The Master's Wife (25 page)

Seizing her hand he looped her arm around his neck and wrapped his other arm around her waist. ‘Are you hurt?’

Her heart was hammering wildly. She felt light-headed from the shock of her fall.

‘Caseley?’ As he hauled her to her feet, she winced. Her hip and shoulder ached where she had landed on them and her grazed hand stung.

‘N – nothing broken.’

He took most of her weight to spare her crippled foot as they ran towards higher ground. But the flood was quicker. A few yards from safety the brown-grey water poured over their sandals, splashing up their legs, soaking the bottom of their robes.

The force was terrifying. Their wet robes dragged. Caseley bit her tongue to stifle a scream as she fought to keep her balance. Stones and debris slammed against her ankles. The pain made her eyes sting. She clung to Jago. If he let go, the water would sweep her away.

He waded the final few steps, grunting with effort as they stumbled up the rising slope. When they were well clear of the water he stopped, panting, as they both looked back.

Gasping for breath, held hard against him, she could feel the rapid thunder of his heartbeat. Her own was even faster. The flood swept by with a hissing roar, carrying broken tree trunks, date palm fronds and scrubby thorn bushes ripped up by the roots.

Caseley was mesmerised by the power of the silt-laden torrent that stretched the width of the valley floor. Above the tumbling racing water a fine mist cooled the air.

‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ His voice was hoarse.

Her heart still hammered wildly. She felt queasy from shock and reaction to their narrow escape. She nodded, forcing a smile. ‘J – just b-bruised.’ Her teeth chattered. ‘I’ll b-be all c-colours of the rainbow tomorrow.’ His strength gave her comfort. His body against hers kindled a kaleidoscope of vivid memories; powerful, passionate, tender. Despite the heat, her skin tightened in a shiver. ‘Thank you. If the water had reached me before you did –’

‘Don’t.’ His voice was raw, his compressed lips bloodless.

Seeing the others watching, Caseley raised a hand.

‘You should not have let go of the rein,’ Antonia called.

‘The camel was far stronger than you and she knows it,’ Jago said. He caught her hand and she winced.

‘What?’ He turned it palm up and his indrawn breath hissed.

Caseley looked, then wished she hadn’t. When the camel’s violent movement tore the rein free it had scored her skin. Then her hand had scraped across the gritty ground.

‘It’s not too bad.’ She was trying to convince herself as much as him.

‘It must sting like the devil. You need to get the grit out.’

‘For that I need clean water. Perhaps when we stop for the night. I wish we had some honey.’

‘Honey?’

‘Rosina swears by it as a healer. She used to smear it on the boys’ knees whenever they took a tumble.’ Her breath hitched and her eyes filled. She started to turn her head but he caught her chin, his callused fingers gentle.

‘Please, Caseley,’ his voice was unsteady. ‘Don’t shut me out. They were mine, too.’

Scalding tears spilled down her cheeks as she met his gaze, saw his agony, and realised how alone he must have felt. Night after night, Rosina had held her while she rocked with grief too deep for tears. Jago had faced the loss of his sons alone.

Sheikh Imad’s bodyguards approached with the two recaptured camels. Jago wiped away her tears with his thumbs. She whispered thanks, her smile tremulous.

Remounted once more, they followed the Sheikh higher up the hill then through a fissure in the rocks. Filled with shadow it was cool and soothing to the eyes after the sun’s glare. They emerged onto a small plateau with a view over the valley. Stopping, Imad quietly ordered his camel to kneel.

Looking down, Caseley saw the flood had slowed and the tumbling surface was smoother.

While the camels were being fed, cooking fires lit and the meal prepared, Jago led Caseley back to the rocky fissure. ‘I thought I saw – yes, here it is.’ He stopped beside a small drip-fed pool of water. The size of two cupped hands, it was crystal clear.

‘Will you shield me?’ Caseley placed herself so he was between her and the others.

‘Of course, but why?’

‘I need a bandage for my hand.’ Lifting the bottom of her robe she tried to rip the bottom of her shift.

‘Here, let me.’ Kneeling, Jago caught the material between his teeth at the side seam. It gave way, and a moment later he had torn a four-inch wide strip from around the hem. He handed it to Caseley. ‘Your servant, ma’am.’

