They set out at a surprisingly fast clip, considering how narrow, congested, and busy the streets were. He thought it was wonderful: the donkeys trotting steadily on their way while carts, horses, and camels came straight at them; the drivers running alongside and ahead, calling out incomprehensibly and waving sticks, trying to clear a path while everyone appeared to ignore them.
He praised the donkeys to their drivers, congratulated the beasts on particularly narrow escapes, and told the men anecdotes about London hackneys.
Mrs. Pembroke bore it for as long as she could, which was not very long, before she exploded, “They have no idea what you’re saying!”
“Well, they’ll never learn, will they, if one doesn’t make an effort,” he said.
If the streets hadn’t been so noisy, he was sure he’d have heard her teeth grinding.
She said nothing more, but Rupert was confident she was too preoccupied with his breathtaking stupidity to fret overmuch about her brother.
Still, Rupert was not a man to leave anything to chance.
When they reached their destination, he was off his mount even before it had come to a complete halt, and instantly at Mrs. Pembroke’s side.
He reached up and grasped the lady firmly at the waist.
“That is not nec —” She broke off as he lifted her up from the elaborate saddle. Instinctively she grasped his shoulders. Smiling into her veiled countenance, Rupert held her in the air at eye level for a moment. Then slowly, slowly, he lowered her to the ground.
She did not immediately let go of his arms.
He did not immediately let go of her waist.
She remained utterly still, looking up at him.
He couldn’t see her face, but he could hear the hurried in and out of her breath.
Then she let go and pushed away from him, and turned away in that quick, angry flurry he found so delicious.
“You are absurd,” she said. “There is no need to show off your strength.”
“That hardly wanted strength,” he said. “You weigh far less than I’d have thought. It’s the layers and layers of mourning that fooled me.” Not completely, though. There was the walk.
“I can only hope that you will be as diligent about finding my brother as you are about ascertaining the dimensions of my person,” she said crossly.
By this time the gatekeeper had appeared. He looked to Rupert, but Mrs. Pembroke got in the way and spoke in impatient Arabic.
The gate opened, and they entered the courtyard. Another servant appeared and led them into and through the house.
As they navigated the labyrinth common to Cairo’s better houses, Mrs. Pembroke dropped Rupert a few hints.
“Do keep your mind on why we are here,” she said in an undertone. “We can’t afford to waste time. Please resist the temptation to give Lord Noxley’s servants nicknames. I doubt he will appreciate it, and I had rather not spend valuable minutes smoothing matters over. And please try not to wander from the subject. Or tell anecdotes. You are not here to entertain anybody. You are here to obtain information. Is that clear?”
“You’re so forgetful,” he said. “Don’t you remember telling me that you’re the brain and I’m the brawn? Naturally I expect you to do all the talking. And naturally I shall knock heads and toss people out of windows as required. Or did I misunderstand? Did you want me to think, too?”
Chapter 4
RUPERT DISLIKED THE VISCOUNT NOXLEY ON sight.
He was a few inches shorter than Rupert and not so broad across the shoulders and chest, but he was fit enough. His hair and eyes were the tawny color properly belonging to cats. Rupert especially disliked the eyes and their expression when regarding Mrs. Pembroke.
It was the look a hungry lion cast upon the gazelle selected for dinner.
Rupert wished she’d left her veil down.
But she’d thrown it back as soon as she entered the room, and his lordship’s face lighted up, bright as the sun, at the sight.
And then, as soon as she’d explained what had happened, it was as though a vast thundercloud mounted over the fellow’s head.
Servants hurried in with the obligatory coffee and sweets and hurried out again at his brusque signal.
“This is incredible,” Noxley said. “I can scarcely take it in. What fool would leap to such a conclusion, let alone act upon it? But no, it must be a madman. The idea is monstrous. I am sure your brother never gave the smallest indication of a breakthrough of that magnitude. Quite the contrary. He is exceedingly modest about his work. One can scarcely persuade him to speak of it.”
