“Is the ship named after your wife, perhaps?” Hattie asked in an innocent tone, teasing him.
Laughing in appreciation, he steered her to the table. “Minx. The Sophia’s the only wife I have. At present,” he amended gallantly.
Hattie accepted the proffered glass of Madeira from the servant. “And like to be the only one; a sea captain is a poor candidate for a husband, one would think.”
“Never say so,” he disclaimed as he saw Bing seated. “And I have half a mind to marry post-haste, for no other reason than to prove you wrong.”
She laughed, enjoying herself as they began their repast. “I shouldn’t criticize; I would not blame you for sailing whenever the opportunity arises, Captain—I enjoy it very much. My poor Bing, on the other hand, finds the sea disagreeable.”
“Not the sea,” Bing corrected her with a faint smile. “Only its movement.”
“I am sorry for it,” the captain said to her with ready sympathy. “My cook concocts an excellent remedy—I shall call for it.” He turned and gave a brief instruction to the servant.
Sensing that Bing was embarrassed by the fuss, Hattie reclaimed his attention. “How long have you captained the Sophia, sir?”
“Not so very long, actually; after the Armistice I traded in my seventy-four for a frigate; I find that the route to Cairo is particularly lucrative.”
Hattie nodded, well aware that England was mad about all things Egyptian ever since the end of the last century, when Napoleon had first explored the area. Indeed, it was one of the reasons her parents could afford their expensive passion—there was an avid interest and therefore an unending supply of wealthy backers willing to fund the Blackhouse efforts.
Their meal was surprisingly good, but on second thought, Hattie decided that Captain Clements was a man who did not stint on his pleasures. Bing’s restorative proved to be a dark, viscous liquid contained in a small glass, which her companion dutifully sipped as the meal progressed. It did appear to bring more color to her cheeks, and Hattie suspected that alcohol served as its base ingredient. I must ration my Madeira, she thought, else we will both be tipsy and there will be no one left to hold the captain at arm’s length. She asked him, “How long will you stay in Cairo before making your return trip?” Having no real expectation of finding her parents alive, Hattie was wondering how long she herself would stay; Berry would not have expressed his grave doubts to her unless he was certain her parents no longer lived. Mainly, she wanted to arrange for a proper burial—if she could find out what happened to them—and with any luck, set a course for her future that was devoid of annoying inquisitions and hair’s-breadth escapes.
The captain considered his answer while he ran his fingers up the stem of his wine glass. “The turnaround depends on a variety of factors, but usually there are a plentitude of traders seeking passage so as to bring cargo back to France or England—copies of artifacts or even the genuine article, for sale to private collections or to a museum.”
Hattie felt a pang of sadness on behalf of the Egyptians, whose treasures were being transported elsewhere whilst their political situation was in too much disarray to prevent it; she knew that graft and corruption—almost a given, in the Mid-East—encouraged the authorities to look the other way.
The captain’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Perhaps my visit on this trip can be arranged to match the length of your own. How long do you stay, Miss Blackhouse?”
Rather than equivocate on the subject for the entire journey, Hattie decided to reveal the true state of facts. “Unfortunately, I have not heard from my parents in quite some time; indeed, I make this journey to discover if they have met with calamity.”
With a show of sympathy that also allowed him to take her hand, the gentleman offered, “Perhaps they are merely in an isolated area and must make their way to a post that allows for communication.”
Hattie appreciated the theory, however far-fetched. “Let us hope so.”
But Bing found this unlikely and shook her head with some determination. “No—the tomb’s site is near Al Karnak,” she corrected, carefully pronouncing the words. “Amenities are quite modern—there would be no impediment. Indeed, my dear brother wrote me every week.” Her companion was apparently unaware that the captain had been merely attempting to offer Hattie some encouragement.
Hiding a smile at her companion’s altered state, Hattie could only agree, “Yes, I’m afraid the situation appears rather grave.”
The captain attempted another tack to change the subject. “The god-king’s daughter,” he mused aloud. “An extraordinary find—and with startling implications; if your parents do not make a reappearance, I wonder what will happen to the site? Are you familiar with their arrangements, Miss Blackhouse?”