Daughter of the God-King(82)

Once they reached the west bank, they disembarked from the vessel and hailed a cart to take them to the massive ruins on the river bank. Fortunately, at this hour in the morning there were long shadows in which to linger as they mingled with other tourists to view the mortuary temple dedicated to the god-king Ramesses. Bing served as their guide, pausing before the landmarks to recite from her guidebook as Smithson listened attentively. Hattie and Robbie were content to trail behind and soon were out of earshot as Hattie twirled her parasol to and fro out of boredom, wishing Berry were there. “I confess I am not very interested in all this.”

“I toured it last time I was here,” Robbie acknowledged. “Dashed dry stuff—once is more than enough.”

She eyed him sidelong from under the edge of her parasol. “Why, Robbie Tremaine; you were falling in love and should remember it with great fondness.”

Shaking his head at her sauce, he admitted, “I imagine you are already aware there were other forces at work.”

“Such as?”

He squinted into the distance, deciding what to say. “She held important information and our people were negotiating for it. She demanded protection, and fancied me above the other potential candidates—I never meant to marry her, of course.”

“Unfortunately, someone was not very impressed by your gallant gesture, my friend. What sort of information did she have that called for such a heroic sacrifice?”

Choosing his words carefully, he explained, “Her husband worked closely with the find, and there were concerns that—along with your poor parents—some inventory was missing. She intimated that she was aware what had happened to it.”

“I see—she was leveraging whatever information she had in exchange for protection.” Hattie turned her head to pretend an interest in the pylons while she assimilated the almost unbearable fact that Robbie knew the truth about her parents—knew and was trying to spare her. It was a sweet gesture, and greatly appreciated, but the shame was oh, so humiliating. I shall never become accustomed if I live to be a hundred, she thought, her cheeks aflame. I wonder if I can convince Berry to take up residence somewhere outside the bounds of civilization. With an effort, she kept her voice even. “Did you discover what she knew, if anything?”

“Unfortunately not,” he replied in a neutral tone. “But with any luck we can uncover the truth.”

“I hope so.” She tried to sound sincere, so as not to reveal that she would be acutely shamed by the truth.

Tilting his head back, he considered the massive ruins around them. “And then you and I will gladly put Egypt behind us and return to a more hospitable climate, devoid of dust.”

“And dull ruins,” she added.

“And dull ruins,” he seconded. “Although Miss Bing and Mr. Smithson seem very keen.” The other couple had their heads together, discussing something in the guidebook.

“Very keen,” agreed Hattie, and they exchanged a significant look in the manner of childhood playmates who could communicate without speaking. “And pray do not be inspired anew by the ruins and make an offer for Eugenie this time around—your poor mother would take to her bed.”

Making an attempt to disclaim, he met her eye, saw that she knew more than he would like, and so changed tactics. “She is a merely a means to pass the time, Hattie—for God’s sake, you should not be speaking of such things.”

Remembering her frank speech with Eugenie the night before, Hattie could only hide a smile. “I beg your pardon, Robbie; I shall say no more.”

And no more was said on the subject, as instead Robbie nodded in the direction of the central courtyard. “Here are some gentlemen from the consul’s office who seek an opportunity to speak with you.”

Hattie turned to see two men, their hands clasped behind them, strolling in their direction as though the meeting had not been pre-planned with Robbie. God in heaven, she thought in dismay; pressure is being brought to bear—a pox on Robbie for forcing me to sort out my allegiances.

Robbie took her hand in the crook of his arm in a gesture of support. “They have some questions about the missing artifacts, Hattie—I am afraid it is very important.”

It always seems to be, thought Hattie with extreme annoyance; but at least I am no longer playing blind man’s bluff.

Robbie introduced her to Mr. Drummond, a grey-haired man with a neatly trimmed beard who had the felicity to be the high commissioner for the British consulate in Luxor. “Miss Blackhouse,” he said, bowing over her hand. “Such a pleasure to meet you; I followed your parent’s endeavors very closely.”