Cecil dropped the letter with a groan, which attracted the attention of Sir Dugald, who had considerately been discussing his own letters with Lady Haigh while she read it.
“Anything wrong, Miss Anstruther?” he asked, kindly.
“Our letters!” groaned Cecil, “his and mine. Neither of us has ever received one of them, and we have both written once a-week.”
“This is serious indeed,” said Sir Dugald. “About sixty letters altogether, and spread over more than six months! Well, it is quite evident what has happened, though I confess I should scarcely have thought the game worth the candle in this case. They have been tampering with the mail-bags again.”
“Tampering—who?” cried Cecil.
“Interested parties, I presume,” said Sir Dugald, drily. “Some post-office clerk who is learning English and likes to study it by means of other people’s letters, possibly, but I should scarcely think so. It’s an old trick, and they have tried it several times here, but not just lately.”
“But can you get the letters back?” asked Cecil.
“Scarcely, I’m afraid. They would be much too compromising to be allowed to remain in the thief’s possession. No; but we may be able to stop the robberies in future. I will communicate with Constantinople at once, and set the Embassy to work. Shall we make the abstraction of your love-letters a casus belli, Miss Anstruther?”
“It isn’t a laughing matter to me,” said Cecil, dolefully.
“No, nor to poor Egerton either,” said Sir Dugald. “It was a most happy thing that he thought of writing to you under cover to me, or we might never have found out how the trick was worked. You see they have simply suppressed all Egerton’s letters to you, and all yours directed to him. Your home letters have arrived as usual, have they not? I thought so. Well, suppose you set Egerton’s mind at rest by telegraphing him a Christmas message at once. I think I can guarantee that it won’t go astray from here.”
Cecil accepted gratefully Sir Dugald’s suggestion, and despatched a sufficiently lengthy message. This done, she had leisure to think over the strange fate of her letters. She could not doubt that their disappearance had been arranged by the same hand that had contrived Charlie’s removal from Baghdad, and yet it seemed scarcely likely that Azim Bey would have thought of such a thing. Charlie’s suggestion as to M. Karalampi she scouted at once, for what motive could he have for abstracting her letters, even though he had an old grudge against her, and no liking for Charlie? But M. Karalampi was destined to be brought to her mind once again that evening, when she went to have tea with Mrs Hagopidan, of whom she had seen but little of late.
“So I hear you have set up another admirer, Cecil?” said the hostess, when she had inquired and heard the latest news from Whitcliffe.
“I don’t know what you mean, Myrta,” said Cecil, laughing.
“My dear girl, you must have noticed that M. Karalampi does you the honour to admire you. Of course it’s impossible that you could have the bad taste not to admire him.”
“I think you forget that I am engaged,” said Cecil, in her stateliest manner.
“Not at all, dear, nor does he. He only thinks that it is a merciful dispensation of Providence which has removed Dr Egerton from Baghdad and left the way clear for him. They didn’t love each other, those two. Really, Cecil, I could have danced at times to see Dr Egerton freeze him with a look, and to behold the murderous glances M. Karalampi bestowed upon him behind his back. He daren’t have looked at you then,—it would have been as much as his life was worth,—but now he has a fair field. How do you like him, dear?”
“Myrta, you know that if there is a person I detest, it’s that man. I wish you would not make up these things about him. I don’t like it.”
“But I am perfectly in earnest, I assure you—much more so than he is. Of course he only intends a flirtation, just to pass the time, for he has a wife somewhere. Some people say he has a wife in a good many places, but no doubt that is merely scandal. But seriously, Cecil, the creature has the conceit to believe that now that Dr Egerton is safely out of the way, his own charms will prove irresistible. I believe he has a bet with young Vogorides on the subject. His sister, Arghiro, let something drop about it when she was here yesterday, and I thought I would give you warning.”
“Thank you, Myrta. I don’t think M. Karalampi will make any more bets about me.”
“But you won’t make a scene, Cecil?”
“I don’t think I am likely to want the world to know how M. Karalampi thinks of me,” said Cecil, as she rose to go, and her hostess could learn no more from her. Nor, to her great disappointment, did she ever succeed in finding out the exact results of her warning. Whether Cecil snubbed M. Karalampi in public, or administered a few home-truths to him in private, Mrs Hagopidan never knew, but M. Karalampi’s visits to the Residency became once more few and far between, and Arghiro Vogorides let slip that her brother had won his bet, but could not get the money paid. That was all, and Cecil went on her way satisfied, and unconscious that her own name was added, deeply underlined, to the long list in M. Karalampi’s black-books. In this list there were to be found already all the names of those from whom he had received slights, or against whom he had conceived a grudge, and also of some of those whom he had injured, and therefore found it impossible to forgive. In which category the Pasha’s name appeared it would be difficult to say,—possibly in all three,—but both that of the Um-ul-Pasha and that of Azim Bey might have been found in the first. Most of M. Karalampi’s employers were in his black-books, and it was one of the chief beauties of his peculiar method of working that he was able to play them off one against another, and to punish them all in the course of business.
The account against Azim Bey was allowed to stand over for a while just now. By way of making himself agreeable to all parties, M. Karalampi had done what the Bey wanted, and succeeded in banishing Charlie from Baghdad. He had even improved upon his instructions by arranging for the abstraction of the letters, a master-stroke which delighted Azim Bey when it was communicated to him; but now he returned to his former employers, whose interests were by no means identical with those of Cecil’s pupil. The Um-ul-Pasha was once more embarked on a plot in favour of her eldest grandson, but this time M. Karalampi held the threads in his own hands, and the result bade fair to be a work of art. The old vulgar methods of secret assassination, which had been attempted in vain two years before, were decisively dropped, and M. Karalampi luxuriated in the employment of moral suasion alone. He could set strings in motion at Constantinople which would ensure the Pasha’s ruin if needful, and it was on this fact that he relied. At the proper moment the question would be put before him, and he must choose between disgrace and dishonour. Unless he broke his promise to Azim Bey’s dead mother, and made the outlawed Hussein Bey his heir, the intriguers who surrounded the Padishah would bring about his downfall. In either case M. Karalampi would be happy and victorious. Already he was gloating in anticipation over the thought of his triumph, already he imagined himself fingering the reward of his unrighteousness, when a single unlooked-for event dashed all his plans to the ground.
After spending some time comparatively quietly in the hills, Hussein Bey had recommenced his raids into the low country, and his practice of exacting blackmail from travellers. Attacking one day a rich caravan which had crossed the mountains in safety from Persia, he met with an unexpected resistance, which was speedily accounted for by the arrival of a body of the Pasha’s troops, who had been on the march from one town to another, and to whom the merchants had sent a swift messenger imploring help. The robber band was hopelessly outnumbered by the combined forces of the troops and the armed servants of the travellers, and a short conflict ended in the death of Hussein Bey and the utter defeat of his followers. In this way Ahmed Khémi Pasha was freed from the son who had for so long been a thorn in his side, and the Bey’s mother and grandmother and their fellow-plotters were left without an object for their schemes. All their arrangements were useless, and they recognised this fact after a good deal of mutual recrimination on the subject of the delay which had occurred. It was undeniable that Hussein Bey’s death had been so utterly unexpected that the wisest head could not have arranged the dénoûment of the plot in time, and nothing more could be done.
CHAPTER XXI.
CONFEDERATES.
