Tide of Fortune (17 page)

‘Please,’ Kerenza begged. ‘I’m sure Maggot knows –’

The door swung open and a servant bowed, gesturing for them to enter.

Chapter Fifteen

Tiny blue and white tiles covered the floor of a cool hallway. Archways leading to more rooms broke ornately decorated walls. The servant led them into a spacious salon, gestured for them to sit, and melted silently away.

‘What are we supposed to do now?’ William, tense and pugnacious, demanded.

‘We wait,’ Maggot replied.

‘Please sit down, Mr Vyvyan.’

Kerenza glanced from Nick to her father. Phrased as a polite request, it was nonetheless an order. She held her breath, praying he would not argue any more. The room was furnished with several tables and couches piled with colourful cushions. After a moment’s hesitation, William Vyvyan lowered himself onto one of them.

Kerenza unfastened her cloak, slipped it from her shoulders, and folded it onto the couch next to her as she took a seat opposite her father and looked around. A massive urn stood at one side of an archway, and two heavy chests of black wood with intricately carved lids rested against the elaborately decorated wall.

Just as she began to wonder how long they might have to wait, she heard the sound of brisk footsteps.

The man who entered wore a brown frock coat over fawn breeches, white stockings, and brown shoes with buckles. Brushed straight back, and receding at the temples, his greying hair curved onto his coat collar. Kerenza guessed his age to be about 50. His smile was pleasant, but the way he rubbed his palms together signalled unease. She wondered why.

‘Good evening. My name is Henry Corbett. I’m the vice-consul. I’m afraid Mr Matra is currently in Marrakech.’ He turned as the same servant appeared silently in another doorway. ‘Would you care for some tea? The locals prefer it with mint, but if that is not to your taste we do have goat’s milk.’

Fidgeting with impatience, William waved the offer aside. ‘I haven’t come all this way to drink tea. You must know who I am and why I’m here. How soon can I see the governor?’

Blushing for her father’s rudeness, Kerenza bit her lip. But the vice-consul didn’t even blink.

‘I will send a request for an interview first thing in the morning. However, I should warn you that it may be several days before you are granted an audience.’

As Nick and Kerenza exchanged a glance, William exploded in fury. ‘Several days? Why? Why must I wait so long?’

Henry Corbett spread his hands. ‘Because I’m afraid that’s the way things are done here. The governor does not recognise as urgent any concerns but his own.’ His palm-rubbing quickened, and the dry, rasping sound grated on Kerenza’s nerves.

Her unease grew. He had answered her father without once making eye contact.

‘Surely,’ William pressed, ‘he will be
glad
to learn that I am returned? I have brought the money. You can tell him I’m grateful for his hospitality. Tell him any damn thing you like. But make it clear I want my wife and daughter released so that they may return home with me at once.’

Henry Corbett’s forehead puckered in discomfort and distress. Seeing him brace himself, Kerenza’s muscles tightened. Something was wrong. She had sensed it the moment the vice-consul walked in.

‘What?’ William demanded. ‘It can’t be that difficult. The governor wanted money. Though it has nearly bankrupted me, I’ve brought it. So I see no reason why the matter cannot be settled quickly. Tell me –’ his tone became eager, anxious. ‘Have you seen them recently? Are they in good health and spirits?’

‘I did indeed see Miss Vyvyan,’ Corbett answered carefully. ‘Approximately four weeks ago. Though I have not been permitted to visit since, at that time I found her as well as could be expected – in the circumstances.’

‘What circumstances? For God’s sake, man. Tell me in plain English how they both are. How my wife is. She’s never been strong. I hope she’s been properly looked after. If she hasn’t, there’ll be trouble. I shall make it my business to –’

‘Mr Vyvyan,’ the vice-consul interrupted, his face grave. ‘It is with sincere regret that I have to inform you your wife is no longer … I’m afraid she passed away a month ago.’ As William stared at him, he continued. ‘She contracted lung fever. There was an epidemic in the town. It’s thought one of the servants carried it into the palace. When it was realised how ill your wife was, the governor was anxious no effort should be spared …’

‘I bet he was,’ Nick muttered.

‘So the doctor was sent for. We are fortunate to have an English physician residing in Tangier. However,’ Henry Corbett continued, visibly relieved now that, for him at least, the worst was over, the unpleasant news delivered, ‘though the doctor did his best, Mrs Vyvyan did not recover.’

