Lady Emily's Exotic Journey (15 page)

Perhaps it was the clarity of the desert air that did it. Or perhaps it was the sheer discomfort of trying to sleep on stony ground, wrapped only in a blanket in the cold desert night.

Whatever it was, it had cleared his head. Lucien rode through the early morning toward the city of Mosul feeling far happier than he had felt in…in years, it seemed. To tell the truth, he could not remember ever feeling this happy. He threw back his head and laughed out loud.

Everything had been backwards in his mind. He saw it now. The only mystery was how it had taken him so long to come to his senses. How could he have been so blind for so long?

It was not the chains of La Boulaye that had turned his grandfather into a bitter and miserable man. It was the memories of a lost world, a world he was powerless to resurrect. The more he had struggled to return to that lost past, the more angry he became at his failure, and the more he took out his anger and frustration on those around him.

It was not the chains of marriage that had made his parents miserable. It was marriage to the wrong person. They had been trapped together in a house—never a home—as strangers to each other, strangers who had no desire to become better acquainted.

Marriage to Emily would be nothing like that. She was not a burden or obligation, not at all. Instead, she was liberation. She had set him free of the chains of the past and shown him the infinite possibilities for happiness—happiness with her.

It was love that made the difference, he had finally realized. Love did not chain you. It set you free. It opened the cage that set you apart from all others. Love opened the door to happiness.

And he loved Emily.

He pulled up his horse so he could concentrate on that thought. He turned the word over in his mind and smiled again. Love. Why had he never thought of that? It was so simple. Such a little word and it explained so much.

He nudged the horse into a brisk walk and continued toward Mosul.

As for La Boulaye, it was simply a place. Those who lived there might be happy or miserable. It was not the place itself that determined their feelings. Nor did he have to live at La Boulaye, under his grandfather's thumb. What had even made him think that was his only choice? His father had returned there for whatever reason, but that did not mean that Lucien had to.

The estate of Varennes was his own, his inheritance from his mother, the gift she had given him. It was a modest estate, nothing like La Boulaye, but it could support a family in more than decent comfort. It was probably nothing like the estates of the wealthy Marquess of Penworth either, but he did not think that would weigh too heavily with Emily. Varennes was a good estate. It had its own beauties. She would be able to see them.

He wanted to run straight to Emily, tell her of his realizations, and beg her to marry him. A grin took over his face. That was not precisely true. What he really wanted was to toss her over his shoulder, take her someplace private, and do all the things he had been fantasizing about. However, he was determined to do this properly.

First there must be permission from her father, and before he could ask permission to court the marquess's daughter, he must show himself to be respectable. He could not present himself in all his dirt, dusty and unshaven. He might not be a man of great wealth, but he was a man of property and of family with a noble heritage, and he knew very well what was proper. A nobody could not aspire to court Lady Emily Tremaine, but the grandson and heir of the Comte de la Boulaye could so aspire. Now he needed to transform himself into that man.

As he rode, he considered what he would need to do. A trip to the baths, certainly. He rubbed a hand over his the rough bristles on his chin. He must look like a vagabond. That would hardly do. And while he was getting clean, he must have Hamiz brush and press his frock coat. It had been stuffed back into his baggage somewhere.

* * *

Irmak scowled at the empty space by the waterfront. The two pieces of scum had escaped into the alleys, and now when he and his men returned to the place of the attack, Lady Emily and her friend had also disappeared. Where could she have gone? She had not appeared to be seriously injured, but surely she had enough sense to wait for an escort before she made her way home. He had never thought her a particularly stupid creature, and she had just seen for herself how dangerous the streets could be for a woman.

Where could she have gone?

His men prodded a few beggars and questioned a pair of workmen heading for the docks, but no one had seen anything. Or so they said. Irmak barked an order and his men fell in behind him as they marched to the house of Lord Penworth.

Their hammering on the door caused considerable confusion. The servants were up and about, of course, but the effendi—Lord Penworth—and his ladies were another matter. It was early, the bread had not been baked yet, and the coffee beans were still unground. Should they be disturbed when the household was not yet ready to serve them?

At first, it was only the doorkeeper who expressed his uncertainty, but then the woman bringing fruit from the market joined in, and soon everyone in the house had gathered in the courtyard. Everyone had an opinion, and all opinions were voiced repeatedly. The boys who served the lord and his aide, the women who served the lady and her daughters, all had something to say. The cook and those who cared for the house and those who ran errands were equally vociferous.

