, but an adjustment was now necessary, given the circumstances. Fortunately, she knew down to her bones that Berry loved her and would treat her well—hopefully till death did them part. Still, she decided not to dwell on it until she became more accustomed to the idea.

They were ferried across the river to the opposite shore with several local residents, two goats, and a thin little dog Hattie leaned down to pat, thinking of the four dogs with whom Berry didn’t argue. The man was going to be tiresome about trying to marry her—she could sense it—and he was one who did not give up easily; they were very similar in nature, the two of them. But while his dogs may not care about the circumstances of her birth, his sister certainly would and Hattie knew she must remain resolute. I wish I knew where they lived, she thought; perhaps it is in some corner of the world that has never heard of the Elban prisoner. Unfortunately, this seemed unlikely.

With a smile, Robbie leaned back on the bench and watched her with the dog. “What is my mother planning to do with Sophie’s pups?”

Hattie ceased her attentions, but the dog pushed its muzzle into her hands, insistent, and so she began to stroke it again. “It was too soon when I left; but last time she took them to church in a box and they were all claimed in short order.”

“She’d probably rather keep them, knowing Mother.”

Hattie laughed, and agreed. “But your father will be firm, being as he always complains that the place is already a menagerie.”

Robbie chuckled, and looked out over the broad river. “I will check for letters tomorrow, although the post is unreliable here. Are you homesick for England, yet?”

“I miss your family,” she replied truthfully. Henceforth she would never long for a place, only for a person.

Bending beside her to run his hand along the dog’s back, he added, “We will have to tell everyone about your sad news, unfortunately. I wish we had more to tell.”

“I sometimes wonder if we will ever find out what happened to them.” If indeed her parents had been killed for double-dealing, it seemed unlikely the dark deed would ever come to light, which—all in all—may be a good thing; one less unsavory connection to face down, and any crumb of comfort would be appreciated at this point. It was hard to believe that as late as last month she had been chafing about the sameness of her days.

“We will.” Robbie’s hand covered hers on the dog, and his voice was gentle. “We will find them, Hattie. Someone must know something.”

Hattie nodded, then casually removed her hand and sat up again. She would have to let Robbie know there was to be no future between them, although it may be an awkward conversation as she was not at all certain he saw himself as a potential suitor. Nevertheless, the conversation must take place; he-who-was-not-Daniel was a possessive man.

Once they reached the west bank, they disembarked from the vessel and hailed a cart to take them to the massive ruins on the river bank. Fortunately, at this hour in the morning there were long shadows in which to linger as they mingled with other tourists to view the mortuary temple dedicated to the god-king Ramesses. Bing served as their guide, pausing before the landmarks to recite from her guidebook as Smithson listened attentively. Hattie and Robbie were content to trail behind and soon were out of earshot as Hattie twirled her parasol to and fro out of boredom, wishing Berry were there. “I confess I am not very interested in all this.”

“I toured it last time I was here,” Robbie acknowledged. “Dashed dry stuff—once is more than enough.”

She eyed him sidelong from under the edge of her parasol. “Why, Robbie Tremaine; you were falling in love and should remember it with great fondness.”

Shaking his head at her sauce, he admitted, “I imagine you are already aware there were other forces at work.”

“Such as?”

He squinted into the distance, deciding what to say. “She held important information and our people were negotiating for it. She demanded protection, and fancied me above the other potential candidates—I never meant to marry her, of course.”

“Unfortunately, someone was not very impressed by your gallant gesture, my friend. What sort of information did she have that called for such a heroic sacrifice?”

Choosing his words carefully, he explained, “Her husband worked closely with the find, and there were concerns that—along with your poor parents—some inventory was missing. She intimated that she was aware what had happened to it.”

“I see—she was leveraging whatever information she had in exchange for protection.” Hattie turned her head to pretend an interest in the pylons while she assimilated the almost unbearable fact that Robbie knew the truth about her parents—knew and was trying to spare her. It was a sweet gesture, and greatly appreciated, but the shame was oh, so humiliating. I shall never become accustomed if I live to be a hundred, she thought, her cheeks aflame. I wonder if I can convince Berry to take up residence somewhere outside the bounds of civilization. With an effort, she kept her voice even. “Did you discover what she knew, if anything?”

“Unfortunately not,” he replied in a neutral tone. “But with any luck we can uncover the truth.”

“I hope so.” She tried to sound sincere, so as not to reveal that she would be acutely shamed by the truth.

Tilting his head back, he considered the massive ruins around them. “And then you and I will gladly put Egypt behind us and return to a more hospitable climate, devoid of dust.”

“And dull ruins,” she added.

“And dull ruins,” he seconded. “Although Miss Bing and Mr. Smithson seem very keen.” The other couple had their heads together, discussing something in the guidebook.

“Very keen,” agreed Hattie, and they exchanged a significant look in the manner of childhood playmates who could communicate without speaking. “And pray do not be inspired anew by the ruins and make an offer for Eugenie this time around—your poor mother would take to her bed.”

