Playing with Fire (10 page)

Tansy couldn’t look away, and Hermione’s voice faded into oblivion. Amanda knew the Church Mouse was watching, and it was just what she wanted. She thought it was fine sport to hurt Tansy by conquering Martin. For a split second the cousins looked at each other; then Amanda, ever shallow and heartless, gave a toss of her lovely head and moved her position a little, so that Martin had to turn his back completely on Tansy.

An invisible door closed upon the Church Mouse, as surely as if it had been paneled with wood and secured with lock and key.

The sun was high in London too, as Sir Julian drove back to Park Lane after visiting the British Museum and keeping an appointment with his lawyer. Arrangements for the sale of his London house were now in hand, and so, rather shamefully, was the museum’s papyrus! Sir Julian hung his head a little, for he was guilty of theft. The moment he’d seen the papyrus again, lying in the display case amid a collection of scarabs, jeweled pectorals, offering trays, and bronze daggers, it had reminded him so much of the papyrus at Chelworth that he was sure they were both from the same original. He recalled corresponding with a reverend gentleman named Endpipe, or Bluntwhistle, or some such name, who had been very knowledgeable on the topic of retriever cats. Mention had been made of the story of King Osorkon, and Sir Julian felt certain that was what both papyri depicted. The only way to be certain was to place them together. Hence the act of base theft. However, he assuaged his conscience by vowing to return the stolen papyrus as soon as possible.

The route back to Park Lane took him through Grosvenor Square, where the observation of a traveling carriage outside Randal’s house abruptly banished the papyrus from his mind. It was Randal’s carriage, for it had his badge on the door—a hand brandishing a lighted torch, in honor of his family motto. Luggage was being carried out, signifying a departure from town, but Sir Julian’s initial relief was soon replaced by suspicion. All well and good if Randal’s destination was his country seat in Westmorland, but what if it was Dorset? What if he had the theft of the letter in mind? As Lysons drove around the corner into South Audley Street, Sir Julian hastily lowered the glass. “Lysons! I must speak with you!”

The coachman maneuvered the team to the curb, clambered down, and came to the door. “Sir?”

“I want you to walk back to the square, to number sixteen-B. I need to know where Lord Sanderby is going. Be discreet now, for it won’t do for them to know who your master is.” Lysons touched his hat and hurried back along the pavement. Minutes passed, but at last he returned. “Well?” Sir Julian demanded impatiently.

“Lord Sanderby is leaving for Dorset, Sir Julian. He has taken a house called Bothenbury somewhere close to Weymouth, in order to be nearby when Miss Amanda arrives.”

Sir Julian’s mind raced. Yes, being near Amanda was plausible, but was it the whole truth? More likely the letter was Sanderby’s true objective. He drew back into the carriage and sat down once more. It wouldn’t do to remain here in town a moment longer. He’d send a man ahead on horseback to warn the servants at Chelworth; then he’d set off for Dorset himself first thing in the morning. The letter had to be protected, for it was the only evidence he had—mayhap all the evidence that remained.

* * * *

Not realizing his plans had been discovered, Randal emerged from his front door to commence his journey. He paused on the threshold for a moment, tugging on his tight kid gloves. His tall hat was at a jaunty angle, but he did not feel jaunty. He ached from head to toe, having been thrown from his horse in Hyde Park in front of everyone, and the prospect of a long bumpy journey did not please him at all.

But he needed to destroy that letter, and what better time to search Chelworth than when the old curmudgeon was here in town? Every other scrap of evidence had been burned, from the relevant parish register, to the
coucheur’s
records. The clergyman had proved impossible to trace, but must surely have gone to his Maker by now, for if he were still alive he would be damned nigh a hundred. The others involved must be dead too, so completely had they vanished from the face of the earth. The letter was all that remained, but it was a potent weapon in the wrong hands.

He walked toward the waiting carriage. Plague take Richardson for residing in so bucolic a county. Still, there would be some compensation. A pretty little
belle de nuit
was accompanying him. After all, a fellow’s nights should never be spent alone. One of the footmen stepped quickly forward. “My lord?”

“Yes? What is it?”

“I think you should know that someone came to inquire where you were going, and Arnold told him.” The man glanced at his fellow footman, who kept his eyes fixed guiltily to the pavement.

