Tide of Fortune (18 page)

‘I have a mixture containing camphor julep, ether, and magnesia as well as laudanum,’ Kerenza said. ‘It was made up by an apothecary in Falmouth. Would that be –?’

‘Ideal,’ the doctor replied. ‘You know the dosage?’

Kerenza nodded. ‘Doctor, Mr Corbett said you visited my mother during her illness.’

‘I did. A very sad business. It was clear to me that even before she succumbed to the fever Mrs Vyvyan had suffered greatly. Not through any ill-treatment,’ he added quickly. ‘But enforced confinement in a strange land among people she didn’t know had clearly preyed on her mind.’ He sighed, shaking his head. ‘The negative effects on her physical wellbeing and emotional balance meant she simply did not possess the stamina, or perhaps even the will, to fight the fever.’ He shook his head again. ‘Very sad.’

‘And my sister? How is she?’

He turned away. ‘Fortunately, she suffered no such ill-effects.’ He spoke without looking up, his head bent over his bag as he searched for something that proved elusive. ‘Indeed, when I saw her last she appeared to be in excellent health.’ He closed the bag. ‘I must go.’ He glanced toward the bed once more. ‘Mr Vyvyan is unlikely to stir before morning. Sleep will afford him relief from the shock of his loss, and an opportunity for both body and spirit to rest.’

Kerenza offered her hand. ‘Thank you so much for coming.’

He bowed over it, released it, and reached the door all in the space of a few moments. ‘Miss Vyvyan, complete your business here and return to England as soon as you can.’ He hesitated as if about to say more, then gave a brief nod. ‘My condolences.’

‘I’ll see you out,’ Nick offered, a flicker of puzzlement telling Kerenza that he too had noted the doctor’s weighted words and abrupt departure.

As their footsteps faded, Kerenza crossed to the bedside, and looked down at her father. Beneath the brownish purple shadows surrounding his closed eyes and the fine network of crimson veins that covered his nose and patched his cheeks the rest of his face had the greyish tone of wet chalk. At the sound of a soft cough behind her, she turned. Dina beckoned, indicating she should follow.

Back in her room, a bowl of water and a towel had been placed on the table. Pointing to it, the girl then pointed to the door and mimed eating.

As Kerenza smiled her thanks the girl vanished.

After washing her face and hands and tidying her hair, Kerenza left the room and crossed the courtyard, hesitant yet drawn by delicious smells and the sound of Maggot and Nick’s voices.

In the salon two of the low tables had been drawn together in front of one of the couches. An embroidered cloth was covered with a dozen bowls and dishes. As she breathed in the smells of chicken and spices, her stomach cramped and her mouth watered. Guilt-stricken, she stopped. How could she think of food at such a time?

‘Ah, is good you come.’ Maggot waved her in. ‘Please. You sit. Eat now. Need to be strong, yes?’

She hesitated. But he was right. She would need all her strength. Doubtless the doctor’s advice to leave quickly was well meant. However, the speed of their departure depended on the Governor. If they had to await his pleasure, it would be hard on her father and therefore difficult for everyone else. She sat down, waiting for them both to join her.

‘May I?’ Nick asked, indicating the other end of the couch.

Heat burned in her cheeks as she nodded. ‘Of course, please.’

Maggot remained standing. ‘Enjoy. I go now.’ With a bow and a smile, he strode out.

‘I expect his stepmother will want to hear about everything that happened to him,’ Nick said. He surveyed the table. ‘She’s gone to a lot of trouble.’

He was sitting on the edge of the couch. She realised suddenly that though he was hiding it well he too was nervous. A little of her tension evaporated. She looked at the spread. ‘There’s an awful lot,’ she whispered uncertainly. ‘Surely it can’t be all just for us?’

He nodded. ‘Maggot says it is.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘But we’re not expected to eat everything.’

