Daughter of the God-King(64)
The two enthusiasts compared notes for a few minutes while Mrs. Canton and Hattie smiled at each other in the manner of those who did not share the call. While she listened absently, Hattie thought about how Napoleon had used his authority to extort her parents’ support for his ambitions. Perhaps they were without a choice in the matter—like Mr. Canton—and had to do as they were told. Or perhaps it had been a small matter, at first, and then they had been unable to disentangle from the web, once they were caught up. Impatiently, she discarded the attempted excuses—treason was treason and was not to be condoned, no matter the devotion to one’s work.
To her other side was Mr. Smithson, a short, spare man who was revealed to be a vicar from Shropshire. He listened in a friendly fashion but had little to offer by way of conversation. “Are you interested in Egyptology, Mr. Smithson?” Hattie asked, to draw him out.
“Very little, I’m afraid—I was to travel to the Holy Land but my tour was canceled; I thought I may as well sail up the Nile, as I was stranded in the vicinity.”
“A different sort of holiday than you expected,” Hattie noted with a smile.
But the gentleman was philosophical. “It is always interesting to learn new things—we never know why we are led.”
“I suppose that is true.” Indeed, Hattie’s temper had led her out the window at the Prussian embassy in Paris, and her life had changed irrevocably as a result. As they ate their repast, she noted some constraint between Canton and Hafez, and overheard the latter’s pointed remark, “Very altruistic people, the Blackhouses—greed was never a motivation.”
Hattie could feel herself color up and briefly met Berry’s eyes across the table. She surmised that Canton intended to take artifacts back to England, which naturally put him in the minister’s black book. Still, all parties were civil in discussing the upcoming ports of call.
“Do you stop at Thebes?” Canton asked Bing, his fellow devotee.
“Yes—we will visit the Blackhouses’ latest excavation.”
“Ah—the tomb of the god-king’s daughter; best beware of the curse,” he warned, half-serious.
“Bah—we fear no curses, do we, Monsieur Hafez?” asked Eugenie, who prettily sought his confirmation that he would protect her from all enemies, real or imagined.
“There are times,” the minister admitted with a huge sigh, “that I do indeed feel cursed.”
He was probably thinking of Monsieur Auguste’s untimely death; or perhaps his country’s crumbling infrastructure, or the loss of priceless artifacts to entrepreneurs like Canton, or even the missing strongbox—it was enough to make one feel quite sorry for him. Hattie wondered what information Eugenie had been dispatched to beguile from him.
Into the small silence, Berry addressed Robbie in a deferential manner. “Mademoiselle Blackhouse tells me that she has a long friendship with your family, Monsieur Tremaine; it is fortunate that you are at hand to assist her.”
“We’ve grown up together,” the other agreed. “Why, just this afternoon we were reminiscing over some childhood misadventures.” Robbie turned to smile warmly across the table at Hattie, but she was already warmed by Berry’s attempt to extend an olive branch.
“Where was this?” asked the vicar, and a comparison of Cornwall and Shropshire ensued, during which Hattie shot Berry a grateful glance and in this brief exchange she was given to understand he would speak to her privately before the evening concluded.
Thus it was with some impatience that Hattie sat through a discussion extolling the merits of the tedious New Kingdom and the equally tedious Middle Kingdom until Mrs. Canton finally tugged on her better half’s arm and insisted they retire before she fell asleep on the tabletop. With good humor, the dinner party broke up and Hattie felt free to tease Bing as they walked out on the deck, “Mrs. Canton had best look to her husband or you’ll have another one hanging on your sleeve.”
Bing rendered her dry smile at the jest. “A common interest, is all.”
But Hattie found it amusing in the extreme. “Honestly, Bing—had I know it would be so alluring to the opposite sex, I would have paid more attention to the museum exhibition in hopes of securing a beau.”
Bing smoothed her gloves and said only, “I have no fears on that front, Hathor.”
They took a turn around the deck, Hattie lifting her face to feel the cool breeze. “Thank heaven there is a breeze at night, Bing—we can open our porthole and be more comfortable.” Their stateroom was more spacious than on the Sophia, but Hattie continued to dislike the feeling of being enclosed in a small space. “Where do you suppose we are?” Pausing at the railing, they viewed the shoreline that would reveal an occasional cluster of lights in the darkness, evidencing small outposts. Toward the shallows, a random lit lantern would reveal a fisherman on a small wooden vessel, his spear poised to stab the fish attracted by the light. The air was close and heavy, and smelled of rich, wet earth.