The Mistress of Nothing (26 page)

The next morning I was forced to leave the cabin to find water with which to bathe Abdullah. I emerged, clutching the baby in my arms, broiling hot in the high-necked muslin dress despite the early hour. The moment I came out on deck, a group of peasant women gathered around me, and I wanted to rush back into the dreary cabin and push the trunk against the door. They stared at me, in silence, and I stared back at them, unable to move. I would say I have never been so frightened in my life, except since Abdullah’s birth I have been afraid for myself and my child over and over again.

But then one of the ladies smiled at me.

And I remembered. I remembered where I was, and I remembered by whom I was surrounded: Egyptians. Could there be a kinder, more hospitable race on this earth? I took a deep breath, returned the smile, and greeted the women respectfully: “Es
salaam ahlaykum.”
They began to talk at me all at once, happy and cheerful and friendly and curious; they whisked the baby out of my arms to fuss over and pamper him, and they shared their water and food with me, giving me the best, the most sweet, the most delicious of everything, and would not allow me to return the favor, and they made me sit in the shade on deck at the stern of the steamer and rest while they entertained Abdullah, and they asked me dozens and dozens of questions, and were amazed by my Arabic, even more amazed to hear I had married an Egyptian, though they disapproved of the fact that he had allowed me to travel down the Nile by myself. It was unheard of for
Frangi
to travel by government steamer, and they swore I was the first-ever
Frangi
woman to do so, and they brought word from the
reis
himself that I was the first he had ever seen.

And so it happened: I left the world of Lady Duff Gordon, surrounded by men, with men as our companions, our servants, our teachers, our friends, and I entered the realm of women for that journey, where men, except our children, those much-loved boys, scarcely existed. The boat steamed down the Nile at a steady, even pace, not subject to wind or calm as a
dahabieh
would have been, and my days aboard were a kind of blessed reprieve, though I did not realize this at the time.

I SPENT MY DAYS ON THE STEAMER PLANNING. IT TOOK ME A WHILE
to realize it, but if there was no one to take care of me, there was also no one telling me what to do. I fobbed off the women’s inquiries about where I was going, what I was doing, as best I could: of course my husband’s family was meeting me in Cairo, of course I knew where to go, what to do. The women around me and the white lies I told them helped me see the truth. I was not going to give Abdullah to Omar’s first wife and return to England. Why on earth would I do such a thing? Lady Duff Gordon had thrown me out, it was true, and in doing so, she had released me from my burden of loyalty. I was not going to do what Lady Duff Gordon demanded of me.

There was my husband to be considered, of course, and if Omar had been there, I would have asked his permission, and I would have obeyed him; I was a good wife. But he was not there. I was not going to give up everything I had ever loved and meekly go away so that my Lady would never have to face me again. I was not going to do such a thing, no matter how far Lady Duff Gordon’s influence reached. I would find a way to stay in Cairo, and to keep Abdullah with me.

My resolve gave me courage; courage stiffened my resolve. Omar would forgive me. I felt as sure of that as I was of anything.

AT THE PORT OF BOULAK IN CAIRO THE TRUE NATURE OF MY PREDICAMENT
presented itself to me yet again. On the steamer I had been occupied, entertained, and cosseted by my traveling companions. Even a small dose of dysentery did not have too great an ill effect on my journey. But Cairo: once we were docked, the women who had accompanied me said farewell,
Insha allah, Alhamdulillah,
and disappeared into the crowds like water sluicing off the ship’s deck. As I walked down the gangway I felt the scrutiny of all those present on the dock and regretted my decision to wear European dress that day. Egyptians may be kind, but they have no compunction regarding staring and do not seem to consider it rude or intrusive in any way. And I was an unlikely figure, loaded down with trunk and baby, on my own. I had not allowed Omar to arrange for anyone to meet me at Boulak; as far as he was concerned, I was to travel straight to his parents’ house to hand over Abdullah, and from there to Alexandria to await my passage across the Mediterranean Sea. This was the point I had planned to melt into the crowd myself. Only I was far too conspicuous for melting.