After this, things went on quietly enough until it was a year and a half since Charlie had left Baghdad. Only a year now remained of Cecil’s stay at the Palace, and Azim Bey was growing so tall and manly that she felt it was quite time he should soon leave her care. He was just fourteen and a half, but looked much older than his age, and he had made wonderful progress in his studies. He was an excellent talker and a most agreeable companion, with a wide theoretical acquaintance with modern political and social problems, and a deep practical knowledge of Eastern ways of settling them. There was something uncanny in such shrewdness in a boy of his age, and fond though Cecil was of him, she could now never quite trust him. The subject of Charlie had not again been mentioned between them, although Cecil sometimes felt curious to know whether her pupil had got over his childish dislike. Since the discovery of the fate of their first six months’ letters, she and Charlie had corresponded with more success, owing to the precautions they had adopted. Charlie’s letters were addressed to Sir Dugald at the Residency, and Cecil posted hers there after Sir Dugald had written the address. The abstraction of the earlier epistles had been traced to an Armenian post-office clerk who had died in the interval between the discovery of the theft and the investigation subsequently made into it, and although for this reason no punishment could be inflicted, the desires of any who might be anxious to tread in the offender’s footsteps were frustrated. Whatever the suspicions of the would-be thieves might be, they dared not stop a letter addressed by or to the Balio Bey himself.
There were other ways of getting news, notably by means of letters concealed in parcels, or brought by friends from England, and it was by the former means that Cecil received the season’s greetings on the occasion of her fourth Christmas in Baghdad. A great box was sent out from Whitcliffe to Mrs Yehudi, containing presents for the school-children’s Christmas-tree, and among the presents was a letter for Cecil, very carefully and cunningly hidden. She tore it open eagerly, wondering why it should be sent with such special care, but found nothing of any unusual importance until she came to the last paragraph, which filled her with a vague dread.
“I don’t feel as though I should be able to stay quiet in England all next year. The travel-spirit is coming upon me again, and drawing me Eastward ho! Perhaps it is not only that, but the longing to see some one in Baghdad, which is drawing me—at any rate, if you don’t hear from me for a time, you can imagine me anywhere between Beyrout and Karachi, or between Resht and Aden. But perhaps I shall see you, my dearest girl, without your knowing it. I wouldn’t get you into trouble for the world, but I would do anything short of that just to see you for a moment. I should feel happier about you, and know that that abominable child had not quite worn you out. Don’t look out for me, for it’s no good. If I come, you won’t know it, but I will tell you about it afterwards, and we will laugh over it together.”
What could Charlie be intending to do? Surely he could not mean to try and enter Baghdad again, in the face of the danger he had scarcely escaped, but what else did his words signify? He must be only joking, trying to make her look out for him, for the foolishness of an attempt to return to the city must be patent even to his mind. There was no need to be alarmed, nor to frighten Lady Haigh; but Cecil did not feel happy until she had written a long letter scolding Charlie for his mad project, and forbidding him to undertake it. Unhappily, before the letter reached England, Charlie had started for the East, but Cecil was not in a position to know this, as will presently appear.
When Hussein Bey died, it seemed as though the Pasha’s family troubles were over, for a time at least, and he looked forward hopefully to a year of domestic peace. Now that she had no one for whom to plot, it was probable that his mother would soon tire of maintaining an irreconcilable attitude, and consent to offer terms of accommodation. The only cloud on the horizon was caused by the behaviour of Jamileh Khanum, who had now a little son of her own, a fact which produced exactly the result which Azim Bey had foreseen long ago. For her boy’s sake, Jamileh Khanum was frantically jealous of his elder brother, and every sign of favour bestowed by the Pasha on Azim Bey, every expense incurred on his account, furnished her with a text for a passionate attack on her husband. For months she teased him at every available opportunity to procure a French governess for little Najib Bey, but in vain. The Pasha had had some experience of the difficulty of keeping the peace between dependents of different European nationalities, and he had no desire that the tranquillity of the Palace should be disturbed by the mutual jealousies and patriotic squabbles of Mdlle. Antaza and any French lady. Jamileh Khanum might have an English nurse for the baby if she liked, and as soon as he was old enough he might share Azim Bey’s lessons with Mdlle. Antaza. But both these offers were scouted by the indignant mother. Her boy to share the instructions of that insolent Englishwoman, in company with the son of that wild Arab creature (might her bones not rest in peace!)—never! Rather should he grow up ignorant, a living monument of his father’s parsimony and injustice. She had a good deal more to say on the subject, and was proceeding to say it, when her husband, fortunately for himself, was called away.
Much worried by this fresh piece of trouble, Ahmed Khémi Pasha lent a ready ear to a message which reached him shortly before the great Turkish festival of Moharram Ghün. His mother sent to say that she was now advanced in years, a poor widow bereft of her best-beloved grandson, and she wished to be reconciled at the festival to the surviving members of her family. The Um-ul-Pasha was given to these reconciliations, which were generally as shortlived as they were sudden, but her son was touched by the terms of her message, and prepared to meet her half-way. Accordingly he went to see her in the most filial manner possible, was received with all due honour and affection, and invited to partake of coffee and sweetmeats. During this repast his mother electrified him still further by expressing a desire for reconciliation also with Azim Bey. The Pasha caught eagerly at the idea, for he was well aware of the scandal caused in the city by his divided house, and he proposed to fetch his son at once to pay his respects to his grandmother. But the Um-ul-Pasha was not inclined to be in such a hurry. She had a condition to make before she would consent to a reconciliation, and she brought it forward at once. It was nothing less than a plain demand for Mdlle. Antaza’s dismissal.
Without giving her son time to express his astonishment or his dismay, the old lady hurried on to give the reasons for her request. The presence of the Frangi woman in the Palace was a direct insult to herself, since she had always opposed her coming; her very position in the household was a scandal, for she was technically in the harem, and yet could visit her European friends when she liked. Moreover, Mdlle. Antaza had conducted herself most insolently towards the Um-ul-Pasha during the whole of her stay in Baghdad, had refused the husband graciously recommended to her, and had calmly ignored the great lady’s existence ever since. This sounded so very plausible when the little episode of the attempted poisoning was forgotten, that the Um-ul-Pasha paused to admire her own eloquence, but hurried on again when she perceived that her son was about to speak. She had kept her chief argument until last, and now produced it with obvious pride. To dismiss mademoiselle at once would be a great saving of expense. If she remained a year longer, her five years’ engagement would have been fulfilled, and she would become entitled to the bonus promised on its termination, while if she were sent away now for misconduct, this extra sum would be saved.
“But there is no misconduct. What charge have you against her?” asked the Pasha, blankly.
“Invent one. There’s nothing so easy,” replied his mother, instantly. “Karalampi——” she perceived her mistake, and hastily altered the form of the sentence. “I know of a person who will arrange everything, and support it by unimpeachable evidence.”
