The Golden One (52 page)

‘A flat, unconditional no?’

‘There were conditions. You can guess what they were. She was in the right. I told her – I promised her – this would be my last assignment. As it well may be.’

‘Not in the way you mean,’ I said firmly. ‘We are here, and on the job! We could be more useful, however, if you would tell me the purpose of your mission. What are you
after?’

‘Sahin.’ His eyelids drooped. The sedative had loosened his tongue. ‘He’s their best man. Their only good man. Once he’s out of the way, we can proceed with . . .
He loves the girl. I didn’t know that. I thought he’d go to some lengths to get her back, but I didn’t realize . . . Paternal affection isn’t one of my strong points. I told
you about Maryam, didn’t I?’

‘Who?’ I had to repeat the question. He was half asleep, wandering a little in his mind.

‘Maryam. Molly. That’s the name you knew . . . She’s gone.’

‘Dead?’ I gasped. ‘Your daughter?’

‘No. Gone. Left. Ran away. Hates me. Because of her mother. She’s living proof of heredity. Got the worst of both parents. Poor little devil . . . She is, you know. Amelia . .
.’

‘It’s all right,’ I said softly, taking the hand that groped for mine. ‘Everything will be all right. Sleep now.’

I sat by him until his hand relaxed and the lines on his face smoothed out. I had intended – oh, I admit it – to take advantage of his drowsy state to wring information out of him,
but I had not expected revelations so intimate, so personal, so painful.

His daughter had been fourteen years of age when I knew her. She must be sixteen now. Her mother had been Sethos’s lover and partner in crime; but her tigerish affection had turned to
jealous hatred when she realized his heart belonged to another. (Me, in fact, or so he claimed.) She tried several times to kill me and succeeded in assassinating one of my dearest friends before
she met her end at the hands of those who had been an instant too late to save him.

How much of that terrible story did the child know? If she blamed her father for her mother’s death, she could not know the whole truth. He had not even been present when she died, and she
had led a life of crime and depravity before she met Sethos. A moralist might hold him guilty of failing to redeem her, but in my opinion even a saint, which Sethos was not, would have found Bertha
hard going.

I do not believe that the dead hand of heredity is the sole determinant of character. Remembering Molly as I had last seen her, looking even younger than her actual age, the picture of freckled,
childish innocence . . . But she hadn’t looked so innocent the day I found her in Ramses’s room with her dress half off – by her own act, I should add. If I had not happened to be
passing by – if Ramses had not had the good sense to summon me at once – or if he had been another kind of man, the kind of man she hoped he was – he might have found himself in
an extremely interesting situation.

That proved nothing. She had not deliberately set out to seduce or shame him; she had been young and foolish and infatuated. My heart swelled with pity, for her and for the man who lay sleeping
on the bed, his face pale and drawn with fatigue. He had not known how much he loved her until he lost her, and he blamed himself. How wonderful it would be if I could bring father and child
together again!

It was a happy thought, but not practical – for the present, at any rate. We had to get through the current difficulty first. With a sigh I slipped my hand from his and tiptoed out of the
room.

‘Well?’ Emerson demanded. ‘You’ve been the devil of a long time. How much were you able to get out of him?’

‘We were right about him, of course,’ I replied, seating myself next to him as his gesture invited. ‘He is no traitor. His mission was to remove Sahin Bey –
Pasha.’

‘Kill him, you mean?’ Ramses asked.

‘He didn’t say. But surely Sethos would not – ’

‘Sahin is a dangerous enemy and this is wartime. However,’ Ramses said thoughtfully, ‘the same purpose would be served if Sahin Pasha were to be disgraced and removed from his
position. In the last week he’s lost me, his daughter, and now Ismail Pasha, whose flight will prove to their satisfaction that he was a British spy. Careless, to say the least!’

‘More than careless,’ Emerson exclaimed. ‘Highly suspicious, to say the least! With that lot, you are guilty until proven innocent. By Gad, my boy, I believe you are right.
It’s like Sethos to concoct such a devious scheme. If the Turks believe, as they well may, that Sahin Pasha has been a double agent all along, they will have to reorganize their entire
intelligence network. It could take months.’

‘And in the meantime they would be without their best and cleverest man,’ I added. ‘Sethos said that once Sahin was out of the way, they could proceed with . . .
something.’

‘What?’

‘He didn’t say.’

