The Buried Pyramid (18 page)

The lightest of feather-touches on his sleeve brought Neville back into awareness of his surroundings. Audrey Cheshire was looking up at him, her impossibly green eyes alive with sympathy and just a touch of humor.

“Would you like me to speak with Miss Benet?” she asked. “Perhaps something is troubling her that she would more easily confide in a woman.”

“You are too kind,” Neville replied. “I think her problem goes beyond mere femininity. I think she is an American—a frontier-reared American—facing the larger realities of civilization for the first time.”

Lady Cheshire slipped into a chair, and somehow Neville found himself seated next to her.

“I thought you said Miss Benet had been to boarding school in Boston,” Lady Cheshire said. “That is a very nice city, or so I have been told.”

“So have I,” Neville replied. He was about to explain further, but Captain Brentworth came striding over, outrage in every line of his muscular shoulders.

“The ship will be docking shortly, Lady Cheshire,” he said, his refusal to acknowledge Neville’s polite greeting, making transparent just who was the object of his anger. “I thought you would wish to make certain Babette has correctly anticipated your desires. She is waiting to speak with you.”

Lady Cheshire rose, offering Neville a confidential smile that acknowledged the other man’s jealousy while dismissing his right to such proprietary emotions. Neville suddenly realized that he would miss her company.

He spoke impulsively after her as she turned away.

“I hope we will meet again, Lady Cheshire.”

“I expect that we will, Sir Neville, if not in Egypt, then certainly back in England.”

Her words were commonplace, even dismissive, but there was something in her manner of speaking that made Neville’s heart rise with hope. Nearly giddy as a schoolboy, he strode briskly below to confer with Bert, whistling a snatch of a romantic air that had been popular over twenty years before.

Ignoring Jenny’s rudeness, a grateful Colonel Travers expressed his gratitude to Stephen for his help in the matter of the jewel case by arranging for the Hawthorne party to have seats on a military train from Alexandria to Cairo that was leaving the next morning. Neville mentioned this to Lady Cheshire as the passengers were debarking.

“Then we will be parting sooner than I had anticipated,” she said, and sounded honestly sorry. “Where are you staying tonight?”

Neville gave the name of a good hotel frequented by European travelers. He was not surprised when Lady Cheshire admitted that her party was staying at the same place.

“I had hoped we would have further opportunity to visit,” she said. “Perhaps you will let us entertain you and your companions to dinner tonight?”

Neville accepted readily, trying not to admit even to himself that he had been hoping for something of the sort. He even managed to not be too disappointed when both Jenny and Stephen agreed to accompany him. He hadn’t thought Stephen cared much for Lady Cheshire’s circle, and Jenny might have been sulking after her earlier embarrassment.

As was customary in these hot climates, most businesses had closed for the afternoon, so the carriages that took them from
Neptune’s Charger
to the hotel passed through an apparently deserted city. After the omnipresent shipboard breeze, the air seemed stifling, its dampness clinging like a second skin.

In the suite he shared with Stephen, Neville found that time seemed to pass with slowness as stifling as the heat. He snapped irritably at one of Stephen’s rather stupid jokes, apologized, and retired to his bedchamber. There he undressed and lay on the bed, trying to cool off and rest. He found he checked his watch so often that he finally took it off the bedside table and stored it in his travel bag to reduce the temptation.

What was wrong with him? It must be the heat, or maybe finally returning to this search after so long. It certainly couldn’t be that he had fallen for a pair of lovely green eyes. He wondered what Audrey Cheshire’s hair would feel like, released from its cunning coils and let hang loose to curl about her . . . shoulders.

Somehow Neville was up again, checking his watch. He was glad he had caught Bert before the other finished consigning their trunks to the military attache who would take them to the train. It wouldn’t have done to show up for dinner incorrectly dressed. He hoped Jenny had remembered to keep out an appropriate gown. Stephen was impossible, but everyone from the ship was accustomed to his outdated attire. Indeed, they were so accustomed that the curious glances Stephen had attracted from the few guests in the hotel lobby when they had arrived had themselves registered as unusual.

Neville wished dinner was not served so late in these climates. He wished the train wasn’t leaving so early. He wondered if Lady Cheshire would be staying in Alexandria long. Surely Cairo was more amusing. It was certainly less humid. She would stay at Shepheard’s Hotel. That was where all the best people stayed. Maybe he should change their reservations to Shepheard’s from Casa Donati. He wondered if Papa Antonio would be hurt. He wondered if Captain Brentworth would be annoyed. He wondered if Lady Cheshire would be pleased.

Somewhere amid these wonderings, Neville fell asleep. He dreamed of lovely women dressed in the revealing fashions favored by the Egyptian court. One of these women had emerald green eyes, startling and lovely within their elaborate lines of kohl.

Bert awoke him with ample time to dress.

“I ordered hot water, sir, in case you wished to shave,” the former footman said, clearly feeling awkward in his role as valet now that they were ashore and he must adapt to new circumstances. “I did not think you would wish a hot bath, but the kitchens inform me that water can be quickly had.”

“You did well, Bert,” Neville assured him. “What I want is something cooling. How is Emily?”

“Fine, once she persuaded Miss Benet to stay settled here at the hotel. The young lady wanted to go and tour Alexandria. She said that with the train leaving so early in the morning, this would be her only opportunity.”

Neville was stunned. In his own preoccupation, it had never occurred to him that Jenny would decide to go wandering.

“But Emily convinced her to stay in?” he asked.

“She did. Secured her promise. When we retired, Miss Benet was in one of the hotel courtyards playing with the monkey that belongs to that boy, Rashid. Mrs. Syms was with her, and assured Emily that she was going nowhere, so Emily felt safe leaving her there.”

