Daughter of the God-King (11 page)

The next morning, slivers of sunlight filtered in through the closed louvers as Hattie opened her eyes. The events of the preceding night came flooding back and she sat up, sleepy but determined to seek out Berry to discuss the solicitor’s role in her attempted abduction. With some regret, she realized that Bing was now likely to cancel her visit to the pyramids and therefore there would be no opportunity for a private
tête-à-tête
. A shame—she was certain the man was nearly to the breaking point.

After casting a glance at her sleeping companion, Hattie decided to exit the bed and begin dressing in the hope that her movements would awaken Bing. Unfortunately, this gambit did not succeed and so Hattie was forced to drop her hairbrush with a clatter on the tile floor.

Bing responded sleepily, “You needn’t be quiet, Hathor—I am awake.”

With complete insincerity, Hattie replied, “I am so sorry, Bing—you must be tired.”

But apparently Bing had her own motivations and was not loath to rise. “I will nap later; let us discover if there is any news from last night.”

A short time later, the two women descended to the dining room for breakfast. Bing alerted the front desk that they were out of the room so that the door could be repaired and, after inquiry, discovered there was no further news about last night’s intruder; the proprietor had not contacted the authorities on Berry’s assurance that he would do the honors.

Doubtful, concluded Hattie—Berry is about as likely to hand this over to the Egyptian authorities as he is to tell me from whence he hails or for whom he acts. Further inquiry revealed that Berry had left the premises, and had left no message. Deflated, Hattie passed a desultory hour with Bing at the breakfast table before Hafez made his appearance, expecting to visit the pyramids.

“I must beg your pardon,” Bing explained, “but we have experienced untoward events and I fear I must postpone our visit.”

Upon his exclamations, Hattie had to sit through yet another recital of the intrusion, all the while keeping an impatient eye on the door. While she could concede that Berry may have other concerns that were more pressing than waiting attendance on herself, he must be aware she was in a fever to speak to him—among other fevers best not examined too closely; mainly she was longing to have him maul her about again.

“It is of all things alarming,” the minister pronounced in dismay after Bing concluded her tale. “You are to be commended for staying with Miss Blackhouse today in her distress.”

Hattie blinked, as the man must be blind to think she was distraught as opposed to merely bored. “Pray do not stay here on my account, Bing,” she offered, trying not to sound as though she were pleading.

“I cannot be easy, Hathor—we shall stay close to home today.”

Crossly, Hattie surmised that the fact Bing’s new admirer was also close to hand made the decision all that much easier. I am slated to play gooseberry, she thought; a pox on the intruder for upsetting my plan to negotiate a surrender with the weakening Monsieur Berry.

With a small bow, the minister gallantly offered his protection and support. “May I entertain you ladies in some way? Perhaps a game of cards?”

“There is a chessboard in the lobby,” Hattie suggested with some hope; it would provide a lengthy distraction and Bing did play, although Hattie had a gift for the game and regularly beat her.

“Only two can play,” Bing pointed out.

“I shall keep score,” offered Hattie promptly, “being as how I am distraught.”

“There is no score to keep,” noted Bing, giving her a look.

“Then I will watch and learn,” countered Hattie. “And procure the refreshments.”

Bing surrendered to Hattie’s machinations and the minister was escorted to the chessboard, which was set up near a large window in the lobby, the morning sunlight splashing across the game table. As Hafez and Bing were seated, Hattie decided to perch upon the window seat where she could keep a weather eye on the front door without making it too obvious that this was her intent.

The mechanical fan slowly turned overhead as the players set up the pieces, and Hafez asked, “Did the intruder come away with any personal items, Miss Blackhouse?”

For the love of heaven, Hattie thought; not another one. “No—nothing was taken.” To turn the subject and boost Bing’s stock, she added, “Miss Bing fired her pistol at him and he retreated in disarray.”