The Pasha sat and pondered the matter deeply, while his mother went on to declare that the Frangi woman had ruined Azim Bey. She had made him into an Englishman, and there was nothing of a Turk left about him. Thus she ran on, with great richness of language and illustration, while the Pasha slowly made up his mind. It was no sentiment of chivalry for a woman fighting the battle of life alone in a foreign country that influenced him finally, but rather a prudent feeling of reluctance to part with a valuable dependent as the price of a reconciliation which could not, in all probability, last more than a month. Then there was the matter of economy. To escape the necessity of paying the bonus would certainly be a saving, but would it be possible to get up an accusation of misconduct which could really be sustained? He had a very clear impression, springing from what he knew of the absolute blamelessness of Cecil’s behaviour during her life in the harem, that it would not. To bring such an accusation, and then to fail to substantiate it, would be nothing short of ruinous. He thought apprehensively of the Courts, of the impression in England, where he desired to stand well in public opinion, and he thought above all things of the Balio Bey. Sir Dugald was certainly given to counselling economy, but it was scarcely to be expected that he would approve this particular way of exercising it, while he would be certain to resent fiercely any charge made against Mdlle. Antaza, an Englishwoman and his wife’s friend, and when he was officially angry he could be very terrible indeed. It was this thought which decided the Pasha at last. He could not face the Balio Bey in such a case, with the knowledge of a trumped-up slander on his conscience, and he felt shrewdly that in maintaining his position and carrying on his Government Sir Dugald’s countenance and approval was of more vital consequence than his mother’s. This he told her, as delicately as he could, and then quitted her presence, after a few vain attempts to soften her resentment, which was loud and voluble. Had he guessed what her next step would be, it is possible that he might have yielded abjectly even then, but he departed unconscious of what was in store for him in the immediate future.
It would, indeed, have taken a shrewd observer of human nature to forecast the Um-ul-Pasha’s next move. Having failed to secure her end, she wasted no time in negotiations, but threw herself into the arms, figuratively speaking, of Jamileh Khanum, with whom she had been at daggers drawn ever since the young wife had entered the harem. Angry with her husband and jealous for her boy, Jamileh Khanum displayed no inclination to stand upon ceremony when she saw the prospect of gaining such a powerful ally, and the reconciliation was sealed over the sleeping form of little Najib Bey, upon whom his grandmother lavished all the vituperative epithets that occurred to her, for the purpose of averting the evil-eye. Before the evening of that day mother and grandmother had united in a league against Azim Bey. The son of the Hajar woman was to be displaced at any cost, and before another day was over, M. Karalampi had been informed that his services were retained on behalf of this new claimant to the rights of Hussein Bey.
Unfortunately, from the ladies’ point of view, the negotiations which had so nearly been crowned with success in the former case had been allowed entirely to fall through, and a change in the Padishah’s entourage had removed the persons on whose help M. Karalampi had relied. It was necessary to begin the work all over again, and to set about it in a different way, but M. Karalampi still contrived to keep himself in the background, while all that the distracted Pasha knew was that his mother and his favourite wife were now bosom friends, and that this boded mischief to his elder son. He could act decisively enough, however, when the issue was a clear one, and he took his measures at once. Azim Bey should accompany him on the progress he was about to make through the country inhabited by the Kurdish tribes, in order to keep him out of harm’s way, and Jamileh Khanum should come also, that she and the Um-ul-Pasha might not have the opportunity of weaving their plots together in his absence. The plan was no sooner decided upon than it was put into execution. As before, Cecil and Azim Bey, with their attendants, received orders to start first, spending a few days at Said Bey’s house at Hillah, where the Pasha’s great cavalcade would pick them up.
Cecil heard this news with dismay. It seemed to her that everything depended upon her being at Baghdad, in case Charlie really carried out his foolhardy plan, for if she saw him she might succeed in turning him back at the threshold of his adventure. But Lady Haigh, who knew that the last two summers in Baghdad had tried her very much, was delighted that this one should be passed in the cooler atmosphere of the Kurdish uplands, and commended the Pasha’s wisdom. Cecil said nothing to her of the reason she had for wishing to remain in the city. On the one side was the possibility of endangering Charlie by attracting attention to him should he really enter the country; on the other, the fear of lowering him in Sir Dugald’s eyes by revealing the foolishness to which the Balio Bey would grant no quarter. In spite of his kindness, Cecil resented extremely the contemptuous light in which Sir Dugald continued to regard Charlie, and she was resolved not to give him the chance of thinking him more reckless than he was, in case he decided to forego his scheme.
“I suppose it isn’t possible for a European traveller to come into the pashalik without your knowing it?” she said to Sir Dugald the evening before her departure, with a desire to make everything sure.
“Scarcely,” said Sir Dugald. “They seem invariably to begin their wanderings by getting into trouble with the Turks, and then they write to me to help them out. No vice-consul will do for them, however near at hand—it must be the Consul-General or no one.”
“But suppose they didn’t wish to make themselves prominent, and managed not to get into trouble—in fact, came into the country quite quietly, and did their best to remain unnoticed?”
“Then I should hear of them rather sooner than in the other case,” said Sir Dugald. “English travellers who didn’t bluster or bully the natives would be such a phenomenon that both the Pasha and I should be simply inundated with full, true, and particular accounts of them. It would be evident to the Turkish mind that they were come for no good, and were probably either spies or on the look-out for hidden treasures.”
“But if they were in disguise?” suggested Cecil, bringing forward reluctantly her true fear. Sir Dugald laughed heartily.
“That would be the quickest thing of all,” he said. “An Englishman trying to pass for a native would be spotted immediately. I have known of several cases, and the people take a perverse delight in finding them out. In fact, it’s an infallible means of proclaiming your nationality and attracting attention to pretend to be an oriental. If a man is such a fool as to try it, every person he meets becomes a spy on him at once. It’s natural, of course, for they are afraid he might try to profane their holy places.”
“And if you heard of any one who was trying to pass as a native, what would you do?” asked Cecil.
“Frighten him out of the country if possible, and if not have him here and reason him out,” said Sir Dugald. “In his character as a native he couldn’t venture to resist me, and if he dropped it he would be afraid of his life. I can’t have irresponsible fools coming here and stirring up the fanatics to attempt outrages.”
Cecil was a little comforted by the sense of Sir Dugald’s power which this conversation gave her, and she left Baghdad cheered by the conviction that if Charlie did venture into Turkish Arabia, he would be obliged to quit it very quickly, and with no undue courtesy lavished upon him. In the absence of her own persuasive reasoning, she had considerable faith in Sir Dugald’s certain use of force majeure, and he guessed the real source of her anxiety, and smiled grimly as he promised himself that her confidence in him should be fully justified if it was necessary.
At Hillah Naimeh Khanum received Cecil with open arms. They had not met since Cecil’s visit to the place in the summer of the riot, although Azim Bey had ridden over several times with his father for a short stay. In some way or other Naimeh Khanum had obtained an inkling of her brother’s hatred for Charlie Egerton and its cause, and in the only long conversation she held with Cecil they talked the matter over. Naimeh Khanum had been speaking of Azim Bey’s improvement in appearance and in health, and of the pleasure his progress in his studies gave to the Pasha, and Cecil in return confessed her disappointment with respect to the moral side of his nature.
“But what do you expect?” asked Naimeh Khanum. “Why should he sacrifice his own wishes for your pleasure? What is there in our religion to teach him to deny himself? He is a man, a true believer—what can the happiness of a woman, a Giaour, signify to him?”
“But one might hope,” said Cecil, rather hesitatingly, “that some measure of Christian influence might reach him from all he has read, even without direct teaching.”
Naimeh Khanum shook her head. “You forget the strength of the influences at work in the opposite direction,” she said. “As it is, you have made my brother wiser, more polished, more European, but his character is unchanged. He will take all you can give him, and wear it like a cloak, covering his Eastern nature with it, but he will remain a Turk underneath all the same. His ideals, his views of women, are the same as my father’s—they are not yours. You cannot Europeanise Turkey from the outside.”
“And you, Khanum?” asked Cecil, “do you still feel as you did?”
“The same. I have read your book, and its words are good words, but I have too much to give up. But I must not talk to you about this, mademoiselle. My husband found me reading the book, and he would have taken it away if I had not promised him never to speak about it to any one, especially to you. Ah, mademoiselle, if your people want to make us good and happy, they must teach the women as well as the men, and begin at the heart with both.”
