The Perfect Wife (21 page)

“Damnation, they’re stealing the horses!” Matt’s outraged yell cut through her bewilderment and the baffled fog that had enveloped her.

“Nicholas,” she clutched his arm, “they’re stealing the horses!”

“I can see that!” His voice thundered above the din. “I suppose you want me to go after them?”

Sabrina’s eyes widened in surprise. “Of course, Nicholas. Go! Now! Before they get away!” She shoved him in the direction of greatest pandemonium.

“Come on, Wyldewood.” Matt sprinted toward them, Erick a step behind. Both men held reins for camels who looked none too eager for this latest venture. “We’re going after my horses.”

“Your horses?” Nicholas said.

“Yes, they’re my horses. Every damned one of them. Bought and paid for. They cost a small fortune too!” Even in the scant light Matt’s glare was unmistakable. He tossed her a quick glance. “Not that it mattered, mind you.”

“Of course not,” she murmured.

“Nicholas! Captain!” Wynne dashed forward, her glasses precariously askew on her nose. “What on earth is going on?” She swiveled her head from side to side to take in all the commotion around her. “Is this some kind of raid?” Her voice rose with excitement. “Bedouins, do you think?”

“No, Wynne, I do not think it’s Bedouins.” Nicholas’s voice was as sharp as possible, given his current attempt to hoist himself upon the camel. “If it were tribesmen, we should very likely be dead by now.”

Matt already balanced astride his beast. “I doubt they’d kill us, Wyldewood, at least not right away.”

“Oh, that is good news,” Wynne said with barely suppressed enthusiasm.

Matt ignored her, obviously chaffing to get underway. Nicholas wheeled his camel about in a surprisingly graceful gesture. “Let’s get this farce over with.”

“But if it’s not Bedouins, then who?” Wynne called after them.

Matt released an impatient breath. “Tomb robbers, my love. It’s practically the national profession. No doubt someone’s heard about our expedition to recover so-called artifacts, thanks to his royal lordship’s little fable, and wants us stopped.” In the golden glow of the moon, his lopsided grin was evident. “Sorry it couldn’t be Bedouins for your first adventure. Tomb robbers will just have to do.” He tossed Wynne a jaunty salute and took off after Nicholas and Erick.

If it wasn’t for the gravity of the situation, the scene would have been positively funny. The three men mounted on camels, giving chase to a virtual fleet of handlers and attendants who’d taken off after the stolen horses on foot, black silhouettes against the desert moon. Silence descended upon the camp and they were utterly alone.

“Tomb robbers.” Sabrina groaned.

“Tomb robbers,” Wynne said, excitement rising in her voice. “This
is
a grand adventure.”

Sabrina stared. “My dear, you have an interesting definition of adventure.”

“Well, I simply believe that if—”

A scream pierced the now peaceful night.

“Good Lord! Belinda!” Terror surged through her, and Sabrina bolted for her daughter’s tent. Wynne followed close at her heels. Her heart pounded in a frenzied rhythm. Fear for Belinda’s safety pushed her legs faster and faster, and she seemed to fly above the earth. Something caught at her and she crashed to the ground.

“Wynne, watch out!” Obviously, Wynne had overrun her in their anxious sprint. She rolled to her feet only to be dashed to the ground once more. Sabrina glanced upward to see a rough blanket descend over her head, bundling her in its folds, heavy and suffocating, smelling foully of man and beast. Panic for herself and her child fueled her resistance and she flailed wildly, to no avail. Her arms were pressed flat against her sides, as if a rope was wrapped around the outside of the crude material that imprisoned her.

“Let me go!” Her cries seemed smothered even to her own ears. Dimly she realized that no doubt the same nefarious devils who had stolen the horses were now abducting her as well. Muffled cries in the distance indicated the same fate had befallen Wynne and Belinda.

Her feet left the ground and she kicked out helplessly. With a soft thud that knocked her breath away, she landed on her stomach across what could only be a horse. Like some felled animal, trussed and ready for a spit, she sprawled crosswise on the beast, feet and head dangling on either side, uncomfortable and terrified. In a moment a solid form wedged itself next to her. She suspected this was her kidnapper and angrily shoved against him. A coarse laugh sounded above her and a sharp slap smacked her buttocks. Even the horse uttered a grunt of protest, and they were off at a gallop. Within moments, Sabrina was too sore and tired to continue any attempt at resistance and gritted her teeth, determined to bear this as best she could.

Fears she’d had no time to consider before now filled her head. What did these marauders want? What had they done with her daughter? With Wynne? What were their plans for them? For her? Would they kill her? Or would death be preferable to whatever fate they intended?

