The Lioness of Morocco(71)

“And I you, dear child. But I know that you’ll have so many wonderful experiences. There’s no reason to cry.” Sibylla opened her nightstand and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe Emily’s nose the way she had done in years past.

“Mummy! I’m not little anymore.” Emily managed a crooked smile. She took the handkerchief from her mother and blew her nose noisily. “I have something I want to ask of you, Mummy. Do you promise not to be angry with me no matter what happens?” She seemed tense.

“What do you imagine could happen? Is something weighing on your mind?”

Emily avoided looking at her. “Oh, nothing. A lot can happen in a year.”

Sibylla took Emily in her arms. “Don’t you worry! You and your brothers are the most important people in the world to me, and nothing and nobody can change that.”



On the Queen Charlotte, December 1861



After finishing his breakfast of hard dry rusks, tea, and corned beef, Sabri stepped from the mess hall onto the deck of the Queen Charlotte and looked up at the azure blue sky. A strong wind hurried along the puffy white clouds. The Atlantic rushed, lifting the ship up and dropping it back down on the waves. With one hand, Sabri held his turban firmly on his head and clutched the railing with the other.

It was their third day at sea and he had yet to catch a glimpse of Emily. But the steward had assured him that Miss Rouston and Mrs. Hopkins had indeed come on board.

“With this kind of swell, the ladies are not feeling well,” he had informed Sabri as he swayed to keep his balance on the unsteady surface, carrying a metal bucket from which the smell of vomit emanated.

The Queen Charlotte had only been at sea for a few hours when the trade winds had worked themselves into a mighty storm. The sailors had managed to tie down anything that might be swept overboard, but the cow meant to provide fresh milk for the thirty passengers had fallen and broken a leg, so Sabri had had to assist the ship’s doctor with emergency butchering during the heavy storm.

He was among the few passengers not afflicted with seasickness. During the day, he sat in his cabin listening to the creaks and squeaks of the wooden hull, the roaring winds, the crashing waves, and the shrill sailors’ whistles. At night, he lay awake and tried to forget the pain of the separation from his family. If he did nod off for a little while, he would invariably be awakened from restless dreams by the ship’s bell announcing the change of guards.

Mealtimes were a welcome distraction, even though only a handful of passengers appeared at the captain’s table. The steward had tied down cotton strips crosswise on the tablecloths. This way, the dinnerware and glasses would not empty their contents into the passengers’ laps.

There had been decidedly more people at breakfast this morning, but Emily and Victoria were not among them. Captain Comstock had good-humoredly announced that the storms were now behind them—they had reached the more temperate westerly winds at last.

Now Sabri spotted the captain standing on the stern next to a sailor who was measuring the ship’s speed using the Dutchman’s log. He tossed a log attached to a rope knotted at regular intervals into the water and counted the number of knots that passed through his hands. A second sailor stood on the other side of the captain with a sand timer.

“Four knots!” the sailor called when the sand had run through the timer.

“Hmm,” Comstock grumbled and chewed on the mouthpiece of his pipe. “The Queen should easily manage nine knots in this weather.” He rubbed his hands together. “Into the shrouds, men. We’re going to pick up some speed! The group to finish first gets extra tots of rum!”

The boatswain blew his whistle and boots rang out across the deck. The sailors quickly and nimbly scaled the masts.

Sabri rubbed his chin and grinned. Many years at sea had made the captain of the Queen Charlotte hard and gnarly like an old Atlas cedar. But his crew obviously respected him. The passengers told stories of how he had courageously stopped a mutiny on this very ship many years ago. It had cost the former captain his life, but Comstock, who was only a helmsman at the time, was rewarded for his valor by being put in charge of the Queen.

Sabri leaned his head back and watched the sailors balancing above him at dizzying heights. Soon, the first sails were unfurled and began to flap in the wind. The sailor on watch turned the hourglass and rang the ship’s bell three times: half-past nine and still no sign of Emily. Sabri sighed longingly and looked out at the ocean.



“Where are you going?” Victoria asked her sister-in-law. She sat on the edge of her bed in her dressing gown, brushing her hair.