And Cecil could gain no more from her, the rather as they had very little time for private conversation. Azim Bey’s lessons were going on just as if they were still at Baghdad, and Said Bey displayed a disposition to keep his wife from having much to say to the Frangi woman. Moreover, there were some English people at Hillah just now who had come out for the purpose of making excavations among the ruins of Babylon, and had spent much time in measuring and surveying once again the mighty mounds. The work of exploration, carried on throughout the pleasant spring days, was now over for the season, and Professor Howard White and his wife were about to leave Hillah before the summer heat came on, and to return to Baghdad preparatory to sailing for home, but for the moment their path crossed Cecil’s on her way to the Kurdish hills.
Mrs Howard White had lived at Whitcliffe before her marriage, and had been a member of Mr Anstruther’s congregation, and when on a visit to her family, just before starting for Babylonia, she had met Charlie at St Barnabas’ Vicarage, and all these were reasons which made Cecil very desirous of seeing her. It seemed as though Azim Bey guessed this, for he hung about his governess persistently when Mrs Howard White came to call, and anything approaching confidential talk was out of the question. But the professor’s wife read rightly the entreaty in Cecil’s eyes, and an invitation to tea on the last evening of their stay at Hillah gladdened the hearts of both pupil and governess. Azim Bey was eager to inspect Professor Howard White’s instruments, of which he had heard wonderful tales from his brother-in-law, and Cecil, counting upon his insatiable curiosity to keep him safely in the study for a time, away from her, was tremblingly anxious for a little private conversation with her hostess. It was just possible that she might be able to set her heart at rest by assuring her that Charlie had given up his foolhardy plan. To know for certain that he was safely at home in England, absorbed in the repairs of his house and the business of his estate, Cecil felt that she would go through fire and water.
CHAPTER XXII.
A TRIUMPHAL PROCESSION.
Much as Cecil was troubled on Charlie’s account, her worries were not all to be laid to his charge, for the near approach of the journey seemed to have unsettled Azim Bey, and during his last day of lessons he contrived to test his governess’s patience sorely.
“I don’t think we need do lessons to-day, mademoiselle,” he said that morning.
“Why not?” said Cecil. “Come, Bey, here is this new book on Ethics. We will read it together, and I will set you questions on each chapter.”
“I am lazy this morning, mademoiselle, I do not want to work. That fête yesterday was so unutterably tiresome that I went to sleep. I know I did, because the gold-lace on the sleeve of Said Bey’s uniform left a mark upon my face. When I was there, I longed to be in this room reading, yet now that my desire is granted, I don’t wish to read.”
“There is not much use in reading only when you care to do it,” said Cecil, severely. “It will be a useful mental discipline for you to do a good morning’s work.”
“Do you think that kind of discipline is good, mademoiselle?—doing things one does not like, I mean. Because, if it is, one ought to see that other people have plenty of it.”
“They will generally have plenty of it without your providing it for them,” said Cecil, sighing to think how much discipline of the kind her pupil had provided for her already. “You had much better try to make people happier, and leave such discipline alone, except in your own case.”
Azim Bey shook his head. “That would not suit me, mademoiselle. For me, I wish to make people better, and I consider myself peculiarly fitted to see that they undergo the necessary discipline.”
“I consider you peculiarly conceited,” said Cecil, “and I am afraid a great deal of mental discipline will be needed in your case, Bey. But we are wasting time in this discussion. Let us begin.”
Azim Bey took the book and settled down to a quarter of an hour’s steady reading, then looked up, yawned, and showed a disposition to enter on an argument with regard to a point which he and Cecil had often discussed before. Cecil declined rather sharply to begin a fresh controversy, and her pupil returned to his book, only to leave it again in a minute or two. Thus things went on all the morning, affording practical proof that yesterday’s dissipation had not agreed with Azim Bey; and it was the same in the afternoon, when it was time to go to the Howard Whites’. The house they had occupied was already beginning to look dismantled, but the little drawing-room in which the hostess received her guests was still gay with native embroideries and decorated with quaint pieces of pottery and odds and ends of Assyrian sculpture. The usual sitting-room, however, was the vine-shaded terrace, and here Mrs Howard White retired with Cecil, despatching Azim Bey to the study to enjoy himself.
But, unfortunately, Professor Howard White had been obliged to ride out to the mounds with Said Bey, on account of an accusation which had been brought against him of desecrating a native cemetery in their vicinity in the course of his observations, and Azim Bey, disdaining the services of the meek Syrian assistant who offered to show him the instruments, came and sat down on the terrace with Cecil and her hostess and interrupted their talk. It was impossible to speak of Charlie and of Whitcliffe in his presence, and an awkward silence, broken by spasmodic attempts at conversation, fell on the three. It was a relief when one of the servants appeared and told Mrs Howard White that there was a man selling European cutlery and needles in the courtyard, asking whether she would like to have him brought in.
“Oh, if you please, madame, let him come in,” entreated Azim Bey, his usual vivacity returning. “Mademoiselle lost her scissors yesterday, and I have broken my knife, and I want a new one. May the pedlar come in?”
“Oh, certainly. Bring the man in, Habib,” said Mrs Howard White to the servant, and she moved towards the verandah, where there was a table. Presently the pedlar entered, escorted in by two or three of the servants, and by an assistant of his own, who helped to carry his boxes. The two men were in Armenian costume, with high black caps, which marked them as coming from Persia, and they spoke Arabic with the peculiar Persian intonation. When their boxes were opened, the stock-in-trade displayed was so extensive that Azim Bey went into raptures, and his delight even blinded him to the combination of the two obnoxious nationalities, the hated Persian and the despised Armenian, in the persons of the traders. Not less attracted were Um Yusuf and the rest of the women, and while Azim Bey chatted eagerly to the pedlar’s servant over the array of pocket-knives, they gathered round the other box and coveted endless pairs of scissors.
“See, mademoiselle,” said Um Yusuf, taking up a fanciful little needlecase in the shape of a butterfly, “this is a pretty thing. Why not Azim Bey buy it for Basmeh Kalfa? Look, it open, like this.”
“Stay, O my mistress,” interrupted the pedlar; “why shouldest thou spoil my wares? Let thy lady hold it, and I will show her how to open it.”
Um Yusuf put the case into Cecil’s hands, and the vendor raised the flap to show the needles inside. As he did so, his hands met Cecil’s with a peculiar pressure. Startled, she looked into his eyes, and in spite of dyed skin, shaven hair and moustache, recognised Charlie in the Armenian pedlar. The shock was overpowering, and she dropped helplessly on the divan, too much astonished even to cry out. A deadly faintness was stealing over her, the figures around seemed to be whirling in a rainbow-coloured mist, but two words from Charlie brought her back to her senses.
“Don’t faint,” he said, sternly, yet in such a low voice that she alone heard it, and she recalled her wandering wits and rose slowly from the seat where she had sunk down. With trembling hands she turned over the pedlar’s stock, and commented on it with lips quivering with agitation. It was a tremendous effort, but she was nerved to it by the sound of Azim Bey’s voice at the other end of the verandah.
