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“It’s a Nubian dialect,” Miss Corbyn said, reading his confusion. “He says you must pay an additional tenpiastresfor the Custom House fee. Fifty will cover passage to the Custom House and the loan of one camel.”
Fiftypiastreswas extortionate to Rhys’s way of thinking, but he had his own camel, stabled near the port if the livery master there hadn’t sold her. He told Miss Corbyn as much.
She leaned toward him and whispered, “I think you can secure passage for much less if you wait until the morning.”
“I don’t wish to wait,” he ground out then added, “if you please.” In the end, they settled upon thirtypiastres, without the camel, and Rhys hurried back to his cabin to fetch his satchel.
——
A pilot mettheOrientalthe next morning to escort the ship through the harbor. From Alexandria, Helen and the Tyndales would journey another four days, navigating first the Mahmudiyyah canal around the old port city before following the Nile upriver to Cairo, where the professor’s post awaited.
But first, they’d explore some of the ancient city’s sights. Helen and the professor had bent their heads together on a vigorous plan to make the best use of their time. As theOrientalneared the shallows, Helen’s feet itched to begin her Egyptian adventure.
She wondered how Mr. Evelyn fared and whether he’d made it safely ashore the previous night. He’d been insistent on escaping the ship, as if he were eager to avoid the Custom House or to make an important appointment.
But it had been late, and she couldn’t imagine what sort of engagement required him to leave so precipitously. Nighttime rendezvous were reserved for social pursuits (which she supposedwasan entirely possible explanation) or matters of a more irregular nature. Clandestine, even, or—
No. She was allowing her imagination to run away with her again. She shoved her thoughts aside and focused on the day’s excitement. She’d arrived in Egypt!
Once the anchor was lowered, an armada of small boats arrived to take the passengers ashore with their baggage. She marveled at the noisy activity below as the crew shouted and sorted massive piles of trunks and bags and portmanteaus from the ship’s hold.
“We’ll be fortunate to reach Cairo with all of our possessions,” Lydia said with a sour expression. Helen couldn’t disagree, although she hoped her books survived the sorting.
They passed through the Custom House and were met with a swarm of donkey drivers. Each vied for attention with vehement shouts and gesticulations, recommending in broken English, French or Italian his own animal above all others.
Whenever Helen or the professor offered a reply in their native tongue, the drivers jumped in surprise before quickly moving on to seek a more bewildered arrival. Helen saw more than one fellow traveler nearly forced onto the back of a donkey by the driver’s aggressiveness, and she was thankful for her facility with languages.
Alexandria, she was delighted to see, far surpassed her imagination.
Men and women in various styles of local dress filled the streets, which were narrow and irregular and redolent with exotic spices and food and incense. Bins filled with dried mint and caraway, ground cinnamon and blue chamomile enticed her with their earthy fragrance. Their party passed a cart heavy with copper pots, and a small, dark-eyed child watched them solemnly, gold bracelets stacked high on her olive-skinned arms.
And the camels! The majestic beasts, which were much larger than Helen had expected, groaned and lumbered about, common as dogs.
They called first at the consul-general’s residence, as befitted the granddaughter of a peer of the realm and an emissary for the British Museum. The professor expressed his disappointment on learning the gentleman was not in residence, but he thought they might catch him up in Cairo.
Helen had met Sir Rupert Daventry in London the year of her come-out, but he was a powerful and influential man, and she doubted he recalled the occasion. His absence, though, afforded them more time to see the city, and they soon exhausted themselves with visits to Pompey’s Pillar and St. Mark’s Cathedral.
The city was loud and colorful, and she was intrigued by the languages and the people, although she could have done without the flies. They were larger and more numerous than English flies, their buzzing a constant source of irritation. She kept these latter thoughts to herself, though, as she’d no wish to sully her first impressions of Africa with negative thoughts.
Lydia, however, showed no such restraint. She complained frequently about the insects and the dust and the press of bodies. It was already spring, and Helen wondered how the young lady would fare in a few weeks when the hotkhamsinwinds were upon them.
Lydia’s upset was so great, in fact, that they were obliged to seek out the European shops in the Frankquarter to soothe her nerves. She’d been disappointed to discover the flies were not particular about where they buzzed and even now, she swatted at another while the professor negotiated a fine length of ruby silk.
“I don’t know why we couldn’t have gone directly to theTamarisk,” she said, referring to the boat that would take them down the canal to the Nile. “We’ve not seen anything today that Uncle can’t read about in one of Miss Corbyn’s guidebooks, and certainly without all these dreadful bugs.” She waved her hand once more in front of her face.
“My dear, theTamariskisn’t ready for passengers to board yet,” Mrs. Tyndale explained for what must have been the third time. “But,” she said, brightening, “perhaps we should go see the baths when we’ve finished here. They sound lovely from the description Miss Corbyn shared with us, and I’m sure such a refined outing would be just the thing to revive our spirits. What do you say?”
The older lady pressed her hands together in supplication, but whether her plea was for Lydia’s acquiescence or patience from a higher power, Helen couldn’t say.
Lydia, who rarely approved of anything recommended by Helen, surprised them by saying, “I suppose so. At least we’ll be free”—wave—“of these infernal flies.”
Helen counted it a success that she ranked a notch above the “infernal flies” as far as irritants to Miss Lydia Tyndale went.
And so, they traveled next along a broad avenue lined with date palms, bananas and oleander until they reached a long building with low archways. The professor was promptly taken away to the men’s side while Helen and the Tyndale ladies followed an ebony-skinned woman into a vaulted rotunda. The attendant provided them each with a large sponge and a generous dab of soft Egyptian soap, which Lydia sniffed with suspicion.
“What is this?” she asked.
The attendant replied in heavily accented English, “It is the soap.”