No one, however, had anything to say about the whereabouts of Lady Emily.

Finally, in exasperation, Irmak roared for silence. He received it. All eyes turned to him as a hush settled over the courtyard. He looked around, glaring at each one in turn, and then pointed at a man who was neither the youngest nor the oldest of the servants. “You. Go to Lord Penworth. Wake him if need be. Inform him that I am here to inquire about the safety of his daughter.”

A collective gasp was heard. All turned to look at their neighbors, but when no explanation was seen there, they turned back to Irmak. The servant he had chosen bobbed his head in obedience and scurried off to do as he was bid. The rest watched Irmak, and Irmak in turn examined them. He noted which ones looked worried, which ones looked curious, which ones were storing up an item to be discussed in the bazaar, and which ones were enjoying a drama that caused them no pain.

He also noted one boy, a thin boy, the sort who raced all over the city carrying messages for a coin or just a bit of bread. The boy looked frightened. A look at one of his men ensured that the boy had no clear path to the door should he choose to run.

Lord Penworth descended the stairs rapidly, with Oliphant on his heels. Irmak approved the English lord's intent look, the look of a soldier, prepared and not about to descend into emotion. He gave his report as a good soldier should, terse but leaving out nothing. Oliphant translated quickly, and both of them obviously understood the seriousness of the situation at once.

By now the English lady had come down as well, along with the one who was not her daughter. The voices had risen, and a hum of interest rose from the servants, but they were not losing their heads. Oliphant turned to him to report that Lady Emily was not in her room and did not appear to be in the house at all. Had she been alone on the street?

No, he told them. She had been with the French girl.

The women were sounding confused and uncertain, the men as well. He had thought it odd himself, but they were foreigners and their customs were odd. He waved at his man to bring over the frightened boy, who turned out to be the one charged with opening the door.

Between Irmak's questioning and Oliphant's reassurances, the story came out. The French girl had appeared this morning, very early. The bread had not even been baked yet. It was much earlier than visitors would come, but they were foreigners, after all, and their ways were strange. When he peered out the door, she gave him a note to take to the young lady, the effendi's daughter. He was not sure he should disturb her, it was so early after all, but the French girl had often come to the house. It was not as if she was a stranger.

The door boy looked around for assurances and while all were looking very serious, no one seemed about to beat him or even blame him.

Then, the boy said, the young lady came down. Yes, she was dressed, though simply. Not in the great dresses the English ladies wear. He gestured with his arms to show the impressive size of the English hoop skirts and the comparative narrowness of the hoopless skirt. The young lady spoke to the French girl, and they went out together. It was odd, yes, but it was not his place to stop her. And besides, the ways of foreigners are strange.

The English spoke hurriedly among themselves and then gathered more clothing about themselves. They were going to the house of the Frenchman. Perhaps Lady Emily was there. If not, they needed to find out what the French girl could tell them. Would Irmak accompany them, in case they needed his help in searching for Lady Emily?

Of course. It was his duty to protect them.

* * *

When Lucien arrived at Carnac's house, it was a scene of chaos. Lord Penworth's entire household appeared to have invaded. Irmak and his men were attempting to intervene between the servants of the two households, who seemed intent on starting a small war. Carnac himself was absent, off at the excavation as usual, but Mélisande was most definitely present, screeching and sobbing. Lord and Lady Penworth were trying to get at her, shouting to make themselves heard above the hubbub.

He had to force his way into the center, pushing aside servants and strangers who seemed to have come in off the street along with everyone else.

When he got to the center of the commotion, Lady Penworth seized his arm. “Lucien, you must make her tell us what has happened to Emily.”

“Emily?” His heart stopped. “Something has happened to Emily?”

Lord Penworth, his voice tight with anger, said, “A pair of villains attempted to kidnap Emily. Irmak and his men drove them off, but now Emily is nowhere to be found. Mélisande was with her when this happened but has gone off into hysterics rather than tell us what happened.”

Lucien grabbed Mélisande by the shoulders, giving her a hard shake. “Stop this nonsense and tell us what happened. Where is Emily?”

“Oh, Lucien, thank goodness you are here.” Mélisande hiccuped a sob. “Make them stop shouting at me. Protect me.”

“Protect you from what? All anyone wants to know is what happened to Emily. Tell us, for God's sake.” He shook her again.

All that produced was more wailing at an even higher pitch. He wanted to strangle the girl. Why wouldn't she speak?

