Amanda Grange & Jacqueline Webb (13 page)

“Where are we going?” she said. She looked into the distance. “Is it far?”

“Not in terms of length, but in terms of height,” he said. “We are going up.”

“Up?”

She craned her neck and looked up at the towering pyramid, at whose base they had made camp, and then back at him.

“Yes. We are going to climb the pyramid.”

“We are?” she asked, a shade doubtfully.

“We are,” he said firmly. “Unless it is too much for you?”

Elizabeth could not resist the challenge and took his arm as together they walked to the base of the pyramid. The sides were made of great blocks of stone, arranged in a steplike pattern leading to the top, but once again she looked at it somewhat doubtfully, for each block was almost as high as her waist. Nevertheless, she was beginning to catch Darcy's enthusiasm, and mingled in with it was an enthusiasm of her own. What a chance to do something different! And what a view they would have from the top. And then she realised… “Oh!” she said ecstatically. “We are going to watch the sun rise.”

She felt a surge of pure joy at the thought. Her tiredness was forgotten as she took his hand and together they began to climb the pyramid.

“Now I know how the children felt when they were toddlers and they tried to climb the staircase at Pemberley!” she joked as she put her hands on the next step and managed to scramble her way up by dint of jumping and pulling herself up with her arms at the same time.

Darcy reached down his hand and helped her up the next stepped level.

“How did the ancient workmen manage to build such a thing?” she asked.

“It took a lot of labour and a lot of rollers. I have been talking to Sir Matthew,” he said, “and he has made a study of it. Luckily we do not have to build it, only to climb it!”

“And that is difficult enough,” said Elizabeth.

But she was not complaining. She found the exercise exhilarating, and the knowledge that she was climbing farther and farther to the top spurred her on.

They stopped to look about them and enjoy the beauty of the scene as the darkness gradually lessened and became less impenetrable. The desert lost its amorphous look and began to reveal its contours, and the outlines of the buildings in Cairo were dimly visible in the waning moonlight, their minarets showing as black silhouettes against the sky.

Having caught their breath, they set off again for the summit. The air began to grow warmer and Elizabeth climbed with renewed vigor when she saw that the top was within reach. With a burst of effort, she climbed the last few blocks and stood upright at the apex. She felt a huge sense of achievement and was flooded with a sense of wonder as she realised that dawn was on its way.

She spun slowly, drinking in the wonderful view. She could see for miles, and she came to rest again facing the east. There was a mist over the plains, but it could not obscure the spectacular sight as the sun began to rise. Bands of orange light suffused the sky, warming the diaphanous clouds, and at their centre was the very top of the sun's molten disk as it began to rise above the horizon. It seemed to grow as she watched it, and the light intensified as it spread its rays ever wider, illuminating the desert and driving the chill from the air. She turned again, slowly, as the mist began to clear, unveiling a majestic view. To the south she could see a collection of smaller pyramids, their sand-coloured sides warming to tawny in the orange light, and to the west was the endless desert, its billowing dunes turning golden before her eyes. She turned slowly again to the north and looked out across fertile lands, with the Nile descending toward the sea. And turning again to the east she saw Cairo sparkling in the strengthening sunlight, the gold light of morning gleaming on its numerous minarets. Beyond Cairo lay the plains, lushly populated with groves of palm trees, and far off in the distance were the mountains.

“Well?” he asked softly. “Was it worth it?”

“Oh, yes,” she nodded, glancing at him before looking back at the wondrous view. “A thousand times yes. We will remember this for the rest of our lives.”

He put his arms around her waist and she turned to face him, and they kissed in the early morning sunlight as if it was the first time.

***

In Cairo, the rest of the party was having a more conventional start to the day. With the children soon whisked away by their tutors and Mrs Bennet declaring that she had had enough of the sun and that she intended to write some letters, Sophie suddenly found herself with nothing to occupy her. This was such an unusual state of affairs that she could not, to begin with, think what to do about it. At home she was constantly in demand either by her parents, her married brothers and sisters, or the vicar and his wife, since everyone thought that an unmarried woman could have no plans of her own and would be glad of any occupation.

