Mr Impossible (38 page)

To see her laid
low—she, so bold and brave and brilliant…

It was very
disturbing.

“
What you
need is… um… a cool cloth on your head,” he
improvised. “And your back rubbed. And I do not understand why
you lie there suffering pain when you have a full stock of laudanum
in your medicine box.”

“
It is
for
acute
pain, for emergencies,” she said. “It is
ridiculous to take laudanum for a perfectly natural monthly event.”

“
If you
cannot get up from bed, if you lie there clutching your belly and
curled up like a baby, I reckon the pain qualifies as acute,”
he said. “And this isn’t a perfectly natural monthly
event. Consider what happened in Asyut. You were not only dragged
through a sandstorm and up a mountain, but you had to dig your way
out of a caved-in robbers’ tunnel. Among other things.”
He gave her one of his impudent grins, though he was not feeling at
all impudent.

He felt all at sea.

“
When I am
well again,” she said, “I shall box your ears. In the
meantime—” She winced. “Perhaps I will take a drop
of laudanum. But only a drop. Now go away.”

He didn’t go
away. He mixed the laudanum with honey and water and watched her
drink it. He wet the cloths and wrung them out and laid them on her
forehead. He rubbed her back. He distracted her with humorous family
anecdotes. He did not leave until she fell asleep.

MILES’S CAMEL
JOURNEY ended at Dendera, at the Temple of Hathor.

He’d heard of
the place. He’d seen pictures in the
Description
de I’Egypte
. He’d read travelers’ tales. Daphne had talked about it
as well. But as he and his captors entered the sand- and
rubbish-filled space that constituted its courtyard, he was
interested mainly in the shade it would offer deep within.

After nine days’
journey across the desert on a hostile camel, after the sandstorms’
repeated batterings, he only wanted to lie down and die someplace out
of the sun and the hot, gritty wind.

The men led him
inside, and he stumbled wearily along with them. Now and again he
glanced up at the massive columns. Daphne would be thrilled, he
thought. The place was covered with hieroglyphs.

He wondered what
she’d think of the famous Hathor, the Egyptian counterpart of
Aphrodite. Miles found her singularly unattractive. She had a low
forehead, close-set eyes, and wide, fat cheeks. Cow’s ears
stuck out from the sides of her head like jug handles. She looked
more like a gargoyle than a goddess, he thought. But then, not being
in the best of humors, he mightn’t be able to appreciate her
properly.

The men took him
through a great vestibule, through a door into a smaller hall—though
it was still immense— along whose sides he perceived narrow
openings into dark chambers. His escort never paused. They led him
on, straight ahead through more chambers, and at last into a narrow,
enclosed, and profoundly dark space. Even the candles could
illuminate no more than the lower portions of the relief-covered
walls.

They had no
difficulty illuminating the man within, however.

“
Noxley?”
Miles said, half-disbelieving what his eyes told him.

Lord Noxley came
forward and clasped his hand. “My dear fellow, how relieved I
am to see you!”

“
Not half as
relieved as I am to see you,” Miles said. “Not to mention
happily surprised. I had hoped my sister would go to you once she
realized something had gone amiss with me, but I’d little hope
of seeing you so soon.”

“
It was a
near thing,” Noxley said, releasing his surprisingly strong
grip. “The consulate was inclined, as always, to drag its feet.
But Mrs. Pembroke took matters into her own hands. As a result, I was
able to set out after you not three days after you were captured. But
we can talk at length later, when you have rested.”

He addressed Ghazi.
“Have you anything else for me?”

“
Soon,”
Ghazi said. “A few days.”

“
Duval is not
here,” said Noxley. “None of his people are here.”

Ghazi smiled.
“Perhaps they heard it was not safe.”

“
We’ll
need to find him,” said Noxley. “But the other thing
first.”

“
The other
thing first, yes,” Ghazi said. “Unless you require me, I
set out now.”

“
That would
be best,” said Noxley. He withdrew a small bag from his coat
and gave it to Ghazi. The bag chinked.

The man took it
with thanks, bade them farewell with his usual suave courtesy, and
departed, taking his associates with him.

“
You’re
shocked, I daresay, at my choice of employees,” Noxley said.
“In England that man would be a common criminal.”

“
Not at all
common,” Miles said. “His manners are beautiful, and he
has a charming way of offering to kill innocent bystanders if one
doesn’t cooperate.”

“
Alas,
without men like Ghazi, one can get nothing done in this barbaric
place,” Noxley said. “When in Rome, you know.” He
smiled disarmingly. “I could never have found you so quickly
without those fellows’ help.”

“
It’s
not their fault we didn’t arrive sooner,” Miles said.
“We’ve been nine days coming from Minya, thanks to the
sandstorms.”

“
Wretched for
you, I don’t doubt,” Noxley said. “But otherwise
you should have arrived here days ahead of me. The winds slowed those
of us on the river as well.”

He led the way out
of the narrow chamber. “By gad, I am happy to see you,”
he said, lowering his voice. “This has turned out to be a nasty
business, indeed. The curst French…” He paused and
looked about the dark temple. “They are taking away the zodiac
ceiling, the swine. The pasha has given leave, you see. They will
carry it to Paris— and I can do nothing until this other
wretched business is settled.” He shook his head. “But
never mind the French. You’ve had a filthy time of it in the
desert. You’re longing for a bath, I daresay, and clean clothes
and proper food. And I—if I stay here much longer, I shall be
tempted to do murder.”