Randal’s attention sharpened. “Who was it?” he demanded.

“I don’t know, sir, but I’m pretty sure he was a coachman. A carriage drove past shortly before he came, and I feel certain he was on the box.”

“Describe the carriage,” Randal ordered. The footman obliged, and as chance would have it recalled the pharaoh’s-head emblem on the door. Randal’s eyes darkened. “Richardson!” he breathed.

Still, it was unlikely the old fool would set off before tomorrow, which still left a little time to search Chelworth for the letter.

The Egyptian twilight was very brief. The sky changed from turquoise to viridian, then to mauve and gold. At the village some small boys coaxed a reluctant buffalo out of the river and led it away. Bird-song was piercing, and a breeze crept up to ripple the surface of the water. Gradually all became quiet. Darkness seemed to descend suddenly, and the birds ceased their noise.

The matter of poling the
canja
out of the reeds commenced almost immediately. It was a very slow business, even with Tansy and Hermione assisting the two men. Amanda, naturally enough, had such delicate wrists that she could not even hold the oars strongly, let alone use them for something as strenuous as poling. As soon as the stern projected into open water, Tansy and Hermione were sent to join Amanda in the safety of the cabins, while Martin and Tusun continued the work alone.

The women waited nervously. Tansy was by a window, with Cleo curled up on her lap. She felt the vessel rock slightly as the current washed by, and looked out to see the reeds begin to slip slowly behind. Suddenly there were no reeds, and she held her breath as she had done when they left Tel el-Osorkon. On that occasion there had been shouts as the alarm was raised, but this time there was nothing. No one in the village saw the vessel as the lazy Nile flow carried it past the cluster of mud-brick buildings. Not so much as a barking dog signaled its passage, and soon everything was far behind as the
canja
made for the main channel, where her sails would be hoisted to catch the breeze, which providence now decreed should blow from the south. There was a hint of the desert from that direction, a promise of the baking hot summer that was to come.

Amanda’s taunting voice suddenly fell into the silent cabin. “I rather think our gallant lieutenant is my adoring slave. Don’t you agree, Tansy?”

Hermione’s angry glance would have withered anyone else on the spot, but Amanda was impervious to such things. Her beautiful cornflower eyes glittered in the darkness, and her gloating smile was cruel. Tansy answered unwillingly. “He certainly admires you greatly.”

“It will be amusing to break his heart.”

Hermione could not hide her contempt. “Your notion of amusement leaves a lot to be desired, Amanda.”

Tansy was startled by the chaperone’s bluntness, but Amanda was outraged. “How
dare
you speak to me like that!” she cried, her raised voice awakening Cleo on Tansy’s lap. The tabby growled, put her ears back, and swished her tail.

Hermione wasn’t apologetic. “Amanda, I was employed to take care of you and Tansy, and see you both safely into Sir Julian’s custody. My terms of reference are that I am to watch over you both and see that nothing damages your reputations. It seems to me that if you were to repeat such words elsewhere, they would reflect very badly indeed upon your character.”

Amanda jumped to her feet. “Silence! I
will
not be spoken to in such a way!”

“I will not be silent, my dear, for you must mend your ways if you are not to be regarded as an arrogant strumpet!”

Amanda quivered with fury. “Arrogant strumpet…?” she repeated, barely able to speak.

“That is what I said,” Hermione repeated, without flinching at all in the face of her charge’s ominous reaction. “You are a very unlikable person, Amanda—rude, opinionated, vain, hurtful; indeed, you are without redeeming feature as far as I can tell. Everyone is pleased for you that you have secured such an enviable match, but no one wants to feel obliged to flatter you at every turn. You never miss an opportunity to remind us all that you are to be the grand Countess of Sanderby, to boast and brag about it until everyone else is sick of the word Sanderby.”

“How…dare…you…!” breathed Amanda, her fists clenched until, had there been light, they would have been seen to be quite white.

Hermione was past caring. “You are playing with fire, you know. Do you
honestly
think Lord Sanderby would be impressed if he heard your crowing about Lieutenant Ballard? Do you think he would be pleased were he to learn how you have flirted with such a handsome naval officer?” Hermione rose calmly to her feet as Amanda stepped furiously forward, a hand raised to strike her for her effrontery. “Hit me, and I will not hesitate to retaliate.” Tansy was transfixed. How could such a tigress ever have been mistaken for a meek nobody, capable only of crochet?