Tears of frustration welled in her eyes. She’d handled herself well back in her smuggling days. She knew how to wield a knife and command the loyalty of men. But never had she faced danger of this sort, unknown and deadly.

The horse pounded on endlessly, and she slipped into a dazed stupor of ache and exhaustion and fear. Nicholas’s image shimmered in her mind. Would she ever have the chance to tell him everything? What was he trying to tell her before the raid so abruptly pulled them apart? Did he, as she hoped, love her after all?

Perhaps ... blackness beckoned and she accepted it with relief... it no longer mattered.

A sharp jolt jarred Sabrina fully to her senses. She lay curled on her side, still wrapped in the coarse, pungent blanket, the ground beneath her strangely yielding, like bread dough not yet risen. Fear kept her motionless and silent. She strained for any noise, any sense of movement, any indication of where she was.

A soft thud and a grunt sounded to her left. A second thunk and a pathetic cry echoed in the air. Cautiously, she stretched aching limbs. The wrap about her was loose. She ripped it off, hurled it away and scrambled to her feet.

Only the stars far above illuminated her prison, some sort of very large hole or trench or pit. A musty scent, dry and unfamiliar, settled around her. A dark shadow lay near by. She stumbled toward it and reached out a tentative hand.

Immediately the shape lunged. “Do not dare touch me, you fiend!” Wynne’s muffled voice came from beneath the rough covering.

“Wynne, it’s me. Keep still; let me get this off.” Sabrina struggled with the tangled cover and the loose ropes holding it in place.

“Where are we?”

“We’re in the middle of your bloody adventure,” Sabrina said impatiently. “Now, where’s Belinda?”

“Mother?” A weak voice called from the dark.

“Belinda?” Sabrina groped toward her daughter and nearly tripped over the huddled form. Belinda too was wrapped in the abrasive, coarse material. Sabrina pulled off the offensive cloth, helped her daughter to her feet and gathered her in her arms.

Belinda sobbed. “Mother, where are we? What has happened?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart, but I suspect we’re safe.” Her eyes strained to adjust in the blackness. “At least for now.”

Feet shuffling in the sand and a murmur of deep voices drew her attention upward. Several figures leaned over the pit, dark silhouettes against the starry night. Anger surged through her, dissipating her fear. “Who are you? What do you want with us?”

“We will not harm you, English lady.” The coarse voice taunted her, heavily accented but understandable. “You will stay here for a time. Yes?”

“No!”

She could hear the shrug in his voice. “Very well then, leave. Go. Shoo, shoo.” His companions echoed his rough laughter.

“What do you want?” she asked again, attempting to quell her growing irritation. “Why have you abducted us?”

There was a pause, as if her captor debated the wisdom of honesty. “We do not permit all those who wish to steal what was left to us by the ancient ones to do so.”

“Of course not.” Relief flooded her. If she could just get him to understand that they were not here for artifacts left behind by early Egyptians, but for something left far more recently by the French, without revealing that something was gold, then perhaps... “I can see where you’d be quite offended at your heritage being stolen. I can assure you—”

His laughter ripped the air above her. “We care nothing for the stones and statues that have littered our land for as long as anyone can remember. But you do. Europeans pay dearly for that which once belonged to our ancestors. For their gods and their temples and their mortal remains.”

“Remains?” Belinda asked faintly.

He either didn’t hear or simply ignored her and continued without hesitation. “It is extremely profitable to recover and sell the old things. My village has an arrangement with Monsieur Drovetti—”

“Who?” Wynne asked.

Again he ignored the interruption. “We sell only to him and we do not tolerate the intrusion of others on our lands.”

“Very well,” Sabrina snapped. “You have my word, we shall not search for your damnable artifacts. Now, will you please release us?”

He laughed once more, the caustic sound gnawing on her raw nerves. “Release you? That would be foolish, indeed, English lady. We will trade you back to your kinsmen and turn a tidy profit. And if they do not pay ...” She sensed his wicked grin. “We will simply sell you to someone else.”

A gasp broke from Belinda’s lips, and for once mother could agree with daughter. This was not going at all well. The silhouettes disappeared from the rim of the pit. The stars glowed dimmer now. Only a few hours remained until dawn. Sabrina could better make out the figures of Wynne and Belinda. What would happen to them all in the light of day?

“We have to get out of here.” Sabrina pushed her hair away from her face and paced. The ground gave with every step, her feet sinking slightly with each footfall. Odd. Already a fine dust covered her. “Whatever is beneath us?” She stamped on the ground, and a choking cloud enveloped them.