Lady Penworth pushed him aside, seized hold of Mélisande with one hand and gave her a resounding smack with the other. Its echo reverberated in the sudden silence, and Mélisande's wailing ceased abruptly. Lady Penworth tightened her fingers on the girl's shoulders, pulled her close, and spoke in a low, furious tone. “Now you listen to me, you stupid child. We are talking about my daughter's life. Her
life.
Do you understand? You will tell me right now what happened to her or I will pluck your eyes out. I will carve your pretty face into mincemeat. Do you understand?”

No one doubted that she meant every syllable.

Mélisande tried to pull back. “It was not my fault. It was all an accident.”

“What was an accident?” Lady Penworth demanded, not loosening her grip in the slightest, but giving the girl a brief shake.

“Those men, they were supposed to take her…” Her eyes widened as her words produced a gasp in her listeners, and she realized what she had said. “I mean, they tried to take her. Only they failed, and we quarreled. She fell. That is all I know.”

“What do you mean,
she
fel
l
? Where did she fall? She was gone from the place where Irmak saw her, and so were you.” Lady Penworth shook her again.

Mélisande twisted around. “Lucien,” she pleaded, “it was not my fault. It was all an accident.”

“Just tell us where Emily is. That's all we want to know.” He tried to keep his voice calm when he longed to throttle the little brat.

She looked around but could find no sympathetic face anywhere. “She fell. She fell onto the raft. It was an accident, that's all.”

Lady Penworth gave another shake. “And then? What happened then?”

“I was frightened. I ran away.”

Lord Penworth intervened before his wife struck another blow. “We must find the spot. Irmak knows where he saw them. We will bring the girl along to make certain we are in the right place.”

Lucien followed Irmak as the Turk marched toward the river. He could not bear to even look at Mélisande though he had her firmly by the arm and dragged her along. How could she have behaved so callously? He had to find Emily. She had to be all right. He could not bear it if she was hurt, or if…

He could not even think that.

Irmak stopped abruptly in the space by the wharves where the attack had taken place. It was as deserted as it had been earlier. Even more deserted. There were still no people about, and now the keleks were gone as well.

Mélisande tried to pull loose, but Lucien held her arm in too firm a grip for her to be able to escape. She still gave out the occasional sob.

He turned her to face the waterfront. “Here? Is this where it happened?”

She sniffled and nodded.

“Damn you!” He pushed her away with such force that she would have fallen had one of the soldiers not caught her. “There are no rafts here. There is nothing. Do you mean you pushed her into the river and left her to drown?” Lucien turned and stood at the river's edge, looking down into its muddy depths in despair.

“No, wait.” Oliphant caught his arm. “There would have been rafts here this morning, some of the ones we hired. The loading was finished yesterday, and they were to set out today. If she did fall onto one of them…”

Lucien straightened up and his eyes flashed with hope. “Yes, if…” He turned back to Mélisande and demanded, “Well? Were you telling the truth? Did she fall onto the raft?”

Again she nodded.

“But then where is she?” Lady Penworth looked around wildly. “If she fell on the raft, was she injured? Why didn't she simply get up?”

They all looked at Mélisande, who looked at the ground. “She might have hit her head when she fell,” she whispered.

“Even so,” said Lady Penworth, “someone should have seen her when the crews came to take the rafts.” She stopped suddenly and advanced slowly on Mélisande with narrowed eyes. “Would they have seen her? No lies now.”

Mélisande shrank back but there was no place for her to go. All eyes were fixed on her, and none of them were friendly. She licked her lips. “Perhaps… maybe…”

Lady Penworth looked at her with a mixture of anguish and despair. “What happened?”

“All right,” Mélisande cried. “She fell between two of the crates and one of the tarpaulins fell down to cover her.”

A moment of disbelieving silence descended.

Then Lucien took charge. “To the south the river is full of twists and turns. If I ride straight along the cliffs, I should be able to intercept them. At the worst, I will catch up to them when they stop for the night. If you come along the road with a carriage…?” He turned to Lord Penworth, who seemed startled to be taking orders but nodded. A carriage might be needed.

Then Lucien turned back to Mélisande. “Describe the raft. What was on it?”

She shook her head. “I don't know.”

“Think, you little fool!”

She stepped back, cringing. “There were some crates.”

“How many?”

“Three, no, four. Two on each side.”

“That helps,” said Oliphant. “There are only two rafts like that. They have the clay tablets, and the crates are about four feet square.”