‘And who is “they”?’ Nefret asked. ‘Who is he working for? Not Cartright and “that lot”?’

‘He – er – didn’t say.’

Emerson brought his fist down on the table, rattling the crockery. ‘What did he say? Good Gad, you were with him for almost three quarters of an hour.’

‘How do you know that?’ I demanded. ‘You haven’t a watch.’

This time my attempt to distract him and put him on the defensive did not succeed. ‘Just answer the question, Peabody. What were you talking about all that while?’

‘Personal matters. Oh, Emerson, for pity’s sake, don’t grind your teeth. I wanted to make certain he was asleep before I left him. The man is on the edge of nervous collapse.
He has been living for months under conditions of intolerable strain. He must not be allowed to return to Gaza.’

‘He wouldn’t be such a fool,’ Emerson muttered.

‘He would if he believed Sir Edward had gone there to look for him.’

‘
He
wouldn’t be such a fool,’ Emerson declared.

‘He would if he believed his leader was in danger. They have been friends for a long time. I am going to talk to Mustafa; perhaps Sir Edward said something to him. And I promised to treat
his sore . . . Ah, there you are, Esin. You had a good long rest.’

‘Yes.’ Rubbing sleepy eyes, she took a seat on the divan next to Ramses. ‘What has happened? Has my father – ’

‘Nothing has happened. You are perfectly safe. Are you hungry? There must be something left on that tray. Excuse me. I won’t be long.’

Ramses accompanied me. I had expected he or his father would do so, and on the whole I preferred Ramses to Emerson. His questions were not likely to be so provocative.

‘I thought I’d better come along in case Mustafa’s sore is located in a place Father would prefer you didn’t examine,’ he explained.

‘That is highly unlikely.’

‘I was joking, Mother.’

‘I know, my dear.’

The skies were still overcast but the rain had stopped. It dripped in mournful cadence from the eaves of the arcades around the courtyard. I allowed Ramses to take my arm.

‘I am of the opinion that you are right about Sethos’s intentions,’ I said. ‘It was clever of you to reason it out.’

‘Too clever, perhaps? I’d hate to think my mind works along the same lines as his.’

‘Whatever his original intentions, they have almost certainly had the effect you described. Goodness, but this is a dreary place. There doesn’t seem to be a soul about.
Mustafa?’

‘He’s probably with the horses,’ Ramses said.

Mustafa heard our voices and emerged from the shed. ‘I was talking to the horses,’ he said. ‘They are fine animals. Is there something you lack, Sitt Hakim?’

‘Not at the moment. I want to talk to you, Mustafa. And treat your sore . . . Where is it?’

Mustafa sat down on a bench and held out his foot. It was bare and callused and very dirty.

‘You will have to wash it first,’ I said.

‘Wash?’ Mustafa repeated in astonishment.

Ramses, who appeared to be enjoying himself very much, fetched a bucket of water and we persuaded Mustafa to put his foot into it. I had brought a bar of Pear’s soap with me, since I knew
that commodity is not common in houses of the region. After a vigorous scrubbing the sore was apparent – an infected big toe, which he must have stubbed and then neglected. The alcohol made
Mustafa’s eyes pop.

‘I am going to bandage your foot,’ I said, applying gauze and sticking plaster liberally. ‘But you must keep it clean. Change the bandage every day and wash it.’

‘Is that all?’ Mustafa asked.

‘That should – ’

Ramses coughed loudly. ‘Will you say the proper words, Mother, or shall I?’

‘Incantations are more in your line than mine,’ I replied in English. ‘Proceed.’

Once that essential part of the treatment was completed, Mustafa was satisfied, and I got down to business.

‘Did Sir Edward tell you where he was going?’

‘No.’ Mustafa held up his foot and studied the bandage. ‘He took the mule.’

‘You have a mule?’

‘Two. He took one.’

‘Did he say when he would be back?’

‘No.’ Mustafa cogitated, his brow furrowing. ‘He said . . . what was it? Something about whiskey. That he would bring it to the Father of Curses.’

‘He’s gone to Khan Yunus,’ Ramses said, as we left Mustafa admiring his bandaged foot.

‘Not to Gaza?’

‘Father is right, he wouldn’t be such a fool. Not unless he had proof that Sethos was still there.’ He took hold of my arm and stopped me. ‘I don’t believe we want
to discuss Sahin Pasha in front of the girl, do we?’

