No Brighter Dream: The Pascal Trilogy - Book 3 (10 page)

“Of course she does. I’m only saying that she needs more time. Why can’t you write ahead and ask your godparents to look into the matter of her relatives before you send her all the way to England?”

“No. In this case the element of surprise works well. Nicholas and Georgia aren’t likely to refuse her once she’s on the doorstep.”

“That seems a little unfair to me,” Joseph-Jean said. “They’re not exactly in the first bloom of youth.”

“I can’t see what difference that makes. They like taking in strays.”

Joseph-Jean skirted that issue, which Andre knew he would, since they both knew Andre was referring to the matter of his father’s adoption.

“I only wish you’d be reasonable,” Joseph-Jean said with frustration.

“That is precisely what I’m being. Ali has been away from home too long as it is. If she needs brushing up, Nicholas and Georgia can see to it before they send her off.”

“Brushing up?”
Joseph-Jean said, staring at Andre incredulously. “The girl can barely speak English!”

“Only because she’s too damned stubborn. She had four years of it, so it must be in her head somewhere, just as I suspect French was in her head. Look how quickly she learned that when she wanted to.”

“That was different. She didn’t have to depend on it.”

“Exactly. Ali will learn English in no time, once she realizes it’s the only way to get food in her mouth. Don’t worry, Jo-Jean. Frederick Lacey was a linguist, and Ali’s obviously inherited his talent. She’ll be fine.”

Joseph-Jean shook his head in disgust. “I’m sorry, but I think what you’re doing is unspeakably cruel. I hope you don’t later regret it.”

“Why should I regret it?” Andre said. “I’m doing her a favor. Now if you don’t mind, I need to finish this letter.” He waved his hand at Jo-Jean in dismissal. “See to the seamstress, will you? And tell Ali she’s not to give the woman any trouble.”

Joseph-Jean picked up the packages. “As if she’s going to listen. Lord, between the two of you my life is a living hell at the moment.”

“My sentiments exactly,” Andre said, glowering.

“You know, the worst thing is that I’m going to miss Ali nearly as much as you are,” Joseph-Jean said, yanking the door open. “But at least I’m prepared to admit it.” He slammed it behind him.

“Damnation!” Andre cried in complete frustration. He walked back to the window and pressed his hands on the frame, leaning his forehead against the cool pane.

“If you realize that, my clever friend,” he whispered hoarsely, “then why can’t you bloody well understand why I’m getting her out of here as quickly as possible?”

Ali stood motionless in the middle of her room, waiting for the summons that would take her away from everything and everyone she loved. Handray was casting her off, sending her back to a country he didn’t even like himself. He was really going to go through with his cold-blooded plan with not a thought to what she might wish.

She steeled herself against the feelings of helplessness and misery that had threatened to overwhelm her for days. No matter how much she had argued, had cried, had pleaded, it had done no good against his implacable will. He was washing his hands of her, all because she’d had the bad fortune to be born female and English.

The dreaded knock finally came. She forced herself to cross the room and wrapped her fingers around the door handle, turning it as slowly as possible as if to delay the inevitable.

Andre stood there. She lifted her gaze to his familiar, beloved face, hoping to see some sign of a reprieve. But his expression was unreadable, his eyes the color of steel, which meant he had locked his feelings away. Ali’s gaze dropped to the floor, her eyes stinging with tears.

“It’s time, Ali,” he said. “The ship awaits.”

Ali avoided his eyes. “I expect you wish me to walk out now without a fuss, like a proper English girl.” Her arms hung limply at her sides, the bulk of her unaccustomed skirts awkward to her after a lifetime of freedom in baggy trousers and overtunics. She felt ugly and stupid and very, very frightened.

“That’s precisely what I expect. After all, that is what you are. Please, let us avoid another scene?”

She turned away.

“You’ll be fine,” Andre said. “As I told you, the journey should take no more than two weeks if the weather holds. England is beautiful in the autumn.”

