Journey to the Lost Tomb (Rowan and Ella Book 2) (16 page)

           
The
tiny gold cross hanging from William’s slashed and bloody throat glimmered in
the morning sun.

Chapter Twelve

The Nile, 1922

           
From
the railing of the boat where Rowan stood, he could see the bare tips of the
pyramids at Giza. When he had first arrived in 2013 Cairo, he’d been informed at
the airport that the famous structures were a mere thirty-minute taxi ride from
his hotel. But Marvel, who had visited them the day after she arrived, told him
the trip to Giza had taken two hours by car. While she said she hadn’t been in the
mood to scale the monuments many of the young people in her party had. He resolved
that he and Ella would come back one day and do the tourist thing. Because of
the 2011 revolution and resultant lack of tourists, the restrictions on
climbing the pyramids had been lifted. He would photograph her on a camel just
like she had talked about.
 

           
Marvel
stood by his side as they watched the sunset bathe the quickly receding city in
shades of gold and rose. Rowan knew he was taking advantage of her infatuation
with him, but he also knew he needed her help in reaching the Valley of the
Kings—and Ella. Traveling with Marvel and her big noisy party was the
best cover he could hope for in distracting attention from the obvious fact
that he was different from everyone else in 1922. As much as he tried, there
were just too many things about him that stuck out.
 

           
“It’s
beautiful, isn’t it?” Marvel said. She wore a long and flowing multicolor
floral robe that imitated the typical Egyptian garb. The difference was her robe
was made of the finest silk and her décolleté was embellished by a ostentatious
string of semiprecious jewels.

           
Rowan
wore khaki trousers and a long sleeve khaki shirt. The ensemble was a little
baggier than he liked, but he accepted that it was the style and he was
determined not to stick out any worse than he felt he already did. He had to
admit the outfit was comfortable and while he had initially worried about
overheating in the long sleeves, the protection from the evening mosquitoes was
worth it.

           
 
“I can’t thank you enough for allowing me
to crash your party,” he said.

He smiled as she glanced
knowingly at him. She knew and he knew that from the minute she had laid eyes
on him, she would be open to just about any kind of verb Rowan had in mind for
her party
or
her person.

           
On
the way down to the dining room, Rowan nodded to Ra, who was standing with some
of the other young Egyptians hired to work on the boat for this trip. Rowan had
employed Ra as his—as Ra called it—
dragoman.
With Marvel’s party, it would look odd not to have at
least one servant. Rowan was grateful for the lack of questions he knew Marvel was
entirely capable of hammering him with. Because he was not sure how long her
attraction to him would keep the barrage at bay—especially after they
found Ella—he was determined to do what he could, within reason, to play
the part she had chosen for him.

           
Rowan
took Marvel’s hand and tucked it under his arm as they moved downstairs. A
quick look at her face confirmed the move was a right one. She blushed briefly
and then was uncharacteristically silent as they took their seats at the dinner
table.

*
                                 
*
                                 
*
                                 
*

           
“Mr.
Spenser says it looks like suicide.”

           
Julia
spoke as she squinted into the hanging mirror in Ella’s tent and patted her
perfectly coiled coif.

           
“How
is it possible to slit your own throat?”

           
“I
know little of these things. If Mr. Spenser says so, I must accept his greater
knowledge.”

           
“He
just doesn’t want to deal with a possible murderer in our midst.”

           
“William
probably had a disagreement with another Egyptian. Mr. Spenser says we are not
to interfere with local matters.”

           
“Mr.
Spenser sounds like a moron.”

           
“I
must say, Ella, I am very afraid that the longer we stay in these primitive
conditions, the more coarse I see you becoming. You really are not behaving
like a very suitable traveling companion.”

           
“That’s
because I am
not
a traveling
companion, remember? If anything, I’m the one you hired to
off
your husband.”

           
“That
is completely untrue!”

           
“It
doesn’t worry you that William broke your husband’s nose and now William is
dead?”

           
“Are
you saying
Edward
killed William? You
are deranged to even suggest it.”

           
“I’m
saying Edward plays with some fairly sinister friends like his buddy Abdullah
there. You don’t think
Abdullah
couldn’t pull off a cold-blooded ear-to-ear in the dead of night? I think he
was
made
for that kind of thing.”

           
“Shhh!
Quiet. Someone’s outside the tent.” Julia reached over and grabbed Ella’s hand.
She squeezed it so hard that Ella nearly yelped, but she could hear the
footsteps too and so held her breath. They waited until the steps moved away.
Julia let out a long breath.

           
“Has
anyone seen Carter recently?” Ella asked. “Seems like Spenser has totally taken
over.”

           
“Mr.
Carter is busy at the dig site,” Julia said tiredly. “Domestic problems are too
menial for a man like him.”

           
“By
domestic problems
you are referring
to murder and attempted rape?”

           
“Please
don’t be melodramatic, Ella. As it happens, I have had a conversation with Edward
about…about the set-to with William in your tent.”

           
“You
did?”

           
“Yes,
he admitted to me…and I think you should give him credit for this confession,
that he made an inappropriate advance in your direction.”

