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Helen was immeasurably grateful they’d not been found by their pursuers. She supposed she ought to press Mr. Evelyn on the unsavory men who’d attacked them in Alexandria, but she only wished to find theTamarisk. She didn’t need to know more about the troubles plaguing her travel companion, although she’d convinced herself yet again that he was nothing more than he seemed—an English gentleman on an Egyptian holiday.
He’d neither bristled nor countered when she’d delivered her little smuggling speech, and surely, were he a smuggler of artifacts, he would have done so. The conclusion, once again, that he most certainly was not the museum thief left her insides feeling strangely unsettled when it should have done the precise opposite.
It wasn’t that she wished to pursue the acquaintance of a common thief, but she could no longer deny the way her heart pounded whenever she allowed herself to recall that night. The rasp of the man’s whisper, the press of his chest as he held her against him, the solid strength of his arms—
She stopped and brought her thoughts to heel with an iron will.
A pair of birds fluttered in the reeds at the edge of the canal, and the first stars winked overhead. As the camel swayed from side to side, she searched her mind for a distraction, something to break the silence that had lengthened between them.
“A camel’s gait is quite different from a horse’s, is it not?” she asked. Then she winced; her attempt was no better than the boiled-turnip pleasantries of which she’d accused him.
He hesitated, and the saddle creaked as he shifted. “You’re not about to… that is…”
Helen frowned as she tried to make sense of his dithering. Then his meaning struck, and her face ignited.
“No! I’m not feeling poorly, if that’s what you’re asking. It was merely an observation, that is all.”
The air between them relaxed, if such a thing could be said of air, and he asked, “So, it’s only boats that cause your travel sickness?”
“Yes, and only sea-boats, at that. I’ve never become ill on a lake or a river. My father—who is an astronomer and not a physician, mind you—has tried to devise a formula to explain the phenomenon. He insists it must be something to do with gravity and inertia and angular velocity, but I think it’s just a contrary stomach.”
“I’ve never met an astronomer. Your father must be an interesting sort.”
“Interesting? My father is that, although perhaps you meant to say overly analytical? Eccentric, maybe? A touch overprotective? He’s all of those and more. He may be a brilliant scientist, but he’s a father first, I suppose, and he can’t help but try to solve my problem with his numbers.”
“And yet, you’re a lady of words.”
“I tried to follow in his footsteps, but my eldest sister inherited all of our father’s genius for maths.” Helen couldn’t help her low shudder. “And good luck to her, I say.”
Mr. Evelyn chuckled, the sound rumbling against her before he continued. “Well then, to return to your observation, you are correct. A camel has a pacing gait, where the legs on the same side of her body move together. It’s quite different from a horse’s natural gait, although some horses pace as well.”
Helen cocked her head to the side and considered his words. “Do you know, I’ve never given the matter much thought before, but I suppose you’re right.” She considered their slow pace and the miles ahead of them. “How fast do you think a camel can run? Are they capable of galloping?”
“I believe so, though I’m not sure I’d like to put Fiona to the test. I imagine it must be a jarring ride.”
“Hmm. It’s too bad the railroad hasn’t come to Egypt yet.” With the railroad, none of her current problems would have ever happened. She and the Tyndales would have set out promptly for Cairo, without the need for theTamariskand its poor timing. She certainly wouldn’t have been caught up in Mr. Evelyn’s troubles and forced to flee Alexandria…. Why, she might be dressing for supper right this moment! But then she’d not have had an occasion to ride a camel, or to hear Mr. Evelyn’s tale of the Flowerpot villain….
“It’s only a matter of time,” he said, and she returned her attention to the conversation.
“The railway? Do you think it will come soon?”
“I do. There’s already a proposal for a line from Alexandria to Cairo. I originally came to Egypt some months ago, on behalf of an investment consortium back in England. We hope to learn more of the railway’s plans before we invest in it.”
An investment consortium! How… ordinary. Surely nothing could be further from artifact smuggling.
“Alexandria to Cairo is a sensible route,” Helen said. “Have you had much success with your inquiries?”
He hesitated before saying, “Not as much as I would have liked.”
The words were softly spoken, and Helen sensed a greater meaning in them than perhaps he intended. Uncertain, she said, “You’ve not enjoyed your time here, I take it? Present circumstances notwithstanding, of course.” She smiled as she returned his words to him, but his response was short.
“No, Miss Corbyn, I have not.”
She frowned at the finality of his tone. Ordinary or not, the man was impossible to interpret, and she couldn’t decide from one moment to the next if she actuallylikedhim. Secrets and mystery were well and good for museum thieves, but not, she was discovering, for men one was forced by circumstance to rely upon.
They continued to follow the ribbon of the canal, the silence lengthening between them once more. As the moon floated higher, the sounds of night came out to play like an exotic symphony. The rhythmic trill of insects and the occasional percussive splash at the edge of the water. The hushed melody of the wind in the reeds and papyrus along the bank.
A red fox darted into a clump of thorny shrubbery at the canal’s edge. Helen’s eyes grew heavy, and she realized with a start that she’d been leaning against her escort again. She shifted and sat straighter, adjusting her feet where her ankles crossed below the saddle. Although the night had turned cool, she was warm beneath her scarf and robe with Mr. Evelyn’s heat surrounding her.
