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Lydia frowned at Helen expectantly, and Helen translated, “It’s soap. Do you smell the jasmine? My grandmother procured some for me when she learned I would be traveling to Egypt.”
Lydia sniffed again. “Don’t they have a nice cake of French lavender?”
Helen inhaled for patience. But it was clear Lydia expected her to translate, despite there being no need, so she turned to the attendant and said, “She wishes to know if you’ve any European soap.”
The attendant shook her head.
“I’m certain you’ll enjoy this soap, Lydia dear,” Mrs. Tyndale said, but Lydia remained unconvinced.
The attendant led the way to the private bathing rooms. Helen made note of all the details she’d describe for her parents, from the creamy marble lining the walls to steaming tendrils of perfumed vapor. Water trickled from a central fountain to throw a soft hush over everything, and the whole of it put her in mind of a lush scene from the tales ofOne Thousand and One Nights. It was enough to make one believe the bustling streets of Alexandria had simply vanished, as if by an ancient spell.
Helen thought Mrs. Tyndale’s suggestion had been an inspired one and that Lydia might enjoy the respite, but when they rejoined the professor sometime later, Lydia’s frown still hadn’t eased.
“Aunt,” Lydia said wearily, “I’ve developed a head-ache. I should like to have a lie-down.” It was clear the younger lady’s energy was flagging with all the unfamiliar sights, sounds and smells she’d experienced. Helen knew a moment of remorse as she herself had been a poor travel companion on the sea crossing.
“I believe we could all use a rest,” Mrs. Tyndale said. “I’ve brought some laudanum with me that will set your head to rights.” To her husband, she added, “Henry, do you think we could find theTamarisknow and settle in?”
The professor nodded. “I’ll see you ladies aboard, then I’ll check on the last of our provisions. Miss Corbyn was gracious enough to prepare a list of our necessities, so I anticipate the journey to Cairo will be a very pleasant one indeed.”
By the time they reached the canal where theTamariskwas docked, several other passengers had arrived, and the crew were busily preparing for the journey. Lydia promptly found her cabin and closed the door on Alexandria.
“Well,” Mrs. Tyndale said with a tight smile. “It’s been an exciting day, and I think Lydia has the right of it.”
Helen smiled. “Go enjoy your lie-down, ma’am. I should like to write a letter first, and then I plan to do the same.”
——
On leaving theOriental, Rhys had promptly started for the livery stable where he’d left his camel, only to be accosted by a thin girl of eight or nine who’d thrust a note into his hand. He took the paper and called out to her, intent on learning the source of the missive, but she disappeared into the night in a swirl of dark skirts and hair.
He unfolded the paper to find the name of a street in the heart of Alexandria’s Turkish quarter and the single instruction,Bring the amulet tomorrow.
A heavy inhale lodged in his chest. This was not their arrangement. He was supposed to go to Cairo, where he’d exchange the scarab for his sister. Fiona had been taken in Cairo, but was it possible she’d been brought here to Alexandria?
He looked up from the note, certain he was being watched, but nothing seemed amiss. His heart sped at the thought that the past weeks of worry and dread might soon be at an end. Or, quite possibly, he might be walking into a trap. He passed an uneasy night, worrying and wondering if he made the right decision to linger in Alexandria, or if he should have gone directly to Cairo.
Now, it was morning and he stood outside a busy coffee house in the Turkish quarter, watching and waiting. A pair of men played backgammon at a nearby table, and the sweet smoke of water pipes competed with the smell of strong coffee.
He examined the faces of the people around him as the sun heated the air. He’d wait one more hour. If no one contacted him in that time, he’d set out for Cairo. The notion that he was wasting time while his sister waited for him made his skin itch.
Just then, a tall, thin figure rounded the building. Dark eyes were set deep beneath black brows, and a smooth scar in the shape of a sickle marked his left cheek. Rhys had since learned his name—Akeem—but despite weeks of searching, he was the only connection Rhys had to the man who’d taken his sister.
He straightened and fought the desire to plant his fist in the man’s face. “Akeem,” he said, his voice low.
Akeem stopped. “Evelyn. You were expected days ago.”
“There were delays, but I came as soon as I could. Where is the Collector? I have what he wants, but he’ll not see it until I have my sister.”
Akeem’s dark eyes narrowed. “You brought the amulet?” His voice was low and intense, and he eyed Rhys’s coat as if he might discern the scarab through the canvas. Akeem clearly had little faith in Rhys’s intelligence if he thought the amulet would be so easily found.
“No one sees it until I see my sister,” Rhys repeated through his teeth.
With an exhale of annoyance, Akeem said, “I would see this matter settled, Evelyn, but the Collector won’t be pleased with your lack of cooperation. You were told to bring the amulet.”
“I was also told,” Rhys bit out, “that I would receive my sister in exchange, but I begin to think you don’t have the authority to negotiate for the Collector. Where is he? I’ll go to him directly.”
The scar on Akeem’s cheek shifted as his jaw tightened. It was the barest motion, but it was enough to set Rhys’s heart to pounding. For the merest moment, he wondered ifAkeemweren’t this Collector person, but he quickly dismissed the notion. The man was naught but a hired underling, clearly working at the direction of another.
“The Collector isn’t in Alexandria, is he?” At the other man’s silence, Rhys took a step forward, then another. “Is he still in Cairo? Is my sister still there?”