“You see I remembered what you said, and came as a Christian this time,” said Charlie, in a hurried whisper, while he held up a pair of scissors for her inspection. Cecil gave him a look of agony. She dared not speak to him, dared not even let him touch her hand again, and it was misery that they should be so close and yet so widely separated. It was almost a relief when Azim Bey came to complete his purchases by buying a pair of scissors for old Ayesha, for even Charlie would not venture to address her when her pupil was so near. Again the thought of his danger made her turn sick and faint, and she sat down on the divan and listened to the details of the bargaining as though in a dream. At last Azim Bey had chosen all he wanted, the money was paid down, and Mrs Howard White told the servant to show the pedlar out. Cecil breathed freely once more. She had not heard the words which Azim Bey whispered to the negro lad who was officially known as his slipper-bearer.
“Keep those men in sight, and bring me word of whatever they do. If they leave the town without my hearing of it, it shall be upon thy head.”
“Upon my head be it, O my lord,” said the boy, and departed; while Cecil, unsuspecting, though sick at heart and racked with anxiety, accompanied her pupil back to the house of Said Bey.
* * * * * * *
“O, my mistress, here is the Christian pedlar again,” said Habib to Mrs Howard White early the next morning.
“Bring him in,” said the lady, with evident displeasure; and as soon as the order had been obeyed, and Habib was gone, she turned on Charlie.
“Well, Dr Egerton, I hope you are satisfied. You have given poor Miss Anstruther a terrible fright, and probably made her miserable for weeks; and you ought to be now on your way to Baghdad, where, you assured me, you would go as soon as you had caught a glimpse of her.”
“But I am not going to Baghdad,” said Charlie.
“Then I shall simply write to Sir Dugald Haigh and tell him everything,” said Mrs Howard White, angrily.
“Listen to me a moment,” said Charlie. “I was fully intending to start at sunrise this very morning; but last night I was talking to some of Said Bey’s servants, and I hear that the Pasha is to be accompanied on this journey by Karalampi, the Greek of whom I have told you. I cannot, and will not, leave Miss Anstruther exposed to his machinations.”
“This is absurd,” said Mrs Howard White. “Miss Anstruther has succeeded in taking very good care of herself since you left Baghdad, and I should say that she was quite able to do so still. I call it arrant selfishness to keep her tormented with anxiety about you by following the Pasha’s camp, where you can do no good, and may get yourself and her into great trouble. As for saying that it is done on her account, you know that it is simply for an adventure—a lark.”
“It isn’t really, on my word of honour,” said Charlie, quickly. “I promise you, Mrs Howard White, Cecil shan’t see anything of me, and, unless she is in danger, shall never even know that I am near her. I have got permission to follow the Pasha’s caravan—it is quite natural; lots of traders and people are going to do it—for the sake of protection through the mountains, and I shall be among the riffraff at the very end of the procession, while she is among the grandees in front. She will never even hear of me.”
“Then what good can you do?” asked Mrs Howard White.
“I don’t know—just be near in case she needs help, I suppose.”
“You are a very foolish young man,” said the lady, with severity; “and why you should want to help her when she doesn’t need any help, I don’t know. I suppose you will go, since you are set upon it; but remember that I disapprove entirely of the whole thing, and that I would never have helped you to meet her here if I had guessed what you would do.”
Charlie laughed, and took leave of his hostess to prepare his mules for the journey, all unconscious of the fact that at that moment he was the subject of a conversation between Azim Bey and M. Karalampi—the latter having just arrived in the train of the Pasha.
“I tell you, monsieur, he is here!” cried the boy in a frenzy. “I saw him myself, and mademoiselle recognised him. He and his servant are disguised as Armenians from Julfa, and they are selling knives and scissors. I have set the boy Ishak to watch them, and he tells me that they have gained permission to attach themselves to our caravan in traversing the mountains.”
“Ah! With the knowledge of mademoiselle?” asked M. Karalampi.
“No; I am convinced she knows nothing of this. I believe she imagines that he is returning at once to Baghdad.”
“So much the better. And what are your wishes, Bey Effendi?”
“I should like,” said Azim Bey, slowly, as though gloating over each word—“I should like him to be carried off secretly and kept a prisoner until after mademoiselle’s five years here are over, and she has entered into a new agreement to remain. If she heard nothing of him, she might forget him and be willing to stay with us.”
“Excellent, Bey Effendi! May I suggest that this time Dr Egerton should not be intrusted to your friends the Hajar, with whose language and customs he is well acquainted? If I am right, you do not wish that this imprisonment should be made too pleasant for him. You desire something more than mere safekeeping?”
Azim Bey nodded. M. Karalampi went on, watching his face keenly.
“The Kurds would suit your purpose much better, Bey Effendi. They have hiding-places and strongholds in the hills which the Padishah’s whole army could not discover, and they do not love Christians. They might be relied upon to keep Dr Egerton so safely that even the Balio Bey should never hear of him.”
“That is what I want,” cried Azim Bey, eagerly. “Let him disappear, and not be heard of until he is wanted, which will not be for a very long time.”
“And you do not wish to make any stipulation as to the treatment he is to receive, Bey Effendi? The Kurds may make a slave of him if they like?”
“Anything, so long as they keep him safely,” said Azim Bey.
M. Karalampi went away well pleased. The news he had just heard, and his conversation with Azim Bey, had opened up vistas of endless possibilities of revenge on several of the people against whom he cherished grudges, besides affording a prospect of gratifying the wishes of the Um-ul-Pasha and Jamileh Khanum. As for Azim Bey, he returned to his governess with a quiet mind. He had put matters in train, and left them in the charge of a safe person, and was able to enjoy the spectacle of Cecil’s anxiety. In all the bustle of starting on their further journey, her mind was occupied with other matters than boxes and bundles. She could not rid herself of the haunting impression of Charlie’s fatal imprudence. How could he risk death in this way just for the sake of seeing her? It was foolish, it was criminal. If only she could have some assurance that he was safely on his way to Baghdad before Azim Bey’s suspicions were roused! What was to be done? Could she send Um Yusuf out to make inquiries about him, and to warn him, if he were still in Hillah, to leave at once? No; such a step could only serve to awaken suspicion. There was nothing to be done but to try and let everything take its usual course. In this belief, she nerved herself to give due attention to her packing, and at last to don her blue wrapper and mount her mule, although she felt as though she could not leave the place while Charlie might still be in it. The appearance of an Armenian, as they passed through the town, made her start and tremble, but nowhere did her eyes light upon the face which was now so strange and yet so familiar. She did her best to assure herself that this showed that Charlie had safely departed, never guessing that among the miscellaneous throng that closed the Pasha’s long procession were the two Armenians from Julfa with their mules and their packs, watched closely by little Ishak.
The march went on, and still Cecil heard and saw nothing. Across the desert, up the lower hills, over the sandy tablelands, wound the long cavalcade, headed by banners and guards, kettledrums and led horses, and escorted by bands of irregular horsemen belonging to the tribes whose country was traversed. From pleasant villages in fertile valleys the people came forth with professions of obedience to the Pasha, and gifts of provisions for his followers. They were a much finer set of men than the inhabitants of the plains, strapping Kurds in pink and black striped garments and preposterous turbans, and sturdy Nestorian Christians in pointed felt caps, the women nearly all well-dressed, and often very beautiful. At night a site for the camp was chosen close to some village, and the richer inhabitants gave up their houses to the Pasha and his immediate following, while the motley crowd of hangers-on bivouacked outside. The journey through these districts was very pleasant, but it did not last long. The lower hills, with their orchards and vineyards, their rose-thickets and fruit-gardens, were soon left behind, and the way now lay through the mountains, dark and steep and rugged, which form the outermost of the natural fortifications of Kurdistan.