‘Thank goodness for that.’ Kerenza pressed her fingers to her mouth to smother a nervous giggle. ‘It would be awful to offend her after she’s gone to so much trouble. Though I’m ashamed to admit it I
am
hungry. But I couldn’t possibly –’

‘Ashamed? Why?’

She looked up at him, folding her hands tightly in her lap. ‘Surely that’s obvious?’

‘Not to me.’

She made a small, diffident gesture. ‘The news of my mother’s death, my father’s collapse –’

‘Neither of which you can reverse. If you were to fall ill through not eating, how would that help?’

‘I know. And you’re right.’ She gazed down at her hands. ‘It’s just –’

‘You should be sitting in a darkened room with a crust and a cup of water?’ His harshness jerked her head up. ‘Haven’t you been made to suffer enough?’ Controlling himself cost him visible effort. ‘Forgive me. I should not have – I had no right –’ He took a breath. ‘Anyway, before you came in Maggot was explaining that while we are not expected to clear the table, we should try to taste every dish. That would make his stepmother very happy.’

‘There are so many,’ Kerenza marvelled. After a moment’s hesitation, she lowered her voice. ‘I recognise the chicken, the rice, and the shredded salad. But do you have any idea what that is?’ She pointed to the largest dish.

‘Couscous. It’s made from a steamed grain mixed with cubes of fried lamb stewed with chickpeas, onions, carrots, eggplant, raisins, and spices.’

As her eyebrows rose in astonishment, he grinned shyly and shrugged. ‘I asked Maggot. It certainly smells good. Would you like to try it?’

She nodded, and looked for plates, cutlery, and serving spoons. ‘Er –’

‘Ah, that’s the other thing he told me. Here, the correct way to eat is with the fingers, taking a little bit from whatever dish you choose.’

She stared at him. ‘You’re not teasing me, are you?’

‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘But you must only use your right hand. That’s really important.’

Kerenza felt her colour rise as she remembered Dina’s instruction outside the privvy. Now she understood the reason for the girl’s insistence. Here each hand had its own purpose. Her stomach gurgled and another cramping pang reminded her it was many hours since she had last eaten. It might be days before the Governor agreed to let Dulcie go. How would she stay well and strong if she didn’t eat?

‘Will you go first?’ she asked shyly.

‘Promise you won’t laugh?’ The exaggerated glare that accompanied this demand sent a ripple of delight down her spine.

‘I wouldn’t dare.’ As his gaze softened, warmed, she flicked her gaze away, and was relieved when he didn’t comment. ‘Go on then,’ she whispered, and watched him lean forward, dip his bunched fingers into the dish of rice and almonds and slivers of chicken, press it lightly into a ball, then lift it to his mouth.

‘Mmmm, that’s delicious,’ he said, swallowing. ‘Come on, you try it.’

Feeling acutely self-conscious, Kerenza picked out small pieces of meat and a stick of green bean. She pinched together a ribbon of lettuce glossy with seasoned oil. But as Nick grew more adventurous, dipping into different dishes, enthusing over the tastes, urging her to try this one then that one, she stopped worrying about the strangeness of eating with her fingers or what she must look like and followed his lead. The flavours, some familiar, some completely new, enhanced rather than satisfied her hunger.

After a few minutes spent concentrating entirely on the food, Kerenza had to ask the question that had been nagging at her. ‘Did you notice anything odd about Mr Corbett? His manner, I mean.’

Reaching for more couscous, Nick paused. ‘Odd in what way?’

Kerenza frowned. ‘I’m not sure. I just had the feeling that there was something he wasn’t telling us. It was the same with the doctor. He wouldn’t meet my eye, and he seemed in a great hurry to leave.’

‘Well, the doctor had come at short notice. Perhaps he had another appointment. You can understand both of them feeling awkward about seeing your father. They must have known that as well as being a shock, the news would come as a terrible blow to him. To have returned as fast as he possibly could only to learn that he’s too late …’ He shook his head.

