The Master's Wife (31 page)

Reluctantly, Caseley stood up. ‘Will you excuse me?’

‘Where are you going?’

‘Back to the ward. With so many new patients the nurses will have had no rest.’

After a night doing whatever the nurses asked of her, Caseley was walking wearily across the foyer when Robert Pawlyn entered. He was carrying another box. His suit looked as if he had slept in it.

‘How is Antonia?’

‘Her head is sore but otherwise she is well.’

‘Does she know about her father?’

Caseley nodded. ‘She asked if I had heard anything so I told her what Mr Blaine had told me. She could not face the wards. So she has been helping in the supply room, rolling bandages and making pads from old sheets.’ As his brows rose, Caseley smiled. ‘The sisters are very persuasive. What were those explosions?’

‘Admiral Seymour sent a shore party to the forts to destroy the remaining guns. The Egyptians have suffered heavy losses. Most of the European quarter of the city has been reduced to rubble. There are bodies everywhere and fires are spreading. Colonel Arabi and his army have withdrawn under a flag of truce. As they were leaving he ordered the jails to be opened and the prisoners set free. Now people are blaming him for the looting. What should he have done? Left them to burn?’ He passed a hand over his face. ‘I’m sorry.’

Caseley waved away his apology ‘Sheikh Imad was shot. The Sheikha brought him here. He’s had the bullet removed and is recovering. As soon as it is safe, the Sheikha will move him to her villa. Then they’ll return to Cairo. I saw no benefit in telling Antonia any of this.’

He nodded gratefully. ‘I appreciate it. Marines have arrived from Cyprus and are starting to restore order. I’d better go. Please tell her I came, and that I’ll be back later.’ His cheeks reddened. ‘Give her my love.’

‘I will.’ Caseley walked to the ward, tired to her bones and desperate to keep busy.

Jago climbed the companionway. Golden in the east and turquoise overhead, the sky softened to clear, pale blue.

‘Go down and get your breakfast, Jimbo.’

‘Aye, Cap’n.

As Martin clattered dishes in the galley shack, Nathan relinquished the wheel to Jago who watched the smoke from the stove chimney. It blew one way then the other. Then it steadied. He glanced at the compass. North-east. He offered up silent thanks.

Glancing back at him with a grin, Nathan turned to Hammer as they prepared to tack. ‘Come on. Put your back into it. Missus will be wondering where we’re to.’

Jago stepped out on deck soon after sun-up on the 13
^th
July. It had been two days of hard sailing. But the wind had held steady, blowing fresh to strong as it drove
Cygnet
along parallel to a coast of low sandhills fringing a vast lake.

Looking shoreward his mouth dried as he saw a pall of smoke darkening the sky. As
Cygnet
passed the ruins of two forts, then the burning palace, the crew on deck was silent. The lighthouse still stood but huge chunks had been blown out of it. The surrounding area was a scene of carnage and devastation.

The entire city seemed to be on fire. Hungry flames flared within the thick choking smoke, adding weight to the humid summer heat.

Caseley.

The rising wind had created a heavy swell that made manouevering in the harbour difficult. But the crew knew what to do and shortened sail without a word from Jago while he steered them past the naval ships. Many had buckled plates, jagged holes in the superstructure, and broken spars, damage inflicted by the fort batteries.

Two boats packed with armed marines rowed shoreward. As
Cygnet
headed for one of the jetties, Jago heard a volley of small arms fire.

As soon as
Cygnet
pulled alongside, Jago jumped down. He stumbled but caught himself and ran towards the Custom House. The stout wooden doors were closed, the stonework pocked with huge holes. He saw mangled bodies, grotesquely swollen in the heat, lying where they had fallen.

Caseley.

Trying to remember the route the calèche had taken he headed east. But with many of the buildings in ruins and streets blocked by rubble, bodies and raging fires, he was forced to detour. He crossed a wide avenue, saw a square with a Napoleonic fort in it, and release a gasp of relief as he realised where he was.

He continued east then north, barely seeing the sprawled eviscerated bodies, deaf to the screams of the injured and the wailing grief of dazed survivors.

He reached Midan Muhammad Ali but the devastation had left it barely recognisable. The Consulate was just a pile of broken walls, rubble and twisted iron.

Caseley.

Looking towards the hotel he saw more ruins. He wanted to roar his fury at the English guns. She couldn’t be dead. He would know.