The Pasha’s tour was not intended solely as a pleasure-trip. It was meant to combine with this the functions of a triumphal march, for in the district which was now to be traversed there had lately been “troubles,” both with the Kurds and the Yezidis, and the Pasha was making this progress as a kind of outward sign of the restoration of order, now that the Mutesalim or lieutenant-governor had put down the disturbances by force. The Mutesalim came to meet his overlord on the borders of his district, bringing with him a large body of troops, and the march through the newly pacified regions began. The Mutesalim was not altogether happy in his mind, for he was conscious that his own exactions and bad treatment of the people, Moslems and Christians alike (to ill-treat the heathen, as the Yezidis were called, was a matter of course), had caused the disturbances. He was further afraid that they might prove not to have entirely ceased even now, when, by his glowing reports of the successes he had won, and the peaceful and prosperous state of the country, he had, quite unintentionally, tempted the Pasha into paying it a visit. His uneasiness was only too well grounded. As soon as the caravan was once embarked on the difficult mountain-paths, it began to be beset by bands of Yezidis, the survivors of the communities which the Mutesalim had broken up. He had carried off the children as slaves and murdered all the adults he could find, but the young and active men had escaped into the fastnesses of the hills, and were preparing a welcome for their oppressor. With them were a few Kurds, whose wrath against the Mutesalim had been sufficiently strong to join them with the devil-worshippers in opposing him, and they followed out a policy of harassing the caravan constantly at inconvenient times. They beset it in difficult places, and were gone before the troops could be brought up, and they kept up continual alarms in the night, organising a series of small surprises on the outskirts of the camp. It was very evident that the disturbances had not been put down, and the Pasha represented this to the Mutesalim in forcible language. It was plain that he was absolutely incapable, and insolent as well, since he had brought his Excellency out from Baghdad to see a conquered country which was not conquered at all, and the only thing to be done was for the Pasha himself to take the business seriously in hand.
When this decision became known, there was loud lamentation and great dismay in the harem. It was one thing to come on a pleasure-trip, and quite another to find it turned into a military promenade through a country swarming with enemies. It was not reassuring to hear, on camping for the night, that the mountaineers had swept off into slavery during the march some twenty of the non-combatants in the rear, nor to find in the morning that two or three guards had been murdered in the darkness close to one’s tent. Nor was it pleasant, in the course of the day, just when a particularly nasty place in a steep descending path had been reached, with a precipice on one side and a perpendicular wall of rock on the other, to be assailed suddenly by tremendous stones, which came crashing down across the path, frightening the mules and almost unseating their riders, while a brisk fusillade from the summit of the cliffs showed that it was no avalanche which thus interrupted the march, and caused the ladies to scream frantically to the guards and soldiers to save them and take them out of this horrible place. To do the soldiers justice, they were no more anxious for the ladies’ presence at such a juncture than they were themselves, declaring that what with the rocks crashing down, the mules capering, and the women screaming, it was impossible to take aim or to do anything quietly. Under these circumstances the Pasha thought it advisable to bestow his household in some safe place before beginning military operations in earnest, and the caravan moved on as fast as possible towards the fort and town of Sardiyeh, the seat of the Mutesalim’s government, where Jamileh Khanum, with her attendants, was to be left under a strong guard.
The Mutesalim was to accompany his Excellency into the field, to see how a little war of this kind ought to be conducted, with the prospect of almost certain disgrace and probable death if any disaster occurred to the Pasha’s arms, or any mishap ruffled the Pasha’s temper. Although in the course of his eventful life Ahmed Khémi had been under fire more than once, he was not a soldier, and the Mutesalim thought the outlook sufficiently dreary to send on a message to his household telling them to leave Sardiyeh and go into hiding before the Pasha’s arrival, that they might not be exposed to his vengeance. When the arrival of the caravan at the fort disclosed the fact that the ladies’ apartments were untenanted, the Mutesalim explained that he had sent away his family in order that there might be more room for his Excellency’s household, and the Pasha was graciously pleased to accept the excuse. The rooms vacated proved, however, insufficient to meet the needs of the party, and for Cecil and her pupil, with their attendants, accommodation was found in the best house in the little town by the simple process of turning the inhabitants out to make room for them. Whether the rightful owners quartered themselves in turn upon their neighbours, or whether they retired to the stables or the kitchen, Cecil could not discover, but she was inexpressibly thankful to have once more a little domain which she could call her own.
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE END OF EVERYTHING.
The journey through the upland country had not been at all a pleasant one to Cecil, quite irrespective of the continual alarms due to the attacks of the insurgents. From the very day on which they left Hillah, Jamileh Khanum’s behaviour had become markedly and inexplicably disagreeable. She seized every opportunity of heaping slights on Azim Bey and his governess, and her servants followed her example. Travelling, as they did, humbly in the rear of the harem procession, which was headed by the gorgeous takhtrevan, with its velvet cushions and curtains of cloth-of-gold, in which reposed the Khanum Effendi and her boy, the little band who formed the household of Azim Bey were exposed to many unpleasantnesses. It became almost a matter of course that Cecil should find, on reaching the village where the night was to be spent, that the Khanum Effendi and her household had appropriated all the accommodation, leaving her and her party no choice but to camp in the courtyard. She herself would have been willing to sacrifice much for the sake of peace, but Azim Bey was by no means like-minded, and the difficulty was generally settled by a tremendous quarrel between the respective servants, in the course of which Masûd, armed with a whip and his young master’s authority, turned out the intruders in sufficient numbers to secure Cecil and the other women a resting-place where they would be tolerably free from the attacks of the mosquitoes and other pests of the region.
Disagreeable as these nightly experiences were, they did not at all exhaust Jamileh Khanum’s opportunities of making herself unpleasant. It seemed to Cecil that she was doing her best, with a purposeless malignity, to lower both Azim Bey and his governess in the eyes of the servants. Not feeling inclined to assist in this process, Cecil did her best to keep her followers separate from the rest; but Jamileh Khanum could never pass the group without an insulting word to her, or an expression of hatred directed against Azim Bey, who was stigmatised twenty times a day as the supplanter of his little brother. Cecil’s patience was sorely tasked, for it was a difficult business to maintain her own dignity without infringing the respect due to the Khanum Effendi, and there was no redress. Once on the journey, the Pasha was scarcely ever to be seen, even by Azim Bey; for custom required that the gentlemen should all ride at a considerable distance in front of the harem procession, and for Cecil to have left her companions to lay her grievances before her employer would have been a breach of etiquette amounting to a crime. One of the most disagreeable features of the case was that Jamileh Khanum’s servants imitated their mistress’s behaviour, and even improved upon it. Azim Bey could always take care of himself, and Cecil had spirit enough to secure tolerable respect towards her in her presence, but the treatment which their household received from that of Jamileh Khanum was galling in the extreme. Headed by the Levantine Mdlle. Katrina, who had been lent to her daughter-in-law by the Um-ul-Pasha in view of this journey, the harem attendants did everything in their power to insult and injure the servants of the Bey.
What reason there could be for this state of affairs Cecil could not conceive, until it struck her one day, from various signs which she observed, that her slighted admirer, M. Karalampi, was in communication with Jamileh Khanum. As had been the case at Baghdad, the go-between was Mdlle. Katrina. It was of course impossible for her to have any actual intercourse with M. Karalampi, who was in front with the Pasha; but Mdlle. Katrina had a nephew, an ill-conditioned youth of mixed parentage and doubtful nationality, who was continually to be seen hanging about in the neighbourhood of the harem tents. Once or twice Cecil came upon this individual talking to his aunt in secluded corners, a thing which could not have happened if the agas had not diplomatically turned their backs; but it seemed ridiculous to suppose that M. Karalampi’s schemes could be in any way forwarded by the petty persecution which had been set on foot, and she thought little of the matter. It was Um Yusuf who first let her into the secret of the mortifications she had endured, but this was not until Sardiyeh was reached, and they were safe in their own house, and as free from insult as in their courtyard at Baghdad.