The cabins for passengers who could afford the afterdeck were tiny and separated by thin canvas partitions. Beds hung from the ceiling by ropes to compensate for the ship’s rolling, but the table, chair, cabinet, and washstand were bolted to the floor. Still, traveling like this was considerably more comfortable than on the lower decks, where the poorer passengers slept together with animals and freight in unventilated, tight, frightfully damp spaces.

Emily turned around, her hand already on the door handle. “I want to go on deck. When three persons have spent days vomiting in an extremely confined space, the only thing to do is get some fresh air. I also want to ask the steward to bring us something to eat.”

“You might also ask for some tea,” Victoria suggested. Like Emily, she was wan with dark circles under her eyes, but compared to Firyal, they were in excellent condition.

Poor Firyal was incapable of helping her mistresses. Whenever she was not vomiting, she would curl up and recite verses from the Koran, certain that they were all doomed. After several days of this, she had finally fallen asleep and was snoring softly on her berth.

Emily slipped out. Food and fresh air were, of course, not as pressing as finding Sabri. She had spent these terrible days tormenting herself with the notion that he had changed his mind and decided to yield to his parents’ wishes and marry the qaid’s daughter.

The fresh, salty air helped Emily overcome her queasiness, but she was still not accustomed to the swaying of the ship. She anxiously pressed her back against the wall behind her while her eyes scanned the deck. The sailors were cleaning the Queen Charlotte after the storm. With buckets and brushes, some scrubbed the wooden planks while others polished the brass fittings on the railing, and still others pumped out the water that had been swept into the lower decks. Suddenly, Emily spotted Sabri and her heart started beating faster. He stood at the railing looking eastward, where somewhere in the blue haze lay the coast of Morocco. He had not noticed Emily, but she could see the melancholy on his face. She understood all too well the sadness he felt at leaving behind his family and home, perhaps forever.

She ran toward him, overcome by the need to feel his arms around her. But the ship swayed and the wooden deck was slick with sea spray and soapsuds. She slipped and fell on her bottom with a loud cry. Sabri spun around and rushed toward her. He almost slipped himself but was able to catch himself just in time and help Emily to her feet. The sailors roared with laughter.

“Finally!” Sabri put his arm around Emily’s shoulders and led her away to the bow, which offered a little privacy thanks to its thick foremast and large sails.

Sabri pulled Emily close to him. “How are you? You look very pale.”

Instead of answering, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him. “Nothing and no one can separate us now!” At this moment, the joy and relief of being with him outweighed her guilty conscience about having lied to her family. She looked at him carefully. “You look well. Didn’t the storm affect you?”

“Other than that the shield in front of my porthole came off during the night and I got a face full of ice-cold seawater, I’m fine.”

“Oh dear, you poor thing!” She kissed the tip of his nose.

He beamed at her. “The sight of you makes me so happy that I could sing. Although I must say, you look a little different in Western clothing.”

“I feel different too,” she replied with a laugh and looked down at herself. Under Victoria’s form-fitting blue wool coat, she could see a pair of her mother’s old lace-up boots. Her curls were gathered in a bun. “These European clothes are rather stiff and uncomfortable.” Emily grimaced.

“Now it’s my turn to feel sorry for you!” He kissed her tenderly.

“So that’s why you were suddenly in such a rush to go to London!” shouted an irritated voice behind them.

Emily and Sabri nervously let go of each other and turned to see Victoria glowering with her hands on her hips. “Am I correct in assuming that this trip is all some sort of ruse?”

“I don’t wish to be lectured by you, who, of all people, would accept any excuse to get to England!” Emily shouted.

Victoria ignored the objection. “I take it your mother is not cognizant of the fact that Dr. bin Abdul is also on board?” she inquired frostily and, when Emily said nothing, raised her eyebrows histrionically. “And how do you two conspirators intend to proceed from here?”

“I understand your anger, Mrs. Hopkins,” Sabri began. “But Emily is not to blame. I begged her to elope with me. You have to understand that my family is absolutely opposed to our liaison.”