I could not stop myself approaching the lady the in harem costume as she unfolded from the carpet.
“You were splendid,” I said, giving her a hand to help her to her feet. “How on earth did you learn to do that?”
The lady looked startled, then she answered in English, her accent heavy. “I love to dance. The Egyptian women taught me. I live in Egypt with my mistress.”
“And who is your mistress?” I asked.
“You are the captain,” the young woman answered, to my surprise. “My mistress, she must meet you.”
So saying, the lady put very strong fingers around my wrist and pulled me with her out of the salon and down a short flight of stairs to the private cabins below.
Chapter 21
I knew the moment I walked into the large cabin that I was in Lady Mary’s boudoir. A wide bed rested on the end wall under a row of windows, its coverlets deep maroon velvet, which matched the draperies around the bed. A chaise rested on the wall adjacent the bed, also covered in maroon velvet. Rugs similar to those in our Cairo house covered the floor, overlapping as was common. A low wooden table near the chaise held a coffee service.
The woman who rose from her seat on the edge of the bed had gray hair wrapped in a colorful bandeau and wore a simple gown of light blue with a dark blue, long-sleeved bodice. A collar turned up in back and framed her neck with lace.
The lady’s face was narrow, her dark eyes sparkling and lively. Her gray hair suggested she was well into her fifties or perhaps even beyond sixty, but her skin was firm, her movements holding the litheness of a younger woman.
The dancer curtsied to her then gracefully seated herself on the floor next to the table and began to fill small cups with Turkish coffee.
“Captain Lacey, I am Signora Beatrice Faber,” the older woman said, holding out a hand. She wore one ring—a wide band of beaten gold studded with a large sapphire.
I took her hand and bowed over it. “I am honored to meet you.”
Beatrice gave me a warm look and motioned for me to sit on the chaise. “Lady Mary explained that you are searching for Milo Chabert’s book.”
Beatrice had resumed her perch on the bed, and I seated myself, the dancer’s flowing harem clothes inches from my boots.
“I have been hearing much of you, Captain,” Beatrice went on as the dancer offered a tiny cup to me in her delicate hands. The young lady had rid herself of the cymbals but the little bells sewn into her costume jingled. “The great friend of the famous Mr. Grenville, who saved a life in Alexandria and tamed the man who’d tried to commit the deed. Who becomes admired by the pasha and defies a dangerous Cairo criminal.”
“You are knowledgeable.” I sipped the coffee, which was the best I’d tasted since I’d arrived in Egypt.
“I have lived most of my life on the Nile.” Beatrice took the coffee her dancer handed her, but only held it in her elegant fingers. “I travel between Alexandria, Cairo, and Thebes, occasionally taking in the sights farther south. I know every European who comes into and out of Egypt, why they are here, and who they are connected with. I came here at Milo Chabert’s invitation at the end of the last century and loved it so much, I had no desire to leave. When Chabert died, I gave him back to his wife to bury him, but I remained here.”
“Egypt is a fascinating place,” I agreed. “I intend to return.”
“Yes, one either loathes it, or becomes enchanted and stays forever.” She lifted her fingers toward the window as though indicating all of Egypt outside. “I have accompanied about a dozen gentlemen in total up and down the river, until I was no longer interesting, then I purchased a barge and traveled on my own. I used to dance, as Celia does, but my limbs are sore now, and Celia does the entertaining for me.” Beatrice smiled, as though she knew how entranced I’d been by the young woman’s performance.
“I have difficulty believing any gentleman would no longer find you interesting,” I said. She had an attractiveness that would always gain attention, no matter what her age, a way of speaking and moving that was a delight to the observer.
Beatrice’s smile deepened. “You are kind. I would cynically say you are trying to flatter me for information, but I believe you truly mean what you say. You are different than I thought you would be. I have never met Mr. Grenville, but I know he can be plagued by hangers-on. From what I have heard and seen, you are your own man and a true friend.”