Lucien nodded. “You will need to stay here, so there will be someone who understands if, if there are any messages, or anything.”

Oliphant nodded.

Once Lucien had left at a run, the others began to sort themselves out as he had ordered.

“I will need to pack some medical supplies, just in case,” said Lady Penworth, setting out to return to the house. Suddenly, she stopped and began to sway. Her husband caught her, and she clung to him. “Oh, Phillip, she will be all right, won't she?”

“Yes, I'm sure of it. Lucien is a very sensible young man.”

She nodded, but continued to cling to him as they made their way along, looking far older than they had been the day before.

* * *

Emily awoke to a rocking movement. It was a familiar sensation, the gentle motion of a kelek on the river. Pleasant. Soothing. She started to raise her head, but it hurt, it hurt badly. She groaned in pain but did not open her eyes. Why did her head hurt so badly? Perhaps if she did not move her head, the pain would go away. She sighed and let the gentle motion rock her back to sleep.

* * *

The small square by the river was almost deserted. The Penworths and their household, along with Irmak and his troops, were all preparing to pursue Lady Emily. David Oliphant was preparing to organize a command station to receive any information.

Peering around a corner, the little door boy saw Lady Julia, still in the square. He had failed in his duty, he knew, when he had let the other young lady leave the house without anyone to protect her. He would try to make up for his failure by watching over this one and making sure she returned safely. So he watched and waited.

Lady Julia was about to return to the house with the others, hoping to be of assistance to Mr. Oliphant, when she saw that Mélisande had been left in a heap in one corner of the square. She found it difficult to call up much sympathy for the girl, but she couldn't be left here. She sighed and went over to the girl.

“Do get up, Mélisande. You can't stay here.”

The response was a wailing moan. Or a moaning wail. Julia wasn't sure what it should be called, but it was an unpleasant sound, and quite useless if it was intended to garner sympathy.

“Stop this nonsense and get up,” she said impatiently.

Mélisande lifted up her head. “It has all gone wrong. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. Now Lucien is very angry with me.”

“Well, of course he is, and so is everyone else. What did you expect? What on earth were you thinking?”

“But that was not what I had planned. I just wanted her to go away.”

“You wanted Lady Emily to go away? But why? Why have you suddenly turned on Lady Emily, who has never been anything but kind to you?”

“I saw them, Lucien and her. They were embracing. I saw them.”

“Oh. Well.” Julia felt slightly flustered, remembering how very young Mélisande was. And living here in isolation, perhaps she really had been that sheltered. “Well, there is really no need to be upset. That sort of thing does happen, you know, when men and women are attracted to each other. You must not consider it distressing.”

“But of course I must be distressed.” Mélisande rounded on her angrily. “Lucien is to marry me. It cannot be permitted that he should be kissing Lady Emily.”

“Marry you?” Julia stared at the girl. “You cannot be serious. You are much too young to be thinking of marriage.”

“But of course I must think of it,” the girl insisted. “How else am I to escape from this place?”

Julia folded her arms like a stern governess and looked at the girl. “Do you seriously expect me to believe that you and M. Chambertin are betrothed?”

Mélisande made an expressive little moue. “It is understood, you see.”

“Understood by whom?” Julia frowned. “Has M. Chambertin actually proposed to you?”

“No, no, he has always been most proper. That is understood. But he is also most sympathetic, so I know. A woman always knows, does she not?”

Julia threw up her hands in disgust. “Of all the dim-witted, simple-minded idiots! Do you have any conception of the harm you have done? Lady Emily's life is in danger because of you. For all we know, she could be dead. We have no way of knowing how badly you may have injured her. And all because a stupid little girl decides to spin romantic fantasies for herself!”

“I am not stupid! It is all of you who do not understand.” Mélisande stamped her foot and sniffled.

“I wash my hands of you.” Julia turned to depart. “Come along or stay here. I really do not care.”

* * *

Concealed around the corner, Hadad and Karif had listened to the quarrel. They could not understand what was being said, but the woman with the Frenchman's daughter was clearly a foreigner, and here she was where M. Carnac's daughter had promised to bring her.

Hadad frowned. “Is this the same one? She does not look quite the same as she looked this morning, but I cannot tell the foreigners apart.”

“She must be. Hear how they quarrel. And she is here where we were supposed to seize her.”

“But that was supposed to happen this morning early.”

Karif shrugged. “The soldiers interrupted then, so she brings her back so we can try again.”

Hadad shook his head dubiously.