Amanda had second thoughts too, and slowly lowered her hand, but she remained incandescent with rage. “You’re going to regret this, Hermione Entwhistle, for when we reach Chelworth I will make sure Sir Julian is told the full extent of your transgressions, and—! Ouch!” Her words ended on a cry of pain, not because Hermione had struck her anyway, but because Cleo had jumped down from Tansy’s lap and was proceeding to sharpen her needle claws on the future Lady Sanderby’s left knee. The black robes, voluminous as they were, presented no obstacle to such a determined feline exercise, and there was no doubt that Amanda felt every sharp pinprick. Hermione could have applauded the tabby’s intervention. What excellent creatures cats were, to be sure, she thought, making no move to fuss around Amanda. The arrogant strumpet could attend to her own knee.

Amanda dashed the cat aside. “Oh, you horrid, horrid creature!” she cried, tears springing to her eyes. Cleo did not care to be dashed anywhere, and spat resentfully, but then retreated judiciously beneath a bed, for fear that Amanda’s foot might take a part in the proceedings.

Just then the cabin door opened and Martin looked urgently in. “Be quiet in here! We’re close to the main channel and there are other vessels around!”

To his startlement, Amanda ran sobbing into his arms. “I thought there was a snake! A most horrible thing, and I-I feared it would bite me!”

Martin hesitated, then looked inquiringly at Hermione, who shook her head. “No, Lieutenant, there is no snake. Amanda was asleep and must have had a nightmare.”

“I see.” He held Amanda a little awkwardly. “I’m sure it seemed very real, Miss Richardson, but there really isn’t a snake in here,” he murmured.

“Oh, I wasn’t dreaming. I know I wasn’t!” Amanda cried, clinging to him as the maiden in distress must surely have clung to St. George.

Hermione intervened. “Nonsense, Amanda. I fear you are letting your imagination run away with you,” she said, at the same time surveying Martin in a way that made him release Amanda as if burned.

“I, er, must return on deck,” he said, and hurried away.

The moment the door closed behind him, Amanda turned triumphantly to the others. “Oh, dear, it really is too simple,” she said.

“Pride comes before a fall, my dear,” Mrs. Entwhistle said quietly.

“And mayhap you should have looked before you leaped,” Amanda snapped back. “You’ll pay for presuming to criticize me!”

“Threaten me all you will, Amanda. It is of no consequence. My duties will be discharged the moment I give you into your uncle’s care, and believe me, I shall not be sad when that moment arrives.” Hermione went to the cabin door and paused with her hand on the knob. “I sincerely hope you are happy in your marriage, Amanda, but I fear you will not be. Nothing will ever satisfy you, for I do not doubt that when you are a countess, you will long to be a duchess. And if you become a duchess, you will want to be a princess. Dissatisfaction will beset your existence forever and a day.”

“Since you never amounted to being more than the wife of a dreary clergyman, when you speak of dissatisfaction you clearly know what you’re talking about,” Amanda retorted.

Hermione flushed. “I was never dissatisfied with my marriage, which brought me nothing but love. That blessed emotion will always be denied the likes of you, Amanda.” She went out, and closed the door softly behind her.

Amanda turned to start upon Tansy again, but that young lady had no intention of being at her cousin’s mercy a moment more than absolutely necessary, so she too opened the door. “I think I’ll go out as well. I prefer being in the fresh air. Cleo? Come on.” A tabby streak shot from beneath the bed and out through the door. Behind them all, Amanda’s fury centered on a hapless pillow, which she proceeded to tear to shreds.

The moon emerged just as Tansy went out onto the deck, casting a pale light over the wide expanse of the Nile’s Rosetta channel, which was half a mile or more across. Overhead the sails billowed as the
canja
made good headway downstream, Tusun attending to the rigging, Martin once more at the tiller. Other boats plied the great river, the nearest being a small one-masted
jerm,
to which the
canja
was catching up quite quickly. Another was a one-hundred-foot
dahabeah,
which was so luxuriously gilded that it clearly belonged to an important Turkish official.