Ali spun around, her eyes flashing. “Do you think I care what England looks like? Do you think I care about any of the arrangements you have made? They are your arrangements, not mine.” She bit back a sob, refusing to let him see how hurt she was. “If I were a Xanthian I’d bum myself rather than submit to your will!”

“But you’re not a Xanthian,” Andre said with infuriating calm. “You are the daughter of Sir Frederick Lacey, and you are going home to where you belong. Just think how it will be to have a family of your very own.”

“My families do not seem to want me,” she said tightly. “First my uncle sold me for three gold pieces, and now you are selling me for the price of a ship’s ticket.”

“Ali—” Andre took one step forward and then stopped abruptly. “It’s time.”

“Will your heart always be so cold?” she said, her voice breaking. “Oh, Handray, I hope not. This is not how Allah meant you to be.”

“That’s enough,” he said tersely, but she saw that she had made her point from the sudden pain that marked his face.

“You are right,” she replied. “It is enough. There is nothing left to say.” She picked up the small bag that held her most precious possessions—her father’s Bible, the map Handray had made her and the string of blue beads he’d bought her in the marketplace, and a little wooden tortoise that Umar had carved and given her as a farewell present.

“I am ready.” She walked out of the room, her head held high.

Joseph-Jean waited for them at the blustery pier, his fair hair blowing about in the wind. He looked so sad, she thought, her chest tightening with the grief of parting.

“Ali,” he said gently, taking her cold hands, his eyes filled with compassion. “I will miss you greatly.”

“I will miss you too,” she said, her voice choked.

“Don’t be afraid. All will be well.”

Ali reached up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for all your kindnesses, Jojan. Look after Handray for me?”

“You know I will.”

“Will I ever see you again? Will I ever see Handray again?” She barely managed to get the words out.

“I honestly don’t know, Ali,” he said very softly. “I doubt it. It’s best if you settle into your new life with your new family and forget about us.” He squeezed her hands. “But know we will always remember you. Thank you for everything you have given us these last few months.”

Ali nodded, tears brimming over and running down her cheeks. She wiped them away before turning to Andre.

Her skirts whipped in the wind, stinging at her legs. She held out her hand. “Good-bye.”

There seemed nothing else to say, nothing that would have been right.

“Have a safe journey.” He took her hand and held it between both of his own for a long moment, then released it. “Good-bye, Ali.” He looked away.

Her heart hurting so badly she thought it might rupture, Ali turned to face the ship. She took a deep breath and walked up the gangplank where the fat Herringer woman waited for her, making disgusting clucking noises while her pudgy hand patted her shoulder.

The ropes were loosed and the ship’s horn sounded loud and hollow as it started to chug away from the pier.

Ali watched as the gap of water widened between herself and the pier where her beloved master still stood, Jojan by his side. In a fit of panic she ripped violently away from the horrible Herringer’s restraining grip and tore to the railing.

“Even though you send me away,” she cried, “I will always belong to you, Handray Banesbury. Allah has ordained this!”

Her last memory of Andre, burned against the backdrop of the white houses of ancient Smyrna, was the sight of his stricken face as her words reached him through the howling of the wind.

T
he moment that land disappeared, Mrs. Herringer’s solicitous clucking turned into harsh scolding. “Get below to your cabin and stay there, you nasty little savage,” she said, moving away from Ali. “You are not fit to be around decent people.”

Ali’s face fell at the sudden change of tone, the disgust on Mrs. Herringer’s face. “I—I do not understand,” she said.

Mrs. Herringer gave Ali’s shoulder a push. “Go on with you. I’m a good Christian woman and I’ll not associate with dirty foreign doxies, no I won’t. The nerve of the man! And dressing you up like this—it’s disgusting, that’s what it is.”

Ali didn’t need much English to tell that it was going to be a terrible journey.

