Silk and Secrets(5)

"I think you do the embassy an injustice. Even if there has been no public execution, that doesn't prove Ian is alive."

She scowled, half-humorous and half-serious. "The one thing I have always deplored about you, Ross, is your fair-mindedness. It is enough to drive a hotheaded Scot wild."

He turned away and strolled across the small room, stopping in front of an undistinguished painting of an English landscape. "Quite right. It had that effect on Juliet."

He heard a small intake of breath behind him and knew that Lady Cameron was regretting her remark. In spite of their mutual affection, it was easier not to see each other, for conversations between them were always fraught with tension as they tried, usually unsuccessfully, to avoid painful topics.

Speaking quickly to fill the silence, she said, "I've given up trying to get any help from the embassy here. I've thought of going to London and raising interest among the British people, but time is precious and it would take months to get results. I just don't know what to do."

Turning to face her, he said, "I know you don't want to hear this, but the best course of action is to accept that there is nothing you can do. As Canning said, Ian had to have known the risks of going to Bokhara. The odds are about even whether a European who visits there will be welcomed or killed, and I don't think an officer bearing a request from the British government would have been welcomed, no matter how diplomatic he was."

She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again. After a long speculative pause she said, "Do you know, I have been so distracted that I forgot that you went to Bokhara with Lieutenant Burnes several years ago. I've wondered why you haven't published an account, as you have with your other journeys."

"Alex Burnes was the leader of the expedition, and his own book said everything that needed to be said. Besides, at the time I was more interested in traveling through the Sahara than going home and writing." Ross caught her gaze with his, then said slowly, every word emphasized, "It is precisely because I have been to Bokhara that I think the situation is hopeless. The amir is a whimsical man who believes that the desert will protect him from all reprisals. He would not have hesitated to order the execution of an inconvenient or irritating European prisoner."

He saw the exact moment when Jean Cameron's weary frustration turned to excitement. "Ross, you are one of the few Englishmen who has actually been to Bokhara," she said eagerly. "Will you go there now to learn what has happened to Ian? If he is alive, you can ask for his release. And if not..." She gave a shuddering sigh. "It is better to know for sure than to spend the rest of my life wondering."

So Jean was not as confident that Ian was alive as she pretended. Ross felt deeply sad for her, but that did not alter the facts. He had seen sudden death in too many places to believe in miracles. "I'm sorry, but I can't go. With my brother's death, I am needed back in England. Having just canceled my plans to go to Arabia, I can hardly jaunt off to Bokhara. It would be one thing if such a journey would serve any useful purpose, but it wouldn't. One way or another, Ian's fate has surely been decided long since."

"But going there will serve a useful purpose," she argued. "And not just for me. Ian is betrothed to an English girl in India, the daughter of his colonel. How do you think she feels, not knowing if he is dead or alive?"

Until now Ross had kept his equilibrium, but Jean's words struck deep. "I'm sure that she feels as if she is in hell," he said harshly. "No one would know that better than I. But my obligation to my family must come first."

Her face colored, but she did not give up. "Please, Ross," she said softly. "I am begging you to do this. I could not survive the loss of another of my children."

In her intensity, for a moment she reminded him unbearably of Juliet. Ross spun away and stalked angrily across the room. Over the years he had felt many things about his failed marriage: grief, fury, and endless despairing questions about why Juliet had left him.

Inevitably there had been guilt as he wondered what nameless crime he had committed that had sent his young wife flying away to bury herself in a distant land. If they had not married, she would never have felt the need to declare her independence in such catastrophic fashion.

He and his mother-in-law had never discussed the subject, but he was sure that she knew how much he blamed himself for what had happened. Now Jean was using that knowledge to coerce him into undertaking a dangerous, futile mission.

He stopped and stared out the window, where the slanting rays of the late-afternoon sun illuminated an exotic un-English scene of domes and minarets. Deliberately he studied the window as he fought to regain control of his emotions. Unlike Turkish houses, there were glass panes to keep out the winter air. Several inches beyond the glass, a gracefully shaped iron grille served as both decoration and protection in case a local mob ever decided to direct its anger at the infidels.