Making an attempt to disclaim, he met her eye, saw that she knew more than he would like, and so changed tactics. “She is a merely a means to pass the time, Hattie—for God’s sake, you should not be speaking of such things.”

Remembering her frank speech with Eugenie the night before, Hattie could only hide a smile. “I beg your pardon, Robbie; I shall say no more.”

And no more was said on the subject, as instead Robbie nodded in the direction of the central courtyard. “Here are some gentlemen from the consul’s office who seek an opportunity to speak with you.”

Hattie turned to see two men, their hands clasped behind them, strolling in their direction as though the meeting had not been pre-planned with Robbie. God in heaven, she thought in dismay; pressure is being brought to bear—a pox on Robbie for forcing me to sort out my allegiances.

Robbie took her hand in the crook of his arm in a gesture of support. “They have some questions about the missing artifacts, Hattie—I am afraid it is very important.”

It always seems to be, thought Hattie with extreme annoyance; but at least I am no longer playing blind man’s bluff.

Robbie introduced her to Mr. Drummond, a grey-haired man with a neatly trimmed beard who had the felicity to be the high commissioner for the British consulate in Luxor. “Miss Blackhouse,” he said, bowing over her hand. “Such a pleasure to meet you; I followed your parent’s endeavors very closely.”

Yes, thought Hattie, I imagine you did—and with considerable dismay. Drummond’s associate was also introduced, and for the second time in two days Hattie was surprised to behold a figure from her short-lived visit to Paris; she was certain that the quiet man who accompanied the British high commissioner was the same man who posed as a hackney driver, in league with the grey-eyed spymaster. Assessing him under her lashes, Hattie concluded that she was not mistaken—the gentleman was definitely in the same line of work as Berry. He had the same air—that of an eagle masquerading as a dove.

“Would you mind if we walked with you?”

“Certainly, sir.” She smiled in what she hoped was a manner appropriate for a concerned daughter who was unaware her parents were base traitors and the world was on the brink of exploding yet again. With Robbie beside her, the party began to walk along the outer walls of the courtyard, Bing and Smithson up ahead. Hattie no longer twirled her parasol but gripped the handle, wary.

“Terrible news about your parents,” Drummond began in the awkward, bluff manner of an Englishman who was more comfortable with action than words. “Rest assured—we are moving heaven and earth to ascertain what has happened.”

“I would that I could be of more help,” she confessed, and hoped she wouldn’t be compelled to lie outright to them—she much preferred pound dealing. But she needed to be careful—Berry didn’t trust the British, for some undisclosed reason. Neither did she, come to think of it—and they owed her a reticule.

“Of course,” Drummond acknowledged with a regretful tilt of his head. “Mr. Tremaine has mentioned that you were—unfortunately—not in your parents’ confidence.”

“No, and in fact I rarely heard from them. I understand”—she paused delicately—“that there are some concerns about missing inventory on the new site. I sincerely hope my parents were not involved in any wrongdoing.”

“It may be nothing, Hattie,” Robbie quickly assured her.

Drummond nodded in agreement. “We are carefully reviewing their last actions—or at least their last known actions—for any clues. I understand their agent—Monsieur Berry, I believe—travels with your party; has he offered any insights into their disappearance?”

So—here it was. She thought of the River Fel near the Tremaine estate, and how the spring bluebells swayed in unison when the breeze came through the lea and she concluded: I am English to the bone, come what may—even if I have not a drop of English blood in me. On the other hand, I will not betray what I know or suspect about Berry himself; not until I’ve had a chance to confer with him. “Monsieur Berry is also chagrined and wishes I had more information than I have.” I hope, she thought, that I never have to choose which allegiance is paramount.

They walked a few more paces, the men thinking over what she had told them while Hattie felt as though the disk secreted next to her skin was burning a hole in her dress.

The erstwhile hackney driver spoke for the first time, his manner deferential. “Has Mr. Hafez offered a theory concerning your parents’ disappearance? He is believed to be the last person to have seen them.” There was the slightest edge to this observation.

She met his eyes, her own widened in surprise. “I was unaware of this. Are you—are you implying—”

“The best people are conducting the investigation, Hattie, believe me.” This from Robbie, who squeezed her hand to reassure her. “But Mr. Hafez is a high official and the situation is delicate—we can’t be accusing him as though he were a criminal.”

And Berry believes Hafez is going to make a discreet exit this very day, thought Hattie, and he doesn’t seem to think it a bad idea, either. Curse
everyone
for making this so difficult; I don’t know what to reveal and what to keep secret. Hesitating, she offered, “I must say it appears unlikely that Mr. Hafez is a suspect; he seems to have been plagued by all sides on account of my parents’ disappearance.” Thinking to offer a scrap of information, she added, “Indeed, a contingent from the French embassy was putting him through his paces just yesterday.”