I gave her a brief bow. “I would like to think so.”
The lines around her eyes crinkled. “Modest as well. In my younger days, Captain, I might have wished to accompany you on your travels.”
“In my younger days I had no money at all,” I said. “I was an impatient soldier, and then I was injured. I believe you would not have found me very entertaining.”
“On the contrary, Captain, I believe you would have made a diverting treat. Unfortunately, I did have to make certain the gentlemen I danced for had plenty of, as you English say, blunt.”
Which she must have prudently stashed away if she was now able to travel on her own boat and employ dancers for her male guests.
Signora Beatrice was a courtesan of the highest elegance, I could see, who knew how to speak to men, what to offer them in exchange for wealth or good conversation, or whatever she liked.
If she’d heard much about me, she’d know I would not take a dalliance with her or her dancer, that I would always be loyal to my wife. All the same, Signora Beatrice made certain that Celia was at my feet, her arms wrapped around her knees, ready to refill my coffee.
“Lady Mary told me that you are hunting for the Greek scroll Monsieur Chabert found. Milo.” Beatrice said his given name fondly. “May I ask why?”
“A … collector wants it,” I answered. “He gave me instructions to find it.”
“And he pays you?”
“No,” I answered swiftly. “I am not a procurer. I am doing it as a favor to him.”
Not precisely a favor, I knew, but the belief that I’d readily scour the country for an artifact at another’s direction made me uncomfortable. I was not a professional treasure hunter.
“Mmm,” Beatrice looked slightly displeased. “I had hoped you wanted the book for yourself. For its own sake.”
“I have not said I would give the book to this collector,” I answered evenly. “I will do so only when I am certain he will treasure it and not promptly turn and sell it to the next man.”
“Good.” She gave me a nod of approval. “Milo hid it because he knew it would be fought over and maybe even torn apart by collectors, museums, and entire governments. He meant to copy it out when he had the chance and give its contents to scholars while preserving the original.”
“But he died too soon,” I finished for her.
Beatrice’s dark eyes took on vast sadness. “He did, poor man. But your speculation—and Lord Randolph Carver’s and Lady Mary’s—that I once knew the whereabouts of the book, is correct. I do know. I’ve had it all along.”
My heartbeat quickened and I leaned forward. “You have it? Are you certain it is the correct one?” I braced myself for her to say she could not read it, she didn’t know, or to produce a forged copy that had never seen ancient Alexandria.
Beatrice looked amused. “Of course the book is the correct one, Captain. A treatise by Aristarchus. I read it myself—Milo and I perused it together. I can read many languages.”
I imagined them, twenty years ago, a younger Beatrice and an excited scholar, heads together, poring over one of the greatest finds of the age.
“And you’ve kept it all this time?” I asked her.
“I did indeed. Milo entrusted me with it. I would not break his trust.”
“But you’ve told others you didn’t know where it was.”
She lifted a slim finger. “I told them Milo did not confide its whereabouts to me. Which he did not—he hid it away even from me while he was alive. After his death, a messenger came to me when I was in Alexandria and handed me a bundle. It con
tained the book and a letter from Milo, instructing me to keep it safe for him. Which I did. His entire estate and money went to his family in France, but the book came to me. It was his legacy. I honored his wishes.”
“You must know how valuable it is.” My hands closed around my empty coffee cup. “To collectors and to scholars both. You might have bought a fleet of ships with the price of it.”
“I do know.” Beatrice inclined her head. “You wish to understand why a woman who has already told you she chose her companions for their wealth would hold on to a book worth far more than anything they could give her. The answer is simple, Captain. I loved Milo. I would have done anything for him, and he for me.”
Her eyes softened, touched by tears. In them I saw a woman who’d remained strong after loss but who would stay loyal to her love forever.
“I understand,” I said. I too felt things as deeply. “Why then, offer it to me?”
