Playing with Fire (6 page)

Frozen with fear, Amanda stared up at him, but then the Englishness of his voice dawned upon her and she relaxed visibly. Slowly he took his hand from her mouth, but he continued to gaze down into her lovely face, as if spellbound. His lips were parted just a little, and Tansy did not need to be able to see his eyes to know they were filled with admiration, for it was a variation on a scene she had witnessed many times in the last two years. Her cousin had made another effortless conquest. Lieutenant Ballard had succumbed, as did most of his sex, because even now, with her hair in a mess and her figure concealed beneath a voluminous black robe, Amanda Richardson was memorably attractive.

Martin realized he was staring and straightened hastily, but he still looked down at Amanda. “May I know your name? Er, names?” he added quickly, glancing at Tansy and Hermione.

Amanda decided to treat him to her most beguiling smile. “I am Miss Amanda Richardson, and this is my cousin, Miss Tansy Richardson. This other lady is our chaperone, Mrs. Entwhistle.” She made her voice soft and slightly breathless, as if affected by him as much as he was by her. She wasn’t, of course. She was far too self-centered for that.

Martin inclined his head to them all, but his attention remained on Amanda. Tansy locked her hurt away, as she had done before when failing to compare with her dazzling cousin, but this time the hurt was greater…because the attraction she herself felt toward First Lieutenant Martin Ballard was greater too.

Tansy was not alone in finding Martin attractive, for the tabby cat made its liking plain as well. With a friendly
“Prrr?”
it went to him and rubbed all around his robes, making little sounds until he bent to stroke it. He was so easy and natural with the little creature that Tansy’s fate was sealed. He was indeed the most perfect of men!

Tusun scrambled quietly down the slope outside and entered the room. “God’s greetings,” he said, and swept a dashing bow to the three women.

Hermione smiled at him. “You brought us help as you promised, Tusun, and for that we will always be in your debt.”

“Do not thank me yet, lady. Do so when you are all safe aboard the
Lucina.”

Amanda glanced past him, expecting to see more men. “How many of you are there?”

“Just the two of us,” Martin answered.

Amanda was aghast. “But that’s not enough! The French are everywhere, and—”

Tusun interrupted. “Better too few of us than none at all,” he said quietly.

It was an unmistakable rebuke, not the first the Mameluke had delivered to her, and Amanda responded with hauteur. “You clearly have no idea who I am. The Earl of Sanderby is to be my husband, and if anything should befall me he will be most displeased!”

Tansy felt uncomfortable. “Please, Amanda, these gentlemen are putting their own lives in danger to help us, so at the very least you should be civil.”

Amanda’s lovely eyes swung coldly toward her. “Oh, do be quiet, Church Mouse, for what would you know about gentlemen, or indeed about civility?”

Martin intervened hastily. “It is not important. After all, the circumstances are extenuating.” For a moment he looked into Tansy’s expressive gray gaze, but almost immediately his attention returned to Amanda.

Tansy felt his lack of interest in her very keenly. Yes, the circumstances were extenuating for Amanda, as they were for everyone, but what he did not realize was that Amanda was as disagreeable as this all the time, no matter what the circumstances. The future Countess of Sanderby was haughty, attitudinizing, and vindictive; yet men were always prepared to make excuses for her! In that respect at least, First Lieutenant Martin Ballard was no different from all the rest.

Amanda enjoyed Tansy’s discomposure and rightly guessed the full reason, that the Church Mouse was drawn to their handsome rescuer! It always pleased her to make Tansy as aware as possible of being inferior, so to make her point she began to get up from the floor, extending a little white hand toward Martin, who immediately took it and assisted her. Tansy put the bronze cat down on the floor again, and got up on her own, as did Hermione.

Amanda’s fingers closed trustingly over Martin’s as she made sure of his continued full attention. “How do you mean to save us, Lieutenant Ballard?” she inquired, with a skillful flutter of her long lashes.

“In a royal barge fit for Cleopatra herself,” he replied.

“Really?” A spark of true interest flashed through Amanda, but Tansy was more practical.

“Do you mean the vessel moored outside, Lieutenant?” she asked.

He nodded, and Amanda’s face fell immediately. “Oh.”