While Bing blushed and disclaimed, Hattie listened to Hafez’s professions of admiration and wondered why he had asked the question—perhaps he was yet another searcher for the mysterious strongbox, which she should probably try to examine before any further ruckuses ensued. With an inward sigh, she recognized that she would be forced to trust someone soon and very much wished to follow her inclination to trust he-who-was-not-named-Berry. Although perhaps the minister could be trusted—presumably he sought only what was best for her parents and for Egypt. Berry did not seem to think this the best tack, but then again, Berry may be attempting to throw dust in her eyes. Reminded, she asked, “Are you aware of the tragic news with respect to Madame Auguste, Mr. Hafez?”

Taking his gaze from the board, the minister looked up at her in surprise. “No—what is the news?”

“I’m afraid she died recently in Paris—rather suddenly.”

The minister stared at her in dismay and Hattie decided his surprise was genuine. She continued, “I am so sorry—I understand you were acquainted with the lady and her late husband.”

“Yes, indeed—a tragedy—a terrible tragedy.” He uttered the words in sincere sorrow and dropped his gaze, much affected. “Such fine people.”

“Who has replaced Monsieur Auguste as your Ministry’s liaison with the Blackhouses?” asked Bing. Hattie thought it a good question, as whoever was willing to replace the decedent would be very brave indeed, given all the deaths piling up.

Heaving a huge sigh, the minister replied, “No one—he was irreplaceable.”

As this seemed overly dramatic, Hattie offered, “At least no one is needed just now, while the dig is at a standstill.”

But the man disagreed, turning to her to explain. “Oh no, Miss Blackhouse; in his absence there are competing interests who are all bringing pressure to bear. If only he was still with us—he excelled at negotiation.”

Hattie was going to inquire as to the nature of the negotiations when she sensed a presence next to her and looked up to behold Berry, who had materialized at her side. She was certain he hadn’t entered via the front door but it hardly mattered—he was finally here and at long last, was regarding her with an expression of undisguised warmth. Unable to suppress a smile, she decided that there was nothing like an attempted abduction to remind a gentleman of opportunities wasted. After greeting him in a distracted fashion, the chess players settled back into their game and Hattie sidled close to Berry so they could converse unheard—and so her arm could brush up against his.

“Do you play?” He gestured toward the board.

Dimpling up at him, she answered with some pertness, “Very well. And you?”

He tilted his head and echoed her words. “Very well.”

“Perhaps we should play each other, then.”

“You would have the advantage—I would be unable to concentrate.” His gaze rested on her mouth and held such a measure of meaning she had to look away for a moment so as to control her unbridled delight; it appeared a glimpse of her nightdress had created an impatience for further intimacies—and not a moment too soon.

“Are you recovered?” He brushed a covert finger across the back of her hand.

With a
frisson
of anticipation, she could feel her color rise. “Completely—a few bruises, is all.”

Smiling down into her eyes, he suggested in a low voice, “Then perhaps we could walk in the courtyard and leave the players to their game.”

The hotel had four wings that surrounded a central courtyard; surely there could be no objection to an unattended stroll so close to hand. “Let me inform Bing.” Having relayed the information to her compliant companion, she took his arm.

“You will need your parasol, I think,” he warned. “It is quite hot.”

Pleased by his protective attitude, she assured him she would return in a moment, and ascended the stairway to the second floor. Walking swiftly down the hall to her room, she inserted the key and entered to walk across to the closet where her parasol was housed. With a gasp, she drew up short. Berry stood on her balcony, leaning on the rail and smiling at her through the open French doors.

She had to laugh with delight at the feat. “How on earth did you do that?”

Tilting his head, he disclaimed, “I prefer not to disclose my secrets.”

Inferring that he had leapt between balconies, she was impressed. Nevertheless, he shouldn’t be here and if he were caught she didn’t like to think of the scandal—not to mention Bing would not be so compliant in the future. “I believe you are uninvited,” she chided in a teasing tone, smiling so that he knew she wasn’t offended.

Instead of heeding her, he approached to stand very close. “Send me away, then.” Placing his hands at her waist, he pulled her to him and bent his head to gently kiss her mouth.