‘Do you think the Governor really will make us wait several days?’

‘I wish I knew. It would make things a d –’ he corrected himself quickly ‘– a lot easier. I’d have thought that after what’s happened he would want to settle everything and send us away as fast as possible. But who knows how a man like him thinks?’

Dipping his fingers in the small bowl of water, he carefully wiped them on the square of cotton beside it. ‘I –’ he stopped and cleared his throat. Glancing up, Kerenza saw a dull flush of anger darkening his face. ‘When we came through the marketplace –’

Kerenza shuddered. ‘It was horrible. Many of the men looked really angry. They were clicking their tongues as though I had done something wrong. Do you think I have offended in some way?’

He shook his head. ‘Perhaps to them it’s enough that you’re English. I think for your safety it would be wiser if you returned to the ship with me.’

She was startled that he would even suggest it with her father lying ill in the room above. Meeting his gaze, she felt her heart give an extra beat.

‘I – Truly I appreciate your concern. But you must know I can’t.’ She looked away. ‘Maggot’s stepmother would feel deeply insulted at the implication that I am not safe under her roof. Nor can I leave my father. Besides, Maggot is staying, is he not?’ At Nick’s reluctant nod, she spread her hands. ‘What more protection could I need?’

‘In here, perhaps. But out in the street –’

‘I was just thinking, do you think Maggot’s stepmother might lend me an over-gown like the other women were wearing, and a scarf for my head? If I look like everyone else, I’ll be invisible.’

His smile faded as he looked at her intently. ‘You could never be invisible.’ Then, clearing his throat, he added quickly, ‘But you would be less conspicuous. It’s a good idea.’ He pushed himself to his feet. ‘I must go.’

Kerenza stood up. Wiping her fingers on the tiny towel, she held out her hand. ‘Thank you for – everything. You have been very ki –’

‘Don’t.’ Grasping her fingers, he covered them with his other hand. ‘We both know I have not been kind. And I am more sorry for it than you will ever know.’ Raising her hand, he held her gaze as he pressed his lips to her knuckles. ‘I will see you tomorrow.’ With a brief bow, he strode out.

She stared after him, then looked at her knuckles, still feeling the warm pressure of his lips. He had not wished her a good night, or voiced the hope that she would sleep well, not because he had forgotten, or because he lacked good manners. He had not said it because it would have been meaningless.

Because of the bond between them – never entirely severed and growing stronger each day – that made words superfluous, he knew sleep would not come easily for either of them. 

Chapter Sixteen

‘Maggot, how do I say thank you?’ Kerenza demanded as he entered the salon. Dina was busy clearing away the dishes.

‘Is no need.’ He waved her plea aside. ‘Is good you enjoy.’ He grinned, gesturing at the dishes. ‘Make you strong.’

‘You don’t understand. Your stepmother has shown us such kindness. What is “thank you” in your language?’

He leant forward, dropping his voice. ‘
Ateikum-saha
.’

The same words his stepmother had spoken so fervently to Nick. Kerenza repeated them quietly several times, then nodded. ‘One more thing: how do I address her?’ As the small creases between his brows deepened, and he lifted one shoulder indicating he didn’t understand, she tried again. ‘What shall I call her? My name is Kerenza Vyvyan. What is hers?’

While she had been talking, their hostess had come in. After a brief word with Dina, who nodded and scuttled out, her glance swept over the remains of the meal. Raising her eyes to Kerenza’s she smiled, nodded, and clapped her palms softly together.

Turning, Maggot spoke quickly to her. Her gaze flicked to Kerenza then back to her stepson as she replied.

Maggot grinned at Kerenza. ‘She give her name to this place, Riad Zohra.’

Moistening her lips, hoping her attempt would at least be recognisable, Kerenza spoke hesitantly. ‘
Ateikum-saha,
Zohra.’