‘She’s dead? My wife is dead?’ William repeated blankly.

‘On behalf of the consul and myself, I should like to offer our sincere sympathy.’ The vice-consul turned to Nick. ‘Will Mr Vyvyan be returning to the ship?’

‘No,’ Nick said. ‘Miss Vyvyan and her father are taking lodgings at –’ He turned to Maggot.

‘Riad Zohra, Derb Brahim,’ Maggot supplied. ‘Is owned by
mart bebar
, the wife of my father.’

As Henry Corbett nodded, Kerenza rose to her feet. Her mouth and throat were dry. Her mother was dead. She had not seen her for three years, and now would never see her again. But it was as if a smothering blanket had descended on her emotions. Perhaps that was best, for now. There would be time enough later to examine how she felt.

‘Mr Corbett, would you be kind enough to give me the name of the English doctor? As you can imagine, my father has been under severe strain for many months.’ She glanced toward the figure slumped against the cushions slack-jawed, blank-eyed, and pale with shock. ‘Now to receive such news –’

‘Of course, of course,’ Henry Corbett replied. ‘I will send a servant immediately with a message requesting the doctor to attend you at Riad Zohra.’

Nick and Maggot were already helping a dazed William to his feet.

‘One more request, if I may, Mr Corbett,’ Kerenza added. ‘Will you ask the governor if I may be permitted, on compassionate grounds, to see my sister as soon as possible? Even if arrangements regarding the –’ about to say “money”, she changed it at the last moment ‘– 
gift
in appreciation of his hospitality might take a little longer?’

What would happen about that? Would the governor still expect to receive the same amount? How could she even think about such details at such a time? Because concentrating on such practicalities allowed her to avoid looking into her heart where, she suspected, and was horribly ashamed to admit, that instead of grief she would find only scars.

‘I’ll do what I can,’ Henry Corbett promised, and turned away quickly, still unwilling to meet her gaze. Was he repelled by her lack of emotion? Had he expected tears and hysterics? What would they achieve except to focus attention on her?

It was her father who was most deeply affected. It was he who needed support and comfort. At least her sister was alive and well. She should be – and was – thankful for that. The priority now was to get her father to their lodgings as quickly as possible and hope the doctor would respond with equal speed.

‘Mr Corbett? A final question?’

Kerenza was putting on her cloak, but, hearing Nick’s voice, she turned.

‘Mrs Vyvyan’s final resting place?’

‘Ah yes, of course. It was a private burial in the grounds of the English church. There is no headstone, you understand. But the plot is marked with a small wooden cross.’

Kerenza nodded her thanks to the vice-consul, then bent her head, ashamed that it had not occurred to her to ask. Nick must surely think her heartless. How could he think otherwise? She had never told him the truth about her relationship with her parents and sister, or the real reason she had left Falmouth to live with her grandmother in Flushing.

Daylight was fading to dusk as they left the consulate, Nick and Maggot supporting William between them. Kerenza followed, carrying the two bags. She was surprised and relieved when, only a few minutes later, Maggot led them down a short alley and stopped outside a high wall broken by double doors set in an archway with a top shaped like an onion.

‘Is here,’ he said over his shoulder and banged on one of the doors.

A bar was lifted. It swung open, and a veiled servant girl led them through into a small central courtyard about 12 feet square with apartments on three sides. Kerenza just had time to notice a staircase rising to an upper storey with a terrace that looked down into the court before following Nick and Maggot into a room furnished in similar style to the one in the consulate.

As they gently lowered William onto a couch, a short, plump woman entered the room soundlessly in flat slippers that matched her gold-embroidered, ankle-length robe of vivid turquoise. A white scarf covered her head, the ends thrown over her shoulders, and the lower half of her face was veiled.

Maggot greeted her, speaking rapidly in the strange, harsh tongue Kerenza had heard in the marketplace. Her guess that he was relating the bad news was confirmed as her eyes widened and her hands flew to her cheeks. She looked at William and shook her head. Turning to Kerenza, she touched her arm lightly in a gesture of compassion that was echoed in her dark chocolate eyes. Then, seizing Nick’s free arm, she looked up into his startled face and spoke with intense passion.

‘Ateikum-saha, ateikum-saha.
’

Nick turned helplessly to Maggot, who grinned.

‘
Thamtoth m’beva
 –’ He struggled for the translation, failed, and shook his head. ‘My father’s wife, she say thank you.’ He lifted one shoulder. ‘She happy I no d – that I come back,’ he corrected quickly, darting an apologetic glance toward William.