Elizabeth and Darcy were far more courteous to her, but she had found that there was always something for her to do and, eager to repay their hospitality, she had done it. And so she had not realised until now that she had barely had a moment to herself. She was either helping Elizabeth share the burden of Mrs Bennet or she was amusing Margaret and trying to distract her from her rather horrid doll or she was performing a hundred other little tasks that needed doing. The prospect of a free morning was unsettling for a moment—then it was liberating.

Unlike Mrs Bennet, Sophie did not feel the need to go and hide from the sun. Indeed, Cairo in October was little hotter than a high summer's day in England, and their journey had taken them through lands with much fiercer heat than that which they were now experiencing. She decided to take a leisurely stroll around the grounds of the house and perhaps rest in the shade of a palm tree with a book. So, armed with the latest edition of poems by Lord Byron, she set out for a quiet place to read.

The house was situated near the river, and as Sophie walked down the sloping hill that looked out onto the Nile, she was delighted to see the white sails of the feluccas, the Egyptian Nile boats, floating gracefully up and down the water. For a moment she stood and admired their beauty against the deep blue of the sky; then she realised she was not alone. Someone else was standing in the shade of the trees, an easel in front of him. With a start Sophie saw it was Mr Inkworthy.

She was aware of conflicting emotions where the young men were concerned. Despite her best efforts not to encourage either one of them, she took pleasure in their company and it was obvious they took pleasure in hers.

During the long sea voyage she had perforce seen much of both of them and found much to like in each. She liked Edward's bright spirits and lively nature, but she also liked Paul's quieter, more serious character and she had found his grave, courteous attention pleasant. She liked the way he encouraged the children to paint and had found something good to say about each attempt, even those from Laurence and Jane, whose restless spirits had found it the hardest to practise the patience and stillness that all artists require. She enjoyed his company and she thought he enjoyed hers too, but ever since they had landed in Alexandria he seemed to be avoiding her. Six months ago such behaviour would have driven her back into her shell again, but she was not the same girl who had boarded the ship at Southampton and she was glad of an opportunity to speak to him, for she liked his company.

“Mr Inkworthy!” she called. “Is it not a beautiful day?”

“Yes… indeed, yes.”

“May I see what you are painting?”

“Oh… I… of course.”

He moved back slightly from the easel. Since it was hot and he had assumed he would not be disturbed, he had thrown off his frock coat and stood now in a thin lawn chemise with the sleeves turned back. His arms were tanned and he looked a romantic figure, with his golden arms and neck, and his hair stirring slightly in the breeze. He reminded her of Lord Byron, whose person no less than his poetry drove the women in London wild. But whereas she had seen Lord Byron and not been impressed, she could not help her feelings stir at such a sight.

She realised that she was staring and, with a blush, turned her attention to the painting he was working on. It was a scene of the family near the river. Mr Darcy and Elizabeth were in the centre, the children playing around them. William was reading a book, while John, Laurence, and Jane were running after a surprised monkey which had just leapt into a tree for shelter. Their mischievous expressions were so lifelike that Sophie could not help but smile. Beth was next to her mother showing her some embroidery and looking very grown-up. Slightly to the edge of the painting was Margaret, with her doll, and an attractive, elegant-looking woman in a pale blue gown was seated beside her, listening intently to something the little girl was saying. The dress looked familiar to Sophie and she frowned trying to remember where she had seen it before. Then, suddenly, in a flash, she realised it was one of hers and that she, in fact, was the woman in the picture. She flushed.

“It is a striking painting,” she said.

“Striking? Perhaps, but I fancy I haven't quite managed to replicate the vivid colours of the flowers or the way the sunlight plays on the water. I thought if I came out here I would be able to capture it more realistically.”

“I am disturbing you. I should leave.”

“No. Please don't,” he said impulsively.

