Mr. Impossible (The Dressmakers 2)

He’d already guessed that she was not mourning quite so much as her costume declared.

She came back to the divan. “It is not a state of mind that makes for clear thinking.”

“This would help explain Duval’s jumping to conclusions about your brother and the papyrus,” Rupert said. “There Duval was, seething about this and that. He certainly mistrusts the English. Easy enough, then, to believe an English scholar knew more than he was telling.”

She settled onto the divan, this time only an arm’s length away. “Three people are dead so far — that we know of. All innocent bystanders. The man must be mad.”

“He’s dangerous, at any rate,” Rupert said. “I suppose that’s why Noxious wasted no time. He set out in his boat yesterday morning. The Memnon. A grand vessel, distinctive and quite famous, I’m told. He made sure everyone at the port knew he was going to search for your brother. No doubt he meant to get the Frenchman’s wind up. It worked. I stopped by Duval’s house on my way here. It seems he left Cairo suddenly yesterday afternoon.”

She said nothing.

Rupert poured her coffee. She took the cup and only stared at it.

“You do know it’s best to have Duval out of Cairo, I hope?” Rupert said. And Noxious, too, he silently added. “You don’t want to risk his taking you hostage. Your brother wouldn’t dare try to escape then.”

She looked up at him. “I understand that. The trouble is, now I know Miles is not in Cairo — and I cannot ask Lord Noxley where these horrible men might have taken my brother, because Lord Noxley is gone, too. I’ve been running about in circles, wasting time, when, given a little information, I might have made progress.”

“That’s hardly likely to occur to him,” Rupert said. “He’d assume you were waiting safely and dutifully at home, with a great dumb ox from the consulate as bodyguard. Meanwhile, put yourself in Noxious’s place: brilliant scheme — waste no time — solve the mystery, race to the rescue. Return with the brother and the valuable item to universal applause. The lady weeps with gratitude…and bestows her — um — heart upon the gallant knight.”

She stiffened. “Another lady, perhaps,” she said. “Not this one.”

“Ah, I rather thought not,” he said. He’d certainly hoped not. He’d hoped she was too intelligent and spirited to accept the passive role Noxious assigned her.

Rupert watched her tense for battle. She thought he, too, underestimated her.

“We’re going after them, then, I take it?” he said.

She blinked once, and the tension was melting out of her, and her mouth was shaping a crooked smile when she caught herself. She lifted her chin. “Of course we’re going after them.”

It was what he’d expected of her. All the same, his heart gave a mad leap, because it was what he’d most hoped for as well. And because he’d surprised and pleased her enough to make her almost smile.

“I thought so,” he said coolly. “Well, then, what’s your pleasure, madam: boat or camel?”

Sunday 8 April

TWO DAYS LATER, Daphne stood in the doorway of her boat’s stern cabin, acutely aware of Mr. Carsington standing close behind her.

“Well?” he said.

“It’s quite…spacious,” she said. It’s too small, she thought, too crowded.

The boat was a dahabeeya, the Nile version of a yacht. Mr. Carsington — surprising her by knowing something of ancient mythology — had named it the Isis, after the Egyptian goddess who’d searched the world for her husband’s body.

The Isis was large and luxurious, boasting six cabins under an unusually tall roof. Sheik Salim had commandeered it for his learned (!!!) friend Mr. Carsington. The sheik did not want his tall English friend to get a stiff neck from constantly bending over.

Viewed from the landing place, it had seemed impressively large, especially compared to the other boats. Within, though, was another story.

Too late Daphne realized it was a limited space, which she’d be sharing with Mr. Carsington for an indefinite span of time.

She’d made a mistake, choosing a river journey.

By land she need only cope with sandstorms, temperamental camels, and marauding Bedouins. It was too late to change her mind, though, and reason told her this was the wiser choice. She would do Miles no good if she got killed, and desert travel was a good way for foreigners to get killed. A large, armed escort might make it a degree safer, but this would take far too long to arrange.

