“. . . is black,” Victoria completed in a toneless voice.
Sara smiled with extreme satisfaction. “By the way, Victoria, have you met Monsieur Rouston? The Frenchman who sells his saffron to your mother-in-law?”
Both Victoria and Emily were quiet and withdrawn over dinner. Emily poked at her food unhappily and wished that she and Sabri could run away to a place where no one knew them and no one could tell them whom to love.
Victoria’s mind was racing too. Should she give any credence to the outrageous claims made by Mrs. Willshire and the other ladies? Was her mother-in-law really carrying on a scandalous affair with André Rouston? She had met Rouston just once at the souk with Sibylla. He was a charming, good-looking man. But she had not noticed her mother-in-law affected by his charm. Quite the contrary, her demeanor had been cool and distant.
She looked at Emily surreptitiously. Like the Frenchman, she had dark hair and a brownish complexion. Her slightly curved nose was also reminiscent of his. The longer Victoria thought about it, the more likely it seemed that André Rouston, and not Benjamin Hopkins, was Emily’s father.
She flinched when John touched her hand. “A penny for your thoughts, Victoria. I think you weren’t listening. Mother is planning to transfer sole responsibility for the business here to me when she goes to London with Emily in the fall. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Victoria feigned enthusiasm, but her thoughts quickly returned to Sara Willshire’s revelations. She pursed her lips in disgust. What kind of family had she married into?
At the end of September, Sibylla and Emily had packed their trunks for their journey to England and the whole family gathered for a farewell dinner. After Sibylla had risen from the table, Thomas and John withdrew to John’s office to smoke a cigar, a stylish new habit they had acquired in London.
Sibylla, Victoria, and Emily went to the drawing room, where Firyal served tea, candied almonds, and lemon peel dipped in rose syrup. Aromatic smoke wafted from the scented quartz in the coal pans. But the atmosphere in the room was uncomfortable. Sibylla looked furtively at her daughter. Emily had taken one of the embroidered cushions from the sofa and was hugging it. She seemed distant, as she had so often in recent days. She did not even seem to enjoy drawing anymore. Perhaps she was nervous about the upcoming trip to faraway London. Or did some secret sadness gnaw at her? Whenever Sibylla asked, Emily claimed nothing was wrong.
Victoria was sitting on another sofa, staring into space. Like Emily, she seemed unhappy and withdrawn. Sibylla so wished to have a warmer relationship with her son’s wife, but no matter how she tried, Victoria was unresponsive. Nor did she seek out the company of Emily, who should have been her friend. Sibylla stifled a sigh. Instead of laughter, her home was filled with sadness and ill humor.
The conversation dragged terribly, Emily and Victoria speaking only when Sibylla addressed them and, even then, their answers were monosyllabic. So when Thomas and John at last came back from smoking their cigars, Sibylla smiled with relief.
John, her hands-on younger son, was always full of drive, and immediately launched into his favorite subject: the advantages of steamboats over tall ships.
Sibylla was of a different opinion. Her chief concern was the horrendous cost involved in the development and construction of coal-powered steel ships, and in no time, mother and son were absorbed in a lively debate.
Thomas stood by the fireplace, sipped his steaming tea, and looked over at Emily. Ever since he had told her that Sabri’s parents had long ago chosen a bride for their son, she had not been the same, and he often asked himself if it might have been better to keep the information to himself. Her little infatuation with Sabri would likely have ended anyway once she left for London. He sat down on the sofa and gave her a friendly nudge. “I thought you were looking forward to London, but you are as gloomy as can be.”
Emily merely shrugged. She’d been thinking about how she had nearly collided with Sabri outside the hamam today. When he asked why she no longer visited him at the office, she had run away like a silly child.
John’s impatient voice rang through the drawing room. “Believe me, Mother, if we invest now, we will be light-years ahead of all our competitors. Trust me! Why did you have me educated in London for all those years if I am not allowed to implement my knowledge now?”
“Why don’t you write to Father and ask him for support?” Victoria asked. “My family’s steelworks will surely help keep the costs tolerable.”