“I waited.” Beatrice drew a breath, as though willing her tears to pass. “I waited for someone worthy of the find. When I heard you were looking for it, I did my best to learn all about you. Milo would have approved of you, would know the book was in good hands.” Her eyes crinkled. “Even if you are English.”
Before I could respond to this generosity, another servant opened the door, and Grenville entered. His costume was a bit disarrayed from the wind on the river, but he pulled off his turban and bowed.
“Signora,” he said. “I am honored. Please forgive me looking like a complete fool at present.”
“She has it,” I said, without waiting for politenesses to be exchanged. “Signora Faber has the book.”
“I had the book,” Beatrice amended as Grenville opened his mouth to express his delight. “I was prepared to give it to you, if you promised to do well by it. But last night, it was stolen from me.”
We both stared at her, stunned. A numbing coldness washed over me, followed quickly by hot anger.
“Stolen?” Grenville repeated, his gaze fixed. Celia’s bells whispered as she adjusted her position on the floor.
Beatrice nodded sadly. “I kept it well hidden. The book was there yesterday evening. This morning, it was gone.”
Celia looked up at me, her kohl-lined eyes holding sorrow. She nodded in confirmation of her mistress’s story.
I wet my dry lips, disappointment hitting me sharply. “Then why bring me here? Why tell me you had it at all?”
Beatrice’s dark eyes snapped. “So you will recover it for me. You are a man of integrity, so every Englishman who has ever spoken about you insists. I believe you will find it—for the right reasons.”
I let out a breath. So close. I had been so close. To have the book snatched from my grasp was difficult to bear.
“Tell me about the hiding place,” I said. “And who went near it. Everyone who could have gone near it.”
“A good number of people, unfortunately,” Beatrice said. “I keep it in my chamber, wherever I go, locked in a strongbox. I put into Cairo yesterday. Lady Mary called on me, as did several gentlemen—old friends, all. But they have servants, some of whom are hired as soon as that person arrives in Cairo. One might have been paid to search my boat and rob me. My own servants have been with me for years, and I trust them all.”
“It was not me,” Celia said, giving first me then Grenville a defiant look. “I would not do such a thing to my mistress.”
“I know it was not you, cara,” Beatrice said, her look fond. “Why do you not dance for us now? The gentlemen are unhappy and need soothing.”
I was about to say we would impose ourselves no longer, but Grenville gave me a slight shake of his head. He came to sit next to me on the chaise, the only seat in the room besides the bed.
Celia rose without complaint, lifted her arms, let her head drop back, and began her slow and elegant movements.
This dance, if anything, was more erotic than what she’d done in the salon. But now Celia performed in private for two gentlemen and not to amuse a gathering of ladies and their husbands. The jerk of her hips, accompanied by the jingle of bells, and the slow glide of her breasts was meant to entrance and arouse.
Watching her was soothing. There was something about Celia’s flowing movements and precise placements of feet and hands that pleased the tangled knot of emotions that always roiled inside me.
It had nothing to do with carnality in my case, though I could see how she could stir a man to rush off with her to bed. I simply enjoyed watching her body move. Grenville, who had a good eye for art, regarded her with evident enjoyment. We applauded and praised Celia when she finished, and she flushed, pleased.
“Bloody hell,” Grenville said as we departed the chamber twenty minutes later. He jammed the turban on his head again, squaring his shoulders to face more inanity on deck. “At least we know the book exists. Now all we have to do is search Cairo—maybe all of Egypt—for the thief.”
* * *
Grenville undressed in his bedchamber after the soiree by wresting each piece of clothing from his body and hurtling it away from him. Matthias deftly caught the garments and folded them aside, saying nothing.
“I suppose that Sharkey took it,” Grenville snarled. “He could arrange for a man to slip aboard and rifle Signora Faber’s belongings.”
“I never told him what I was looking for,” I reminded Grenville. “It struck me odd that Denis wouldn’t simply hire him to find the book, so I said nothing.”
Grenville gave me an impatient look. “He could easily discover our purpose, Lacey. We have been asking about it. And my cronies are prone to gossip. A man like Sharkey will have spies everywhere.”