           
“Oh,
is that what they’re calling attempted rape now?
An inappropriate advance
?”

           
Ignoring
her, Julia smoothed the creases in her gown. “He gave as his reason the perfectly
understandable fact that he has waited so patiently for…for our situation to
move forward.”

           
“Julia,
honey. Rape has got nothing to do with the fact that he hasn’t
had
any in awhile.”

           
“It
wasn’t
rape.”

           
“Not
thanks to your husband.”

           
“I
have, at his urging, agreed to…” She cleared her throat and flicked away invisible
dust from her dress.

           
“You’re
moving into his tent.”

           
Julia
looked at Ella with sad eyes. “I am,” she said.

           
“Did
you talk about the once-a-month schedule? Although, frankly, I wish you’d just
end the marriage and be done with it.
Why
would you want to make it work with a rapist?”

           
“We
came to no arrangements,” Julia said. “As he said, I am his wife.”

           
“I
wish you wouldn’t do this.”

           
“I
have no choice.”

           
“You
know you do.”

           
“Anyway,
it’s done. My things will be moved into his tent. When you see me in the
morning I will be married in every sense of the word.” She definitely looked
sick as she said the words.

           
At
dinner that evening, Ella sat across from Spenser and next to Julia, who sat
directly across from Digby. Carter was already working in his tent. As Ella
sliced into her rare roast beef, she willed herself to act cool and calmly. The
fact that she was having a civilized dinner with the man who nearly raped her two
nights before and who almost certainly murdered her rescuer—
and friend
—was almost unbelievable
to her.

           
What
kind of world did these people live in where women could be abused and men
killed with no consequence?

           
She
stole a glance at Julia who was chewing quietly, and looking down at her plate.
And the only reaction to the natural horrors of these crimes is denial? To say
it didn’t happen?
That’s how one deals
with injustice in 1922?
Ella looked at Digby who immediately stared back at
her. He licked his lips and gave her a wolfish grin.

           
Unbelievable.

           
“Your
beef is to your liking, Miss Stevens?” Ella looked up to see Spenser frowning
at her.
He probably saw me looking at
Digby and is afraid I’m going to start something.

           
“Yes,
it’s delicious, Mr. Spenser. Thank you.”
 

           
“And
your dinner, Lady Digby?” Spenser said to Julia.

           
“Yes,
thank you, Mr. Spenser,” Julia said without looking at him.

           
Ella
looked over Digby’s shoulder at the hulking Abdullah standing behind him.
There is a fundamental law of nature
,
she found herself thinking as she watched the Egyptian,
that there is a payoff to every set up.
That being true,
she thought as she watched him
, you’ll get yours in the end.

           
The
meal ended quietly with servants whisking away plates and thumping heavy
crystal brandy decanters onto the table. Up until Carter had become a
consistent no-show at dinner, the evening meals had been pleasant, entertaining
and always informative. Ella had found Carter’s mastery of the understatement
particularly amusing although she noticed that Julia only feigned amusement at
his
bon mots.
But now that it was
just the four of them—including the usually dull Spenser—the meal
had become something to endure and get over with.

           
Ella
stood up, prompting Digby and Spenser to stand, although the Viscount quickly
sat down again in obvious disrespect to her. “I’m off to bed,” she said. “Been
a long day.”

           
Julia
grabbed her arm. “So soon, Ella? Do you not want to play cards?”

           
“No.
I’m beat. I’m just going to take the double-barreled derringer that I found on
poor William’s murdered body and tuck in for the night.”

           
Spenser
blinked at her. “He was
armed
?” he said.

           
She
noticed that Digby’s mouth had fallen open in surprise.

           
“Confusing,
isn’t it?” Ella said. “Maybe you were right about him committing suicide
because otherwise why didn’t he just blow the bejeezus out of the person trying
to kill him? Doesn’t make any sense.” She looked directly at Digby and forced
herself to smile. “I know that’s what
I
would do if someone tried to attack
me
.
Well, goodnight, all.” Ella swept from the table and enjoyed beyond measure the
stunned silence she left in her wake.

           
There
was, of course, no derringer or any other kind of gun to prevent another attack
by Digby.

           
But
he
didn’t know that.

           
Hours
later, in the middle of a surprisingly sound sleep, Ella was bolted wide awake by
a piercing scream. Groping for the cook’s knife she had stolen and put under her
pillow, she jumped out of bed and struggled into her robe. In the silence that
followed, Ella stood in the dark tent, breathing heavily and shivering in the
chill of the night.

           
Had
she imagined it? Had she dreamt it?

           
And
then a long and agonized scream again rent the air. A scream of terror and
pain.

           
Julia.

           
Ella
was not the first to run up the gravel trail to Digby’s tent. Perhaps Spenser
wasn’t as clueless as she had assumed. Although Ella had no doubt that Digby’s
man, Abdullah, would have forcibly prevented
her
from entering the tent, he was not fool enough to stand in the
way of a white man. The American knocked him aside and entered the tent before
Julia had finished her scream. What he saw inside, Ella would not know, but she
did know that, husband or not, Digby got his nose re-broken by the big American
within seconds.