“My dear boy, what can you mean?” asked Lady Haigh, revolving various possibilities in her mind. “Oh, I know!” she cried at last. “You mean that Cecil’s first two years at Baghdad will be over a day or two before Christmas, and that she can’t go on without signing a new agreement?”
“And that before she signs it I am to have my chance,” added Charlie.
“Yes, of course,” said Lady Haigh, hastily. “You have been a very good boy, Charlie, and obeyed me splendidly, but lately I have noticed a sort of I-bide-my-time air about you, which didn’t look well. You shall have your chance, certainly, but I wouldn’t advise you to be too sure about it.”
“I am not,” said Charlie, “but I mean to have it.”
“Well, my dear boy,” went on his cousin, soothingly, “travelling as lightly as you do, you will be well able to be back before Christmas, you see. The new agreement need not be signed until Christmas Eve, and if you are not back then it will be your own fault.”
“But something might prevent me,” he said, dolefully; “and only think if I came back and found that she had bound herself for another three years of slavery to that child!”
“You think that you could prevent it if you were here?” asked Lady Haigh, in the tone that she had used once before when casting a doubt on the likelihood of Charlie’s success.
“I don’t know,” he said, humbly enough, “but I almost think, if I had her alone, and could make her listen to me, that I could.”
“Well, that you must settle for yourself, of course. I will do my best for you, Charlie. Supposing (but I don’t in the least anticipate it) that you are not back by Christmas Eve, I will tell Cecil the state of things before she signs the agreement. It may be that she is more homesick and tired of her work than she seems, and that she will be willing to listen to the proposal, but I can’t promise you success. I only say I will do what I can, for you have been very obedient, and behaved very well. That’s all I can promise.”
“Thank you awfully, Cousin Elma. It’s very good of you. Only wouldn’t it save you the trouble if I wrote to her now, before I went?”
“What! you haven’t had enough of Azim Bey and his suspicions yet?” asked Lady Haigh; and as Charlie shrugged his shoulders in silence, she went on with much animation, “Charlie, I really must have it out with you, though I know it’s no good, but I will never refer to it again. Has it ever struck you how very foolish you are? Either by misfortune or by your own fault you have lost most of your chances, and come to be regarded either as a cranky clever fellow or as a pleasant good sort of man, but a most unlucky one. You ought to be thankful if you could get the most commonplace, unsophisticated girl that was ever brought up in a remote country village at home to take you, but no—you must fly high. You fall in love with a girl who is clever herself and can’t help knowing it, who has had unusual advantages in the way of education, and whose talents command a fair market value. It is to her interest not to marry you, and you will probably get into trouble even if you are merely engaged, and she laughs at you continually. Why don’t you give her up?”
“I don’t know,” said Charlie, meditatively. “Because I love her, I suppose, Cousin Elma. I had rather she laughed at me than forgot me, at any rate.”
“My dear boy!” said Lady Haigh, and kissed him, impulsively. “If only Cecil knew you as you really are!”
But Cecil did not know, and yet she cried herself to sleep when she went back to the Palace that night. It could not have been on account of Charlie’s absence, for she had satisfied herself that she did not love him, and it could scarcely have been because he had missed his snubbing, and therefore it must have been, as she said to herself the next morning, that she was tired and excited from seeing so many old friends again.
CHAPTER XIV.
A SPOKE IN HIS WHEEL.
Neither Cecil nor Azim Bey ever referred in words to the approaching termination of the former’s engagement. Cecil had never in the slightest degree hesitated in her resolution to bind herself to remain at Baghdad for the further period of three years. The letters from Whitcliffe had of late been so uniformly cheerful in tone with respect to Fitz and Terry, for the expenses of whose education she had now for two years been wholly responsible, that she could not but conquer her longing to see the dear home faces once more, and decide to remain a member of his Excellency’s household. Then, too, her little pupil had endeared himself to her, jealous and exacting though he often was, and she could not bear to think of leaving him. Thus her mind was made up, and she had no anticipation of anything that might interfere to prevent the signing of the agreement.
As for Azim Bey, his silence did not arise from lack of interest in the matter. He knew as well as Charlie did when the first agreement lapsed, and throughout the tour from which they had just returned his mind had been busy on the subject. Over and over again, when he seemed merely to be contemplating the beauties of nature, or listening attentively to the morals which Cecil did her best to deduce for him from the various scenes and incidents of their daily life, he was occupied in planning schemes by which his governess’s further stay might be ensured. It was clear to him that the cardinal point was that Charlie should be absent from Baghdad when the agreement was signed. Azim Bey’s dislike for the surgeon of the Consulate was not a feeling of gradual growth, but had sprung up, fully matured, on the occasion of Charlie’s unauthorised intrusion into the harem. With a good deal of natural shrewdness, and a great deal of precocity, stimulated by the unchildlike life he had led, and the books in which he had delighted, the boy had divined Charlie’s secret, and marked him at once as an enemy. By catechising Cecil after all her visits to the Residency, he arrived at the knowledge that she always saw Dr Egerton there; and he remarked that she generally spoke of him with a sigh, but what this sigh meant he could not decide. In any case, he was fully persuaded that it would be far better for mademoiselle to remain with him for the next three years than to marry Dr Egerton. She was doing so much with her earnings for those brothers of hers (whom Azim Bey regarded with interest not unmingled with contempt, as creatures who existed for little else but to play pranks for his entertainment) that she certainly ought not to leave them in the lurch. He had never given a second thought to his loudly expressed intention of marrying her himself—which indeed had only been uttered in the hope of shocking his grandmother—and had resigned himself with philosophic indifference to the prospect of the bride who had been chosen for him; but he had some idea that when his education was finished, his father, or rather Jamileh Khanum, might find mademoiselle a suitable husband in some rich Armenian, so that she might continue to live in Baghdad, and he might consult her when he needed advice. In any case, Dr Egerton, who had unintentionally made himself peculiarly disagreeable to the Bey, was out of the question, and must be got rid of.
It might have been supposed that the simplest plan would have been to appeal to Cecil herself, and secure her promise to stay on in her situation; but such a proceeding was quite contrary to Azim Bey’s character and habits. His instinct was to work underground, and he heartily detested anything like plain questions and straightforward answers. “People in love always told lies,” was the impression left upon his mind by his French novels; and even if mademoiselle should prove an exception, what good would it do to hear her say that she meant to leave Baghdad? A straightforward answer of that kind could not easily be explained away, whereas if everything were left in a misty, nebulous condition, with nothing determined, and nothing definite said, it ought to prove easy to find opportunities for action and loopholes for interference. That mademoiselle might, quite without her own knowledge, be managed into staying, if only Dr Egerton did not appear and interrupt the process, he had no doubt, and he began to revolve schemes for delaying his return. It was evident even now that matters must be run very close if Charlie was to be back a week before Christmas, and it seemed to Azim Bey that it ought not to be impossible, considering the absence of roads and the difficulties of obtaining transport in the Bakhtiari country, to make him arrive from ten days to a fortnight late. This was all that would be necessary.
It was easy to see what ought to be done; the difficulty now came in of finding the person to do it. If only the Pasha had been in the secret, private instructions from him to the khan-keepers along the route to delay the progress of the travellers as much as possible, and to the postmasters to show no particular zeal in providing baggage-animals, would have settled everything; but Azim Bey did not wish to call in his father’s help. It was doubtful even whether it would have been given; for instructions of this kind, recommending dilatoriness, had an unpleasant knack of becoming public at wrong times, and the Pasha was always anxious not to give undue cause of offence to the Balio Bey. In any case, his Excellency might think his son’s desires inexpedient, and interfere to prevent their realisation; and this would be much worse for Azim Bey than merely being thrown on his own resources. Still, he found life very weary and perplexing while he tried to think of the right person to employ as his instrument in effecting his purpose.