By now Tusun had seen enough of Miss Amanda Richardson to take a dislike to her. “The lady should be pleased, for it is a very fine
canja.”

“Yes, I’m sure you think it is,” Amanda murmured in a crushing tone that was meant to take the insolent Mameluke down a peg or two.

Tusun merely looked at her, managing to make it quite clear that although Martin might be taken in by her arts, he, Tusun, was not. Tansy found herself warming to the Mameluke. It did not often happen that anyone of the masculine gender proved immune to Amanda’s magic, and when it did, the moment was to be savored. It was a pity that Lieutenant Ballard numbered among the foolish majority, because Amanda would treat him badly. She always did.

Tusun noticed the cat at last. “God have mercy! There
is
a cat here!” he gasped, stepping swiftly backward and making the same superstitious sign he had earlier.

“Oh, yes, there’s one here all right,” said Martin, gathering the tabby from the floor and holding it in his arms. “And quite the little flirt she is too!”

Amanda’s nose wrinkled with distaste. “Ugh, horrid furry thing,” she muttered, and the tabby put its ears back and spat at her.

Tusun was most perplexed. “I tell you all, there is not supposed to be a cat at Tel el-Osorkon. It is an omen. Something bad is to happen.”

“Or something good,” Martin reminded him.

“I remember the great black bird,” Tusun answered solemnly, not convinced that the cat augured well for anything.

Amanda was a little alarmed. “What great black bird?” she asked.

“It is nothing, Miss Richardson,” Martin replied firmly, then gave Tusun a meaningful look.

Hermione changed the subject completely. “Lieutenant Ballard, I don’t suppose you happen to have a tinderbox, do you?”

“A tinderbox? Why, yes, I do, for lighting camp-fires. Why do you ask?”

“There is a wall painting here that I would dearly like to see properly before we leave,” she explained. “I have a candle in my reticule. I always needed one on the
Gower
to find my way around in the dark. All those hatchways and so on.” She took the candle out to show him.

Tansy was eager too. “Oh, yes, Lieutenant. Please light the candle.”

Amanda looked at them as if they were mad. “A wall painting? How very boring,” she declared disdainfully.

Martin made to give the cat to Amanda, but she recoiled with a shudder of absolute horror. “Don’t bring it near me. I hate cats! Give it to Tansy; after all, cats like mice.”

Tansy felt humiliated color warming her cheeks as she took the cat from his arms. Why, oh why, couldn’t Amanda be amiable for once? Why did she
always
have to be so unpleasant?

If Martin noticed anything, he gave no sign of it. As soon as his arms were free, he searched in his robes for the tinderbox. “Only light the candle for a few moments,” he said, “in case the glow is visible from outside. I don’t think it will be, because of the oleanders, but it won’t do to test the point for too long.”

Seconds later the candle flame swayed as Hermione held it up to the wall. They all gazed at the painting.

Amanda wasn’t impressed by the ancient work of art. “It’s not even very good. The man is looking sideways, yet his eye is looking straight at us. And whoever heard of a retriever cat? It’s stupid.”

“The Ancient Egyptians always painted eyes like that,” Hermione said. “And the scene is from a myth that involves just such a cat.”

Tansy smiled. “And even if you don’t like it, Amanda, I certainly do.”

“You would. It’s just the sort of dull thing I’d expect would impress you,” Amanda answered ungraciously.

Hermione extinguished the candle, and Martin went to the entrance to look down at the river. Then he nodded at Tusun. “I fancy the time is right to set about our act of piracy.”

“I think so too, Effendi.”

Martin turned to the women. “I want you to wait until you hear the sound of an owl calling. Three notes—two short, one long. The moment you hear it, you are to leave here and go down the steps to the
canja.
Keep your heads covered, for you must appear to be Egyptian women from the camp. Don’t wait, don’t dither, just board the
canja.
Tusun and I will deal with anyone who tries to stop you.” He smiled. “We’ll soon have you safe,” he said, then stroked the tabby’s head one last time before going out, Tusun at his heels.