“Mother!” Belinda coughed and waved her arms frantically, trying in vain to dissipate the musty, insidious powder. Wynne sputtered and Sabrina spat in an effort to rid herself of the nasty taste that permeated her nose and mouth.

“Sabrina?” Wynne said cautiously. “How much do you know of the customs of ancient Egypt?”

“What everyone knows, I suppose.” Surely this was not the time for a history lesson? She gritted her teeth and resolved to be patient with her sister-in-law. The poor creature was probably just as frightened as Belinda. “I know about the pyramids, of course. I know about mummies; something to do with a belief in life after death.”

“Very good.” Wynne hesitated. “Does anything else come to mind?”

Sabrina sighed in frustration. “What are you getting at, Wynne?”

“Well...”

Sabrina’s tolerance grew thin with Wynne’s obvious reluctance to continue. What was wrong with her? Normally, you could scarce shut the woman up. “Blast it, Wynne, get on with it! What are you trying to say?”

Wynne drew a deep breath. “If you were a great king— not an ordinary monarch, mind you, but a ruler of great wealth and influence—you had a magnificent tomb built. The pyramids are the most well-known example, but there are, of course, countless other royal tombs.”

“Go on,” Sabrina said. Did Wynne’s ramblings have any sort of purpose?

“Entry to the next world was not limited to royalty, however. Every ancient Egyptian believed in a life beyond death.” Wynne grew more animated with every word.

Intrigued in spite of herself, Sabrina nodded encouragement.

“But obviously not all could afford a grand or even lowly tomb. Sometimes mummies were buried in shallow graves in the desert, sometimes they were placed in caves and sometimes ...” Wynne’s recitation faded.

Dread churned in Sabrina’s stomach. “And sometimes ... where?”

“Huge, mass graves. Catacombs, if you will. Mummies stacked in rows like firewood.” Wynne’s voice faltered. She stared at Sabrina for a long, helpless moment; then she blurted the words. “Pits, Sabrina; mummy pits. I fear that very well may be where we are. A mummy pit.”

Bile rose in the back of Sabrina’s throat and she struggled against it.

“A mummy pit?” Belinda’s voice trembled an octave above normal. “We are in a giant grave? A tomb? With the dead?” She swayed, and Wynne leapt forward to steady her.

“Belinda, you shall not faint,” Sabrina said sharply. “I will not permit it.”

“But, Mother! Dead bodies?”

“Oh, it’s not as if they’re at all like real bodies; they’ve been dead so terribly long, you know,” Wynne said in a less than successful effort to allay Belinda’s fears. “After all this time there is scarce more left of them than dust.”

“Dust?” Belinda held out her grime-covered hands before her. “Dust?” Her voice quavered and her knees buckled. She sank slowly downward in spite of Wynne’s support.

“Belinda,” Sabrina clutched her daughter’s shoulders and shook her firmly, “we have no time for such nonsense.”

Belinda’s wide, frightened eyes stared into her mother’s and she swallowed visibly. “But, Mother, I can not—”

“Of course you can,” Sabrina said, a brisk tone coloring her words, as if this was nothing more than a discussion over the acceptance of an invitation to one soiree versus another. “You, my darling, are made of far sterner stuff than you have ever imagined. Your father was nothing if not daring and I suspect he would have been courageous had the need ever arisen. And I, too, have weathered storms with a fair amount of success. Therefore, by the simple matter of parentage, you should be well able to deal with something as paltry as long dead and nearly forgotten ancient Egyptians.”

Belinda did not appear at all convinced. “I do not think...”

“Belinda, listen to her,” Wynne said helpfully. “We are at a far greater risk from those living, breathing desert dwellers who threw us in here than we could ever be—”

“Wynne,” Sabrina said harshly.

“Mother!” Belinda threatened to collapse once again.

Sabrina drew a deep breath. “Belinda, my love, let me make one further point. Should you swoon, neither Wynne nor I could keep you supported upright. Therefore, you should sink like a stone onto the ground here.” She paused and considered her next words. They were far stronger than she would have liked, but perhaps shock was the best way to get through to her pampered child. Shock, or a firm slap across her lovely face, and Sabrina did not wish to resort to that... yet. Her voice rang stern. “And you know what lies beneath this earth.”

If the light had been better, Sabrina was certain she would have seen her daughter’s face pale. For a few long moments Belinda said nothing. Even Wynne fell silent. Finally, Belinda drew a long, shuddering breath. “Very well, Mother; now what shall we do?” Her voice shook but was at least minimally under control. Sabrina nodded approvingly. Blood would tell after all.

“Yes, indeed, Sabrina,” Wynne said. “What shall we do now?”