“I agree that it is bizarre,” she said. “But the two matters must be connected. Or do you believe it is mere coincidence?”
“No, no, yet I hardly know what to believe.” He shook his head. “It is shocking. I need a moment to collect my thoughts. But I am remiss.” He indicated the coffee tray with its array of elegant silver dishes. “Do take some refreshment, I beg. Mr. Carsington, you may be unfamiliar with the local delicacies.”
He explained the food while lovingly arranging a plate for Mrs. Pembroke. Less lovingly, he prepared one for Rupert. Once this task was done, Noxley forgot about Rupert and devoted his attention to the lady.
Rupert let his attention wander to his surroundings. The room was entirely in the local style. Acres of Turkey carpets. Plastered and whitewashed walls. Elaborately carved and painted wooden ceiling with chandelier suspended therefrom. High, latticed windows. Low banquettes running along three sides of the room, heaped with pillows and cushions. Paneled cupboards above the banquettes. Paneled doors almost but not quite facing each other. The one they’d entered was shut; the other stood partly open. The opening was clearly visible from where Rupert sat. A figure moved past, then returned and hovered there. A veiled face peeked round the edge of the door, and a dark gaze met his.
He pretended to study the design of his coffee cup while covertly watching the woman watching him.
After a moment, she grew bolder and showed more of herself. There was a great deal to show, the veil being the only modest feature of her attire. It must have been too heavy for her, because she dropped it once or twice.
Still, Rupert was attuned to the conversation nearby. Mrs. Pembroke was prodding Noxley to remember something Archdale might have said or done to cause someone to leap to conclusions.
Noxley still seemed bewildered. He described the small dinner party — merely three guests besides Archdale, all English: one artist and two colonels. “I did wonder,” he said, frowning. “Your brother’s reason for going to Giza this time seemed odd to me. But I supposed I must have misunderstood him. Either that or he had some private business there he preferred to keep private.”
Rupert came to attention. “A woman, do you mean?” he said.
Mrs. Pembroke stared at him.
Noxley looked, too, and his expression chilled. “I had not co
nsidered that possibility,” he said.
“Really?” Rupert said. “It’s the first thing that occurred to me.”
“Mr. Archdale would never be so unwise as to become entangled with any of the local women,” Lord Noxley said frigidly. “The Muslims have strict notions of propriety, and the consequences of violating them are severe.”
“Those notions don’t include the dancing girls, I’ve noticed,” said Rupert. “From what I’ve seen —”
“Mr. Carsington,” Mrs. Pembroke said.
He gave her an innocently inquiring look.
“We seem to be straying from the main point,” she said. “That point, which may have eluded you, is the possibility of my brother’s going to Giza for reasons other than those he gave me.”
“Given your theory about the two incidents, Mrs. Pembroke, I find myself wondering whether Mr. Archdale did, after all, make a discovery of some kind at the pyramids,” his lordship said. “Or perhaps while at Giza he said or did something to arouse curiosity and speculation. The Egyptians are formidable gossips, as you know. They will endlessly debate the most trivial matters, elaborate on every tale they hear, and pass it on to everyone they meet. News travels up and down the Nile with prodigious speed. Then there are the French and their spies watching everything we do, as though we were still at war. They are so jealous of our accomplishments here — and we all know their agents are not the most savory persons.”
“The French?” Rupert said.
“They seem to believe that Egypt and all it contains belong exclusively to them,” Noxley said. “They are completely unscrupulous. Bribery, theft, and even violence are nothing to them.”
“Now here’s something like it,” Rupert said. “Violence. Unsavory persons. And French besides.” He looked at Mrs. Pembroke. “Well, we’d best set out after the scoundrels, hadn’t we? By the way, where exactly is Giza, and what’s so irresistible about it?”
They both stared at him. Mrs. Pembroke wore a comical look of wondering exasperation.