She was right. Mrs. Herringer did nothing but call her unfathomable names and insist that she stay confined to her cabin, even taking her meals there as if she weren’t fit for human company.

But fortunately the sea began to pitch as they traveled north, and Mrs. Herringer became intermittently seasick as did the other passengers on board. Ali took advantage of their weak stomachs to sneak out on deck.

It took her no time to find an ally in Caleb, the Turkish deckhand, who at least was disposed to be kind to her.
He
didn’t think her a dirty little savage. He was sympathetic to her plight.

Three interminable weeks later the packet finally pulled into the port of Southampton. Ali came up onto the drenched deck, the salt spray stinging at her face, determined to see just how awful England was. A thick yellow fog lay over everything, obscuring buildings and streets. The air felt cold and damp and smelled of must and the smoke that curled up from chimneys into a heavy gray sky.

“What do you think of your new country, young Ali?” Caleb came up beside her and folded his arms across his chest, looking out onto the streets of Southampton.

“It is very ugly,” she said.

“Yes,” he agreed. “No brilliant blue sky, no nice bright sun, not a single camel to be found.” He grinned at her, his teeth gleaming beneath his mustache.

“It is no time to make jokes,” she said miserably. “I have to live here. You can go back home.”

“Yes,” he said sympathetically. “It is true. I do not envy you the fate Allah has delivered you into.”

“I think He is very cross that I was born an infidel,” she said. “This is His punishment—to separate me from my beloved master and the country of my heart for all time.”

“Yes, it is a true misfortune,” Caleb said sadly.

Ali saw her fat companion struggling across the deck, pasty-faced, but still managing to shout and wave to her.

“Oh, no—here comes the horrible Herringer,” she said. “I must go.” She quickly took Caleb’s hand. “Thank you for being a good friend to me. I commend you to Allah,” she said in the traditional farewell.

“Go with a smile,” he replied, completing the phrase. “And good luck.”

“If Allah be willing,” she said, pulling her cloak more tightly around her and starting down the gangplank after Mrs. Herringer.

Even the noise of the streets was ugly, a constant low rumble instead of the sharp cacophony of shouts and staccato exchanges she was accustomed to. Her head turned constantly trying to take in all the strange sights and sounds.

A carriage clattered past, the horses wearing odd patches on the sides of their eyes. Ali turned to watch it go by—she’d never seen horses tied up in such a fashion.

“Come along, girl, come along. The sooner I’m rid of you the better.” Mrs. Herringer grabbed her by the arm and pulled her across the street where the porter waited with their luggage. The next thing Ali knew she was sitting inside one of these enclosed conveyances, barreling away from the city.

Mrs. Herringer sat as far away from her as she could get, behaving as if she were afraid she was going to catch a disease. If Ali had had one, she’d gladly have given it to her.

Instead, she turned her attention to the outside and watched the countryside pass. Of all the things she saw, the trees most astonished her. They were multicolored, shades of red and yellow and orange, and some were without leaves altogether. She imagined they had died of the cold, poor things. She would probably die of the cold too. It was no wonder that Englishwomen were cold fish. Their blood probably ran like ice water in their veins to match the climate.

She closed her eyes and thought of the valley of Xanthos, of high green mountains and the warm turquoise sea, of lush pastures and markets overflowing with produce and colorful carpets hanging on every wall.

And she thought about her master and Jojan, imagined sitting around the fire after dinner, listening to them converse in their comfortable, easy fashion, their hands busy with one thing or another.

Ali felt her shoulder being shaken hard and Mrs. Herringer’s voice grated in her ear. “Wake up, you lazy girl. You’ve been sleeping for hours. We have arrived.”

Ali sat up straight and shoved her knuckles into her eyes. She blinked and tried to orient herself. She certainly wasn’t in Turkey.

On the other side of the carriage window was the largest house she had ever seen, built all of stone with hundreds upon hundreds of glass windows and a great many doors. It was the castle of a great lord, she was sure of it.