WITH THE MONEY THAT MY LADY HAD INTENDED FOR MY PASSAGE TO
England, I installed myself in a pension in the center of the city. I paid Umm Mahmoud, the elderly wife of the pension owner, a small amount to care for Abdullah for a few hours every day. She was a tall woman with a broad lap and a rich smile; she smelled of rosewater and anise and told me she loved Abdullah already. I began to look for work. I started at Shepheard’s Hotel, familiar territory, where I knew I would find other English people, other English ladies’ maids.

In the foyer of the hotel all conversation stopped the moment I entered. I saw myself through English eyes for the first time in a long time: my face and hands were tanned a warm peasant brown and my dress was suddenly unbearably shabby, my bonnet scuffed and shrunken, my gloves in need of replacing. I held myself very upright and approached the first English servant I spotted.

“Are you a lady’s maid?” I asked, my voice strained with the unfamiliar English; I could hear how peculiar my accent had become.

The woman—no more than nineteen or twenty years of age—was wearing a version of what I wore, only cleaner, fresher, brighter, unstained. She looked at me and recoiled. “Why do you ask?” she said in a little mouse shriek.

“Do you work here in Cairo?”

“We leave for Alexandria tomorrow; we are returning to England.” The young woman pulled herself together. “Why are you asking?”

I could see the attention of the people in the foyer, small clusters of women drinking tea, pairs of men smoking, remained focused on me. And I understood my mistake: Shepheard’s Hotel was not a good place to look for English people who live in Cairo; Shepheard’s Hotel was full of people who were just arriving and people who were ready to leave. At that moment, a member of the hotel staff approached. He put his hand on my arm and I was so shocked at being touched by a strange man that I told him off, sharply, in Arabic. The little maid I had been addressing ran away.

The hotel steward scowled. “You are not welcome here.”

He thought I was a prostitute. Mortified, I fled.

AFTER THAT I WAS SUNK INTO SUCH DESPONDENCY THAT I WAS
scarcely able to leave the pension. I spent my days in my room with Abdullah and fell into the rhythm I had grown to know well in the French House, hiding away, waiting. My room, though spartan, was dark and cool and had a wind catcher, one of the wooden latticed window bays so typical of Cairo, jutting out over the narrow street. I sat there, like a good Egyptian daughter, and watched the world pass by.

After a few days I pulled myself together and, with Umm Mahmoud as my adviser, found a tailor in the market and used a good portion of my Lady’s money to pay him to make a copy of my high-necked dress, only this time in lightweight Egyptian cotton, covered in tiny floral sprigs. I knew the truth now: no English person would employ me. My time in Egypt had transformed me; I was no longer the ideal servant I had once been. But I had a new idea: the Egyptian elite might be amused by the idea of a proper English lady’s maid in their household, even one with a damaged reputation. But who on earth could provide me with the necessary introductions to these people? Lady Duff Gordon moved in a world of introductions; it seemed that whatever she needed, whatever we needed, was only an introduction or two away. But here in Cairo there was no one to ease my way in society. The thought of what I needed to do in order to survive made me quite breathless at times; I’d have to sit down and put my head between my knees, like a grand lady overtaken by a spell of the vapors, like my Lady herself on one of her bad days. I had no time for such weakness. Time and again, I forced myself back onto my feet.

THE CITY WAS CHANGING RAPIDLY; THE BANKS OF THE NILE HAD
been made secure and the flood plain had given way to a vast building site as Ismail Pasha set out to fulfill his grand plan of turning Cairo into the Paris of Africa. In the almost two years since my first visit to the city with my Lady, I had seen great changes take place, yet more palaces finished, great wide boulevards crisscrossing the medieval city, roads tarmacked, gardens planted, pavements laid. The pace of change increased as work progressed on the canal at Suez, while the great and good of Cairo looked to Europe for inspiration. The
Frangi
quarter flourished to the west of the Old City, but I was still smarting from my visit to Shepheard’s Hotel and had decided to avoid Europeans. My cash was dwindling, despite the generosity of my landlady, and I needed to find work. I had not written to my sister Ellen to tell her where I was, and I hoped that the news that I had not handed over the baby had not yet reached Omar in Luxor. Cairo was quiet for only a few hours each day, just before dawn, and again at the hot hours of midafternoon, when there was silence, broken only by the cool tinkle of the water seller with his brass cups and his call for custom, offering liquorice water and carob and raisin sorbet as well; it was during these quiet hours, kept awake by my worries, that I decided what I must do.