Her pulse beating erratically, Hattie hoped they couldn’t be seen from the street, although she was too paralyzed with exultation to do anything about it. It was clear he had seized upon this opportunity to take advantage—now that Bing was otherwise occupied—and she struggled with her conscience for a moment. It wasn’t a fair fight, with his warm, probing mouth upon hers—and her conscience didn’t win. Only for a few moments, she promised herself; then we will descend to the courtyard for a decorous stroll.

Sinking into the bliss of sensation, she pressed her hands against his chest as he deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth against hers and pulling her closer to him with one arm while the other hand rose to caress the side of her face. As though she had done so a hundred times, her arms went around him and she was beyond concern—it was so natural and right, as though they had been slated to be together from the first—the attraction that drew them together was elemental; unstoppable.

With escalating heat, he broke away from her mouth to kiss the side of her face, her throat, her neck—no easy feat as he was so much taller. Surrendering to the heady sensations, she raised her chin to allow his delightful mouth full access to her neck, feeling his fingers move along the base of her throat with a feather-light touch.

“Daniel?”

Hattie froze in horror. Berry paused, then straightened up and turned toward the sound without any show of discomfiture.

“Do I interrupt?” The young woman who watched them from the balcony next door was amused. She was blondly beautiful, tall, and dressed in the first stare of fashion.

“Mademoiselle Blackhouse, allow me to introduce Mademoiselle Eugenie Leone.”

Hattie wished the ground would open up beneath her. “How do you do?” she stammered instead.

“Not as well as you, I think. When you have a moment, Daniel.” With a twinkling eye, the other woman disappeared from view.

Mortified, Hattie turned to gaze up at him, and he laid a gentle finger on the tip of her nose. “I should go,” he said softly, his tone tender.

“Yes.” This much seemed evident.

She had the impression he wanted to tell her something, then thought the better of it. “May I exit through the door?”

Still struggling to recover her equilibrium, she agreed, “That would be more in keeping, I suppose.”

They walked across the room, his hand once again resting on the small of her back. “If you would return to Mademoiselle Bing, I will be there directly.”

“Certainly,” she replied, trying not to betray her continuing embarrassment.

She detected a gleam of amusement in the brown eyes as he paused to gently kiss her mouth. “We will continue our discussion at another time—yes?”

“We shall see,” she equivocated, not wanting him to believe she was as malleable as she had proved thus far. He chuckled as he made his exit, not deceived by her show of coyness.

Hattie closed the door behind him and leaned against it in acute distress. To be discovered in such a compromising position—she held her breath for a moment to see if she could hear raised voices next door, but heard nothing. Mademoiselle Leone is not what she seems, he had told her, but one certainly could believe they were on intimate terms if she was looking for him in his room—and she had called him “Daniel,” which was equal parts interesting and infuriating, as Hattie had never been offered his name, and certainly one would think she had earned the right. Although it probably wasn’t his true name, which was apparently as much a secret as the wretched mummy’s. I don’t understand any of this, she thought a bit crossly—and it is
so
annoying that we are constantly being interrupted. Brought up short, she took herself in hand; you have no business allowing such liberties—exercise some restraint, for the love of heaven.

She then ruined the effect by wishing she had at least one low-cut gown in the manner of Mademoiselle Leone’s—Hattie’s décolletage was just as impressive.

The new arrival joined them at breakfast the next morning, and Hattie was given an opportunity to study the unflappable Mademoiselle Leone, who was entirely French, with a vivacious and charming manner. She also made a point of openly flirting with Berry, which Hattie took in good part as the other girl was witness to Berry’s preferences, and could be forgiven for her pique. If the newcomer thought to get a reaction out of Hattie she was to be disappointed, particularly because Berry’s hand kept finding hers under the table. But when the gentleman bent his head to Hattie his murmured words were far from lover-like: “Did you mention our concerns to Mademoiselle Bing?”