“Likewise Marcus knows.” I lounged in a chair, my booted feet crossed on a padded stool. I hadn’t taken off my galabiya, being perfectly comfortable inside it. Bartholomew, however, had said that if I wanted to look as though I rushed about in a nightshirt, to please tell no one he dressed me. “He could as easily have hired a thief to search for it, and we know he is rather slippery himself.”
Grenville sighed. He quieted and allowed Matthias to wrap him in a dressing gown. Matthias took away the Turkish garments and left us alone.
“If Marcus wants the book, why dig holes out in the desert?” Grenville asked. He poured a measure of brandy into two goblets and handed one to me. “Dolphin more or less told him that Chabert’s mistress was the key.”
“He might have been amusing himself waiting for her to return from Thebes.” I sipped the brandy, letting it warm me. “His search in the desert could be about something else entirely.”
“Agreed, but I think Sharkey is a better possibility,” Grenville said. “Perhaps he wants to present the book to Denis before you can. To discredit you and rise again in Denis’s eyes. I have the feeling he has fallen from grace—or is falling.”
“What about Lady Mary?” I broke in. “She went to visit Signora Beatrice, and then the book was gone.”
“But if Lady Mary has the book, why arrange for us to meet Beatrice? Even mention she knew her? What would Lady Mary want the book for, in any case?” Grenville waved an expansive hand. “Mary is vastly wealthy and cares nothing for scholarship. Or much for the rivalry between the museums. She is a bit disenchanted with her home nation, else she’d not stay away so long. She’d never steal the book for the honor of the British Museum.”
I took a larger sip of brandy and rested the goblet on my thigh. “She wants it because of you,” I said with certainty. “If Lady Mary had the book, she could put you in her debt—what price might she extract?”
“Oh, good Lord.” Grenville blenched. “You mean she’d try to force me into a marriage for that bloody scroll?”
“Or perhaps not marriage, but at least a liaison.”
Grenville’s face was stark white. “I know you find this amusing, Lacey, but she is a very determined woman. I have no interest in pursuing any sort of affair with her. She would have me before a bishop saying the vows before I knew what happened.” He rubbed a hand
through his already rumpled dark hair. “However, we must regard this logically. Lady Mary would have a fine opportunity to search Beatrice’s chamber. Or, she might leave it to that traveling companion of hers—the Spaniard. Miguel. She could distract Beatrice on deck while Miguel slipped below.”
“We will ask her, of course,” I said. “Though I cannot imagine Miguel walking into and out of Beatrice’s private chamber without question. No, I believe the speculation that an Egyptian servant performed the theft is a correct one.”
“But whose servant?” Grenville asked. He sank to another chair and drained his glass of brandy in one swallow. “That is what we must ascertain. Perhaps your friends in the palace guard could burst into Sharkey’s house and make him confess.”
“They do not follow my orders,” I said. “But when I task Sharkey with this, I will remember to bring a bodyguard of my own.”
We continued to muse, reaching no conclusion, then parted ways and went to bed.
I went to the palace the next morning without mishap and returned again, the palace guard accompanying me. As they turned around to march back home I hoped they were earning extra coin for protecting me from the denizens of Cairo.
Grenville and I spent the remainder of the day out in the desert. To Bartholomew’s despair, I wore the turban, though not the galabiya. The turban kept the sun from my face and head wonderfully, and I highly recommended it to Brewster and Grenville. Brewster ignored me, but Grenville said he would consider it.
With Bartholomew and Matthias to help, we continued to measure the distance from the hole Grenville had explored to where we thought an entrance to the tomb might be. We walked a long way, searching a wide area before I suggested a rough patch of ground at the base of a bluff.
All five of us took up spades and began.
It was hard work, but my eagerness drove me on. I had a firman and I was searching for antiquities, just as I’d longed to do when I’d looked at the buried temple outside Alexandria.