But John impatiently waved her off. “You don’t understand these things, Victoria. I have already written to your father and asked him for advice. Incidentally, Mother, he feels that the steamboat business is going to be very profitable. We would be faster than the competition with steamships made of steel, we would have more cargo space, and would make more money than other shipping companies.”
Sibylla poured herself a fresh cup of tea. “Even if you’re right, the harbor here in Mogador is too small for steamships.”
“That’s why I’m so keen for the qaid to expand the harbor,” replied her son.
“John.” Victoria’s voice sounded brittle, on the verge of breaking. “Please do not dismiss me so.”
He turned around in surprise. “What? Why, darling, what’s the matter?”
“You really want to know? If you weren’t only concerned about your business, you might have noticed that you have neglected me for months!” Her voice grew louder with every word. But before John could come up with an answer, the door was opened and Nadira entered with the twins. Charlotte had her favorite doll in her arm.
“Say good night to your parents!” Nadira gave them both a little pat on the bottom.
Victoria’s expression relaxed for a moment. Only, instead of running to her, the children turned toward Sibylla. Nadira quickly took their hands and led them to Victoria, who was stiff with rage.
“Go!” she hissed at the toddlers. “Go to your grandmother! That’s who you want anyway!”
She grabbed Charlotte, who had a look of utter confusion, by the arm and gave her a little shove. The little girl stumbled, her doll fell from her hand, and the porcelain head shattered as it hit the floor.
“Victoria!” John exploded. “Have you gone completely mad?”
Charlotte began to wail. Sibylla rushed over and picked her up. The little girl sobbed into her shoulder.
Victoria suddenly felt very hot. Her heart was beating wildly under her tight bodice. She had not wanted to be rough with her children! At the same time, frustration with her husband and mother-in-law spilled over into rage.
“How dare you reproach me?” she shouted at John. “Don’t you see what’s happening here? Your mother is trying to steal my children from me!”
“Victoria, I would never do anything of the kind.” Sibylla tried to assuage her. She handed Charlotte to Nadira, who hustled the children out of the room. “I was only trying to help. We . . .” Sibylla gestured to all those present. “. . . are a family.”
“A scandalous family!” Victoria said before she could stop herself.
“Victoria, I can’t believe this!” John intervened.
Thomas, who was as dumbstruck as Emily, said loudly, “Now you owe everyone an explanation.”
“Victoria didn’t mean anything by it,” Sibylla quickly assured him. She was pale and clutching the handle of her teacup so fiercely that her knuckles had turned white.
Victoria scrutinized her with a feeling of triumph. Time for Thomas, John, and Emily to learn what kind of woman their mother really was!
“Don’t the three of you know what everyone in Mogador is saying?” She turned to the siblings with vehemence. “Well, I do. Respectable people, whose word is their bond, have told me the truth. I am talking about your mother and, Emily, of your father.”
“Let the dead rest in peace,” Sibylla countered.
But there was no stopping Victoria. “Oh, I am not speaking of Mr. Hopkins, but of the Frenchman, André Rouston. He is Emily’s father, is he not?”
The room was filled incredulous silence.
“Who makes such allegations?” Sibylla finally inquired in a strained voice.
“The wife of Consul Willshire! But it was obvious that this scandal was very old news indeed for all the ladies assembled,” Victoria declared with her head high.
John seized his wife’s wrist and pulled her up from the sofa. “How dare you!”
“Leave her!” Emily’s voice was shaking. “I want to know everything, Victoria!”
Sibylla stood up. “You ought to go to bed, Emily. It’s late. We’re all tired.”
“Please don’t treat me like a child! I want to know the truth, either from her”—she looked at Victoria—“or from you.”
“It is not a good idea,” Sibylla replied. Her expression was like stone.
Thomas piped up. “Victoria has made a grave accusation against you, Mother, and thus against our entire family. We have a right to know the truth, especially Emily.”
Sibylla closed her eyes. She would never have dreamed that her past would catch up with her after all these years. Especially not through the instrument of her daughter-in-law. All of a sudden, the past was present again. The agonizing pain when she discovered that André had betrayed her with the Berber woman, the fright when she discovered that she was expecting his child, and the bitter disappointment of seeing her happy future with the man she had loved so dearly slip away.