Playing with Fire (3 page)

Now Amanda started to sob again, so loudly that her uneasy companions feared she would be heard. The pirates might be nearby, or the French, or others who would prove no more friendly, so Mrs. Entwhistle adopted a brisk tone. “Come now, my dear. We must not let ourselves be beaten. We have survived everything so far, and are here on the shore. I am sure that if we remain of good heart—”

Amanda’s foot stamped once more. “Good heart? Oh, you stupid woman!”

Tansy was aghast. “Amanda!”

Mrs. Entwhistle became flustered. She really did not know what to do with someone as willful, spoiled, and downright difficult as the prospective Lady Sanderby. For Tansy, however, she had a great deal of time, so she gave her a quick little smile. “It is of no consequence, my dear,” she murmured, shivering in another gust of icy wind.

But it
was
of consequence, Tansy thought, quelling the urge to shake Amanda until her perfect white teeth rattled. An impoverished relative could hardly lay violent hands upon the heiress of the family, much as it was warranted, so she said nothing. Besides, their situation was indeed critical, for although they had reached dry land at last, far from being safe, Egypt was occupied by the French. But at least the French would probably treat captured British women with respect, which was more than could be said for the Mamelukes, Turks, and native Egyptians. All in all, it had to be conceded that chivalrous help seemed a very distant prospect indeed.

If only this horrid storm had never arisen! By now they would have been well on their way to Gibraltar, from where they would have taken passage for England on an escorted packet boat, and in a few weeks be safe at Chelworth with Uncle Julian. Instead, the northerly gale had driven all before it for several days, pushing them far south of their original course. The women had been dining with the captain when the
Gower
foundered on the notorious sandbar at the Rosetta mouth of the Nile. Rescue feluccas had put out from the shore, but while the sloop’s crew was distracted by the shipwreck, pirates had snatched the women and sailed south into the Nile for the slave markets. Then the felucca struck something submerged in the water, losing her rudder, oars, and sail, and the pirates abandoned everything. Now the felucca had disappeared forever beneath the river, and there was only the lapping of water and gusting of the storm as it swept inland over the low-lying land.

Tansy tried to take her bearings. How long ago had the
Gower
met her end? How far upstream had the pirates brought them? In the darkness, and being so frightened, it was difficult to think clearly at all, let alone judge time and distance. The weakening storm racketed through the reeds, and choppy wavelets slapped the muddy banks of the river channel, which she guessed was twenty-five yards wide at this point. The land was gray and indistinct now, but in daylight it would be a place of fertile fields and rich marshes, filled with waterfowl and bright with every green imaginable. That much at least she knew about the Nile delta. Distance remained impossible to gauge, but she fixed the time at about midnight. Many hours of bleak darkness still lay ahead.

Then she noticed steps leading from the remains of a mooring place, and she turned quickly to see where it led. On a mount about fifty yards behind her was a ruined temple, above which soared the huge granite figure of a seated god or goddess that seemed to be gazing down at the three fugitives on the riverbank. The ruins were not entirely from the time of the pharaohs, for the immense stone walls had at some time been used to enclose a small Mameluke palace or summer residence, with a loggia overlooking the river, and long-deserted gardens of date palms and sycamore figs. It seemed that no one had been anywhere near here for centuries, she thought.

Suddenly the storm seemed to pause for breath, and the women heard sounds that struck them with fresh alarm. A bugle call sounded behind the temple mound; then orders were shouted in French. At the same time there were French voices on the river as well, and the approaching lights of a
canja,
one of the larger Nile vessels. Tansy gasped. “Come on. They mustn’t find us! We’re bound to find shelter up in the ruins!” Their wet clothes flapping unpleasantly around their legs, the women hurried up the steps to the ruins, but as they neared the loggia, a low shadow darted silently across their path.

Amanda stifled a scream, but Mrs. Entwhistle was quick to reassure her. “It’s only a cat. It won’t hurt you,” she said as she continued toward the loggia. Tansy smiled in spite of their hazardous situation. Only a cat? Amanda hated cats, and they hated her!