Masûd and the rest of the servants he dismissed from his thoughts at once, they were too stolid, and would not make good intriguers. But Azim Bey had not been brought up in an atmosphere of intrigue for nothing; he knew exactly the kind of person who was fitted to undertake what Charlie Egerton called “dirty work,” and the consuls, more euphemistically, “secret missions.” Not quite for the first time, he began to regret that he had cut himself off so entirely from M. Karalampi, and to think that he might have refused his books without scathing him so fiercely with virtuous indignation. There were plenty of other disreputable Greek and Levantine hangers-on at the Palace who might have been intrusted with the business, but men of this stamp were always ready, if anything led to the failure of their negotiations, to save themselves by splitting upon their employers. M. Karalampi alone, in such a case, never betrayed the interests he represented. He bore the blame of those involved and the scorn or execration of outsiders, he submitted to have his credentials denied and his action disavowed, and indemnified himself for it all on the next occasion. Such traits made him invaluable, and had probably contributed to his unusually long and successful career.
When there is mischief to be done, it is seldom that tools are wanting for the accomplishment of it, and when Azim Bey had been thinking of M. Karalampi for some days as a possible helper, he suddenly found himself face to face with him. It was in the early morning, when the boy had gone to pay his usual visit to his father as he dressed. Important despatches had just arrived, however, and the Pasha must not be disturbed in the perusal of them. In a very bad temper, Azim Bey settled himself in the anteroom, where visitors were wont to wait for audience of his Excellency. Only one other person occupied the room at present, and this was M. Karalampi, who saluted Azim Bey respectfully, and then retired to the farthest corner, to intimate that he had no desire to force himself upon him after the rebuff he had received more than a year ago. From his distant seat, however, he watched the boy’s face narrowly, and read the varying thoughts which passed through his mind. Pride and eagerness were contending for the mastery, and M. Karalampi watched for the right moment at which to intervene. He had not heard any of the circumstances, but hastily coupling with the deductions he drew from Azim Bey’s perturbed face, Charlie’s often-repeated intention of returning before Christmas (for he was well up in the gossip of the various consulates), he formed a working hypothesis, and proceeded to put it to the test. Approaching the divan on which Azim Bey was seated, he asked casually after the health of Mademoiselle Antaza, “cette dame si aimable et si savante,” to whom the Bey was so deeply attached.
If Azim Bey had known that to the list of his employers M. Karalampi had lately added the name of the Um-ul-Pasha, he might have been suspicious, but he was so much relieved to find the conversation brought without his assistance to the very subject he wished to reach, that he answered politely at once that mademoiselle enjoyed the best of health.
“But the Bey Effendi will soon lose mademoiselle; is it not so?” was M. Karalampi’s next question.
“What do you mean, monsieur?” asked the boy, startled.
M. Karalampi shrugged his shoulders. “All the world says that she will marry at Christmas the surgeon of the English Consulate,” he said.
“But she shall not,” cried Azim Bey. “Listen, monsieur; I need your help. He must be delayed in returning. He is not to be killed, nor hurt, because he saved mademoiselle and me in the riot, but simply kept back. Manage this, and I am your friend for life.”
To recover his old position in the Bey’s confidence was M. Karalampi’s great object at this time, and he was also not averse to doing a bad turn to Cecil, but he looked serious and reflective.
“Do I understand you, Bey Effendi?” he asked. “There are to be difficulties among the tribes, you say, and Dr Egerton is to be detained for the sake of his own personal safety, while he is still at some distance from Baghdad?”
“Yes, that is it,” cried Azim Bey; “and no letters must pass.”
“That goes without saying,” said M. Karalampi, “and it will not be difficult to find a cause of quarrel between the Hajar and their neighbours, the Fazz. But in the Bakhtiari country there are many robbers, and Englishmen are brave. Why should not the caravan be attacked, and Dr Egerton and the other doctor killed in repelling the thieves? That would get rid of him altogether, and no one could ever know.”
Azim Bey turned a little pale. His schemes had not reached the point of plotting murder, but the idea seemed to come so quickly and naturally to M. Karalampi that he was afraid of appearing timid and cowardly if he told him so. However, a happy thought occurred to him.
“It is no use trying to work through the Bakhtiaris,” he said. “They love the English, and might even tell him what we had arranged with them to do. And the Arabs must not kill him, for the Balio Bey would demand blood-money, and my father would be obliged to go to war with my own people to get it paid. No, they must only keep him back, protesting their love to the Pasha and to the English all the time. They will not allow him to go to his death, they must say, and no man can cross the Fazz country safely just then.”
“The Bey Effendi is very wise,” said M. Karalampi, “and it rejoices me to be able to serve him once more. But I must have some token from him to show to the Hajar sheikhs, or they will laugh at my beard, and I shall come back a fool.”
With trembling fingers Azim Bey unfastened the Hajar amulet which his Arab mother had hung round his neck when he was a baby. “It will bring all the tribesmen of the Hajar to thy help if thou art in danger, my son,” she had assured him, and his kinsmen in the tribe had told him the same thing since.
“Take it,” he said, “but give it back to me. No Hajar dare disregard it. But take care not to leave it in the tents, lest Dr Egerton see it, and perceive whose it is. Mademoiselle must never know of this.”
“She never shall,” said M. Karalampi, and he departed with his prize. Fortune had favoured him beyond his hopes, and he saw himself, in imagination, restored to his former place in Azim Bey’s esteem, and able to manipulate his actions in the interest of his other employers. As for Azim Bey himself, he felt quite satisfied with the arrangement he had made, and returned to his governess with a light heart and an unclowded brow.
Cecil’s visits to the Residency that autumn were almost confined to the Sundays. She explained to Lady Haigh that she had arranged a special course of study with her pupil, which must not on any account be interrupted, after the desultory way in which the summer had been spent, and she adhered to this plan with the utmost rigour, never acknowledging, even to herself, that the Residency seemed in some way empty and desolate just now. Sunday by Sunday she said to herself, hopefully, “Perhaps he came back last night,” but the weeks passed on, and he did not come, and Cecil cried herself to sleep at nights, and assured herself all the time that she did not love him, and that it was only because she was disappointed. Thus the days went by quietly enough until Christmas week approached. Still Charlie had not returned, although his letters to Lady Haigh announced that he had started upon the homeward journey. They were rather despondent in their tone, for his medical inquiries had occupied a longer time than he had calculated, but they all breathed a spirit of unconquerable determination to be back by the day before Christmas Eve, or die. Even if he had to tramp from Mohammerah to Baghdad, he would do it. But he reckoned without Azim Bey.
Cecil was to spend Christmas at the Residency. From the morning of Christmas Eve to the evening of Christmas Day she was to have her time absolutely to herself, and on Christmas Eve Denarien Bey and other officials were to bring the new agreement and present it for her signature. Azim Bey watched her depart without misgivings. His plans were laid securely, and if they did not come to a satisfactory conclusion, M. Karalampi would pay the penalty. Cecil nodded and kissed her hand to him as she started on her ride to the Residency, and he noticed that her white sheet was fastened with the elaborately wrought and jewelled brooch he had presented to her that morning, in pursuance of what he understood was the correct English custom. He was pleased with the honour shown to his gift, and accepted it as a good omen, and therefore he waved his hand gaily to Cecil, and called out that he would not torment old Ayesha, his nurse, more than he could possibly help while she was away.