Hattie responded in the same low tone. “Yes. Bing will release no secrets.”

“
Eh
bien
, what is it you two speak of?” Eugenie interrupted with a pretty pout, tapping her silk fan on Berry’s wrist. “Napoleon’s horse?”

Berry turned and responded with a few rapid words in colloquial French that Hattie could not follow but which caused Eugenie to subside into silence, pouting. Interesting, thought Hattie as she turned to speak with Bing so as to cover the awkward moment. I believe Eugenie works for Berry—or at least she answers to him, and I believe he wishes me to be aware of this; I wonder what her role is in these events. For that matter, I wonder what my role is—other than to produce the missing strongbox and bear a striking resemblance to the god-king’s daughter. She met Berry’s glance for a moment. And to convince this gentleman that a bachelor’s lot is inferior to other options available.

“Mademoiselle Bing,” said Berry, “I wonder if Mademoiselle Leone and I may be allowed to escort Mademoiselle Blackhouse to the British Consul General’s offices today; if we are to travel to Thebes there are certain arrangements that must be made and I believe it will expedite the process if the Blackhouse daughter is present.”

“Wouldn’t you rather visit the French consul?” asked Hattie. Considering he was pretending to be French, he should at least make the effort.

But he explained patiently, “It would be best if you were the supplicant—your heritage is a powerful influence.”

Bing saw the wisdom of this. “Very well—if Miss Blackhouse has no objection.”

Hattie very much appreciated that Bing always made it clear that Hattie decided her affairs for herself. “Where is the consulate located?”

“In Old City, by the Nile—it is probably best to go as soon as we can make ready so as to avoid the midday sun.”

“Willingly,” agreed Hattie, who then had another notion. “As I will be taken care of, Bing, perhaps another attempt to visit the pyramids is in order—could you send a note ’round to Mr. Hafez?”

Bing was enthusiastic and expressed her desire to make the visit even if Hafez was unavailable. “I asked the desk clerk, who tells me there is nearly always a daily group making the tour and that I may join in with no difficulty.”

“Who is this Mr. Hafez?” asked Eugenie, her porcelain brow knit.

Hattie explained, “The Minister of Antiquities—he and Miss Bing have found in each other a kindred spirit.”

In reaction, the other girl seemed surprised and cast a swift glance at Berry, who did not meet her gaze. “I see,” she offered in a doubtful tone.

“Where do you hail from, Mademoiselle Leone?” This from Bing, whom Hattie suspected was attempting to turn the subject from her relationship with Hafez.

“Martinique,” the young woman replied, her blue eyes guileless.

Intrigued, Bing raised her brows. “Indeed? I understand the Empress Josephine hailed from Martinique. Are you acquainted with the family?”

“Indeed,” the girl replied in an arch tone, and Hattie entertained a suspicion that she was mocking Bing, which seemed rather unkind.

“And you are acquainted with Captain Clements, I understand.” Bing persevered with what to Hattie seemed admirable patience.

“
C’est vrai
,” the beauty agreed, laughing at the memory. “He was so kind as to abduct me, once; but as I was very much in need of an abduction, I forgave him.”

“Admirable,” offered Bing in a neutral tone, and asked no further questions.

But Hattie was made of sterner stuff and took up the mantle. “And how are you acquainted with Monsieur Berry, mademoiselle?”

Her eyes dancing, Eugenie turned to him and asked, “Shall I say?”

“No,” he answered without hesitation.

“I cannot say.” She smiled and shook her golden curls. “But be assured it is nothing
scandaleux
.” Slyly, her eyes slid to Hattie, who could feel herself color up and did not dignify the implication with a response.

“Mademoiselle Leone will accompany us to Thebes,” Berry announced as though the girl was not trouble personified. “She has never been.”

“No, and I look forward to it above all things.” Smiling up at him, the Frenchwoman wound her arm around his in a provocative manner.