“Stop gawking and come out,” Mrs. Herringer said in her grating voice.

Ali, who by now knew every nasty expression the Herringer possessed, climbed out of the carriage, staring at the man dressed in white stockings and skinny blue and gold
chalvars
with a matching coat.

Mrs. Herringer impatiently took her by the arm and dragged her along to the massive front door, which was opened by another man, older, this one dressed mostly in black.

“Mrs. Archibald Herringer to see Lord or Lady Raven on behalf of Lord Banesbury,” she announced, handing him a card. “It is a matter of the utmost urgency.”

The man disappeared, then reappeared within moments. Ali hung back as Mrs. Herringer marched through the door, but then the woman turned around and grabbed Ali’s arm again, tugging her across a great hall laid in marble and down a wide corridor covered with lush carpeting.

Another door opened into a large room where a fire burned in a big fireplace. Standing by the window was a pretty woman, older, but her hair still fair, and her eyes a bright blue.

“I am Lady Raven,” she said, coming forward, her expression puzzled. “What urgent business do you come on regarding Lord Banesbury?”

Mrs. Herringer held out an envelope. “He has sent you this letter along with the girl,” she said, sniffing. “I am sure I do not know what wicked business he has importing a Turkish savage to England, but here she is. I have done my job, my lady, and I wash my hands of her. I only hope for your sake that she is not with child.”

Ali looked back and forth between them, wishing she could understand. From the expression on Lady Raven’s face, she was mightily displeased. Ali’s heart fell. Did she think her a dirty little savage too?

Lady Raven frowned again. “If you will allow me to read Lord Banesbury’s missive, I am sure I will understand better.” She tore open the envelope, and quickly scanned the pages, twice looking up at Ali and then returning to reading.

Ali shifted nervously, wondering what Handray had written.

“I see,” Lady Raven said, folding the letter and replacing it in the envelope. “Well, Mrs. Herringer. You have done your job, although from your comments and the manner in which you pulled the girl in here, you have clearly not behaved toward her as Lord Banesbury intended.”

“You surely would not expect me to treat his heathen whore as if she were respectable?”

Ali watched as Lady Raven walked over to the wall and pulled the bell rope. A moment later the door opened. “My lady?”

“James, you will please escort Mrs. Herringer off the premises immediately.” She turned to Mrs. Herringer, her eyes snapping with anger. “It is a very lucky thing for you that the child does not understand English. It is also fortunate for you that Lord Banesbury is an ocean and two seas away, for I can assure you that your life would not be worth much if he heard your comments. Good day, Mrs. Herringer.”

“Well!” Mrs. Herringer said, sniffing indignantly. “Well!” She stalked out without giving Ali another look, her nose in the air.

Ali was delighted to see her go.

Lady Raven waited until the door shut behind James. Then she turned and smiled at Ali. “There’s no need to be frightened,” she said gently, taking Ali’s hands and drawing her over to the sofa. “Sit here with me, Alexis. My name is Georgia, and you’re going to be staying with us for a time.”

Ali’s face lit up at the familiar words. “You—you speak French!” She couldn’t believe it.

Georgia laughed, a lovely throaty sound. “Did you think Andre would send you to people you couldn’t understand? He wouldn’t be so thoughtless. He explained everything in his letter, all about your poor father’s death, and how he found you, and how nicely you looked after him and Joseph-Jean.”

“He did?” Ali said suspiciously. “I thought he did not want anyone to know about that.”

“I don’t think he thought it wise to speak to people outside of the family about it, no. But only to protect you.”

“To protect me from what?” Ali asked in confusion.

“From the sort of silly ideas people might get, people like Mrs. Herringer, for example. I can imagine the last few weeks have been very trying, especially having to deal with that awful woman. Never mind, she’s gone now, and you won’t have to see her ever again.”

Ali sighed with relief. “Praise be to Allah. She was truly horrible.”