Chapter 17

THOUGH DAPHNE TOOK
THE LAUDANUM IN small doses, it helped a great deal. She was grateful
indeed to Mr. Carsington for insisting, as she told him at the first
opportunity.

Privately, she
marveled at his taking the trouble over her monthly misery. But then,
he was a marvel to her. For the two days she spent in bed, she
thought about him, and all the ways in which he surprised her.

Though the drug
made her mind rather foggy, this much was clear: He was not at all
the lout she’d first supposed him. Instead, he made other men
seem loutish, especially Virgil. Her late husband had made her feel
defective, even monstrous at times. He’d left her with a great
fortune and very little self-confidence.

In the weeks she’d
spent with Rupert Carsington, her confidence had steadily grown. That
day and evening in Asyut, she’d lived through the fear and
danger and passion and one trial of endurance after another. And
never before had she felt so alive.

Despite the
fogginess, she was well aware of his large, capable hands laying the
cool, wet cloths on her forehead or gently rubbing her back. She was
aware of his deep voice, tinged with laughter now and again as he
told an amusing story.

She was also aware
that, like laudanum, he could easily become a dangerous habit.

By the morning of
the third day the violent spasms of pain had faded to an occasional
twinge. She was able to sit up and take note of the world about her
and puzzle over how sick she’d been. It could not have been her
menses alone, she decided. It always made her tired and cross, and
was often painful, but never so much as this. Never before had it so
completely incapacitated her.

But then, her life
had never been so tumultuous before.

She decided that
dyspepsia or some other stomach ailment had aggravated matters.

Whatever it was
seemed to be gone because she woke with an appetite. It was Nafisah
who brought the ewer and basin as soon as Daphne was sitting up.

“
You feel
better,” Nafisah said, smiling. “I see it in your face.”

“
Much
better,” Daphne said. After washing, she noticed the baby was
nowhere about. “Where is Sabah?”

“
In the front
room with the master and the boy Tom,” Nafisah said.

“
His name is
Udail,” Daphne said automatically.

“
He wishes to
be Tom,” Nafisah said. “He says he is the slave of the
master and will go with him wherever he goes because the master has
saved your life.”

“
I was not
dying,” Daphne said. “You know the ailment isn’t
fatal.”

“
He saved you
from the sandstorm as well. I, too, gladly serve such a master, who
shows such kindness to his
ha-reem
, and waits upon her like a
slave.”

The word
hareem
made Daphne Mr. Carsington’s property: a woman who belonged to
him, who was part of his household. She squirmed at the term yet saw
how unwise it would be to correct Nafisah. The girl would not
understand. In her view, all women belonged to one man or another. In
any event, it was unwise to encourage the servants to speculate too
much about the relationship between the “master” and
their mistress.

The relationship
between European men and their women baffled many Egyptians anyway,
although the majority accepted it philosophically. Practices
Egyptians normally regarded as improprieties they often explained and
excused with “It is their custom.”

The crew and
servants were well aware that Daphne’s maid shared her cabin,
that Tom shared the “master’s,” and that the cabin
Nafisah and Sabah now shared with various domestic supplies stood
between the two.

If this arrangement
changed, everyone aboard would know. Daphne had no idea whether the
men would think less of her or would disregard it as an alien custom.
She had no doubt, however, that Miles would eventually hear of it.
Depending on how talkative her people were, gossip and speculation
might travel up and down the Nile.

In England she
lived a reclusive life, and others’ opinion of her mattered not
at all. She had never made a scandal, though. Miles was all the
family she had left. She could not disgrace him.

What had happened
in Asyut must be the beginning and the end of all intimacy with Mr.
Carsington, she told herself as she dressed. For a time they had been
cut off from the world and its rules. They were back in the world
now, and must live by the rules. And she must return to reality, to
facts, not fantasies.

She and Mr.
Carsington had no future together. This was for the best.
Circumstances had thrown together two people who could not have less
in common.

To emphasize her
resolve to keep him at a distance, she donned her widow’s garb.
She looked down at herself and recalled the expression on Mr.
Carsington’s face when he’d gazed at her naked breasts.
She remembered snuggling, naked, in his arms. She felt a pang.

Telling herself to
be sensible, she went out to the front cabin.

The Egyptians
therein welcomed her in the usual extravagant fashion: Tom launched
into a long speech of rejoicing, his hand on his heart. The baby
managed a few staggering steps in her direction before collapsing on
the rug, laughing and clapping her hands. Even the mongoose darted in
from wherever she’d been, and ran around Daphne’s ankles,
sniffing.

Mr. Carsington said
nothing, only gave her a slow survey, head to toes and up again.

Her face grew hot,
and she was well aware of heat further down, coiling in the pit of
her belly.

She directed her
gaze at the mongoose. “Marigold has grown livery while I was
ill,” she said composedly. “And friendlier.” Had he
won over the mongoose, too? Was there anyone or anything able to
resist him? “What’s happened to her precious shirt?”

“
She hides
it,” Mr. Carsington said. “Today it’s under the
divan. You’ll see her check at intervals, to make sure it’s
still there. She’s vastly entertaining, now her paw has healed.
I hadn’t realized what busy, curious creatures they are. She’s
constantly running in and out, to and fro, investigating.”