Daughter of the God-King(96)

After taking a steadying breath, she left the graves without a backward glance and went to find Bing.





Chapter 39





Hattie walked out the gate and toward the ruins where Bing was seated, watching for her. The movement helped—with each step Hattie felt less frozen with horror and more inclined to turn over various options in her mind. When she arrived to stand before her companion, she had decided on what she hoped was the best course. “If you don’t mind, Bing, I would like to visit the Coptic chapel across the river; I would like to arrange for prayers to be said.”

“Very well, Hathor.” If Bing thought it strange that Hattie sought prayers from a foreign church, she made no comment. Perhaps she believes I am hedging my bets, she thought—I only wish I could.

As her companion rose to her feet, Hattie added in a low tone, “I am concerned that we may be followed. Keep a sharp eye out, if you please.”

Bing paused for only a moment, then took Hattie’s arm as they headed to the river, giving her charge a quick, assessing look. “For whom do we watch?”

“Anyone who in turn appears to be watching us—I am afraid I do not know more.” They walked in a leisurely fashion to the quay and boarded a felucca while Hattie remained silent, her mind busy, thinking. She finally emerged from her reverie to remark, “It is so difficult, Bing, when you cannot go back, nor around, and your only choice is straight forward.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” agreed her companion with a nod. “One is called upon to marshal one’s courage, whether one wishes to or not.”

Hattie watched the waterman maneuver their vessel across the Nile and thought, I am heartily tired of being buffeted by shocking news, and I wish so much weren’t at stake. But I do trust Dimitry—against all reason, even if he serves the enemy. Besides, she thought fiercely, if he wishes to do me harm, I may as well let him—life would hardly be worth living. “On the way to the chapel we will make a stop so that I may leave a message for—for Monsieur Berry.”

And so it came to pass that Hattie stood before the innkeeper at the Osiris Inn, who gazed at her from behind his desk with no sign of recognition. “Hallo again; I must speak to—to Dimitry, and as soon as possible. I am not certain where he is or how to send for him.” Her eyes strayed for a moment to the icon on the wall. “I shall return in an hour.”

If Bing thought the entire situation strange, she made no comment and asked no questions, instead accompanying Hattie to the chapel in supportive silence. That is the difference between Bing and me, thought Hattie, hiding a smile; I’d be demanding answers and throwing things. Forced to possess her soul in patience, Hattie spent the greater part of an hour sitting in the Coptic chapel beside Bing, contemplating the gilded altarpiece. “Do you think we were followed, Bing?”

“I do not believe so, Hathor—although many of the children look alike.”

“No,” said Hattie. “It would have been a man. Or more than one.”

“Who is Dimitry?” asked Bing deferentially.

“Monsieur Berry is Dimitry,” Hattie replied absently. “Has it been an hour?”

But before her companion could consult her watch, Dimitry himself slid into the pew beside Hattie. With a glance that did not conceal his concern, he assessed her quickly and she felt a pang that she had alarmed him, then caught herself—he deserved every moment of anxiety visited upon him, the wretched, wretched Pole.

“What is it, Hattie?” he asked, and Bing moved away to light a candle, although Hattie knew she wasn’t popish. Small matter, she thought; I would light a candle myself if I thought it would help.

Taking a breath, Hattie confessed, “I may have torn it, Dimitry, but I am not certain, and I need your advice.”

He watched her profile for a moment, his own expression grave. “Tell me.”

With a mighty effort, she kept her voice level. “Mr. Drummond’s associate—the one with the scar—”

“Yes,” he said.

“He works for Napoleon.”

“Yes.” He waited, knowing there was more to come.

“He seems to think you do, also.”

There was a pause. “What did he say to you?”

She bit her lip for a moment, then decided there was nothing for it. Unable to face him, she continued to speak in an even tone, looking toward the altarpiece. “He carried a warning from—from the prisoner, who wishes me away from here and back to Cornwall.”

He was quiet, and she concluded after a breath, “I’m afraid I mentioned that we had married.”

“Did you indeed?”