Zohra’s hands flew up in delight. Beaming, she clapped them again and released a torrent of speech, nudging Maggot, whose grin widened.

‘She say you talk good. She very happy you stay here.’

Relieved and delighted at this small success, Kerenza bade them both goodnight. Reaching her room, she found a fire burning in the grate and her bag unpacked. Her laundry had gone and so had her nightdress. Lying on the coverlet was a simple gown of fine white cotton lawn with long sleeves and a deep slit in the round neck.

She undressed and pulled it on, inhaling the faint fragrance of jasmine and sandalwood. Then she unpinned her hair. As the heavy coil fell down her back she threaded her fingers through it, left it loose, and climbed beneath the covers. Lying on her back, she watched the dancing shadows on the low ceiling. Listening to the low rumble of her father’s snores, she was glad he was free, if only for a few hours, from the weight of his loss.

What must he have felt, having made such desperate efforts to bring back the money as fast as he could only to hear that he was too late? Kerenza tried to picture her mother but, despite her efforts, the image remained blurred, indistinct. She remembered a rounded woman whose youthful prettiness had begun to fade, but she could not distinguish any features. But that vagueness was preferable to seeing clearly the sick and damaged person the doctor had described.

A hard knot of grief had formed in Kerenza’s chest yet her eyes remained dry. Over the years she had shed enough tears to fill a lake. She mourned the fact there would be no reconciliation, no chance to build bridges or make a fresh start. Yet perhaps she was deluding herself. Those might not have come about even had her mother lived. But now, unless she could persuade Dulcie to tell her, she would never know why.

It took her a long time to fall asleep. She was jerked awake by an eerie, undulating cry. She recalled hearing it at different times during the day. She had meant to ask, but was distracted by other things. It lasted only a few minutes, long enough for her to see that the blackness of night had lightened to pre-dawn grey. The familiar shriek of seagulls reminded her of home. She slid once more into unconsciousness.

During a breakfast of stewed fruit, yoghurt, soft, sweet-smelling flat bread, and small cups of strong coffee, she asked Maggot about the sound.

‘Is call to prayer. Good Muslim pray five times a day.’ His eyes twinkling, he gave a lop-sided grin and shook his head. ‘I am very bad Muslim.’

A little while later, Nick arrived, his gaze holding hers as he took her hand, the pressure of his fingers warm and firm as he bowed over it.

‘I brought Broad with me. He will do everything necessary for your father’s comfort, and ensure that when he wakes he sees a familiar face.’

Her breathing had quickened and she knew from the heat in her cheeks that her colour was high. Acutely conscious of her body’s betrayal and of being watched, she took refuge in formality. ‘You are very good.’

He shook his head in brief denial. But his look told her he knew what she was doing and why, and her gratitude increased as he matched her formality.

‘On my way here I called at the consulate. Mr Corbett has already sent his Jewish interpreter with a note to the governor’s palace. If Maggot and I go up there now, as envoys for your father, I hope we might at least be able to speak to one of the governor’s staff. It’s worth a try.’

‘I do hope it works.’ Behind her, Kerenza could hear Maggot and his stepmother talking in low voices.

‘Miss?’ Maggot said. ‘The wife of my father say she must go to markets. You want go with her?’

Kerenza was unsure. ‘My father –’

‘Is in good hands,’ Nick said softly. ‘It’s better if he sleeps as much as possible while we try to set up a meeting with the governor. Besides, you need a rest from caring for others. Do you want to go?’

‘Very much,’ Kerenza replied. ‘But not if I will be stared at as I was yesterday.’ Turning to her hostess with an expression of apology, she grasped a handful of peach muslin and shook her head.

Zohra flapped a hand, talked to Maggot, pointed to the saffron kaftan and white headscarf she was wearing, then nodded, smiling encouragingly at Kerenza.

‘She say she will find Amazirght dress for you. Then you go, yes?’