Arrived at the Residency, Cecil found Lady Haigh in an extremely perturbed state of mind. Charlie had not returned, and no notice of his approach had been received; moreover, there were rumours of troubles between the Hajar and the Fazz tribes in the very district through which he had to pass. In the course of a few hours Denarien Bey would bring the agreement to be signed, and if Charlie had not returned by that time, she would be obliged to speak to Cecil on his behalf, a prospect which filled her with nervous dread. To add to her perplexities, she had all the Christmas decorations on her hands, as well as the preparations for the Christmas Day festivities, in which she was handicapped by an undying feud which existed between such of the servants as were Hindus on one side, and Agoop Aga, the major-domo, and the natives of the country, on the other. With a vague idea of putting off the evil day, she accepted Cecil’s offer to see to the decorations and the arrangement of the menu for the morrow’s dinner-party, and departed to look to the ways of her household. But this delay was of no avail, for lunch-time arrived, and no Charlie. Denarien Bey was coming at three o’clock, and with beating heart poor Lady Haigh perceived that she must speak to Cecil. There was no time to lose, and after lunch she called the girl into her boudoir and prepared to make the attempt. She knew that she could not plead Charlie’s cause with anything approaching the fervour he himself would have used; nay, she had an uneasy consciousness that if Cecil accepted him she would consider her an arrant fool for giving up her present position for his sake. But she was fond of Charlie, and sympathised with him on account of his patient waiting, and she felt herself bound by her promise to do the best she could for him.
“Cecil, my dear,” she said, when she had got Cecil settled at last, after several vain attempts to reason her into a properly serious state of mind, “Denarien Bey will come with the agreement very soon.”
“Yes?” said Cecil, springing up from her chair and adjusting the striped scarf which draped a portrait on the wall. “But don’t let us talk of business now, Lady Haigh. These two days are my holidays, you know, and I want to enjoy them. This is a new photograph of Sir Dugald, isn’t it?”
“Oh, my dear child,” entreated Lady Haigh, “do be serious. I have something so very important to say to you. I don’t know how to say it, but I promised Charlie, and I wish I hadn’t. Do listen to me quietly.”
Cecil dropped into a chair, not that in which she had been sitting before, but a low one in the shade of the curtain, and composed herself to listen, for Lady Haigh’s voice sounded as though tears were not far off.
“Poor Charlie has not come back in time,” went on the elder lady, sadly, “and he was so very anxious to speak to you himself. But I must do it, or you will sign the agreement without knowing. He has been in love with you a long time, Cecil, ever since he has known you, in fact, and he wanted to ask you to marry him on the way up the river, but I wouldn’t let him. I promised him that if he would let you alone for the first two years, to give you a fair chance of seeing how you could get on, he should speak to you before you signed the new agreement. Well, he isn’t here, so I must speak instead. He is very much in love with you, my dear, though I should think you know that as well as I do, and if you don’t, Azim Bey does. He has some money of his own, and Sir Dugald feels now that he can conscientiously put in a good word for him with the Indian Government if there is any question of another appointment, and he is a dear fellow. There! I know I am not putting things properly, but I don’t know how to manage it. He can’t bear to think of your slaving, as he calls it, with Azim Bey all day; he wants you to be raised above the necessity of working for your family. He need not stay out here, you know, if it were not that he loves the East so much, he has a good property at home,—and he is a generous fellow. I am sure I may say that your little brothers would not suffer from the change. I might talk to you about a good position, and all that sort of thing, but I don’t believe it would affect you. All I can say is, Cecil, don’t let my blundering way of speaking for him prejudice you against the poor fellow, for he really is head over ears in love with you. Sometimes I think you don’t appreciate him properly, but remember, he has waited patiently for two whole years, and only refrained from speaking out of pure consideration for you, lest you should be compromised in your new position. You have never shown him any special encouragement, always laughing at him and teasing him as you do, but he has never wavered, so if you can find it in your heart to say yes, do be kind to the poor boy.”
There was a few minutes’ silence, while the clock ticked heavily. Lady Haigh glanced nervously at Cecil, sitting in the deep orange shade of the curtain, but could read nothing from her face. At last the girl spoke, slowly and with some hesitation.
“I am glad you have spoken to me, Lady Haigh, for it seems to make it easier—I mean—yes, it is easier—to see the right course than if Dr Egerton had asked me himself. I think I am bound in honour to consider my duty to my employer, and to go on with my work. The Pasha has acted most kindly and honourably by me, and he wishes me to carry on Azim Bey’s education. I can’t feel that it would be right, after all the trouble and expense he has had, to throw up my situation for the sake of a—well, of personal feelings. I think the Pasha would have a right to say he didn’t think much of Christianity if I treated him in that way, and I have tried not to hide my colours in the Palace. I think it is only right for me to go on as I am.”
“But you don’t mind my having told you, dear? You are not angry with Charlie? What will you say to him?”
“That is scarcely a fair question, Lady Haigh,” said Cecil, pausing with her hand upon the door, but keeping very much in the shade of the curtain; “or did Dr Egerton depute you to receive his answer as well as to plead his cause?”
“Ah, she shan’t get off like that,” said Lady Haigh to herself, as the door closed behind her young friend. “Charlie shall have his chance when he comes back and speak for himself, and I am very much mistaken if he doesn’t get a little hope to help him through the next three years.”
CHAPTER XV.
AFTER ALL——
But Christmas Eve passed on, the new agreement was brought and signed, and still Charlie did not come. The other young men looked at one another and laughed when they found that he had not appeared, and one or two betrayed symptoms of an inclination to take his place and monopolise Cecil. But they had no chance, as they were ready to acknowledge ruefully at night; for even if Miss Anstruther had been willing to let herself be monopolised, Lady Haigh would not have allowed it. She was very particular in keeping the conversation general in the drawing-room that evening, and in checking any tendency towards confidential talks. Captain Rossiter did once by a bold stroke succeed in getting Cecil to linger at the piano, trying over the accompaniment of a new song which had just reached him from England; but before he could guide the conversation round to anything more interesting than key-notes and sharps, Lady Haigh moved over to a chair close to the instrument, and the rest of the company followed.
Cecil did not sleep much that night. She had made definitely the momentous decision which had been confronting her for so long, and had signed away her liberty for three years more, but it was not the thought of this that kept her awake. She had heard Charlie Egerton’s love declared, though not by himself, and the recollection made her heart beat fast. Even if (and she was not quite so sure about this as she had been a little while ago)—even if she did not love him, she could not but feel touched both by his affection and his constancy. But why had he not come back? Why, after declaring so openly his intention of returning, had he lingered until after she had bound herself to remain in Baghdad? What had detained him? Had anything happened to involve him in one of the border disputes which were continually occurring between the Arab tribes, or had the spell of the old wandering life regained its power over him? If it were really the latter, Cecil felt that he might as well spare himself the trouble of coming back at all, so far as she was concerned. Ever since she had first met him she had deliberately thrown her influence into the scale against his nomadic tastes, trying to induce him to settle down steadily, and do his best, by persistent attention to duty, to counteract the effects of his earlier erratic proceedings. It was a pity, she had felt sometimes, that a man whose nature revelled in the unusual and the unconventional should be guided so strenuously into the beaten track, where another, with natural gifts of a far less remarkable order, would have filled his place with much more satisfaction to himself and to his superiors.