Martin and Tusun moved secretly along the riverbank under cover of the thick reeds; then without a sound they entered the chilly water upstream of the
canja.
Their robes tugged in the current as they floated downstream to cling to the vessel’s stern by some trailing ropes. Their breath was silvery in the bitterly cold air as they listened carefully for any sounds from the cabins or deck. Ashore there were lamps on the loggia, but not a soul moved; nor was there any sound from the encampment. The statue of Bastet gazed serenely from the summit of the temple mound, her stone surfaces seeming almost silver in the moonlight.

The two men pulled themselves aboard, then crouched low between the tiller and the superstructure. A single infantryman was seated on a piece of granite column among the looted antiquities. His rifle was at his side as he dozed. Tusun caught Martin’s arm, and they moved silently toward the hapless sentry. A blow from Tusun’s fist laid him unconscious on the deck, and Tusun immediately purloined his uniform to replace his own dripping clothes. He was very careful to transfer all his jewels, even to putting the spray of jewels from his turban in the sentry’s shako.

Martin checked the cabins, and there was no one there. They were packed with more stolen antiquities, and behind a door he found some robes. When he too had changed, he rejoined Tusun on the deck and together they checked all the mooring ropes. It was a large vessel for only two men, but the current was favorable, and once they had slipped away from the temple, perhaps they could hoist the sails. First, however, they had to get the women aboard. They unfastened all ropes, except one at the stern, and the
canja
rocked slightly as the flow of the river sucked at her, but she remained close to the bank. Only then did Martin put his hands to his mouth and make the owl signal.

Tansy was waiting at the entrance, with the bronze cat in her hand and the tabby at her feet. As soon as she heard the signal, she nodded at the others and they all pulled the hoods of their robes over their heads, then picked up the bundles containing their European clothes. One by one they moved out to the oleanders, and Tansy was dismayed to see the tabby slip away into the shadows, for she had secretly hoped it would come with them.

The loggia remained silent and deserted, so Hermione led Amanda up the steep slope to the steps. Tansy lingered a moment in the doorway. She still held the figurine, which suddenly became much warmer. Something made her turn to look back at the wall painting. In the uncertain light she thought the retriever cat was more faded than before, as if several centuries of sunlight had shone upon it in the last half hour. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again the cat had disappeared.

Hermione’s anxious whisper drifted down from the steps. “Tansy? Is something wrong?”

“No…. I’m all right.” Tansy looked back at the wall for a last time. The retriever cat was no more, and the bronze cat now felt quite cold. Imagination and a trick of the light? Yes, for what else could it be? Gathering her skirts, she started up the slope, aware as she did so that a little tabby shadow was at her heels.

Hermione and Amanda waited nervously, and as Tansy joined them she knew how very exposed and visible they all were. They would be seen by anyone who happened to come out onto the loggia. Quickly they went down toward the river, but saw a French sentry standing on the
canja’s
deck. Their progress faltered and came to a disconcerted halt. Maybe the owl had been a real one, not the signal! Maybe Martin and Tusun weren’t ready for them yet! Then a Frenchman shouted from the loggia.
“Istanna!
Wait! Who goes there?”

Amanda panicked, and she would have run on had not Tansy caught her wrist and forced her to stay. Hermione rose to the occasion, having noticed from the corner of her eye that the sentry was suspiciously like Tusun in appearance. She turned to look coolly up at the officer who had challenged them, and said good morning to him in a calm, clear tone.
“SabãH an-nur, Effendi.”

“Where do you think you are going?” he demanded in the same language.

“Why, to see what business we can do with your sentry,” she replied.

He spat roundly on the floor.
“Bedowé!”
he said.
Peasants!

Hermione was admirably unruffled.
“Ma’as salãma,”
she replied.
Go in safety.

The officer scowled down at them, but to their relief he went back into the residence, and all was quiet again, except for Tusun’s harsh whisper from the
canja.
“God’s grace is with us, ladies. Come quickly!”

They hurried onto the plank of wood that led from the bank to the deck, and Tansy was overjoyed to see the tabby dash aboard as well, but Tusun wasn’t so pleased. He made a sign to ward off the evil eye as the cat disappeared among the crates; then he drew the plank onto the vessel and laid it quietly on the deck. Martin waited at the stern, and the moment the women were aboard, he cast off the remaining rope and took the tiller.