“Now we have to get out of this blasted pit.” Sabrina cast a speculative glance around their prison. “Wynne, if they no longer mummify their dead, what exactly do modern Egyptians do with a mummy pit?”

“No doubt they are exhuming their ancestors. They fetch an extremely good price. Mummies are quite popular in Europe as decorative items and, of course, many people swear by their restorative powers. Medicinal purposes, you know.”

“People eat them?” Belinda choked out the words.

Wynne nodded casually. “Oh, my, yes. Ground up, of course. It’s been used in certain circles for several hundred years.”

“Enough, Wynne. I did not wish for a dissertation on the economic benefits of selling one’s forefathers or the healthful properties of consuming them.” Wynne’s expression fell, and Sabrina immediately chided herself for her abrupt comment. “I am sorry. Your knowledge of all this would be fascinating under other circumstances. However, at this moment all I wish to do is determine some means of escape.”

“Forgive me, Sabrina. I fear I tend to get carried away. I am certain to adjust eventually. After all,” Wynne grinned, “this is only my first adventure.”

Sabrina laughed in spite of herself. “Well, I have had a fair amount of adventures myself and I’m not sure if one ever adjusts completely.” She sighed and shook her head. “However, I have yet to find myself in as difficult a spot as this.”

She glanced around thoughtfully. Approximately twice her height, the pit walls loomed over her, not quite straight up but too steeply angled for climbing. In the growing light, the prison did not appear nearly as large as she had first thought. Roughly rectangular in shape, it stretched possibly some twenty by thirty feet. “How do you suppose they get in here to dig the mummies out?”

“Ladders, I would imagine,” Wynne said, “or ropes.”

Sabrina placed her hand against the earthen wall. “What a shame they did not leave one here.” She scraped experimentally with her fingernail. Dirt came away without much difficulty, yet the wall remained fairly firm. “If we had something to dig with ...”

Wynne’s tone was speculative. “Something like, say, a knife.”

Sabrina nodded. “A knife would do quite nicely. Unfortunately, since I did not foresee this complication when I left my tent tonight I failed to bring any type of weapon.”

“The captain told me you always carried a knife in your boot,” Wynne said, admiration in her voice.

Belinda gasped. “A knife? Oh, Mother, surely not!”

Sabrina disregarded her daughter’s shock and smiled fondly in remembrance. “I did once, a very long time ago. However, I fear it’s a habit I have since lost. I am not as prepared as I was in the past.” She laughed shortly. “I am no longer accustomed to adventures of any type.”

“Well, I should think not,” Belinda said indignantly.

Wynne rose to her sister-in-law’s defense. “I think forethought is an admirable trait. One to be emulated.” She hesitated. “The captain suggested on this journey it would not be amiss if I followed your example.”

“My example?” Sabrina asked, puzzled. Her eyes widened with sudden understanding. “Good Lord, Wynne, are you saying you have a knife?”

Wynne nodded and reached down to the oversized boots she had managed to purchase from a sailor on Matt’s ship. “I keep it here, and quite uncomfortable it is too.” She slipped her hand into the top of the footwear, pulled out a small but serviceable dagger and brandished it triumphantly. “Although, I must say, just the knowledge of its presence provides me with a certain measure of excitement.”

“This is excellent.” Sabrina plucked the weapon from Wynne’s outstretched hand. “These walls are not perfectly straight. They have a slight angle to them. If we can dig out small footholds to provide a bit of traction, we might be able to climb our way out of here.”

Wynne nodded. “Capitol, Sabrina. Really quite good.”

“Mother, that’s simply impossible.” Belinda folded her arms over her chest in an obstinate manner. “There is no conceivable way I can climb out of this hole. Why, I’m not even dressed.”

Only now did Sabrina note that her daughter still wore her nightrail. Wynne was as fully dressed as Sabrina herself. Strange; Sabrina thought surely Wynne was asleep when she left the tent. Her apparel made no sense unless ... it was past time to fully determine the extent of Wynne’s involvement with Matt. But in this awkward circumstance it would have to wait... for the moment.

She waved a dismissive hand at her daughter. “We will deal with your lack of suitable clothing when and if we escape from here.”

Sabrina turned toward the wall and set to work. She outlined a small foothold with the knife and stabbed at the dirt, loosening the soil enough for Wynne to attempt to hollow it out with her fingers. Within minutes the women were hard at work. Sabrina suspected their effort was futile. It would take hours to dig enough holds to enable them to climb to the top. However, as she had no other ideas, the difficult job provided a distraction from their predicament and served to keep her mind off what could happen to them all if they failed to escape.