Amanda shuddered, but she quelled her loathing in order to follow the chaperone. Almost immediately she trod on something hard and metallic that rolled down a sharp incline into the overgrown temple gardens. Then some of the masonry crumbled beneath her as well, and with a startled squeal, she disappeared down into the dense, wind-torn oleanders at the bottom of the loggia’s retaining wall.

Mrs. Entwhistle turned in dismay as Amanda fell, and for a moment Tansy was too startled to move, but then she scrambled down the slope after her cousin. “Amanda? Are you all right?” she cried.

Amanda’s tearful response was little more than a whimper, and almost lost in the storm as it buffeted through the surrounding greenery. “I think I’ve broken my ankle.”

“Oh, no…!” Tansy pushed her way into the oleanders and found her cousin sitting on the ground with her knee drawn up, rubbing her ankle.

Mrs. Entwhistle called from above, trying to moderate her voice so that it was just audible above the gale. “What’s happening? Is everything all right?”

“I’m afraid she’s hurt her ankle,” Tansy replied, kneeling to examine the injury.

The chaperone made her way gingerly down into the bushes, then knelt down next to them. She felt the ankle with deft, knowing fingers. “A slight sprain; no more,” she declared.

Amanda wasn’t prepared to have a slight anything. “It’s broken. I
know
it is,” she announced in a tone that brooked no argument.

But for once Mrs. Entwhistle was adamant. “Nonsense, my dear. It will be as right as rain in a little while.”

Amanda gave her a furious look. “How would you know whether or not I’ve really hurt myself? Have you ever broken your ankle?” she demanded.

“Er, no, my dear, but—”

“But nothing!” cried Amanda.

Tansy intervened hastily, keeping her voice low and level. “Look, this isn’t the time or place to argue the finer points of broken ankles, least of all in raised voices that might easily be overheard by the French. We need to find somewhere to hide, preferably somewhere well protected from the weather.”

Mrs. Entwhistle glanced around. “Well, we’re safe where we are, for these bushes conceal us very well and keep off a lot of the wind, but if it should rain again….” She shook her head.

“This
is what I slipped on,” Amanda said through clenched teeth, and she brandished the object before tossing it away over her left shoulder. They all expected it to strike the solid retaining wall, but instead it flew through the air for a second or so, then rattled metallically on what sounded like a stone floor.

Curious, Tansy scrambled through the oleanders to investigate, and discovered a low entrance leading to a little chamber of some sort, small and square, with a ceiling barely six feet high. It was part of the original temple, and judging by the undisturbed foliage, it had not been used for a long time. “There’s a room where we can hide!”

Mrs. Entwhistle breathed out with relief. “Thank goodness, for I’m
freezing!”

Amanda’s lower lip jutted. “How long do we have to hide? Until we die of hunger and thirst?”

“Until we think of what to do,” Tansy said patiently. “Look, the French are nearby, so we
have
to be out of sight come daylight. This little room is the best chance we have.”

“Oh, all right, but I wish I’d never heard of Lord Sanderby, because by now I’d be safely on the way to Australia with Papa!”

That made a change, Tansy thought wryly, for recent weeks had been filled with endless bragging about the wonderful Sanderby match. Amanda had always assumed airs and graces because she was an heiress, and the opposite sex appeared to find her irresistible, but betrothal to an earl had made her quite insufferable, especially toward her plain, far-from-rich cousin. Tansy served only one purpose—providing a captive audience to whom to boast not only of the match, but of various indiscretions with diplomatic gentlemen. And there were the written indiscretions as well, especially to Lord Sanderby. Not that he was any better, Tansy thought, having been obliged to read the craftily passionate letters he had sent to Constantinople. Amanda was convinced of his ardor, but Tansy judged him to be up to no good. For instance, why would he bother with a Richardson bride? The bitter quarrel between his father and Uncle Julian made it almost beyond belief that the son of one should embark upon an arranged match with the niece of the other. Uncle Franklyn’s motives had been simple enough—he wanted the kudos of a titled daughter—but what did Randal Fenworth gain? His coffers were already overflowing, so he didn’t
need
Amanda’s fortune as well.