‘It would be wiser not to, I believe. The feelings of young persons are notoriously changeable. She is angry with him now, but if she believed he was in danger – ’

‘Yes, Mother, that is precisely what I had in mind.’

When we returned to the saloon Nefret looked up from the paper on which she was drawing. ‘Esin wanted to know about the latest fashions,’ she explained. ‘How is Mustafa’s
sore . . . whatever?’

‘His toe,’ I replied. ‘A slight infection. Where is Emerson?’

‘He said he was going to sit with Sethos.’ She chuckled. ‘I think he’s looking for tobacco. He’s run out.’

Emerson did not find any tobacco. He came back looking even more perturbed than deprivation of that unhealthy substance could explain.

‘Is he still sleeping?’ I asked.

‘Yes. He – er – doesn’t look well.’

‘He isn’t well.’

‘Is someone sick?’ Esin asked.

I realized she was unaware of the latest arrival. ‘A – er – friend of ours. You know him as Ismail Pasha.’

‘He is here?’ She jumped up and clapped her hands to her cheeks. ‘Why? Did my father send him? Has he come to take me back?’

‘Goodness, but you have a one-track mind,’ I said. ‘He is a fugitive too. Your father became suspicious of him and he ran away.’

‘Oh.’ She thought it over and her face brightened. ‘Then I must thank him. He risked himself for me!’

‘He is, after all, a gallant Englishman,’ Ramses drawled. ‘Much braver and more chivalrous than I.’

‘But you are younger and more beautiful,’ said Esin.

That took care of Ramses. He said no more.

The rest of us kept up a desultory conversation and the minutes dragged slowly by. There was much we could not say in Esin’s presence, and I couldn’t think of a reasonable excuse for
getting rid of her. Sending her off to bed wouldn’t work; she had slept most of the day.

Except for Selim, the rest of us had not. I persuaded Nefret to lie down and took Esin off into a corner so our voices would not disturb her. We found a common interest in women’s rights,
and I told her all about the suffrage movement and how I had marched with the suffragists and been seized by a large constable. She declared that she would have done the same, and kicked the
constable as well.

Emerson sat in brooding silence, smoking Ramses’s cigarettes and slipping out of the room periodically to look in on his brother. Ramses brooded too, over Nefret, sitting quietly beside
her with his eyes fixed on her face. After a while I took Esin with me to the kitchen and showed her how to make tea. It was the first time she had ever performed such a menial chore, I believe.
She was certainly clumsy enough. However, we got the tray upstairs without disaster.

Late in the afternoon the sun made its appearance, and shortly afterwards Sethos made his. He was in a vile mood, which I had expected, and he had shaved his beard, which I had not expected. The
strange grey-green eyes swept the room in a contemptuous and comprehensive survey. ‘Everybody here?’ he inquired in his most offensive tone. ‘How nice.’

I knew what concerned him most and I hastened to give him the news that would relieve his mind. ‘We believe Sir Edward has not gone to Gaza but to Khan Yunus.’

‘Oh?’ He rubbed his chin. ‘Let us hope you are right.’

‘I am certain of it,’ I said. ‘Tea?’

‘No.’ He flung himself down on the divan.

‘You had better have some. Take it to him, Esin.’ I handed her the cup. ‘Lemon, no sugar, isn’t that right?’

His eyes met mine and his tight mouth turned up at this reminder of the last time we had taken tea together. Unfortunately it reminded Emerson too. He knew what had happened at that meeting, for
of course I had confided fully in him. However, he confined his comments to a wordless grumble.

‘Are you really Ismail Pasha?’ the girl asked doubtfully. She stood beside him, the cup held carefully in both hands.

Sethos rose and took it from her. A smile transformed his haggard face, and the cultivated charm slipped onto him like a cloak. ‘Is it the absence of the beard that confused you? I am
indeed the same man, and I am relieved to find you well and safe. My friends have looked after you?’

The charm was a little tattered, but it was good enough for Esin. ‘Oh, yes, but I was frightened for a while; there was fighting and we had to run away.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Sethos murmured.

Her account was accurate, on the whole, though she made a thrilling tale of it. Sethos listened attentively, his mobile countenance expressing admiration, astonishment, and distress at
appropriate intervals, but I could tell she had not his complete attention. He was listening and waiting – as were we all.