‘Yes.’ Kerenza nodded, smiling in gratitude at the older woman. ‘
Ateikum-saha
,’ she said carefully, and was rewarded with a beam from her hostess and a grin of approval from Maggot. Nick’s expression of astonished admiration lifted her chin and tilted the corners of her mouth with a tiny rush of pride as she followed Zohra out.

Shrouded in an emerald green kaftan, with matching embroidered slippers on her feet, her hair covered by the folds of a white scarf, and the lower half of her face hidden behind a veil, Kerenza was able to spend two enthralling, exhausting hours in Tangier’s market.

She stayed close to Zohra, avoiding eye contact even with other women. There was so much to see. She paused to watch copper and silversmiths tapping intricate designs on trays, jugs, and lamp holders, while beside them their young sons polished the finished articles to a dazzling shine.

They lingered at a canopied stall selling joints of fresh meat where a small boy stood waving a bunch of palm leaves tied to a stick to keep swarms of flies away. Nearby, lidded baskets contained squawking chickens, and another stall displayed freshly caught fish.

In the centre of the market pyramids of oranges and melons, and shallow baskets of fresh dates, were guarded by women who squatted beneath straw hats at least six feet across with turned-down edges that concealed the wearer’s face, exactly as Maggot had described to her.

There were piles of onions, carrots, courgettes, and glossy purple aubergines. Other stalls displayed boxes of soap, raisins, small barrels of sugar and tea. A cotton cloth stretched over a wooden frame shaded cone-shaped piles of powdered spices. Their bright colours and the mingled smells of ginger, saffron, cinnamon sticks, and mint leaves assaulted her senses.

Zohra bought from several stalls, demanding in her choices, often refusing what was offered and selecting her own preferences instead. Gradually her baskets filled, but Kerenza’s attempt to take one was gently rebuffed and her attention directed to rolls of fabric that ranged from heavy weaves in indigo blue or black and white stripes, to colourful cottons and fine shimmering silks.

Where did it all come from? She wished she knew how to ask.

The market seethed with people: musicians tapping drums and playing rhaitas; beggars; women shopping, as gaudy as butterflies in their vivid, rainbow-shaded kaftans and headscarves; children shrieking with laughter as they darted about, and men coming and going. There were men with beards and men without, men in white turbans, in brimless caps, or bareheaded. Men in dusty indigo wraps, hooded striped gowns, and layers of white covered by sleeveless blue robes.

Kerenza turned to see Zohra watching her, and read amusement in the older woman’s dark eyes. She raised her brows, and lifted one hand to indicate the noisy, crowded, smelly, fly-ridden square.

Jerking her head in a gesture Kerenza interpreted as an instruction to follow, Zohra left the marketplace. But instead of turning toward her house, she led the way up a wider street. It was thronged with men carrying sacks and baskets, bent double under the weight as they staggered down toward the marketplace, walking upright as they returned.

Ahead, Kerenza could see the ruined city wall and a crenellated tower. The huge doors stood open and armed men were stopping and checking the loads of everyone coming in through the tall, arched entrance.

Alongside the tower a flight of stone steps led up onto a wide walkway just below the battlements. Climbing them, Zohra beckoned Kerenza up. Following the older woman’s pointing finger, Kerenza looked through the gap and caught her breath.

The undulating plain was crowded with men and animals. Over a wide area outside the wall the grass had been worn away to bare earth and rock. Strings of camels padded in, swaying beneath bulky loads slung from their humps. Donkeys tottered by on tiny eggcup hooves, so heavily laden that only their heads were visible. Tethered mules stood with lowered heads, flicking their ears and constantly swishing their tails against marauding flies as their packs were removed. Bare-legged boys in ragged tunics and flapping sandals, with only a short stick for protection, herded small flocks of sheep and goats. Strange-looking cattle with pale coats, wide horns, and long faces stood or lay chewing placidly.