But it was all for Charlie’s own good. It must be to his advantage to be held back from sacrificing all his prospects to the impulse of a moment, and Lady Haigh had been unremitting in impressing upon Cecil that whereas an eccentric, harum-scarum genius might do a great deal in the way of contributions to inexact science, the Indian Government, and indeed all governments, preferred the steady man who could be trusted to keep in the line marked out for him. Almost unconsciously Cecil had been setting this as a kind of test for Charlie in her own mind, watching, with an interest which she believed was wholly ethical and impersonal, his two years’ struggle to stick to his work and avoid quarrelling with Sir Dugald. Hence she had come to the rather one-sided conclusion that she would certainly have no more to do with him if his efforts failed, while discreetly leaving a blank as to what was to happen if they were crowned with success. But in any case, if he could forget all that he had said, and the importance of haste, at such a time as this, and linger among the Bakhtiaris or the Hajar, it would be evident that his love was as little to be depended upon as his persistence in any walk of life had formerly been.
It was not wounded pride which actuated Cecil as she reasoned out this conclusion with herself, nor was it lack of sympathy with Charlie in the trials and worries of his uninteresting post at Baghdad. It was simply that she felt the lack of stability in his character, and the need there was for correcting it, and that she had a traitor on her own side to crush, in the shape of the unreasoning attraction towards Eastern and simpler modes of life which sometimes possessed herself. With Charlie this feeling was a passion, but in her it came only very occasionally into collision with her habitual fixedness of purpose and invariable caution. Still, the very knowledge of the existence of this tendency in herself made her harder upon Charlie, and more determined to guide him in the safe middle path of daily duty steadily performed,—just as we are all prone to correct with greater willingness the faults we perceive in ourselves which are at variance with our general character,—and she felt, as she reviewed her conduct and advice mentally that night, that she could not reproach herself with what she had done. But she had now something else to consider—namely, what she was going to do—although the circumstances seemed so uncertain that she felt herself justified in leaving the matter open. Suppose Charlie had been unavoidably detained after all, and that he returned within the next few days, would he speak to her still, now that his speaking would come too late? She could not doubt for a moment that he would, but when he did, what would he say? Yes, and what would she say? These questions ran in her mind all night, in spite of the wise procrastination she had exercised in determining to leave the matter undecided.
“I really wish,” she said pettishly to herself, when she saw in the morning her pale face and tired eyes reflected in the glass—“I really wish now that he would stay away until to-morrow, so that I could get back to the Palace and be safe with Azim Bey without having to go through all this.” And so much worried and perturbed did she feel at the moment that she believed she meant what she said.
The morning passed quietly. The party from the Residency rode over to the Mission-house to join in the English service in the room which served Dr Yehudi as a church, and which was decorated with palm-branches and quaint devices arranged by the school-children, who mustered afterwards to receive good advice and sweetmeats from Sir Dugald, and presents from Lady Haigh and Cecil. Then the horses were brought up again, and the visitors rode home, refusing to tax the scanty resources of the Mission party by staying to lunch. At the Residency the meal was despatched in haste, for all the members of the British colony in Baghdad were expected to join in the Christmas dinner that evening, and such a prospect necessitated a good deal of preparation. Sir Dugald retired to his office to escape from the bustle, and such of his subordinates as did not follow his example found themselves impressed into Lady Haigh’s service for the purpose of moving furniture, hanging up draperies, and otherwise altering the appearance of the principal rooms. Cecil undertook the decoration of the dinner-table, much to the indignation of the Indian butler, who considered that he knew far more about dinner-parties than the Miss Sahiba, and Lady Haigh superintended everything, driving white-clothed servants before her in agitated troops.
It was in the midst of all this turmoil that Charlie came home. Lady Haigh heard him ride into the courtyard, and flew to greet him.
“O, my dear boy!” she cried, as he dismounted and came to meet her, “why didn’t you come before? You are too late.”
“She has signed the agreement, then?” he asked, quickly. Lady Haigh nodded, and he went on. “I thought as much. Thanks to that abominable child, I believe (for you know his mother was one of the Hajar), I have been detained in their tents for a week. They persisted that they were at war with the Fazz, and that I could not go on except at the risk of my life, and they kept me a regular prisoner. Twice I tried to get away, and each time they brought me back. Yesterday I managed to get hold of my revolvers, which they had hidden away, and we very nearly had a big fight. I threatened to shoot them all if they would not let me go, and at last they consented to disgorge the horses and my things, and my boy Hanna and I came on at once. We parted company this morning. He was to come on gently with the luggage, while I rode hard, and now it is too late after all.”
“My poor dear boy!” cried Lady Haigh, the tears rising in her sympathetic eyes. “I did my best for you, really, but you see I could not plead as you would have done, could I? But you shall speak to her yourself. Leave it to me, and I will make an opportunity for you, only it must be when there is no one about, that people may not begin to talk.”
“Thank you, Cousin Elma. It’s something like a condemned criminal’s last interview with his friends, to give me one talk with her before three years’ separation.”
“You were always inclined to be discontented, Charlie,” said Lady Haigh, reprovingly. “Be thankful for what you can get, and now go and make yourself respectable.”
He laughed, and betook himself in the direction of his own quarters. Cecil, at work in the dining-room, heard his steps on the floor of the verandah, and went on with her task of piling up crystallised fruits on the dessert-dishes with trembling fingers. Perhaps he would not see her as he passed. But he did. A casual glance into the room showed him that she was standing there, and he went no farther. An insane impulse seized her to run away when he came in, but she stood her ground, though looking and feeling miserably guilty. Charlie caught both her hands in his, and stood gazing into her flushed face with a look before which her eyes fell. Then, almost before Farideh, the slipshod handmaiden who was supposed to be assisting in the festive preparations, had time to profit by the little distraction to the extent of surreptitiously conveying an apricot to her mouth, he recollected himself, and loosing his hold of Cecil’s hands, asked eagerly—
“You will let me speak to you in private some time or other?”
“Yes,” faltered Cecil, and he went out, while she, suddenly discovering Farideh’s part in the little scene which had just been enacted, taxed her with her guilt, and proceeded to give her a severe scolding in somewhat imperfect Arabic, though her lips would quiver sometimes with a smile in the sternest passages.
Lady Haigh was very mysterious that evening. She would not let Cecil go to dress for dinner until she herself could come too, and then she accompanied her to her room, where they found the two maids, Um Yusuf and Marta, gazing in speechless admiration at the contents of a great box they had just unpacked. With tender care they had laid on the bed a beautiful evening dress of soft, clinging white stuff, with borders of golden embroidery in a classic pattern, and now they were gently handling a white and gold cloak to match, and a fan of white feathers with a golden mount.
“My Christmas present to you, dear,” said Lady Haigh, kissing Cecil. “I flatter myself I know what suits you, and I see my London dressmaker has carried out my directions exactly. Let me see how you look in it.”
“O, Lady Haigh, you are too good!” gasped Cecil, fingering the delicate fabric with intense delight.
“Nonsense, Cecil! Do you think I didn’t know that you decided not to order out a new evening dress from home, because you wanted to send Fitz the money to get a camera with? I’m glad you like it, dear. If you are so very pleased, show it by looking nice in the dress, and by being kind to poor Charlie.”
The last sentence was in a lower tone, but Cecil shook with mirth; the idea of being bribed with a new dress to be kind to Charlie seemed so ridiculous. The thought suddenly came to her of the uncontrollable delight with which her little Irish stepmother would have viewed the whole scene, more especially the part which concerned the unexpected rewarding of her kindness to Fitz, and it was with difficulty that she restrained herself from bursting into a peal of laughter. It did not take long to array her in the wonderful white-and-gold dress, and even the sedate Um Yusuf, as she clasped the folds upon the shoulder with Azim Bey’s brooch as a finish, was moved into uttering words of admiration. Lady Haigh and Marta were no whit behind in their praise, and Cecil herself, on looking into the glass, felt that she could scarcely recognise the gorgeous vision there reflected.