He’d had no suspicion when the boys died.

That was different. Caseley was – everything. Without her...

He shut the thought off. He could not return to the ship without her. The crew would never forgive him.

He swiped at wet eyes, dragged a breath into lungs that ached, and forced himself to think. She might have been hurt. If so, she’d have gone to a hospital. He had to find someone who spoke English.

Hearing another volley of shots he ran towards the sound and emerged into an open space in front of a church. A line of British sailors wearing white caps and dark blue coats and trousers had just lowered their rifles. A dead Arab lay slumped at the base of a tree.

‘Bloody fire-raiser,’ one of the sailors spat.

Jago grabbed him. ‘Where’s the nearest hospital?’

‘Right there, mate.’ The soldier pointed to the rear of a long building.

Jago raced round to the front and ran through the main door, skidding to a halt in the foyer. He saw an elderly nun wearing a white apron over her grey habit. She had a mop and bucket and was washing the blood and dirt-smeared floor.

‘Excuse me.’ Fear roughened his voice. ‘My wife ... Is she here?’

The nun straightened. Leaning on the mop for support she shrugged apologetically and replied in French.

Jago looked wildly round. There had to be someone who spoke English. He strode towards the back of the foyer where a wide corridor led off in each direction and almost fell over another nun who was on her knees scrubbing a large splatter of crimson whose edges had dried rusty-brown.

‘I beg your pardon. Do you speak English?’

She sat back on her heels. ‘A little.’ Her accent was strong. ‘How may I help you?’

‘I’m looking for my wife.’

‘Her name?’

He had to moisten his lips before he could speak. ‘Barata, Caseley Barata.’

She smiled. ‘Yes, she’s here.’

His eyes closed for an instant. ‘Is she –?’ He couldn’t finish.

‘She wasn’t hurt.’

‘May I see her?’

‘Of course.’ She dropped the scrubbing brush into the bucket and struggled to her feet, ignoring the hand he offered. ‘Thank you, but I can manage.’ As she stood, lean and tall, he saw her face was pale and etched with exhaustion.

Moving the bucket back against the wall out of the way, she led him down the wide corridor. ‘Her arrival was a gift from God. We are so grateful for her help.’ She opened a door and stood back to let him pass.

Caseley lay where she had fallen on the couch. She still wore her stained and dusty
thobe
with a bibbed apron over it. A white scarf was crumpled under her head. Curls had escaped from the untidy coil and clung to her temple and cheek.

He knelt beside her, his hungry gaze taking in the plum-coloured shadows beneath her eyes, skin grey-white with fatigue stretched tight over her cheekbones. He had never seen her in such a dirty dishevelled state, nor had she ever looked more beautiful to him. She was alive and safe. He stroked her face with gentle fingertips, fighting the sobs that wrenched his chest, and heard the door close quietly.

Caseley opened her eyes. They were blank, unseeing. She gazed at him and he watched awareness return. Relief and love lit her slow smile even as tears spilled down her cheeks. ‘You’re back.’

‘I promised.’

She sat up, wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed her face to his. ‘Oh, Jago.’

He held her, breathed her in. He could feel her bones. She looked so fragile. God alone knew what she had seen and dealt with these past days. The need to protect her sent a violent tremor through him.

He moved to sit beside her, one arm around her shoulders, his free hand holding hers against his heart. ‘You appear to have been busy.’

Glancing down at her dirty clothes she made a wry face. ‘After you went I would have gone mad just waiting. Mr Blaine said most of the doctors had left so I came here and offered my help. When the bombardment started – the noise –’ she shook her head. ‘I have never heard – it was terrifying. But soon injured people were pouring through the doors and we were so busy there wasn’t time to think about what was happening outside. Mr Pawlyn brought Antonia in. She had left the Consulate early to go with him to take photographs so she wasn’t there when it was hit. She had a deep gash on her head that needed stitches. Sabra brought Sheikh Imad who had been shot. The doctor removed the bullet and he will recover.’ She ran out of breath, turned to him. ‘I kept telling myself you would come. You had to. I closed my eyes and pictured your face and that gave me the strength to do what the sisters asked –’

He stopped her desperate words with his mouth, kissing her until both were breathless.

She eased back, looked into his beloved face, and saw strain and exhaustion that reflected her own. ‘Please can we go home now?’