“Well done,” Neville said, though he suspected that nothing short of leg irons would have held Jenny.

Then he amended his thought. One positive result of her sympathy for the lower classes was that Jenny would never do anything that would reflect badly on Emily. If she had promised Emily she would remain, then even had Mrs. Syms been distracted from her chaperonage, Jenny would not have strayed.

“And has Miss Benet come up to dress for dinner?”

“She has, sir. Emily is helping her with her hair.”

Both reassured and vaguely unsettled, Neville proceeded to ready himself for their dinner engagement. Vest, tie, and tail-coat were constrictingly warm, but he donned them with the confident assurance that he would look his best—besides, the dining room was certain to have fans.

He met his companions in the common room of the suite. Stephen wore the same high-buttoned jacket and checked trousers he always wore on more formal occasions. Jenny was still in mourning black, though she had donned jet pendant earrings and a necklace of matching faceted beads.

However, both Stephen and Jenny might have worn the sheer draperies and the leopard-skin mantle of the Egyptian
sem
priest, for all Neville would have noticed once they entered the private dining room reserved by Lady Cheshire, and Neville saw their hostess turning to meet them.

Neville thought he had seen the full range of her wardrobe aboard
Neptune’s Charger
, for Lady Cheshire had more frequently varied her gown than any other woman aboard the vessel. Now he realized that these had been her second best. If he correctly recalled what he had overheard of the ladies’ gossip about fashion, Lady Cheshire must have paused to do some shopping in Paris.

The colors of the dressmaker’s confection she now turned to display were a compromise between the stronger shades that had been popular a few years before, and the paler hues that were just now coming into fashion. Her double-ruffled skirt was yellow, and her close-fitting, low-cut bodice was a deep blue, trimmed with double borders of white sheer. The large, lace-bordered apron draped over the flat front of her skirt was cut from a striped fabric that combined the colors of skirt and bodice, and brought the entire ensemble into perfect harmony.

Yet Neville thought that the dress would have been nothing without the lady’s own natural adornments. Her shining black hair was piled high on her head, a few ringlets trained down along the graceful curve of her neck. The lithe elegance of her arms was emphasized by yellow bows at her shoulders, bows that were echoed in miniature at the edges of her white lace-trimmed gloves. She wore a double string of pearls, and dangling pearl earrings, touched with the tiniest amount of crystal so that they glittered in the light.

Ye Gods!
Neville thought in astonishment, but he fancied he kept his admiration within acceptable levels as he bowed over Lady Cheshire’s glove, and turned to offer the same compliment to Mrs. Syms.

That worthy lady still wore the fuller skirts that had been popular a few years before, a disregarding of fashion that was not at all uncommon among older women, who seemed more comfortable in the fashions of their day. However, Mrs. Syms was not dowdy. Her hair had been styled to show off a pert cap, rather than being hidden beneath a bonnet, and the colors of the fabric were fresh and unfaded.

Captain Brentworth accepted the Hawthorne party’s greetings with a cordiality that belied his discourtesy aboard ship. Indeed, he seemed to be going out of his way to offer them welcome.

“Drinks?” he asked heartily. “The hotel has some excellent iced confections the ladies might enjoy. Something stronger for you, Sir Neville? Whiskey? Brandy?”

Sir Neville declined these, but did accept a glass of very dry white wine. Stephen asked for one of the iced fruit drinks.

“It’s cooler here than I expected,” he said cheerfully sipping, “but this still tastes marvelous. Wonder where they get the ice? Must be shipped in. Wonderful thing, modern civilization.”

Lady Cheshire smiled at Stephen.

“It is indeed. This is your first visit to Egypt, Mr. Holmboe?”

“My first visit in anything but imagination,” he replied gallantly.

“And it is Miss Benet’s also,” Lady Cheshire said. “In celebration of this event, I have asked the kitchens to prepare a meal that will combine a mixture of tastes. The local seasonings are wonderful, but often a bit robust for English palates.”

Neville knew with resignation that Jenny would feel required to eat the oddest items on the menu, without regard for how they tasted. He hoped she had a strong constitution. Some Egyptian dishes could be very spicy.

Dinner began with a soup that tasted faintly of curry, served with a flat bread that, to Neville, tasted of nothing so much as slightly burned wheat. He much preferred the Nile perch that followed, but for him the real feast was the lady who presided over the table, making sure that each guest was served some special dainty or other, all the while keeping up a lively stream of chatter.

“I do so envy you,” Lady Cheshire said wistfully. “The desert is harsh, but the excitement of exploration certainly outweighs the hardships.”

Despite how he had relaxed in the lady’s company, Neville felt a warning prickle along his spine. Though many of the other passengers on
Neptune’s Charger
had asked what he intended to do in Egypt, he had replied only vaguely, saying he intended to visit old friends in Cairo and visit a few former haunts from his service days. That, combined with his taking Jenny along, satisfied most inquisitors. Egypt was known to be a good marriage mart for those who could not hope to make a first-rate match in England. What could be more natural than that the girl’s guardian should take her there?

However, Lady Cheshire did not seem to be fishing for information. She spoke as if she were certain of their plans. Had one of the others talked? He couldn’t be sure. Stephen had responded to Lady Cheshire’s comment with a rather theatrically puzzled look, while Jenny’s expression remained so neutral as to be almost rude—at least to any who knew that such maidenly self-effacement was not her usual manner. Had Bert or Emily let something slip? Said something about how they would be staying in Cairo when their master went elsewhere?