Lady Haigh was also arrayed suitably to the greatness of the occasion, and she and Cecil now donned their cloaks in preparation for crossing the court, and rustled down to the great drawing-room, where Sir Dugald was waiting with a long-suffering expression, his subordinates hovering in the background and looking depressed. Lady Haigh cast a last glance around to see that all was right, and then, satisfied that the great room, with its fretted ceiling and walls inlaid with mirrors set in beautiful mosaic of many-coloured marbles and gilded arabesque work, was looking its best, took her place beside Sir Dugald with a sigh of complacency. The guests soon began to arrive in their most imposing attire, and the assembly became a miniature court. It was not so difficult as usual, Cecil thought, to realise that one was in the city of the Khalifs, now that the splendours of the place were properly revealed by the aid of many wax-lights, and the rooms, at other times empty and silent, were gay with bright costumes and gorgeous Eastern draperies. But when the move into the dining-room was made, the illusion was spoilt, for all was Anglo-Indian, and the punkah, useless to-night, and the silent Hindu servants, though they might at first seem to give an air of oriental stateliness to the proceedings, were after all as alien to the old Baghdad as to older Babylon. Cecil felt honestly grieved by the innovations years had brought, and she had ample time to lament over them, for her neighbour at the table was a stout and bald-headed elderly merchant, who devoted himself to curry and other red-hot compounds with a singleness of purpose which left him no opportunity for conversation. Opposite to her Charlie was doing the agreeable to the wife of the American Consul, a faded but still vivacious lady, who was talking shrilly of Boston. The few Americans in Baghdad had united with their English kinsfolk to-night in celebrating the old home festival, and the English would fraternise with them in like manner when Thanksgiving Day came round.
The meal was a long one, for all the usual Christmas fare was de rigueur, as were the orthodox Christmas customs, while there were a number of toasts to be drunk at the close; but it was over at last, and the gentlemen were not long in following the ladies into the drawing-room. A number of other people who had only been invited to the reception after the dinner-party now came dropping in, and Cecil found herself seized upon by her friend Mrs Hagopidan, the lady in whose defence she had broken a lance with Charlie not long after her arrival in Baghdad. Myrta Hagopidan was a lively little person, an Armenian by race, a native of British India by birth, and an Englishwoman by aspiration. As schoolgirls she and Cecil had adored the same governess, the lady who had been Cecil’s form-mistress at the South Central having gone to India to take charge of the Poonah High School, as has been already mentioned, and this bond of union drew them very close together, although Mrs Hagopidan was pleased to affect the ultra-smart in dress and conversation, and had a weakness for talking about her “frocks,” for which, by the way, Worth was sometimes responsible. She came rustling up now in a magnificent and utterly indescribable costume of various shimmering hues, and demanded that Cecil should take her up to the roof to see the view.
“I’ve never seen the city by moonlight from here,” she said, “and Captain Rossiter has been telling me that it’s quite too awfully sweet. Take me up to the best place, for I daren’t go roaming about Sir Dugald’s house alone without his leave, and I’m much too frightened to ask for it. Put on a shawl or coat or something, for it’s quite chilly.”
And linking her arm in Cecil’s, Mrs Hagopidan drew her into the cloakroom, whence she extracted a wonderful little wrap of her own, all iridescent brocade and ostrich feathers, and then waited while Cecil hunted for her white-and-gold cloak. Her little dark face looked so mischievous and arch and winning, framed in the folds of her hood, that Cecil kissed her there and then, at which Mrs Hagopidan laughed until all her ostrich-feathers nodded wildly.
“Don’t!” she cried, pushing Cecil away. “I don’t want to make any one jealous; I’m simply an amiable and kind-hearted friend. There! that’s your cloak, isn’t it? Put it on and come along.”
They hurried up the steps together, Mrs Hagopidan continuing to talk incessantly, so that Cecil was nearly exhausted before they had reached the top, and was obliged to stop to laugh.
“Lazy thing!” cried her companion. “You are stopping too soon. Only two or three steps more, and I’m dying to see what is to be seen. Come on. Why, there’s some one here!”
A dark figure confronted them as they reached the top of the stairs, and Cecil almost screamed, but she saw immediately who it was.
“Myrta, you wretch!” she cried, “you have brought me here on false pretences.”
“Don’t excite yourself, my dear,” said Mrs Hagopidan, swiftly descending the stairs to the landing, and sitting down on the lowest step. “I said I was a kind and amiable friend, and I’m going to be. No one shall interrupt you, I promise, and if any one tries to pass, it will be over my body. Now, Dr Egerton, use your opportunity. Go over to the other side of the roof, and I shan’t hear. You may count on me to keep a good look-out.”
“I don’t like being entrapped, Dr Egerton,” said Cecil. “I think I will ask you to take me back to Lady Haigh.”
“I don’t think you will,” said Charlie, quickly, “when you remember how long I have been waiting for this talk with you, and how hard it has been for me to get back here even now. I can trust you not to keep me longer in suspense. Whatever my fate is, at least you will let me know it at once.”
This was reasonable enough, and Cecil could not withstand the appeal to her sense of fairness. She walked across to the other side of the roof, and sat down upon the wide parapet, looking at the shadowy garden beneath, and at the river beyond, its broad surface flecked with many wavering lights. Behind was the courtyard, partially illuminated by the beams from the lighted windows of the drawing-room, and farther still the town, with its winding, badly-lighted streets, and its ghostly minarets and palm-trees. The strains of music floated up to her, mingled with the more distant sounds of the city, but no human being was visible anywhere, and it seemed as if the world held only herself and Charlie. He was standing beside her, apparently finding some difficulty in framing what he wanted to say.
“I’ve longed to speak to you for years,” he burst out at last, “and now that I have the opportunity I feel ashamed to use it, because I know my speaking to you at all must seem to you such arrant cheek. I have thought about it pretty often in the last week, and upon my word! I can’t think of any conceivable earthly reason why you should marry me, except that I love you.”
He stopped, and then went on somewhat more freely.
“Cousin Elma has told you how I wanted to speak to you two years ago, and why I didn’t. That’s the reason, Cecil. It was because I loved you, and I didn’t want to get you into trouble, and I have learned to love you more and more since. I do love you, dear, and I have tried to be a better man for your sake. I can’t talk much about that sort of thing, you know, but I do see things more in the way you do than when we first met. But I can’t say it as I should like,” he broke off despairingly. “Whatever I say seems only to show me more and more how utterly presumptuous I am. I know I could never hope that you could care for me as I care for you, because I am such a wretched failure of a fellow, but if you could love me just a little—if you could take me on—well, just as a sort of pupil, you know—but I don’t mean that at all. Will you marry me, Cecil?”
“And if I say no?” asked Cecil, looking away over the river.
“Now you are trying me, to see what I shall say,” he said. “You know, if I said what I feel, it would be that I should throw up this place at once and go off into the desert with the Arabs; and I know that what you would like me to say would be that I should go on here working steadily, as if nothing had happened. Well, dear, I will try, but it will be awfully hard.”
Cecil was touched to the heart. “Oh, Charlie, my poor boy!” she cried, impulsively, and put her hands into his. He took them doubtfully, not daring to accept the happy omen the action suggested.
“Cecil, is it really—do you mean yes?” he asked, with bated breath.
“Yes, I do,” said Cecil, hurriedly. “I have been a horrid, calculating, conceited wretch. I’ve looked down on you, and laughed at you, and never thought how much better you were than I was all the time. I wish I was more worthy of you, Charlie.”