After more rapid conversation his stepmother called over her shoulder.

‘We go up,’ Maggot said as the servant girl came in and was given instructions by her mistress. ‘Is two rooms. Mr Vyvyan in one. You, miss, in other.’

While the girl ran ahead carrying two oil lamps, Kerenza followed Nick and Maggot as they half carried her father up the stairs and through the folding double doors into his room. She would have gone in after them, but Nick barred her way.

‘We’ll get him into bed. Did you bring his bag?’ He smiled his thanks as she handed it to him. ‘The doctor should be here soon. You’ll be all right alone for a few minutes?’

‘Of course.’

He closed the door gently.

Kerenza followed the beckoning maid through the open doors into her room. It was long and narrow. Against the end wall was a large bed with a canopy that touched the low ceiling. A rug with geometric patterns of red, black, and white covered what remained of the floor. A chest and a low table on which the lamp stood completed the furniture. She dropped her bag on the floor at the foot of the bed. She supposed she ought to unpack, but she had another, more urgent need.

‘Do you speak any English?’ she asked the maid, more in hope than expectation. The girl shrugged, spread her hands and shook her head to show she didn’t understand. Cringing with embarrassment, yet unable to think of an alternative, Kerenza went out onto the terrace and, knocking on her father’s door, called softly, ‘Maggot?’

He pulled it open, filling the gap, the lamplight behind him so his face was in shadow. ‘Miss?’

Moistening her lips, knowing he would recognise the shipboard term, she blurted, ‘Where is the – jakes?’

He slapped his forehead. ‘So sorry, miss. Is very bad of me.’ He spoke rapidly over her shoulder to the maid, who had followed her. Kerenza heard the girl’s soft “ahhh” of understanding.

‘You go with Dina,’ Maggot said, and, as she heard Nick ask what was wrong, he closed the door.

They crossed the court, passed through a short passage between two rooms and out into another space that was more of a backyard with a small, windowless building of whitewashed mud. Dina opened the door, handed Kerenza the lamp, then caught her arm. Her voice was soft but emphatic as she lifted her left hand, touched Kerenza’s, and raised her own again. Then, stepping back, she waved Kerenza in.

The little room contained nothing except a clay pot of water standing next to a round piece of wood set into the earth floor. Setting the lamp down, Kerenza grasped the handle, lifted what was obviously a lid, and recoiled at the smell. There could be no doubt she was in the right place.

Greatly relieved and far more comfortable, she scooped water from the clay pot then patted herself dry with her chemise. Shaking out her skirts, she replaced the lid, picked up the lamp, and ducked out through the low doorway.

Back upstairs, she looked over the terrace wall down into the court. Savoury smells wafted upward and she could hear the clatter of dishes. It was dark now, the night air surprisingly chilly after the warmth of the day, and she was glad of her wool jacket.

She looked beyond the dark shapes of houses on the terraces below to the sea where the rising moon cast a silver path across the water. She could see
Kestrel
riding at anchor, her side lamps lit, others at her bow and stern.

Starting at a rapid knock on the outer door, she watched the servant girl dart across the courtyard. Hearing a man’s voice, she knocked quickly on her father’s door. Nick opened it.

‘I think the doctor’s arrived. I’ll bring him up.’

‘No, you stay, I go,’ Maggot said.

‘I can wait downstairs –’ Nick began.

Kerenza shook her head. ‘I’d rather you stayed – if you don’t mind,’ she added quickly. ‘It’s just – The doctor might ask – and you know more –’

‘Of course I’ll stay if you want me to.’

She nodded, grateful. After introducing herself and Nick, and explaining the cause of her father’s collapse, she retreated to stand near the door while the doctor made his examination. White-haired, stocky, and taciturn, wearing the black coat, waistcoat, and breeches universal to his profession, he beckoned Nick forward and questioned him in a low voice.

After drawing up the covers, he turned to Kerenza. ‘My advice, Miss Vyvyan, is that you remove your father back to England as soon as possible. His physical health is poor, aggravated no doubt by his experiences during the past year. He needs a long period of rest and a mild diet of easily digested foods that will not over-stimulate him. Once he begins to show signs of recovery he would benefit from a tonic. But that lies in the future and the hands of his physician. In the meantime, I suggest laudanum to keep him calm and help him sleep.’