Blushing and laughing, she dipped one end of her scarf into the water. ‘It’s really cold. I didn’t expect that.’ She wiped the blood, mud and grit from her palms.

‘Why don’t you put your hands in?’

‘Sabra said these pools are rare and highly valued. We take water for granted. But this little rockpool might mean the difference between life and death for someone. I don’t want to be the person who taints it.’

The following morning the only signs of the torrent were large puddles and broad snaking channels that had been carved out of the ground.

‘Within a few days,’ Sabra said, ‘grass will grow and flowers will bloom. Insects and birds will come.’

‘Then the sun will dry everything out and it will die,’ Antonia sighed. ‘It’s so – brutal.’

Sabra shrugged. ‘It is the desert.’

––––––––

T
hey reached the outskirts of Cairo at mid-morning the following day. Underlying the oppressive heat and smells of the city was a tension that hadn’t been present when they left.

Four uniformed Egyptian police were trying to disperse a group of shouting men. Sheikh Imad spoke tersely to Pawlyn.

Sabra turned after nodding to let Pawlyn know she had heard. ‘Cover your faces.’

Caseley obeyed at once, tucking the now very grubby end into her headband.

‘Why?’ Antonia asked.

‘There has been some trouble in Alexandria,’ Pawlyn explained.

‘What kind of trouble?’ Antonia demanded as she drew her scarf over her nose and mouth.

‘The kind that might have been expected, given the continued presence of the English fleet. Some see it as unwanted interference, others as a safeguard. Tempers on both sides are short. Scuffles broke out and people were injured.’

‘Where in the city? Was it near the Consulate? How many people? Were they badly hurt?’

‘I don’t know yet,’ he replied patiently.

He knows more than he’s told us.
Even as Caseley caught Jago’s eye and knew they shared the same thought, she understood why Pawlyn was saying little. They were at least four hours by train from Alexandria. News of events there must have reached Cairo by telegraph. But the information was only as accurate as the person sending it. Until he’d had a chance to check the facts he wouldn’t want to cause Antonia unnecessary anxiety.

‘I’ll be able to give you more information after I’ve been to Reuter’s office,’ he said, confirming Caseley’s guess. ‘Try not to worry.’

‘I’m not
worried
,’ Antonia retorted, contradicted by the tremor in her fingers. ‘I simply want to know what’s happening.’

Though the city was crowded, there were few European faces. Black-shrouded women shopping in pairs at stalls piled high with fruit and vegetables did not linger to bargain. Men had gathered on street corners or were sitting outside coffee houses holding earnest discussions.

When they reached the square from where they had set out on their journey, Caseley noticed that the bodyguards and servants remained mounted, forming a protective ring around the rest of the party as their camels knelt and they slid down from the saddles.

As Caseley stretched her back Jago and Pawlyn approached Imad, who offered his hand. Jago shook it, glancing quickly at the journalist.

‘Please tell the Sheikh, in French if you please, how very much I appreciate his generosity and his efforts on my behalf.’

Caseley’s heart swelled. He had done that for her, knowing the Sheikh would respond in the same language.

Imad released Jago’s hand. ‘I regret you were not able to win a firm commitment. Yet there is reason to hope. Your conduct and manners found favour with those who have little regard for the English.’

As Pawlyn added his own thanks, Jago turned and beckoned Caseley.

Shielded from public view by the guards’ camels she uncovered her face, folded her hands and bowed her head politely. ‘Thank you, sir, from the bottom of my heart, for a life-changing experience.’

‘You will not be forgotten, Madame Barata.’

Touched and delighted, Caseley moved back so Antonia could take her place. But she didn’t move.

Covering her face again, Caseley didn’t try to hide her anger, though she kept her voice low. ‘For shame, Antonia. You demanded to go on this journey. The very least you owe him is the courtesy of a polite farewell.’

Blushing scarlet, Antonia stepped forward and thanked him for the opportunity of experiencing Bedouin life.

‘I wish you well, Mademoiselle Collingwood.’

Remounting his camel, he rode away surrounded by his bodyguards. Having unloaded the bags containing cloaks and other belongings, the servants followed.

‘Come,’ Sabra spoke quietly in French as Jago picked up the bags. ‘You will want a bath and a meal before you leave for the train station.’

Caseley quickly translated for Jago, glad of the dusty robes and head coverings that ensured no one looked at them twice.