“Look! Here she comes, right toward us.” Karif smiled in delight. “I will hit her with the stone, and you pick her up.”

It did not work out quite that neatly.

Karif and Hadad had positioned themselves neatly in doorways on opposite sides of the street, but they were not so well concealed that Julia did not notice them as soon as she rounded the corner. Men trying to hide in doorways are rarely well-intentioned. Not being a fool, Julia turned to run.

Unfortunately, the ubiquitous blue cloak was designed for concealment, not ease of motion. Julia tripped and went sprawling almost immediately. Before she could rise again, Karif had swung his rock. She moved quickly enough to avoid the worst of it and receive most of the blow on her shoulder, but it was enough to make her cry out in pain.

The little door boy came shrieking to her rescue, and Karif swung around with a snarl to use the rock on him. They dodged back and forth, with Karif never getting quite close enough to land a blow.

Hadad hovered between Julia and the boy, not certain where to intervene. The boy had picked up a rock of his own to throw at the attackers. Karif swung wildly and called down curses on the boy. Then Julia began to get to her feet, berating Karif for picking on a child, and Hadad finally acted. He threw the heavy cloth over Julia—the cloth he had been carrying around since early morning. It muffled her cries and tangled her arms sufficiently for him to be able to toss her over his shoulder.

Calling to Karif to come along, he hurried down the alley. Karif landed a solid blow on the boy's back and followed. The door boy staggered, but pulled himself together and followed the kidnappers.

Left alone in the square, Mélisande stared after them in horror. No! This was not what was supposed to happen. Nothing should happen to Lady Julia. She did not know what to do. She took a step to follow them, but hesitated. Should she follow them? Should she go for help? She didn't know what to do. Would they blame her? But she had never meant anything to happen to Lady Julia. It wasn't her fault! It wasn't! They would blame her, and it wasn't her fault!

She ran blindly through the streets.

* * *

It was several hours later that the bedraggled door boy finally reached home. Quiet had settled over the house like a pall. The absence of Lord Penworth and his family was not enough to account for the silence. The remaining servants moved about softly, speaking in whispers when speech was needed. It rarely was. Altan, who ruled over the household, did not even bother to scold Yusef for his absence.

He managed to locate Shatha, and discovered from her that Mr. Oliphant was the only one of the foreigners in the house. It was well that he was here, because Yusef doubted he could make any of the others understand what he had to say. At least he hoped it was well. He did not look forward to admitting more failure. This was twice that he had failed to protect one of the women of the house. Moreover, they all knew that Mr. Oliphant languished for love of Lady Julia. He would be very angry when he heard what Yusef had to tell him.

Two minutes later, Yusef knew his fears had been justified, but misdirected. Mr. Oliphant did not blame him. He blamed himself.

“She was left in the square all alone?”

“No, no, effendi, not alone,” Yusef assured him. “The French lady was with her.”

“I assumed she was with Lady Penworth.” Oliphant closed his eyes. “Great God in Heaven, what have I done? How could I leave her?”

Yusef did not attempt to answer unanswerable questions.

“You said Mélisande, the French girl, was with her. What did she do?”

“They quarrel, effendi, and then the Lady Julia turns to leave and the evil men capture her. The French girl, she watches.”

“Watches.” The word came out as a whisper, but his fists were clenched so tightly the knuckles were white. “Could you see where they went?”

“I follow for a while, but I lose them as they near the walls.” Yusef was apologetic. “But I did hear them. They argue, and the short one says they should not stay to collect the money from the French girl. They can get more if they sell her in the slave market in Damascus. The one with teeth that stick out says the trip is too dangerous and they should just take the fifty gold pieces they were promised. Then the short one says there is a slave caravan to the north. They can join that and travel safely. Then they go through a door and I cannot follow.”

There was a moment of absolute stillness when Yusef finished speaking. It was so quiet that the boy thought Mr. Oliphant might even have stopped breathing. Then the storm broke. Mr. Oliphant slammed out of the room, shouting for Altan. Yusef was not sure where he went, but when he reappeared, his coat was gone, a gun was strapped to his leg, one dagger was in his belt and another in his boot, and he carried a rifle.

“Send to Mr. Rassam,” he told Altan, “and explain to him what has happened. If there is any news about Lady Emily, send a messenger after Lord Penworth. And tell the servants to stay calm.”

“Yes, effendi, yes. I will do as you say. And when will you return?”

“When I have Lady Julia.”