There was a pause while the clerk came to the realization he would have to withdraw. “Perhaps some other time—you have my card? Please do not hesitate to contact me if any assistance is needed.”
“I will indeed,” Hattie agreed, and threw him a bone. “I imagine I shall visit your offices in the near future, to address this difficult situation.” She sincerely hoped not; the solicitor was what Robbie would have deemed a curst rum touch.
Plucking up with this thought, the clerk bowed his way out and Hattie was left to eye the package, debating what to do with it. She could check it at the desk, but she then decided that as her things had already been thoroughly searched—and more than once—there was no harm in secreting it in her room. That way, at her first opportunity she could open it and see what the fuss was all about.
After placing the package in the bottom of her wardrobe amongst her shoe boxes, she fetched her hat and her parasol and returned to the lobby to meet up with Berry and Eugenie, now assembled and waiting for her. As she greeted them and reluctantly pulled on her gloves, Hattie noted that the two were never found in idle conversation with each other, in rather the same way Captain Clements and Berry never made idle conversation. They are all in this spying business together, she thought, and need not be convivial; it must be rather a relief—not to have to wear a polite mask with each other. Indeed, she had the impression that Berry was carefully monitoring what Eugenie said to Hattie, as though ready to rebuke her at a moment’s notice.
As they exited through the lobby doors, the ladies immediately hoisted their parasols against the bright sun and Hattie adjusted the straw brim of her hat so that it sat lower on her face. The maneuver also allowed an opportunity to take covert inventory of the Frenchwoman’s attire—Eugenie held a silk-embroidered parasol and the frivolous confection that passed as a hat had nothing to do with blocking the sun and everything to do with complimenting the contours of her lovely face. She will stop traffic, thought Hattie with sincere envy. I shall watch and learn—although to his credit, Berry appears unimpressed and once again has his hand on my back; he will leave a permanent print there if he is not careful.
Even though it was morning, the heat was already oppressive as they threaded their way through the crowded street. Berry procured a transport cart and they were underway, headed to Old City where the consulate was located.
Eugenie waved a languorous fan and addressed Berry. “Have you enough money about you, Daniel? We shall need it for our journey, n’est-ce pas?”
“I have.”
Unfolding her wrist with a flourish, the girl displayed a soft bundle of bills in her hand. “As do I.”
Hattie stared in surprise that Eugenie would brandish such an amount. Amused, Berry took it from her. “I will keep it, if you please.” He glanced at the other girl with a shake of his head. “Try not to bring attention to us, Eugenie.”
She laughed behind her fan, clearly enjoying herself. “It was too simple, Daniel—I could not resist.”
Hattie gazed out at the Saladin Citadel in the distance, struggling to keep her countenance. Eugenie was a pickpocket, then; a commendable trait in a cohort, one would think. “Must we pay a fee to travel down the Nile?” Hattie wondered at the reference to needed funds.
“There is no fee comme tel,” Berry answered carefully, “But the journey will depend on securing cooperation from those who will expect to be compensated.”
Hattie was unsurprised, considering there was no strong central authority to oversee such things. “Bribery, in other words. Is it so corrupt, then?”
He shrugged. “At present, the local authorities hold sway, but the situation will probably not survive the year and everyone seeks to make a profit while they may.”
“Because once the British regain authority, graft will be discouraged,” Hattie concluded. “The rule of law will be enforced.”
“Perhaps French laws will be enforced, instead,” Eugenie offered with a small smile from beneath her parasol. “Just because you are English, you should not make such an assumption.”
Hattie lifted her brows in surprise at the pointed observation—which seemed to have no particular point. “The French? Certainly that seems unlikely, Mademoiselle Leone—the French government is in as much disarray as is Egypt’s.”
“Quand même, one never knows,” the other replied, and turned to gaze at the scenery.
Chapter 21
The British consulate was located in the heart of the Old City district, the white stone edifice dominating the busy promenade where hawkers worked in abundance, hoping to sell all variety of goods to the British tourists who visited the building. After Berry handed her down from the transport cart, Hattie paused to take in the interesting sights and review the wares on display—maps of the excavation sites in Thebes and Abu Simbel as well as trinkets guaranteed to bestow good luck on their purchasers. With a smile, she admired a group of crude brass figures representing the goddess Hathor while the vendors redoubled their efforts to convince her to buy. She lifted her head to convey her regrets but before she could speak, one of them started and backed away from her, staring in amazement. “Dgahtr af,” he muttered, then turned to his colleagues in alarm and repeated the words, gesturing toward her. The other vendors paused in their efforts and a sudden, profound silence fell as they all stared in amazement at Hattie, some making a sign with their fingers as they backed away.