Tansy did not dwell longer on the mystery of his lordship’s motives, for she and Mrs. Entwhistle had to help Amanda into the hidden chamber, where the floor was dusty but at least dry. There they huddled together in a corner, feeling a false sense of warmth simply because they were out of the wind. But they were still in danger, for by the sounds from outside, the French seemed to be setting up camp. Suddenly the oleanders rustled. It wasn’t the wind; something—or someone—was out there! Mrs. Entwhistle sat forward nervously, and Amanda’s breath caught as a robed man appeared in the doorway and spoke to them in a hoarse whisper. “Peace upon you, ladies. Fear not, for I am your friend.”

“Who are you?” the chaperone asked, for in this part of the world it was nothing for a sworn enemy to pretend friendship.

He entered, and by now Tansy’s eyes were sufficiently accustomed to the dark to make him out in some detail. He was in his mid-thirties, and his chin was clean shaven, but he had a bristling mustache and fine side-whiskers. He wore the shirt, waistcoat, and exceedingly baggy trousers of the Mameluke, and was pale skinned instead of dark like the native Egyptians, because the Mamelukes were white slave warriors of Circassian origin. The tarboosh on his head was swathed in a turban fixed with a spray of jewels that sparkled so much they had to be diamonds. Tansy knew that Mamelukes carried all their wealth upon their persons, so that this man probably wore many other jewels among his clothes. He bowed, and then addressed them in immaculate English. “By God’s grace I am called Tusun. I help the British, and it is my business to learn all there is to know about the French. I was scouting this place and saw your felucca sink. I heard you speak English.” He dropped some bundles at their feet. “Food and milk, dry blankets, and robes. I stole them from the French. You must change out of your wet clothes.”

Tansy gazed incredulously at the supplies. “Oh, thank you,” she said gratefully.

Mrs. Entwhistle smiled at him. “Yes, thank you very much indeed, Tusun.”

“It is important you stay very quiet, for there are many French here, and so far they do not know of this place.”

“Long may it stay that way,” Mrs. Entwhistle murmured.

“Indeed so. Tell me how you came here. European women are rare in this land.”

They explained about the loss of the
Gower,
and he drew a long breath. “Ah, yes, that sandbar has claimed many a ship.”

“Many of the crew must have been rescued. If you could get us to them…?”

“I have another plan for your salvation, lady,” he said quietly; then his glance fell upon Amanda’s ankle, which was exposed because that young lady, annoyed at not being the center of attention, began to make a fuss about her injury. “You are hurt, lady?”

“I tripped on something and fell down the slope from the steps,” she said, stretching out her dainty foot, even now unable to resist the urge to make a conquest.

Tusun crouched down beside her. “With your permission, let me see.” Amanda displayed no maidenly modesty as she submitted to his stranger’s hands. Tansy and Mrs. Entwhistle looked at each other, for neither of them was under any illusion about her. The chaperone in particular was dismayed, having seen enough of the world to know that Amanda often played with fire. At first Tusun gave no indication of what he thought. His expert fingers probed the slightly swollen ankle; then he nodded. “God is merciful, lady. There is no injury,” he said, then very deliberately and pointedly pulled the hem of her gown down over her foot. Amanda flushed, for there was no mistaking the silent rebuke, but for once she said nothing.

Embarrassed, Mrs. Entwhistle sought to divert attention by telling him about Amanda’s accident. “We were seeking shelter here when a cat crossed our path, and—”

Tusun stepped back as if scalded. “A cat?” he gasped, making a superstitious sign before him. “You saw a cat?
Here?”

“Why, yes. It was just a cat….”

“Oh, no lady, not
just
a cat, not if you saw it here at Tel el-Osorkon. Long ago in the time of the pharaohs, this place was dedicated to Bastet, the cat goddess. On top of the temple mound there is a statue of a cat-headed woman, Bastet herself, seated upon a throne, with cats and kittens at her feet. Once there were a thousand cats here, but now there are none. Cats will not come here because Bastet has sent them away, to show her displeasure at no longer being worshipped.”

Mrs. Entwhistle was adamant. “Well, I assure you we saw one.”

Tusun made another superstitious sign. “Then it is an omen,” he murmured.

“Good or bad?” Tansy inquired.

He spread his hands. “That I do not know.” He glanced up as more sounds came from the loggia above them. “I must go now, for I have a task to do. You are safe until I bring help, God willing.”