She felt she should go back to the house, but she was unable to tear herself away.

“You have caught the children's characters extremely well,” she said, feeling it was safer to speak of painting than anything else. “Beth is very well done; she looks charming, but I fear you've romanticised Margaret's doll.”

He laughed, sounding more comfortable. “It is rather ugly, is it not? I did not wish to scare my employers too much, and so I have softened its malevolent features.”

“I confess I like it better that way. And you've been far too flattering to me. I scarcely recognise myself.”

He looked at her more gravely. “I am afraid I cannot agree with you there. I have painted what I see.”

Sophie suddenly felt uncomfortable and yet happy at the same time. She realised at last that he had not been avoiding her because he found her company dull; indeed, his motivation was the exact opposite. To cover her confusion, she looked more closely at the painting.

“How cleverly you have drawn together the whole family in such an exotic setting. And the expression in the eyes is very realistic. Whenever I try to draw, my subjects look lifeless and doll-like.”

“It is a skill that can be taught.”

“I am sure it cannot. One has to have talent.”

“Of course. But even talent has to be nurtured or it will wither and die. I taught you how to draw the wind in the sails on our voyage, did I not? Now let me show you how to catch the expression lines of a face.”

He took the painting off the easel and placed it carefully in the shade of the wide-leaved tree before putting some blank paper in its place; then he began to explain to Sophie how to bring figures to life on the canvas. Soon she was engrossed in the lesson, and when he offered her the use of a chair and the rough drawing board he had brought out with him, so that she might practise the techniques he had suggested, she accepted with alacrity, Byron and his poems forgotten. Both of them lost track of time as he put his arm around her and covered her hand with his as he guided her pencil strokes, showing her how to suggest an expression with a few lines. She liked the feel of his closeness and the firm grip of his hand. She liked, too, the feel of his breath on the back of her neck, and when he stood up and rested his hand on her shoulder, she liked the warmth that radiated outward from his hand.

So engrossed did she become that she did not notice time passing. It was not until Laurence and Jane came roaring and galloping down the slope with a message from Mrs Bennet, saying, “Mama and Papa are back!” that she realised how late it was.

Paul stepped away from her, saying, “You have promise, Miss Lucas. I hope you do not waste it.”

Then John and Margaret appeared, and they found they had many willing young hands to help them disassemble their artistic paraphernalia and carry it up the hill in time for a late luncheon.

***

Elizabeth and Darcy returned to the house refreshed and revitalised after their romantic sojourn. It was a good thing, as they were met with a variety of complaints on their return: John declared that Laurence had taken some of his soldiers, and Laurence declared that he had never touched the things; William said that Jane had drawn in one of his books, which Jane denied; Beth said she was sure she ought to be wearing her hair up as she would soon be fourteen and would be a laughingstock if she continued to wear it tumbling around her shoulders; and Mrs Bennet complained that Margaret would not let go of her old Egyptian doll.

“I cannot think why, when she has a lovely, new doll to play with,” said Mrs Bennet. She held out the new doll enticingly. “See, my lamb, this is so much prettier than that horrid creature covered in smudges. See how the headdress sparkles on this one. Ouch. And that nasty thing is covered in splinters!”

“Thank you very much, Grandmama, but I like Aahotep best,” said Meg gravely. “She talks to me.”

“Oh, how I remember my dolls all talking to me. There was a toy soldier of my brother's, I remember, who used to ask me all the time to dance! But he was a nice, clean doll in a red coat, not a nasty, dirty thing. Just look at your new doll's dress, Margaret. She will talk to you too if you give her the chance.”

Margaret looked disdainful, saying, “How can she, Grandmama? She is only a toy.”

“Only a toy?” asked Mrs Bennet. “Only a toy? Why, she is an Egyptian princess.”

“No,” said Margaret firmly, clutching Aahotep tightly and looking scathingly at the offered treasure.

“If I had spoken to my grandmama like that when I was a little girl…” Mrs Bennet began.