“Are you uneasy, Bing?” Hattie was trying to decide if she was uneasy, herself. She had a lot to think over.
“No,” said Bing in her forthright manner. “He will never act to your detriment.”
Hattie hovered for a moment on the verge of confiding in Bing, but decided the news was too cataclysmic—it would be a simple leap to guess that Edward’s death was no accident and there was no point in reopening that terrible wound. Instead, while her companion scratched the markings on a sheet of paper, Hattie made ready for bed, her mind filled with what she had learned this night and the journey to come the next morning. Her relationship with Berry had coalesced, no question. A shame it was not unadulterated happiness—she still didn’t know who he was or whom he served. And she felt a cold knot of despair when she contemplated her parents’ treachery; he had wanted to spare her the knowledge and in some small corner of her mind she wished he had—the sheer weight of it was so daunting. I wonder how many know, she thought in shame, and then remembered that many of those who knew had died. Perhaps Berry could arrange matters so her parents’ duplicity would not be made public; otherwise, no matter where she went, the Blackhouse shame would follow her. The best thing to do, she realized, was to change her surname. On this hopeful note, she slid into the bed.
Chapter 25
Hattie stood on the deck of the Priapus and watched the teeming city of Cairo recede from view. A good riddance, she thought; perhaps she would develop a fondness for Egypt in the more rural areas where the excavations were located, but she could not say that she held any fondness for Cairo. Although it was here that Berry finally abandoned his mighty resistance—she had little doubt an offer of marriage would be made once the urgent matters were settled, and she would accept him with a whole heart. She didn’t want to dwell on the unfortunate fact she knew next to nothing about him—including his name—so she did not. Like Bing, she was certain he did not serve the enemy, although she hoped she would not be called upon to stake her life on it—literally. The fact that he had been monitoring her parents and going to such lengths to thwart the planned escape from Elba all pointed to his role as an ally.
With one hand shading her eyes from the sun, she stood at the rail and glanced around at her surroundings. The Priapus was a Nile river dahabeeyah that carried twenty passengers in ten cabins, all traveling to the ancient city of Thebes where the barge would dock for a matter of days, allowing the passengers to explore the famous sights.
“At least on the river, the heat is not quite so unbearable,” Hattie remarked to Eugenie, who stood close by.
“No. Although my hair, it does not behave as it ought.” Eugenie indicated Bing, standing at a small distance and deep in conversation with Hafez. “Will they make a match of it, do you think?”
Remembering Berry’s cautions about the minister, Hattie said only, “Perhaps—they are certainly very compatible.”
Eugenie slid her a glance, the girl’s blue eyes very bright. “If they marry, would you stay in Egypt with them?”
“No thank you—I prefer a cooler clime.” Surely Berry must abide somewhere cooler than here—for the love of heaven, anywhere was cooler than here.
Eugenie raised one delicately arched brow. “Now that Monsieur Tremaine has suffered the death of his bride, perhaps he will return to cool England also.”
The observation was laced with innuendo, but Hattie decided two could play at this game. “He does not appear overly bereaved,” she returned, and arched her own brow at her companion. After a startled glance from Eugenie, the subject was mutually dropped. Hattie was not so untutored as to think that Robbie meant anything serious by Eugenie, and she had already deduced that he must have offered for Madame Auguste on orders from his grey-eyed spymaster so as to secure the woman’s safety. Unfortunately, the ruse had not intimidated the enemy, who had not only silenced the woman but had implicated Robbie in her murder for good measure—these were indeed dangerous people.
“Have you any suitors back home?” Eugenie’s gaze was amused, but if she thought to needle Hattie by making an oblique reference to the kiss she had witnessed, she would be disappointed; Hattie was not one to be needled.
“Not a one,” Hattie confessed with a smile. She threw in for good measure, “My last suitor married my last companion.”
The other girl threw back her lovely head and issued a genuine laugh, which made Hattie like her better. She then clucked her tongue in sympathy at such a turn of events. “Mal chance—bad luck.”