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“Original?”
Have I missed something?
“You will disembark at our next port,” he reminds.
“Is that necessary?” Lady E. asks, very reasonably if you ask me. “After all, the problems appear to be on this ship. Surely the danger will not follow us.”
“I don’t—” he starts to argue, but I cut him off. “You promised me adventure.”
“I’ve delivered on that.”
I roll my eyes.
“There will be no need to abandon your plans.” Lady Eleanor sniffs. “For we will get to the bottom of the dangers, rather quickly I believe. Besides, we are safer together, and you have a mission to accomplish, so please, tell me, will we go through the Straits of Gibraltar?”
Bentwood hesitates.
“Granted, if matters are made clear and I am assured that there is no danger before arriving in Gibraltar, we will continue.”
“The itinerary?” Lady E. asks.
“Is immaterial if the situation does not change.”
“I would like to know anyway.”
I love Lady E. She has a way of getting answers from unwilling sources.
Taking a deep breath, Bentwood reveals his plan.
“We were to sail the Barbary coast, stop in Tangier, before sailing on to Alexandria.”
“Isn’t that famous for pirates?”
“It was, until last year,” he admits, “and you needn’t look so excited about the prospect of danger.”
But I am, foolishly so, I know.
“Tangier?”
I feel faint. Even the name feels foreign. CeCe was correct: I’m quivering in anticipation, nearly dancing in place.
Ever proper, Lady Eleanor holds quite still, though there’s a revealing sparkle in her eyes.
“I assume you have provided protection.”
“If this storm hasn’t delayed us.”
“Good. I thought as much.” Lady Eleanor tugs at the sleeve or her dress. “Might we see the antiquities of Egypt before carrying on?”
There is a destination. I’ve nearly forgotten. My delight falters. CeCe has gone missing… All the wonders of the world could wait.
“The journey requires passing from Alexandria to the Red Sea. No doubt there will be quite a bit of sand as well as antiquities,” Bentwood is explaining, but I’m stuck on the purpose of our trip.
“There is no time to view sights,” I admonish. “We have to reach CeCe. She is missing, is she not?”
There is a famous painting of someone’s mother, an old woman, sitting in a chair with the tiniest of smiles, hinting that she knows the secrets of the world, amused that you haven’t an inkling. That’s how Lady E. looks right now, one eyebrow raised when she says, “CeCe is alive and well, is she not, Lord Bentwood?”
Bentwood nods, warily.