“Come down the hill with me, Um Yusuf,—I want to make a sketch,” Cecil said to her maid the morning after their arrival, entranced by the effects of light and shade produced by the sunrise upon the dark mountains.
“You not go beyond the gate, mademoiselle?” asked Um Yusuf, anxiously.
“Why not?” asked Cecil, in astonishment. “There is a place just outside the town-wall which has a splendid view. We will take little Ishak to carry the paint-box, and we shall be in sight of the guard at the gate. Besides, the Kurds would not venture so near to the town.”
“Mademoiselle,” said Um Yusuf, slowly and impressively, “you not go one step outside gate without Masûd. Suppose guard looking the other way; Kurds or any bad men come up quickly, kill you, kill me, run away. What good guard do?”
“But why should the Kurds be lying in wait for us?” asked Cecil, laughing.
“I said Kurds or any bad men, mademoiselle.”
“What do you mean, Um Yusuf?” asked Cecil, impressed by the woman’s tone. “Is there any one who wants to kill us?”
“I tell you what I know,” said Um Yusuf, looking fearfully round the house-top, where they were standing. “Khanum Effendi want get you away from Azim Bey, mademoiselle. All this time she been rude to you, and her servants the same, but when you not there they say to Basmeh Kalfa, to Masûd, to me, ‘You see your Mdlle. Antaza? What she signify here? Khanum Effendi do what she like with her. Balio Bey big man, but his arm not reach to Kurdistan. You help Khanum Effendi get rid of her, you not be punished, get plenty of money. You say she want poison Azim Bey, Pasha send her away, all right for you.’ That what they say to us, mademoiselle, we say no, tell Pasha if they do it again. They laugh at us, but not try it, and I think they kill you if they can.”
Cecil turned pale. It was a horrible thing to feel that her enemies had tried to bribe her own servants to bear false witness against her, and to know that she owed her life to their faithfulness. Their safety as well as her own was now at stake, and she did not need another warning from Um Yusuf. She kept her pupil with her all day, and did not attempt to go out unless escorted by Masûd. It did not occur to her to take further precautions, and she did not know until some time afterwards that Um Yusuf, fearing poison, made a practice of tasting beforehand every dish which was to be set before her mistress. All the food used by the household was purchased separately in the market by Basmeh Kalfa, and none of the harem slaves were allowed to come near the kitchen. These measures once taken, Um Yusuf felt that things were tolerably safe, not knowing that Jamileh Khanum’s messengers had conveyed to M. Karalampi the news of the failure to corrupt the members of the household, and also of the precautions which had been adopted, and that the answer returned was that he had a new plan for effecting the desired purpose just ready to be put in action.
It afforded a partial relief to Cecil’s anxiety for her pupil when he was allowed, in answer to his piteous prayers, to accompany his father and the troops part of the way in their march against the chief stronghold of the insurgents. He was away for some days, and his governess employed the time in writing one of the long journal letters which kept the family at Whitcliffe regularly informed of all her doings under ordinary circumstances, but had been neglected during the exciting times of the last few weeks, which were unfavourable to epistolary composition. But it was still difficult to write, for Cecil did not dare to say a word on the subject which lay nearest her heart—that of Charlie’s present whereabouts. The alarm she had felt on his account in leaving Hillah had increased tenfold now that a considerable time had elapsed without her hearing from him, and it was in vain that she tried to comfort herself with the suggestion that the insurgents might have prevented the passage of any couriers, or that his letters might have been intercepted once more. She felt sure that if he had reached Baghdad, he would not have failed to send her some intimation of his safety through Sir Dugald, with whose letters neither Azim Bey nor the mountaineers, who cherished a deep veneration for the British name, would venture to meddle. It was evident, then, that Charlie was either still in Hillah, or was retracing his steps to Ispahan by the way he had come—if, at least, he had not been suspected and seized.
The thought of this last possibility tormented Cecil day and night, and the more so that no means of solving the mystery presented themselves to her. Even if she wrote to Sir Dugald to inform him of her meeting with Charlie and of her fears respecting his safety, and inquiries were set on foot, it might have just the effect of arousing suspicion, and endangering him in his journey back to Persia or his retirement at Hillah, supposing that he had settled down there to enjoy a taste of Eastern life once more. Cecil longed wearily for some assurance that this was the case, and wished too late that she had not set her face so resolutely against her lover’s eccentricities in the past. Merely to know now that he was safe in the camp of some sheikh of the Hajar would have been the height of bliss, but it was a bliss she was not to enjoy.
To write her letter under these circumstances, without alluding to the subject which filled almost all her waking thoughts, was a difficult task, but she feared that the epistle might fall into unfriendly hands, and she wrote it without even mentioning Charlie’s name. The recital of the alarms and moving incidents which had diversified the passage of the caravan through the mountains took her so long that she did not finish the letter until the afternoon of the day on which Azim Bey was expected back, and she gave a sigh of gratification as she wrapped the envelope in the strong paper covering which was necessary to protect it against the rough usage it would probably meet with in its transit to Baghdad. This operation completed, and the packet firmly sealed, she went out on the broad lewan or piazza to call one of the servants, who might give it to the Pasha’s courier before he started on his journey to the city.
Looking down into the courtyard, without the slightest foreboding of coming trouble, she saw that the servants had a visitor. Um Yusuf, old Ayesha, and Basmeh Kalfa were sitting on the ground, entertaining with coffee and cakes an elderly woman in whom Cecil recognised a former kalfa of the Um-ul-Pasha’s, who had married a non-commissioned officer of one of the regiments which formed the guard of honour, and who had been permitted to accompany her husband on this expedition. But the cakes stood untasted, and Basmeh Kalfa had paused in the act of pouring out the coffee, and was holding the pot suspended in the air, while she and the others stared with eyes of horror at their visitor, and listened with upraised hands of dismay to some story which she seemed to be narrating.
“May God visit it upon my own head if it be not true!” concluded the stranger, and Cecil heard Um Yusuf apostrophising a string of obscure Syrian saints, while the two other women murmured, “God forbid!” and “God is great!” in awestruck tones.
“How wilt thou tell thy lady, O Um Yusuf?” asked old Ayesha, just as Um Yusuf looked up, met her mistress’s eye, and dropped in her consternation the cup she was holding. A feeling for which she could not account impelled Cecil to descend the steps leading into the court and enter the group, the members of which started guiltily when they found her among them, the visitor alone taking refuge in an assumed carelessness.
“Is anything wrong? What is the matter?” Cecil asked.
“Oh, nothing, mademoiselle,” replied Um Yusuf, hastily. “You want me?”
“I am sure there is something wrong,” said Cecil. “Latifeh Kalfa has brought bad news. What is it that you are to tell me, Um Yusuf?”
“You come with me, mademoiselle,” said Um Yusuf, trying to draw her mistress aside. “That daughter of Shaitan know nothing—she make it all up.”
“God forbid!” said Latifeh Kalfa, piously.
“O my soul, come with me!” entreated Um Yusuf.
“I insist upon hearing what she has told you,” said Cecil, standing her ground, although the affectionate epithet from the lips of the sedate Syrian woman thrilled her with alarm.