“It will be a new experience for Miss Bing and myself, also.” Hattie was unaffected by the other’s attempt to get her goat—this particular goat was hers. She could almost feel sorry for the girl; it must be very annoying to a beauty of Eugenie’s caliber to have to cede the field.

But Eugenie’s beautiful brow puckered in confusion. “Surely you have visited Thebes before?” She glanced at Berry in puzzlement.

Wondering why the woman would seek verification from Berry, Hattie assured her, “No—I have never been.” She tamped down the resentment that always threatened to rise when she thought of her long exile in the wilds of Cornwall—there was no point to it; her parents were no longer persons to be resented—they were persons to be recovered and buried.

“I believe,” Bing said into the silence, “that Mr. Hafez intends to accompany us, also.”

“
Très bon
,” murmured Eugenie, examining her nails with a satisfied smile.

“We shall have quite a group, then.” Hattie wondered crossly if every stray guest at the hotel was going to latch on to their expedition; every addition undoubtedly meant fewer opportunities for Berry to kiss her neck—not that she should allow such liberties in the first place—but it was all very annoying.

“Shall we meet in the lobby in an hour’s time?” asked Berry, rising.

Taking their cue, the breakfast party broke up and Hattie retreated with Bing to their room to prepare for their respective outings. Hafez sent an acceptance with gratifying promptness and Hattie teased her, “Pray do not elope with him, Bing—I insist upon standing up with you at the church door.”

Bing displayed her dry smile as she pinned her veiled hat carefully to her head. “I do not think it is I who is slated to receive an offer, Hathor.”

Disclaiming, Hattie teased in a light tone, “Alas for any such hopes; the beautiful Mademoiselle Leone has entered the lists.”

“You may be certain of him,” Bing assured her with a nod toward the mirror. “His gaze is drawn to you, especially when you are unaware.”

Finding this revelation very satisfactory, Hattie said only, “It is early days yet, Bing—we shall see.”

Taking up her parasol and her notebook, Bing made ready to depart. “I hope to return for dinner, Hathor, if all goes as planned.”

“I shall hear of your adventures at that time, then.” Hattie closed the door and prepared for the proposed outing to the consulate, trying to decide if she could pretend she forgot her kid gloves, which were uncomfortably hot. As she was thus engaged, there was a soft knock at the door. Smiling, she took a quick assessing glance in the mirror, pinched color into her cheeks, and opened the door with her best smile.

Instead of the expected visitor, however, she beheld a message boy from the front desk. “Miss Blackhouse? You have a visitor at the desk who begs a moment of your time.”

He handed her a card upon which was inscribed a name Hattie did not recognize. She debated for only a moment, and decided there was no harm to it; her attacker could not possibly have come to call upon her and she would certainly be safe in the hotel lobby.

Accompanied by the boy, she descended to the desk only to recognize the young clerk from the solicitor’s office waiting at the desk for her and smiling nervously. “Miss Blackhouse,” he stammered. “I hope I do not intrude.”

“Not at all,” she assured him, offering her hand. “How very pleasant to see you again.” She hid a smile—he had taken pains with his appearance and was dressed in what she imagined was his best suit of clothes.

Indicating the wrapped parcel on the counter, he offered, “I took the liberty of bringing your books.”

As she had already indicated she was not looking to house them, Hattie correctly surmised this was an excuse to call upon her. Unsure of how to handle such earnest devotion, she was loath to snub him—he was far too young, being approximately her own age. “Does your employer know of your errand?”

“No,” the young man admitted. He leaned toward her to confide, “He has been out of reason cross ever since your visit, and is often from the premises.”

“I have done you a favor, then,” observed Hattie, and he laughed as though she had said something very amusing.

Making a visible effort, the young man gathered up his courage. “Perhaps—perhaps you would be available to go out walking this evening, Miss Blackhouse.”

Anticipating just such a question, Hattie shook her head with feigned regret. “As tempting as the invitation is, I’m afraid I am constrained by my parents’ disappearance—I cannot be seen to participate in such an enjoyable pastime.”