“You? of me?” he asked. “Cecil, dear, don’t laugh at me now. You really mean that you can love me? I don’t want you to marry me out of pity, or anything that would make you unhappy. I can stand anything rather than that.”
“But I do mean yes,” murmured Cecil, brokenly.
“But you are crying,” he said, with a man’s usual tact in such matters.
“I’m not,” said Cecil, indignantly. “Well, I suppose I’m homesick. No, it’s not that. It’s because I have been wanting you so much all this time, and you have come back at last.”
“Please God, you shall never regret my coming back, dear,” he said, gently, and drew her head down on his shoulder, where she cried bitterly, to her own great astonishment and his alarm. It was not at first that she could explain to him the mental conflict and strain of the past few months, but she was able to assure him that her tears did not spring from regret for the promise she had just given, and they sat there on the parapet talking for a long time. Engrossed in each other, they did not notice a long line of torch-bearers and horsemen approaching the Residency from the direction of the Palace, and they were struck with surprise when Mrs Hagopidan appeared suddenly at the top of the steps, and looking studiously the wrong way, cried in a thrilling whisper—
“Dr Egerton, you must go down at once. Azim Bey is at the door, and Sir Dugald was asking for you. If you don’t put in an appearance, there’ll be trouble. Do go at once.”
“That abominable child!” cried Charlie, and obeyed.
CHAPTER XVI.
A MURDEROUS INTENT.
“Well, dear?” cried Mrs Hagopidan, rushing to Cecil’s side, as Charlie precipitated himself down the stairs, hurried across the courtyard, and arrived at the gate just in time to take his place behind Sir Dugald as the great doors were thrown open for Azim Bey’s entrance, “is it all settled? You are glad now that I brought you here on false pretences? Do tell me, have you enjoyed the hour or so which you have spent in admiring the view?”
“Nonsense, Myrta; we haven’t been there so long as that,” said Cecil, half-vexed, but for all answer Mrs Hagopidan drew out a tiny gold watch and exhibited its face.
“It is undeniably an hour and a quarter since we left the drawing-room,” she said, when Cecil, with an embarrassed laugh, had recognised the truth of her statement. “Now do tell me, dear, have you been finding out your fortune from the stars? I can tell you something. Your fate is connected with that of a dark man, and your happiness is threatened by a dark child, do you see? There’s a separation somewhere, I am convinced, but of course a happy ending. Don’t you think I tell fortunes beautifully?”
“Myrta,” said Cecil, solemnly, “don’t be silly. You know you can’t find out things from the stars.”
“How do you know? At least you will allow that I have had plenty of time this evening for studying them, haven’t I?”
In the meantime Azim Bey had been received at the great gate of the Residency, and conducted with all due solemnity to a chair placed for him in the large drawing-room. When this had been accomplished, a sense of constraint seemed to fall upon the party assembled, together with a feeling of doubt as to what was to be done next. Music and conversation had both been interrupted by the unexpected arrival, and the intruder himself seemed as much at a loss as any one. He scrutinised attentively the faces of those present, bestowed a searching gaze on Charlie, and finally looked disappointed and a little inclined to yawn. It was not until Lady Haigh ventured on a civil inquiry as to the reason of this flattering and unlooked-for visit that he brightened up.
“I want mademoiselle,” he answered, becoming animated at once. “Where is she? I came to fetch her. What have you done with her?” and he looked at Charlie again, in a puzzled and suspicious way.
Happily it was just at this moment that Cecil and Mrs Hagopidan returned to the room, the latter with her arm linked in Cecil’s, and at the sight, Azim Bey’s face beamed. He rose from his seat and walked, for his innate dignity forbade his running, to meet them.
“Oh, mademoiselle,” he cried, “I am so lonely! There have never been two such long days since Baghdad was built. I am desolate without you. I have teased Ayesha, I have had two of the servants beaten, I have been very bad. Now come back.”
“Not yet, Bey,” said Cecil, somewhat vexed, and yet touched by the eagerness of the little fellow’s tone; “I can’t break up Lady Haigh’s party in the middle of the evening. But you would like to stay, wouldn’t you, and see how we keep Christmas in England? You have often asked me about it, you know.”
“And if Lady Haigh doesn’t mind, we will play some of the old Christmas games,” put in Charlie, who was very much vexed, and not at all touched, but wanted to make the best of the matter.
“You may play at Christmas games, M. le docteur, if you like,” responded Azim Bey, fixing a stony gaze on Charlie, “but mademoiselle shall sit by me and explain them all. She shall not play your forfeits, your kissing under the mistletoe, with you.”
“I never suggested that she should—in public, at any rate,” returned Charlie, almost overcome by the idea of his kissing Cecil under the mistletoe for Azim Bey’s edification. “I suppose you think that such a proceeding would need a good deal of explanation, Bey?”
“Madame,” said Azim Bey to Lady Haigh, turning in disgust from Charlie’s flippancy, “may I ask that you will have the kindness to let a chair be brought for mademoiselle, that she may sit beside me?”
“Bey! Lady Haigh is standing. I cannot sit down until she does,” said Cecil, and her pupil groaned, and requested that a chair might be placed for Lady Haigh on the other side of him. Then, with Charlie as master of the revels, the games began. Urged by an agonised whisper from their leader, “For goodness’ sake, you fellows, let us send this child home in a good temper,” the other young men threw themselves nobly into the fray, and did their best to induct the bewildered Greek and Armenian guests into the mysteries of blindman’s-buff and general post. Meanwhile, Azim Bey sat very upright on his chair, demanding from Cecil copious explanations of all that he witnessed, and criticising the players liberally. Mrs Hagopidan he was at first inclined to admire, but when he found that she was Cecil’s friend he became jealous, and refused to have anything to say to her, at which the lively little lady laughed as an excellent joke. Except for this, however, Azim Bey seemed to enjoy the evening, if no one else did, for it accorded exactly with his tastes and his ideas of pleasure to sit still and look on while others supplied amusement for him. At length the games came to a close, and Lady Haigh carried off Cecil to don her Palace dress once more. When she came out of her room, with the great white sheet over her arm, ready to put on, Charlie was on the verandah waiting for her, and Lady Haigh discreetly returned into the room for something she had forgotten.
“I couldn’t let you go without one more word,” he said. “You must let me give you this, dear.”
It was a curiously wrought ring, set with pearls and rubies in a quaint design, which produced the effect of two serpents twining round one another, and Charlie explained that he had bought it in Basra two years before. He did not mention that he had intended to offer it to her then, had not Lady Haigh’s cruel fiat intervened, but Cecil understood what he did not say, and let him put it on her finger. But after a moment she started and took it off.
“I mustn’t wear it yet, Charlie. You know that Azim Bey hasn’t heard anything about our engagement, and I shall have to break it to him carefully. I shouldn’t like him to find it out for himself, for it would hurt his feelings so dreadfully to think I hadn’t told him, and he would notice the ring at once and guess what it meant. I must choose a favourable time for telling him, and try to bring him round to take it pleasantly. I should be afraid he will be rather hard to persuade; he is so fond of me, you know.”
“So am I,” said Charlie, “and I don’t see what that wretched child has to do with it. If only I could have got back yesterday, and saved you from three more years of slavery!”
“Don’t be too sure you could have done it,” said Cecil. “A duty is a duty, you know, and I have a duty to Azim Bey.”
“And so you have to me. But I’m not going to be selfish, Cecil. You have made me happier to-night than I could ever have hoped or deserved to be, and if I couldn’t wait ten years for you, if it was necessary, I should be a fool and a brute. Besides, after going through the last two years I know how to be thankful for what I have got. You don’t know how bad I felt when any of the other fellows spoke to you.”