Bellowing animals, the
tonkle
of goat bells, squawking chickens, gunshots as new arrivals fired into the air to announce themselves, and men arguing, laughing, and haggling at the tops of their voices combined to create a deafening noise.

The air was thick with dust, sweat, dung and the sweet stench of decay from fallen fruit and vegetables trampled into the dirt. It stung the back of her nose and caught in her throat. Coughing, her eyes smarting, she turned away.

Zohra pointed to the pack animals, then toward the town and the market.

Still coughing, Kerenza nodded that she understood, wiped her streaming eyes and patted her chest. Zohra rolled her eyes in sympathy, flapped a hand toward the noisy crowd of men in a gesture Kerenza knew her grandmother would have recognised instantly, and led the way down the steps.

Just before reaching the alley they stopped in a lane where two men were tending a bed of coals beneath a dozen cone-shaped clay pots. Zohra handed over some money. One of the pots was lifted from the coals and put in a small wooden crate with a thong handle. Gesturing for Kerenza to carry it, Zohra led the way home.

After a quick visit to the yard, Kerenza hurried to her room, took off her kaftan, headscarf, and veil, washed her hands and face, and went to see how her father was.

‘He’ve had a wash and shave and a bite to eat, miss,’ Broad said. ‘But he got a bit fretful then. So I gived him his dose and now he’s sleeping peaceful.’

‘You must be hungry yourself.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t say no. Been a long morning, it has.’

‘I’ll go and see about dinner.’ Hearing a noise down in the court, she looked over the terrace wall and felt a surge of pleasure as Nick followed Maggot in and immediately looked up, raising his hand. Giving him a small, shy wave, she turned back to the steward. ‘Maggot and Mr Penrose are back.’

‘You go on down then, miss.’

She found Nick and Maggot in the salon. ‘What happened? Were you able to speak to anyone?’

Nick shook his head. ‘No one of importance. But Maggot says our presence was noted. We might have better luck tomorrow. How is your father?’

‘Sleeping. I promised Broad some dinner.’

‘Is coming now,’ Maggot said as Dina entered carrying a huge platter of steaming couscous. Maggot’s stepmother followed with the clay pot Kerenza had carried from the lane. Setting it down on the table, she removed the lid, and immediately the room was filled with the delicious fragrance of chicken, onions, and spices. Dina returned with a bowl and ladle, handed them to Maggot, then followed her mistress out.

Maggot ladled couscous into the bowl and topped it with the savoury stew. ‘I take this to Broad.’

‘Will you join us after?’ Kerenza asked, torn between hoping he would and hoping he wouldn’t.

Maggot shook his head. ‘No. Please, you enjoy.’

‘You’ve had an interesting morning?’ Nick asked, as they began to eat.

By the time she had finished telling him about it, comparing and contrasting all she had seen with the markets in Falmouth and Flushing, little was left on the platter or in the pot. Kerenza suddenly became aware of his intent gaze.

‘What?’ Quickly wiping her fingers, she raised the tiny napkin to her mouth. ‘Have I got sauce on my chin?’

He shook his head. ‘No. It’s –’ He shrugged helplessly. ‘You’re beautiful.’

She caught her breath, heat rushing to her cheeks, and looked away. ‘Please don’t,’ she whispered. She knew she wasn’t beautiful. According to her mother and sister she wasn’t even pretty. Too thin, too dark. Her nose was too straight, her chin too firm, her mouth too wide.

He caught her hand and held it tightly, his voice low, intense. ‘I know I hurt you; I’ll go to my grave regretting it. I can’t change the past, but by Christ, I’ve learnt from it. You
are
beautiful. It’s not – I don’t mean –’ His struggle to express himself, his sincerity and obvious lack of practice, blunted the sharp fears his words had stirred.

She’d listened at dances to young men wooing her friends with compliments and flattery and knew them empty of real meaning. She didn’t want that: not from him. What did she want? She didn’t know. Yes, she did, but dared not acknowledge it even to herself.