His face fell but he nodded in understanding. “I hadn’t thought—I beg your pardon.”

“It is quite all right,” she said sincerely. “I do appreciate the offer.”

There was a pause while the clerk came to the realization he would have to withdraw. “Perhaps some other time—you have my card? Please do not hesitate to contact me if any assistance is needed.”

“I will indeed,” Hattie agreed, and threw him a bone. “I imagine I shall visit your offices in the near future, to address this difficult situation.” She sincerely hoped not; the solicitor was what Robbie would have deemed a curst rum touch.

Plucking up with this thought, the clerk bowed his way out and Hattie was left to eye the package, debating what to do with it. She could check it at the desk, but she then decided that as her things had already been thoroughly searched—and more than once—there was no harm in secreting it in her room. That way, at her first opportunity she could open it and see what the fuss was all about.

After placing the package in the bottom of her wardrobe amongst her shoe boxes, she fetched her hat and her parasol and returned to the lobby to meet up with Berry and Eugenie, now assembled and waiting for her. As she greeted them and reluctantly pulled on her gloves, Hattie noted that the two were never found in idle conversation with each other, in rather the same way Captain Clements and Berry never made idle conversation. They are all in this spying business together, she thought, and need not be convivial; it must be rather a relief—not to have to wear a polite mask with each other. Indeed, she had the impression that Berry was carefully monitoring what Eugenie said to Hattie, as though ready to rebuke her at a moment’s notice.

As they exited through the lobby doors, the ladies immediately hoisted their parasols against the bright sun and Hattie adjusted the straw brim of her hat so that it sat lower on her face. The maneuver also allowed an opportunity to take covert inventory of the Frenchwoman’s attire—Eugenie held a silk-embroidered parasol and the frivolous confection that passed as a hat had nothing to do with blocking the sun and everything to do with complimenting the contours of her lovely face. She will stop traffic, thought Hattie with sincere envy. I shall watch and learn—although to his credit, Berry appears unimpressed and once again has his hand on my back; he will leave a permanent print there if he is not careful.

Even though it was morning, the heat was already oppressive as they threaded their way through the crowded street. Berry procured a transport cart and they were underway, headed to Old City where the consulate was located.

Eugenie waved a languorous fan and addressed Berry. “Have you enough money about you, Daniel? We shall need it for our journey,
n’est-ce pas
?”

“I have.”

Unfolding her wrist with a flourish, the girl displayed a soft bundle of bills in her hand. “As do I.”

Hattie stared in surprise that Eugenie would brandish such an amount. Amused, Berry took it from her. “I will keep it, if you please.” He glanced at the other girl with a shake of his head. “Try not to bring attention to us, Eugenie.”

She laughed behind her fan, clearly enjoying herself. “It was too simple, Daniel—I could not resist.”

Hattie gazed out at the Saladin Citadel in the distance, struggling to keep her countenance. Eugenie was a pickpocket, then; a commendable trait in a cohort, one would think. “Must we pay a fee to travel down the Nile?” Hattie wondered at the reference to needed funds.

“There is no fee
comme
tel
,” Berry answered carefully, “But the journey will depend on securing cooperation from those who will expect to be compensated.”

Hattie was unsurprised, considering there was no strong central authority to oversee such things. “Bribery, in other words. Is it so corrupt, then?”

He shrugged. “At present, the local authorities hold sway, but the situation will probably not survive the year and everyone seeks to make a profit while they may.”

“Because once the British regain authority, graft will be discouraged,” Hattie concluded. “The rule of law will be enforced.”

“Perhaps French laws will be enforced, instead,” Eugenie offered with a small smile from beneath her parasol. “Just because you are English, you should not make such an assumption.”

Hattie lifted her brows in surprise at the pointed observation—which seemed to have no particular point. “The French? Certainly that seems unlikely, Mademoiselle Leone—the French government is in as much disarray as is Egypt’s.”

“
Quand
même
, one never knows,” the other replied, and turned to gaze at the scenery.