They stopped at the supply room. Caseley opened the door just as Antonia and Robert Pawlyn were coming out. Antonia had a bandage around her head. She caught Caseley’s hand. ‘Thank you. Soeur Jeanne told me what you did for me.’

‘I was glad to.’

‘Captain, I am happy to see you safely back.’

Jago inclined his head. ‘Thank you, Miss Collingwood. ‘My wife and I wish you both every happiness,’ He shook hands with Pawlyn.

‘Where will you –?’ Caseley began then stopped.

‘Antonia’s coming home with me,’ Pawlyn said, picking up her camera box. Caseley saw pride and love in his gaze. ‘The building I’m in escaped the worst of the shelling and the landlord has spare rooms. We’ll marry as soon as it can be arranged.’

‘But today,’ Antonia said, ‘I am determined to take photographs. Alexandria was a beautiful city. Now I hear it is destroyed.’

‘You will need to take care,’ Jago said. ‘Fires are raging all along the waterfront and in the European Quarter.’

Antonia shook her head, compressing her lips to stop them trembling then dragged in a breath. ‘How could the ships not have realised? Surely they must have seen that the shells were overshooting and landing in the city?’

About to say that Sabra was of the opinion that the damage had been deliberate, Caseley stopped herself in time. Antonia would want to know how she knew. It would not serve anyone for her to discover Sheikh Imad was in the hospital.

‘There must be a record for the future, images that show what happened here,’ Antonia declared. ‘Forgive me, you will be anxious to leave. I – We –’ glancing at Pawlyn she corrected herself, winning a quick smile from him, ‘wish you both a safe journey home.’

Impulsively, Caseley gave her a quick hug. ‘Be happy,’ she whispered.

‘I think – I hope – I will be. Robert believes in me. You cannot know how much that means.’ Antonia murmured.

Caseley knew, far better than Antonia realised. Smiling she stepped back, and Antonia reached for the case of photographic plates.

After looking into the wards and saying goodbye to Soeur Marie and Soeur Jeanne, who thanked her again, Caseley covered her head with her scarf and with her arm through Jago’s, walked out into the mid-July heat.

It took them nearly an hour to reach
Cygnet
. They saw parties of sailors and marines fighting the fires. In areas that had escaped the worst, shops were open.

Jago helped her along the gangplank. ‘Good to see you, missus,’ Nathan said.

Martin poked his head out of the galley shack. ‘Missed you awful we have.’ He glanced warily at Jago. ‘Beg pardon, Cap’n.’

‘Hot water,’ Jago growled as the corners of his mouth twitched.

‘Aye, sir.’

Hammer and Jimbo both raised a forefinger to their foreheads in salute. ‘Can we leave now, Cap’n? Fresh water tank is full. While you was gone Hammer rowed over to one of the ironclads and begged a sack of flour, some salt pork and fresh veg.’

‘Get the sails up.’ Jago led the way down the companionway. Inside his day cabin he kicked the door closed and pulled her close. ‘When we came near on our way back from Port Said and I saw the smoke –’ His arms tightened. ‘Never in my life have I known such fear.’

Arms around him she nestled her head against his warm neck and breathed in his unique scent. ‘Even if the sisters hadn’t needed me I would have had to keep working.’

‘Did it help the time pass more quickly?’

‘Yes, but that wasn’t the reason. I was bargaining with God to bring you back safe. If I had lost you too –’

‘You will never lose me. I am yours, body and soul. Never again, Caseley. I will not be parted from you again. Either you must sail with me or I shall leave the sea and spend more time on the yard.’

Before she could respond there was a knock on the door. ‘Hot water, Cap’n.’

Reluctantly, he released her. ‘As soon as we’re out of the harbour we’ll have a meal. Then you should rest.’

He brought in the water pitcher and set it down beside the washstand. Pausing briefly to touch her face, he went out, closing the door behind him.

Stripping off her grubby garments, Caseley rolled them up and put them in the trunk, taking out a clean shift and her sprigged cotton dress, relieved she had something clean to put on. Everything she had taken ashore lay beneath the ruins of the Consulate.

The cabin floor tilted beneath her feet and she was careful not to overfill the basin.

Washed, dressed and her teeth cleaned, she was still tired but felt much restored. Finding a spare comb amid the sea junk on the shelf she redid her hair and had just replaced the last pin when Jago opened the door.