“Did you?” said Cecil. “Do you know, I should have thought you had taken good care that they shouldn’t have the chance.”
“What! have I been such a dog in the manger as all that?” cried Charlie, aghast. “Did I worry you, Cecil? But still you let me do it.”
“You see, I took an interest in you,” said Cecil, calmly. “Lady Haigh commended you to my care in a sort of way.”
“Lady Haigh is reluctantly compelled to ask you what time of night you imagine it to be, good people,” said a voice from within the room, and the two on the verandah started guiltily.
“She’s just ready, Cousin Elma,” said Charlie, taking the sheet from Cecil’s arm, and offering to help her put it on. But he was not an expert lady’s-maid, and the process took a considerable time—still, even if his face did approach hers more nearly than was absolutely necessary, they were standing in deep shadow, and there was nobody to see.
And Cecil was duly mounted on her donkey, and escorted to the gate by Sir Dugald, and rode back to the Palace with Azim Bey at her side, feeling that she did not dare to look at him lest her eyes should tell their own happy story. For once she felt thankful for the protection of the veil, and drew it closely over her flushed face, wondering that the boy’s glances did not penetrate even this defence.
At the Residency, meanwhile, Charlie was pouring out his tale to Lady Haigh, assuring her incoherently that he was at once the happiest and the least deserving man in the whole world, his cousin alternately corroborating and contradicting him. When she had heard all he had to tell, Lady Haigh went away to the office where Sir Dugald was sitting alone, immersed once more in his daily work after the frivolity of the evening, and reading a despatch which had just arrived by special courier. He looked up with puckered brow as his wife came softly in.
“I am overwhelmed with business, Elma,” he said, as a gentle hint to her to be brief.
“I know, dear; I won’t keep you,” she replied, ruthlessly demolishing the barricade of reports and despatch-boxes with which he had fortified himself, and settling herself where she could see his face, “though I’m sure you had better leave it now and get a good night’s rest. You would be much fresher in the morning. But that wasn’t what I came to tell you. Cecil and Charlie are engaged.”
“Pair of fools!” said Sir Dugald, with his eyes on the despatch.
“Dugald!” cried Lady Haigh, with deep reproach in her tones. “I think they are made for one another.”
“I think they are made to create trouble for other people,” said Sir Dugald. “Now, Elma, I have always regarded you as the most sensible woman of my acquaintance. Look at the matter in a sensible light, and don’t talk cant. Can you honestly tell me that you don’t think Miss Anstruther, with her position and capabilities, a fool for throwing herself away on a man like the doctor?”
“He is a dear good fellow,” said Lady Haigh, warmly.
“No doubt, but that’s all you can say for him. And look at him. He has just settled down well here, and then he goes and unsettles himself by this engagement, which is pretty sure to get him into trouble at the Palace. Of course it need not, but with his genius for getting into hot water you may be sure it will.”
“But would you have had them wait three years more?” asked Lady Haigh.
“Certainly not. It is preposterous that he should think of her at all. I should have some respect for Miss Anstruther’s judgment if she had chosen Rossiter. He is a fine fellow, if you like, with some chances of success, and she could have had him for the trouble of holding up a finger.”
“But would you have had her hold up a finger to Captain Rossiter when she was in love with Charlie?” inquired Lady Haigh.
“My dear Elma, I don’t think you quite see my point,” said Sir Dugald, with exceeding mildness. “I consider that it shows a lack of good sense in Miss Anstruther to have fallen in love, as you phrase it, with your cousin at all. To see a girl throwing away her chances is a thing I detest. And now I really must prepare the draft of the answer to this despatch.” This time Lady Haigh accepted her dismissal, and retired, a little saddened, but by no means convinced.
All unconscious of the unpalatable criticism her engagement had excited, Cecil rose the next morning prepared to take the first favourable opportunity of breaking the news to her pupil; but she was somewhat startled when he himself, in the midst of his lessons, paved the way for the disclosure.
“Mademoiselle,” he said, suddenly, looking up from the essay he was writing on the character of Peter the Great, “what makes you so happy?”
“Am I any happier than usual, Bey?” asked Cecil, with a start and a blush. Her pupil studied her face curiously and deliberately.
“Yes, mademoiselle, I am sure of it. When we were out in the garden an hour ago, you walked as though you wished to dance, and you were all the time singing tunes in a whisper, and just now you sat like this, and looked at the wall and smiled,” and Azim Bey supported his chin upon one hand, and pursed up his solemn little face into a ludicrous imitation of Cecil’s far-away gaze and the smile that had accompanied it.
“Dear me, Bey, how closely you watch me!” said Cecil, uncomfortably, feeling that she was not carrying out her determination of the night before at all in the proper way. “I am afraid you have not been working very hard. How far have you got with Peter?”
“I have finished all but his influence upon the Greek Church, mademoiselle. You looked so happy that I felt I must stop to ask you about it. But I will finish Peter, and then we can have some more talk.”
“Don’t you think I ought to be happy to be back here after being away for two whole days?” asked Cecil, lightly, trying to turn aside the subject with a laugh; but Azim Bey bent upon her a severe gaze from under his black brows, and answered solemnly—
“No, mademoiselle; for I watched your face when you went away, and it was not sad. I am convinced that your happiness has nothing to do with me. Now I will finish my essay.”
And having succeeded in making his governess uncomfortable, he applied himself once more to his writing, feeling, no doubt, a certain satisfaction in seeing that she was beginning to look worried and anxious instead of happy. She knew him well in these impracticable moods, when he would exhibit an impish power of detecting the things which he was not meant to see, and delighted in sweeping away conventional disguises, and she feared that he suspected what had taken place, and meant to make her task of telling him about it as difficult as he could. He finished his essay in due time, fastened the pages neatly together, and presented the roll to her with a polite bow, then tidied and closed his desk, all in grim silence, while Cecil waited expectantly for what he would say next. For the moment he seemed to have forgotten the matter, however, for he called to the servants to spread a carpet for him beside the brazier, and to bring some cushions for mademoiselle, and also to replenish the glowing charcoal, for it was a cold day for Baghdad. When his orders had been carried out, he turned to Cecil, and invited her to come down from her desk, and to sit by the brazier a little and warm herself. Pupil and governess generally took a short rest of this kind in the middle of the morning, and Cecil was wont to regard it as a very pleasant time, when bits from the latest magazines and papers which had reached her might be read and discussed, and Azim Bey’s critical faculty guided in the right direction.
“Captain Rossiter lent me a new magazine yesterday, which had just been sent him from home,” she said, willing to delay her important communication until her pupil was in a more accommodating mood, “and I think you would like to see it, Bey. I will send Um Yusuf for it, if you like.”
“Thank you, mademoiselle, but I think I had rather talk to-day instead of reading,” replied Azim Bey; and as Cecil took her seat upon the cushions, he sat down upon his carpet on the other side of the brazier and looked at her. He had proposed to talk, but the conversation did not seem to be forthcoming; he only sat still, with his great black eyes fixed upon his governess. Cecil grew nervous, and perceived that she had not succeeded in diverting his mind from the former subject after all. It was foolish to feel perturbed merely on account of this, however, and she resolved to seize the opportunity and say what she had intended.
“You asked me just now why I seemed so happy, Bey, and I will tell you. I am very happy, though I did not know I was showing it so plainly. You have read in books about people’s being engaged?”
“Yes, mademoiselle,” responded her pupil.
“Well, how would you like it if I told you that I was engaged?”
“I should be deeply interested, mademoiselle,” he replied, with cold politeness. Cecil sighed. He was evidently determined not to be sympathetic. She must try and begin on another tack.