‘Sheikha, with your permission I’ll go to Reuter’s office first,’ Pawlyn said. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

As she walked into Sabra’s house and the doorman closed the wrought-iron gate, Caseley felt safe for the first time since they had entered the city.

‘Considering the situation in Alexandria,’ Jago murmured, ‘it might be safer for us to remain in Bedouin clothing.’

‘I was about to suggest it,’ Sabra responded when Caseley translated.

As they entered their bedroom Caseley thought how much had changed in the nine days they had been away. Jago dropped the fabric bag on the floor, caught her arm and drew her to him.

‘I have missed you so much. You have no idea –’ He leaned back, frowning. ‘You’re trembling.’

‘I know. Silly, isn’t it?’

He laid one hand along her face, his callused palm gentle. ‘Not at all. I’m awed at how well you have coped with everything.’

He thought it was a reaction to events. Part of it was. But the rest – The rest was about him, about them. Realisation of how much she loved him, fear of his disappointment.

At the sound of water being poured in the bathrooms on either side, both stiffened. He muttered a curse. She raised a warning finger to her lips.

Catching her hand, he kissed her knuckles. As his gaze met hers she glimpsed diffidence. It helped to know he, too, was nervous.

‘Go and enjoy your bath,’ he released her. ‘I certainly need one. You will enjoy my company more when I no longer smell like a camel.’ He pulled off his head cloth, shrugging out of his
aba
as he headed for his bathroom.

Caseley knelt to take her towel and facecloth from the striped bag, grimacing at their state. Leaving them on the chest lid, she picked up her soap and toothbrush and crossed to her bathroom.

‘
As-salaamu-aleikum
,’ she greeted the servant, pulling off her scarf and headband, wincing as she unrolled the bandage around her hand.

The woman blinked then responded politely, ‘
Wa-aleikum-as-salaam, hanem
.’

Crossing to the small jug of water standing in a china basin, Caseley poured some into the glass, opened her small tin of tooth powder and cleaned her teeth, rinsing and spitting into the basin. Already she felt better. The servant waited patiently for her to finish, then indicated Caseley’s robes.

Taking off everything but her shift, she handed the garments over. The woman didn’t move. Instead she held out her hand and waited, curling her fingers repeatedly against her palm.

Powerfully reminded of Rosina, Caseley abandoned modesty and pulled the shift over her head.

The woman gasped, her expression concerned and sympathetic. Gabbling in Arabic, she pointed at the dark red and purple bruise that had spread over Caseley’s hip. Another mottled bruise extended from her foot almost to her knee, the skin scratched and scraped.

Still talking and shaking her head, the woman picked up an empty pitcher and hurried out.

Caseley climbed into the bath, releasing a sigh of pleasure as she slid down into the water, wincing as her hand stung. For a few moments, she simply enjoyed the sensation of warm water against her sticky, dusty skin.

She wished she didn’t have to move. But they could not afford to miss the afternoon train. Reluctantly, she stood up, soaped herself all over then sat down again to rinse off the lather.

The servant reappeared with two more pitchers of water, set them down by the bath and started removing the pins from Caseley’s hair. As it cascaded over her shoulders and down her back, the woman lifted one of the pitchers, emptied warm water over Caseley’s head, and began to massage her scalp.

‘Oh, that’s wonderful,’ Caseley said in French, adding, ‘
Shukran
,’ in case the woman didn’t understand. After thoroughly massaging from forehead to nape, the woman emptied the second pitcher over her.

Wringing water out of the long ropes of hair, she motioned Caseley to stand up, handed her a towel to wrap around her head, another to wrap around her body, then offered a steadying hand as she stepped out.

While Caseley dried herself, the woman disappeared, returning a few minutes later with a clean shift and
thobe
, sandals and a small pot of salve. She pointed to Caseley’s hip.

‘
Shukran.
’ Caseley removed the lid. It smelled pleasantly of herbs with a hint of wintergreen. She dipped her fingers in and rubbed the salve gently into her hip. Quickly absorbed, it soothed and eased the ache. She smiled at the woman, put on her shift and thobe, and freed her damp tresses.

Returning to the bedroom, Caseley saw on the bedcover a folded scarf and headband for her, and a clean
thobe
, head cloth and
aba
for Jago.