“She say, mademoiselle,” said Um Yusuf, unwillingly, “that those two Armenians from Hillah were with Pasha’s caravan in the mountains, and Kurds carry them off.”
“Is this true?” demanded Cecil of Latifeh Kalfa.
“I heard it from my husband, who was with the rearguard, O my lady,” replied the woman; “and more than that, I can testify that though I had often seen them before, yet they disappeared altogether from that time.”
“But was it Kurds, not Yezidis?” asked Cecil.
“Kurds, O my lady,” purred the woman. She had a soft, smooth voice, and a way of fastening her eyes sleepily on the person she addressed. Cecil, standing for a moment overwhelmed, felt an unreasoning hatred spring up in her heart against her. It was only for the first instant that the disaster crushed her, however, and she sought immediate relief in action.
“I want you to come out with me, Um Yusuf,” she said.
“But, mademoiselle, Masûd not here. You not go without him?”
“Yes, I can’t wait.”
“But they kill us, mademoiselle.”
“Then stay behind and I will go alone. Don’t you see that there is not a moment to lose?”
“If I perish, I perish,” was Um Yusuf’s mental utterance as she wrapped her sheet round her and followed her mistress without another word. She would face all the Kurds in Kurdistan rather than let mademoiselle go out by herself.
“Where you going, mademoiselle?” she asked, as they approached the gate.
“To the little Christian village down in the valley,” responded Cecil, steadily. “The priest there will help us. He can speak English.”
“What! Kasha Thoma?” asked Um Yusuf. “Oh yes, he good man, been with Melican missionaries at Beyrout. But what you say to him, mademoiselle?”
“I shall ask him to send off a trustworthy messenger at once to Baghdad, to tell the Balio Bey what we have heard. If the Pasha were here, I would go straight to
[*** missing text. See Transcriber’s Notes.]
“What you ’fraid of, mademoiselle?” inquired Um Yusuf.
“That the Kurds may carry Dr Egerton away into the mountains, or take him to Persia, and perhaps treat him badly,” said Cecil.
Um Yusuf’s own fears were of a darker nature, but she was wise enough to keep silence concerning them, and presently her mind became engrossed with the thought of the peril into which she and her mistress were running by leaving the town unattended. True, almost every foot of the winding path which led to the Nestorian village was under the eye of the watchman at the town-gate, and also of the Turkish sentinels at the fort, but the untoward events of the journey, and the alarms of the last few weeks, would have shaken the nerves of most people, and Um Yusuf’s imagination conjured up lurking Kurds behind every rock. More than once she was on the point of declaring her conviction that Latifeh Kalfa’s whole story was a fraud, invented for the very purpose of decoying Cecil out in this way, that she might fall into the hands of the Kurdish raiders; but the certainty that, even if she turned back, her mistress would infallibly go on alone, kept her silent, and she followed on in the spirit of a martyr, casting timid glances on either side. Fervently she longed for the protection of Masûd and his stout cudgel, but neither was at hand. Her greatest trial was still to come, for at the foot of the hill a man rose suddenly from the shelter of a clump of bushes and ran towards them. Um Yusuf screamed and clutched Cecil’s arm.
“It is only a beggar,” said Cecil, quickly; and indeed the shrunken form in its multi-coloured rags could scarcely have been considered formidable in any case. As he reached them the man tore off the kaffiyeh which enveloped his head, disclosing a face at sight of which both women started and turned pale. The wasted features were those of Hanna, the Armenian lad who had been Charlie Egerton’s servant at Baghdad, and had accompanied him on his foolhardy adventure.
“O luckless one!” screamed Um Yusuf, finding her tongue first, “what evil fate has befallen thee? Where is thy master?”
“What is that to do with thee?” demanded Hanna. “I am here with a message from him to thy lady.”
“Tell me quickly,” cried Cecil, “is he ill? in prison?”
“He had no time to write,” pursued Hanna, evasively, “but I have carried his words.”
“But is he—is he——” gasped Cecil. “He is not dead?”
“O my lady, he is dead. I am come unto thee with the last words he said.”
“Go on,” said Cecil, hoarsely, her tearless eyes searching the man’s face.
“I can tell thee but little, O my lady, for all was done so quickly. My master and I left Hillah with our mules in the train of the Pasha, desiring to pass through the mountains in safety. But on a certain day there was an attack made upon the rear-guard, and the robbers succeeded in getting between it and the main body. There was a great turmoil, for all the traders and their beasts were mixed up with the soldiers and the enemy upon a narrow ledge of rock, and in the confusion a band of Kurds separated some of us from the rest, and dragged us away by force. Among these were my master and I, for he had bidden me keep close beside him. Then they bound our hands and fastened us to their saddles, and led us along many steep and winding paths, going continually farther into the mountains. But my master said, ‘Courage, Hanna! don’t lose heart. We will yet slip away from them,’ and I was cheered, knowing his coolness and bravery. But at last they left the horses behind, and began to climb up rocks such as the wild goats love, still leading my master and me with them. So then we came to a valley in the highest part of the mountains, in which there was a pool of water and some sheep, and when my master saw the place, he said, ‘Our wanderings are over, O Hanna, for they would never have shown us this stronghold of theirs had they meant us to leave it alive.’ Now in this valley were caves, and into one of these they thrust my master and me, leaving us without food or water for two days and nights. But on the third day one of the Kurds in passing called out to us between the stones at the mouth of the cave, ‘Dogs of Christians, prepare for death!’ Then while my master and I looked at one another, the rest came and took down the stones and led my master away. But as he went he turned and said to me, ‘If thou shouldst escape, seek out Mdlle. Antaza, and say this to her from me’—and truly, O my lady, I have repeated it night and morning on my fingers, lest I should forget it, for it was seven English words”—and spreading out his hand, Hanna read off mechanically, “‘Good—bye—dar—ling—God—bless—you.’”
A choking sob burst from Cecil, but she signed to the man to continue.
“That was the last time I saw my master alive, O my lady. But that evening they led me forth also, and I thought that surely my hour of death was come, but they took me only to the brow of a precipice, and told me to look down. And looking down, I saw——”
“What?” asked Cecil, sharply.
“I saw my master’s body lying far below, in the Armenian dress he had worn, in a pit as deep as Jehannam. And the robbers laughed at me, and bade me mark the place well, saying, ‘Thy master’s turn to-day, thine to-morrow.’ Then they led me back, more dead than alive with fear; but behold! before we reached the cave we found coming to meet us certain other Kurds, who had only just arrived in the stronghold, and those with me stopped to salute them and to ask them of their welfare. And after welcoming them they killed a sheep and made a feast, leaving me in the cave, but with no stone at its mouth. And when they were eating and were merry, and it was dark and no guard set, I crept out, and finding the sword of a man who had thrown it aside while he ate, I cut through my bonds. Then, taking the sword with me, and some bread that lay near, I stole away, and when I was out of earshot of the Kurds, I started to run. But how I found the way down the mountain, or how I did not fall and die, I cannot tell; I know only that I made my way hither, and for three days have I watched for thee, O my lady, to give thee the message of the dead. But into the town I could not come, for the watchman at the gate drove me away.”
“And what wilt thou do now?” asked Um Yusuf.
“I should wish to return to Baghdad and my own people,” he said; “but how am I to go there, when my master is dead, and the Kurds have robbed me?”
“Go to Baghdad,” said Cecil, emptying her purse mechanically into his hands, “and tell the Balio Bey what you have told me. Don’t lose time—but no, there is no need of any hurry now. Let us go back to Sardiyeh, Um Yusuf. Kasha Thoma cannot help us.”