“Yes, so I gathered. I don’t know what Andre could have been thinking to send you away with her.”

“Handray thought she would be nice to me,” Ali said loyally. “He did not know she would change once we had left Turkey.”

Georgia nodded. “People can be deceiving. But it’s all over and you are here. I must say, this is a surprise.”

“What is to become of me now?” Ali asked, twisting the material of her cloak in her fingers. It was a question that weighed heavily on her mind.

“Well … I think the first thing to do is to get you settled in here. And then we will do everything we can to sort things out and to find your family.”

“But how?” Ali asked, even more deeply confused. “And what happens if these people Handray calls my family do not want me?”

“Why don’t we take things one at a time? I imagine you are tired and hungry, and you would probably like to go to your room. Maybe a hot bath would be nice, and then a little supper on a tray?”

Ali nodded, wanting to cry. It was almost more difficult being treated with kindness than with cruelty. “I would like that,” she said, blinking back tears. Suddenly she felt unaccountably exhausted. “I am sorry. It is all very new.”

“Of course it is. I am sure I should feel the same way if I had just arrived in your country.”

Ali nodded. “Yes,” she said solemnly. “It would be very different for you. But at least my country is warm and beautiful.”

“You must tell us all about it. Tomorrow, perhaps, when you’re rested. And of course, you must tell us all about Andre. We have heard very little about him these last few years.” She took Ali’s hand. “Come, Alexis. Let me show you to your room.”

Ali followed, so overwhelmed that it all passed in a blur.

“Nicholas, it is all well and fine laughing,” Georgia said after dinner that night, “but you must admit, that impossible boy has really gone too far.”

Nicholas grinned. “I think it’s splendid. Imagine, Andre falls off the face of the earth for three years without a word to anyone but his business associates, and now he sends us an English orphan he found in Turkey as if she were a piece of lost baggage.”

“He might as well have pinned a note to her cloak: ‘Please return to rightful owner.’ ” Georgia lowered her needlework into her lap and sighed heavily. “You didn’t see her, Nicholas, her dear little face all pale and pinched, her eyes hollow with exhaustion and misery. She’s a frightened, displaced child, whom Andre picked up like a stray and then abandoned.”

“If you’d hop off your high horse for a moment, sweetheart, Andre didn’t precisely abandon her. He sent her to us, knowing that if anyone can track down her relatives, I can. And I will start first thing tomorrow morning.”

Georgia regarded her husband with affection. At seventy-five he was still a vital, striking man, his hair completely white but his winged eyebrows still black over his gray eyes. He was also as kind and generous as he had been the day she’d married him, and she knew he was as good as his word. If the child had relatives, he would move heaven and earth to find them. “Thank you,” she said simply.

“I know you’re annoyed with Andre for the way he’s behaved the last few years, and I understand. But he’s young and he’s been badly hurt. He’ll come around, I’m certain of it.”

Nicholas poured himself a small glass of port and crossed the room to the window, looking out onto the night. “It can’t be easy for him, having inherited his father’s deep sensitivity and his mother’s volatile temper, not to mention both their incredibly stubborn natures. It’s a difficult combination.”

“It’s an impossible combination,” Georgia said with exasperation.

“Not impossible, no,” he said, turning around, “although thank God none of our children has chosen to turn his back on us. I don’t know how Pascal and Lily manage to be so patient, especially since he’s their only child.”

“I wouldn’t say they’re patient in the least. I think they’re heartbroken, but they’re wise enough to know there’s nothing they can do.”

Nicholas rubbed the back of his neck. “That this should happen to Pascal of all people…”

“Oh, it just infuriates me, the way Andre’s behaved!” She abandoned her needlework altogether, too agitated to concentrate. “First he cuts us all out of his life, and we don’t hear a word from him for years, and now he drops a child on our doorstep and expects us to deal with the situation,” she said hotly. “The least he could have done was to bring her to us himself instead of sending her with that dreadful woman.”