Daughter of the God-King(37)

Hattie and Bing ascended the main stairway and found their room, which was well-appointed and spacious—the walls white-washed in the manner of all the buildings in the area. Across the room, French doors opened to a small balcony and Hattie went out to lean on the railing and view the busy street below. Everything was so different—the heat, the noise, the manner of the people milling about—Syrians, Egyptians, Greeks. She looked down upon it in wonderment. “Come see, Bing—it is extraordinary.” Her companion joined her and they contemplated the chaos below them. Teasing her, Hattie asked, “Is it worth the miserable voyage?”

“Absolutely,” said the redoubtable Bing. “I have always longed to make this journey, but never thought to have the opportunity.”

Yes, thought Hattie as she looked out over the noisy throng. It has not been easy for either one of us to be the ones observing from a distance, sharing only vicariously in the excitement. Spying a small clothing establishment across the way, Hattie asked, “Should we journey over to the shops?”

“We should,” said Bing agreeably. “I believe it is time to cast off my blacks.”

The next half hour was spent rummaging through cottons, silks, and linens in the small stall that was stacked to overflowing with clothing items. In dire need of hot weather clothes, Hattie considered some pretty gauze blouses and lightweight skirts and as she held up a blouse to gauge for size, she noticed that a man in a turban was narrowly watching her from the back entryway. Uncowed, she met his gaze with her own level one and he immediately turned and disappeared out the back. Reminded that perhaps she shouldn’t be making her presence quite so obvious, she signaled to Bing that they should complete their purchases. They had no local money, but the proprietor indicated in an obsequious manner that English funds were acceptable and that it would delight him beyond measure to wait upon them. Before the transaction was completed, however, Berry appeared and smoothly interceded with the result that the proprietor returned some of their coins with gestures that were meant to be interpreted as apologies for a mere misunderstanding.

Taking up their packets for them, Berry remarked with polite diffidence, “In the future, it may be best not to wander without an escort, mademoiselle.”

“I did have a qualm,” Bing confessed, “but as it was only across the way I thought there would be no harm done.”

“My fault entirely,” volunteered Hattie in a cheerful tone, anticipating the effect her new clothes would have on Berry. “I commandeered poor Bing when she would much rather be taking in the sights.”

Bing confessed, “I do hope to visit the Great Pyramids whilst we are here.” They waited for a dray to pass before crossing the busy street, and Berry placed his hand on the small of Hattie’s back, where it remained as they followed Bing toward the hotel.

Berry offered, “The hotel can make arrangements for a tour of Giza—I believe they are held nearly every day.”

The prospect did not excite Hattie, who never could muster much interest in the subject that had served to captivate her parents at the expense of herself. The events of recent history, by contrast, seemed much more compelling—particularly as the world had just survived a bloody war. “Were the pyramids damaged in the Battle of the Pyramids?”

“Not at all,” Bing replied. “The battle did not actually occur at the Giza site—Napoleon called it such so that it would seem more historic.”

Hattie found such a deception rather juvenile, and expressed her disapproval. “It seems so—so pushing; to be so preoccupied with establishing one’s place in history—rather like the pharaohs and their grandiose tombs. It speaks of a full measure of self-absorption.”

“Indeed; and I imagine Napoleon is very much vexed about the forced curtailment of his plans,” Bing replied in a dry tone. “A man such as he does not concede easily—wouldn’t you say, Monsieur Berry?”

Berry had listened without comment to their conversation as he held the hotel door for them. “I would,” he agreed. “A foe formidable.”

“Did you serve in the Coalition, monsieur?” asked Hattie, curious as to his allegiance and hoping for a hint of his mysterious origins.

“I did,” he answered. “Shall we look to sit at eight o’clock?”

But Hattie would not be put off. “On whose side did you serve?” She could hear Bing’s small sound of dismay at such indelicacy.

“The winning side,” he explained patiently. “Naturellement.”





Chapter 16