“You like me to be happy, don’t you, Bey? Supposing that there was a very good, nice man whom I liked very much, and who—well, who thought he liked me very much, and that he wanted me to be engaged to him, and there was no reason why we should not be engaged, what then?”
“And as to yourself, mademoiselle?”
“Oh, supposing of course that I was willing,” said Cecil, hastily; “I said that. It wouldn’t make any difference to you, you know. I should stay with you for the three years more, exactly as I promised, and only go when you didn’t want me any longer. Well, Bey, supposing that all this were to happen, there would be no reason why you should mind, would there? I don’t see how it would affect you at all.”
“I should have him killed,” observed Azim Bey, calmly.
“Have whom killed?” demanded Cecil, somewhat startled.
“That man, mademoiselle,—that wicked, wretched man! I would give all I had to get him killed.”
“Nonsense, Bey! We are not in the ‘Arabian Nights’ now.”
“No, mademoiselle, but we are in Baghdad.”
“I shouldn’t have thought you were so silly, Bey. Why should he be killed? He would have done you no harm.”
“He would, indeed, mademoiselle. You are my own mademoiselle, and you shall not be thinking of this—this imaginary person. If he comes, I will have him killed.”
“I thought you cared a little for me, Bey, now that we have been two years together,” said Cecil, with deep reproach. “And yet you talk like this of having an innocent person whom I loved killed, just because I loved him and he loved me.”
“But that is the very reason, mademoiselle. You would marry him and go away to your England again, and I want you to stay here in Baghdad, and be always ready when I want to ask you things. When I am married, I shall say to Safieh Khanum, ‘If you wish to please me, ask Mdlle. Antaza’s advice about everything, and you are sure to be right.’ So you see, mademoiselle, I shall always want you, and you must not go away. Why, I heard Masûd telling you how rude I was to him yesterday, and how I teased Ayesha and Basmeh Kalfa just because you were away.”
“But I can’t stay with you always,” said Cecil, vexed, and yet half-laughing at the tone of pride in which he spoke, “so we must hope you will improve before I leave you. If I never married at all, I should go home when my five years here were over. When you are married, Safieh Khanum will know very well how to manage things without my advice. Don’t you see that it wouldn’t do at all for me to be interfering in her household affairs? Besides, Bey, think how selfish you are. You would like me to lose the very thing that is making me so happy just now, because you would have to do without me.”
“If any one comes, and wishes to be engaged to you, mademoiselle, I shall have him killed,” repeated Azim Bey, doggedly. Cecil lost her temper.
“Very well, Bey; if you are going to behave so foolishly, and talk so childishly of what you know nothing about, I am not going to tell you anything more. You may find things out for yourself, if you like.”
And Cecil walked away to her own room, and returned with Charlie’s ring shining on her finger, a perpetual defiance and reminder to Azim Bey.
CHAPTER XVII.
AN IDYLL, AND ITS ENDING.
After all, the tender care Cecil had shown for her pupil’s feelings, almost disregarding Charlie’s in comparison with them, was not only without result, but quite unnecessary. Azim Bey had read in her face as she said good-night what had happened, and neither silence nor denials on her part would have had the slightest effect in shaking his belief in his discovery. Consequently her vain attempts to mollify him were regarded with contempt as signs of conscious guilt, and the rupture which concluded them only increased his wrath against Charlie, over whom he had now been forced to quarrel with mademoiselle. He was obliged to do his lessons as usual, but at other times he sat apart and meditated vengeance.
His mind was full of schemes—indeed the only drawback was their number and variety. He intended fully to get rid of Charlie, and to punish Cecil for engaging herself to him; but as soon as he had settled upon a means of doing this, a new and splendid idea was sure to come into his head, and he would devote himself to working it out until it in its turn was supplanted by a better. There was another difficulty common to all these plans. It seemed absolutely impossible to carry them out, situated as he was, under Cecil’s charge and Masûd’s guardianship. Even when he had patched up a hollow peace with Cecil, cemented by a mutual understanding that the subject of her engagement was not to be mentioned between them, this difficulty confronted him still, and it was therefore with a joy born of hope and confidence that he found M. Karalampi one day in the Pasha’s anteroom. Here was the man who could do what he wanted, and M. Karalampi was astonished to find himself seized upon and dragged into a corner, and adjured in excited whispers to get rid of that wretch, that criminal of an English doctor who had dared to engage himself to Mdlle. Antaza.
M. Karalampi’s first feeling, which he was careful to conceal, was one of helpless bewilderment, but of this Azim Bey had no idea. To him, the Greek, backed up by all the help he could easily command, was a deus ex machinâ who could accomplish his purpose in the twinkling of an eye. M. Karalampi knew better the difficulties of the situation. Murder was out of the question, and so was kidnapping. Either, or an attempt at either, would set the Balio Bey and all the English on the alert, and lead to the discovery of the instigator of the deed, and M. Karalampi was not at all inclined to compromise his position, either with the Pasha or with the foreign consuls, for the sake of Azim Bey. No; whatever was to be done must be done by careful diplomacy and working underground, and for this time would be necessary. But to say so to Azim Bey would mean that the boy would fly off at a tangent to some other person who might be inclined to help him, and this M. Karalampi could not allow. Almost simultaneously two plans formed themselves in his brain, one for getting rid of Charlie, the other for gaining time from Azim Bey, and he put the second into execution at once. Lowering his voice mysteriously, and entreating pardon for casting a doubt on the correctness of the Bey Effendi’s information, he ventured to inquire whether he were absolutely certain that it was Dr Egerton to whom mademoiselle was engaged? The doctor and she had not seen one another for a long time before Christmas, whereas Captain Rossiter was at the Residency all the time. It was known that the Balio Bey thought very highly of him, and it was whispered that he himself thought very highly of mademoiselle: indeed M. Karalampi had heard it said that he was going to marry her. Was Azim Bey sure that it was not Captain Rossiter to whom she was engaged? Of course M. Karalampi could not guarantee the authenticity of his own information, but it would certainly be very annoying to get rid of the wrong man and find the evil untouched.
M. Karalampi knew very well the falsity of the suggestion he offered, but it served his present purpose admirably. Azim Bey was struck dumb. He beat his brains to try and find out why he had fixed upon Charlie as the happy man, for he had certainly never been told that he was; but he could find nothing but that early incursion into the harem, and the little scene he had witnessed at the Residency on the day of the riot, to justify his suspicions. Meanwhile, as M. Karalampi pointed out respectfully, these were only proofs that Dr Egerton was in love with mademoiselle, which no one had ever doubted, while it was undeniable that Captain Rossiter had rushed to her rescue with the utmost eagerness when he heard she was in danger. Azim Bey felt nonplussed. He could only promise that he would do his best to discover the truth—he must be able to do so without much difficulty—and adjure his fellow-conspirator to be in readiness to act the moment he let him know who was to be assailed.
They parted, and Azim Bey set himself to his task; but it was more difficult than he had imagined it would be. Cecil’s lips were sealed, at any rate to him, on the subject of her engagement. If he attempted to approach it, she froze instantly, and he could not obtain from her the slightest clue to the mystery, while all his efforts to pump Um Yusuf found her as impenetrable as the grave. It so happened that for a considerable time he met no one who had sufficient interest in or knowledge of the matter to enlighten him. He felt convinced that he could have got the truth out of either Charlie or Captain Rossiter by means of a few questions, but neither of them came in his way, and though he saw Sir Dugald once or twice, the Balio Bey was not the kind of person to approach on such a quest. Much time was consumed in these delays, and winter had passed, and spring was over all the plains, before the boy’s curiosity could be gratified.