As it was, Mr. Carsington had accomplished miracles. Hiring and provisioning a boat ought to take weeks. He’d done it in two days, though Friday, when he’d begun, was the Mohammedan Sabbath, when it was impossible to get anything done.

Unless you happened to be a genie.

“The cupboards hold your books and notebooks,” the genie was saying. “Leena’s stowed most of your wardrobe and other necessaries in her cabin next door. The other trunks and boxes we’ve put in the cabin after. I hadn’t guessed you’d need so many. Perhaps your collection of masterful disguises is more extensive than I imagined?”

“Miles and I were planning a trip to Thebes,” she said. “We’d already packed for it: medicines, rugs, mats, mosquito net, umbrella, lantern, broom, and candles — the everyday needs. But the other trunks’ contents are mainly his.”

She turned carefully in the narrow passage and started back. She glanced into the maid’s crowded cabin. Leena would sleep in Daphne’s room. However, Daphne could not share one room with her or anyone else the rest of the time, day in and day out. Deprived of solitude, Daphne would turn into a caged beast. The two women could not wander about outdoors on deck all day, either. Both custom and the midday heat forbade it.

I’ll work day and night, Daphne told herself. Hieroglyphs demanded one’s total attention, blocking out troublesome feelings and urges. She would not make herself sick with worry about Miles. She would not fret about the time passing. And above all, she would acquire a suitable detachment regarding Mr. Carsington’s…attributes.

She wished she could do it now, but the task was beyond mortal abilities.

Technically, he was fully dressed. However, he’d untied his neckcloth and undone his coat and waistcoat buttons. Her gaze kept straying to his throat and the V of bronzed skin below it. She remembered the heat and weight of his body against her back in the pyramid.

It was impossible to subdue her vibrating awareness of the tall figure standing inches away. It took all her concentrated will to keep her hands to herself. A step would bring her against that muscled frame.

She edged past him to the door of the cabin assigned to storage. “We’d planned to spend some time in Theb

es, making a study of the monuments and tombs,” she went on hurriedly. “These trunks hold Miles’s sextant and artificial horizon, chronometer, large and small telescopes, siphon barometer, thermometer, and measuring tape. And his clothes. His kidnappers did not give him time to pack, recollect.” Her voice shook a little at this last.

“We’ll find him,” Mr. Carsington said.

“Yes, yes, we must.” Alive, she hoped.

“Duval has only a few days’ head start of us,” he said. “Do bear in mind, your brother is valuable.”

“Until his captors find out the truth,” she said.

“He’s a scholar,” Mr. Carsington said. “Obviously he’ll know how to keep them in the dark, to make them believe they must take good care of him if they want to find their treasure. If I were them, in fact, I’d play it safe and take him all the way to Thebes to help search for the tomb. He can talk a lot of incomprehensible scholarly jargon and lead them on for months, looking for it. Or he could set them digging at random. These excavations take many weeks. So you see, time is on our side.”

The words lifted her mind from the depths into which it had so unexpectedly plummeted. Though he wasn’t the scholar the world believed him to be, Miles was by no means a fool.

“Yes, I know that,” she said. “Or ought to know it. It’s simply…” She remembered the woman she’d been less than a week ago, her life entirely a life of the mind, all her flawed being safely engaged in solving an intellectual puzzle.

She looked up at him, into the dark eyes that she, who could read so many languages, found so hard to read and so easy to become lost in. “Unlike you, I am unaccustomed to having an exciting life,” she said. “My mind is used to going at an even, orderly pace. Perhaps, in some ways, I have been like those women locked up in harems. They are ill-equipped for dealing with the outside world. I feel as though I am stumbling blindly about.”

“Ah, is that all?” His mouth eased lazily into a smile. Threads of heat slid over her skin, as though his mouth were there…everywhere. “No need to fret,” he said. “If you stumble, I’ll catch you.”