Mr. Impossible (The Dressmakers 2)

Time had stopped for her. The scene in her mind’s eye was clearer to her than the passing landscape: the flash of fire from the pistol aimed at Rupert’s heart…the surprised expression on his face…his hand clutching his chest while the impact knocked him backward…and over…the splash as his body hit the water.

She couldn’t weep. She felt frozen, the way she’d felt six months into her marriage, when she’d fully understood how immense and serious a mistake she’d made.

She’d been a prisoner then, too.

She’d trained herself not to think about the hurt, to concentrate instead on her work and how to hide it from Virgil and how to communicate with the scholarly world outside. The rage and despair remained, but she kept them locked inside. She couldn’t live the rest of her life in open hostility with her husband. She could only build a wall around herself, and make a world inside it where she could live.

She had no work now to distract her, and she wasn’t the girl she’d been then. She wasn’t even the same woman she’d been a few weeks ago.

And in this new woman, the one she’d become, the rage and despair grew, hour by hour, until there was no more room for it inside.

It was the second evening of her captivity, and Ghazi had brought her food. He smiled and spoke so smoothly, and all she could think of was Rupert’s smile, and the sound of his deep voice…and his hands, his large, capable hands.

She looked at Ghazi’s hands, holding the bowl, and at her own as she reached to take it from him. Her right hand balled into a fist, and she knocked the bowl away, and the rage and despair poured out in a stream of Arabic invective.

The other men, gathered about the fire, all turned and stared at her, eyes wide and mouths open. They remained that way, like statues, during the short, deadly silence that followed.

Then Ghazi laughed. “Your Arabic is very pretty,” he said. “You know all the curses. My men, I know, would like to teach you love words. I myself would like so much to teach you some manners. But we must leave all the lessons to the master. He will tame you soon enough.”

“If your master Duval is foolish enough to try to tame a viper, let him try,” she said.

“Duval?” Ghazi laughed. “Ah, no wonder you are so fierce, little viper. You have mistaken us. Duval is not our master. Can you not see where we go, angry serpent? South, to Thebes, where your brother is, and where the Golden Devil rules. And so, you see, you are safe, and have nothing to fear.”

She knew she wasn’t safe. But she had nothing to lose now, and so, nothing to fear.

THE LADY ARRIVED in Luxor on Sunday night, having made the last leg of the journey on the river. Lord Noxley was at the landing place to meet her. Though the moon hadn’t yet risen, and the torches only dimly illuminated the scene, he could see that all was far from well. She was stiff and formal. He heard no pleasure or even relief in her voice when she returned his greeting. She declined his arm.

“My brother,” she said, drawing away from him. “These brutes of yours said Miles was here.”

Brutes of yours. A very bad sign. Something had gone wrong. Someone had bungled.

Lord Noxley concealed his displeasure. His face showed only puzzlement. Still, those who knew him saw the thundercloud forming as clearly as if it had been broad day and a storm truly threatened.

“Archdale is quite safe,” he said. “Merely indisposed at the moment, else he’d be here.”

“Sick?” she said.

“No, no. I wish you would not distress yourself. Come, let us postpone discussion until you’ve had time to rest. You must be weary and wishing —”

“What’s wrong with him?” she cut in.

“A trifle too much to drink,” Noxley said. Dead drunk was more like it. “I hadn’t expected you before tomorrow. He will be so —”

“One of your men killed Rupert Carsington,” she said.

The thundercloud swelled and darkened. “Surely not,” Lord Noxley said. “I cannot conceive how —”

“I saw it,” she said. “Pray do not tell me I must have imagined it. I will not be humored or patronized. I am not a child.”

“No, certainly not.”

“I shall insist upon a full report to the authorities,” she said. “I shall wish to make a statement. Tomorrow, as soon as may be. In the meantime, I want to see my brother, indisposed or not. Then I want a bath. And a bed.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Perhaps —”

“And I want to be left alone. In peace.”

“Certainly. A terrible shock. I am so sorry.”

He would most certainly make someone else sorry, too, very sorry.

He gave Mrs. Pembroke into the care of a maidservant, who took her to see the unconscious Archdale, then helped her bathe and put her to bed.

While his future bride sank into exhausted sleep upon her divan, his lordship listened to Ghazi’s report.

The thundercloud had grown black by now. The lady was supposed to be warm with gratitude to her rescuer and hero, Asheton Noxley. Instead, she was cold and angry.

She was supposed to love him. At present, she seemed to hate him. Now he must spend days — perhaps weeks — winning her over.

He was very unhappy, which boded ill for somebody, perhaps several somebodies.

“I told you I wanted Carsington out of the way,” he said. “Did I not point out that the simplest method was to have him taken to the nearest guardhouse for questioning?” Once Carsington was in someone else’s custody, it would be easy enough to arrange for him to disappear or die of “natural causes.” It was perfectly natural to die, for instance, if a pillow got stuck on your face or poison got into your food or a viper got into your bed.

Instead, a man Mrs. Pembroke knew was in Lord Noxley’s employ had killed Carsington. While she watched.

“I can scarcely believe my ears,” his lordship said, shaking his head. “You are supposed to be men of experience. But a mongoose nips you in the leg, and all your discipline is thrown to pieces. You knew we needed to be careful with him. You knew the matter required the utmost discretion. Now, thanks to your carelessness, I am tainted with the murder of an English nobleman’s son.”

The nobleman in question was not one with whom his lordship cared to cross swords.

“I agree, lord,” Ghazi said. “It was all very stupid. But if I may explain one matter for which we were not prepared.”

“You didn’t expect the mongoose attack,” Lord Noxley said. “On its hind legs I daresay it came all the way up to your knee. Ah, but their teeth are very sharp, and once they take hold, they don’t let go. T

errifying monsters, indeed.”

“I do not know how it was,” Ghazi said stolidly, “but the Egyptians took courage from the mongoose, I think. They fought us. Common Egyptians — they rose up and fought us.”

Lord Noxley frowned at him. No one could have been prepared for that. Egyptians — common Egyptians, that is, not members of the military — cowered, hid, or ran away. They didn’t fight.

“If they had not fought, we might have taken the Englishman away with no difficulty,” said Ghazi. “We had only to beat the others a little, and soon he must yield. A big man, but with a heart soft like those of so many of your people. I agree there is no excuse for the killing. It was needless and stupid.”

Lord Noxley considered. After a moment, he said, “The killer must be brought to justice.”

Ghazi piously agreed.

“You had better turn him over to the Turkish soldiers,” Lord Noxley said.

Forty Turkish soldiers were stationed in Luxor, for it was a town of some importance. Torturing the murderer would amuse them, and keeping the soldiers entertained was one way to insure their loyalty. Paying them — which the pasha often failed to do — was another. But that presented no problems.

Once he wed Virgil Pembroke’s wealthy widow, Lord Noxley could afford to be very generous, indeed.

Monday 30 April

“DEVIL TAKE IT,” Miles said. “You were supposed to be safe in Cairo.”

It wasn’t the most affectionate greeting for a sister he hadn’t seen in a month, but he wasn’t feeling affectionate at the moment. His head pounded, a fire raged behind his eyeballs, and his mouth tasted like camel’s breath.

He’d dreamt of her last night, or thought it was a dream. She said she’d come in to see him, to make sure he was really there.

Now she was really there — here — in his room, sitting on the edge of the divan, and there was no imagining it was a dream.

“You didn’t know I was coming?” she said. “Your friend didn’t tell you he’d sent men to collect me?”