In the early morning light I put on my Egyptian clothes, including the headscarf and veil, which I never felt the need of in Luxor but wore often here in Cairo, where I had rapidly grown weary of the curiosity my presence provoked. I left Abdullah with Umm Mahmoud yet again, and he settled into the lap of the old woman without complaint. I made my way through the streets of Cairo; like all other pedestrians, I was forced to pause frequently to flatten myself against the stone walls of the buildings that line the streets to enable the camel and donkey traffic to pass by. Finally, I reached the boundary of the city, where I struck out into the countryside. I had visited my Lady’s friend Hekekyan Bey in his country residence several times by carriage, and I remembered the way. It was a long walk, through cotton fields; the heat bore down on me beneath my veil and I had to stop and drink water from the irrigation ditch that ran beside the road. After several hours I began to fear that I had taken a wrong turn and was lost, when I saw Hekekyan Bey’s house in the distance, surrounded by tall palms, shimmering like an oasis.

The house lies within a walled compound and I pulled on a bell rope at the gate. It was midmorning now, and the early June temperature rose relentlessly. A servant came to the door and frowned to see a strange veiled woman standing there, but I addressed him in Arabic and, remembering myself, pulled my headscarf down onto my shoulders and removed my veil. The servant’s eyes almost popped out of his head at this spectacle of an Englishwoman revealed, and I smiled in spite of everything. Hekekyan Bey was not at home, the servant informed me; he went to fetch Hekekyan Bey’s wife, whom I had also met several times.

I knew I was taking a risk in going to Hekekyan Bey for help; news of my visit would almost certainly find its way back to my Lady. But news travels slowly in Egypt and I hoped that by the time she discovered my ruse I’d be well established in a new position, beyond her reach.

Hekekyan Bey’s wife received me in the formal salon of the house, among the antiquities that her husband buys and exports from the country. While I waited for her to appear, I rested on a divan beside a black granite sphinx, seated on its haunches like a large, alert dog. Across the room, a green marble cat watched me. And in the shadows on the far side of the room I could see a mummy in its painted wooden box leaning against the wall. After long minutes during which I adjusted and readjusted my clothes, wishing that I had worn my English dress after all—Egyptian dress for the journey,
Frangi
once I arrived—Hekekyan Bey’s wife appeared, followed by a servant bearing lemonade and pastries. She welcomed me to her house with a good deal of grace and we made an elaborate exchange of greetings and blessings.

“We heard that you had left the service of Lady Duff Gordon.”

I bowed my head and did not speak.

“Mrs. Henry Ross wrote to the father of my children; she wants to convince Lady Duff Gordon to hire a new maid. She should not be in Egypt without the service of an English maid, don’t you agree?”

I looked up at Hekekyan Bey’s wife and then bowed my head once again. “No,” I concurred, “she should not be without a maid. But Omar Abu Halaweh”—I paused—“the father of my son, cares for her ably.”

“Yes. He was a good find.”

We looked at each other then but said nothing.

“Where is your child? I would have liked to have seen him.”

“I have left him with a—friend—in Cairo today,” I said. “I wanted to ask Hekekyan Bey for advice.”

She smiled. “The father of my children is expert at giving advice.”

“But he is not here.”

“No. Tell me why you have come, and I will speak to him for you on his return.”

“I need to find a new position,” I said.

She frowned.

“Not with the
Frangi,
but I thought, perhaps, an Egyptian family? A family with daughters, perhaps, who would like to learn to speak English, who have need of all the services that an English servant could provide. I’m very skilled—”

“I don’t doubt it,” Hekekyan Bey’s wife interrupted, as though she had suddenly grown weary of me. “It’s an interesting idea. The father of my children is away on business; he’ll return at the end of the month.”

“The end of the month?” I said, and I struggled to hide my dismay; that was weeks away.

“I’ll speak to him about you. He will doubtless have some idea of how to help.”

“Thank you. I would be most grateful.”

“Tell me where you are staying.”