Читать книгу Desert Rake - Louise Allen - Страница 6

‘LADY MORVALL?’ The voice at her elbow made her jump.

‘Yes, Mr Lomax?’ It was her courier. Caroline smiled upon the rotund figure with something like affection. Certainly with relief. No one could ever find themselves incorporating Mr Lomax into an improper fantasy, bless him. He was a head shorter than she, with a shiny bald pate under his straw hat, a pince-nez perched on the end of his nose and a little pot belly.

He was also an experienced and knowledgeable courier and had shepherded her and Gascoyne, her maid and dresser, all the way from England with impeccable organisation and without the hint of an unpleasant incident. Unfortunately, he could not be expected to save her from the consequences of her own torrid imagination.

‘I must apologise for having been away so long, Lady Morvall, but the canvas cover of your larger travelling trunk had been torn in the hold and I have had to stand over the ship’s sail-maker to make sure he repaired it properly. Gascoyne has everything packed, and our luggage is over there.’

Caroline followed his pointing finger and located the maid, waiting watchfully by a pile of familiar baggage—right next to where That Man’s robed attendant was standing. Hastily she turned back.

‘Please point out the major buildings, Mr Lomax. I do not wish to go and stand in the crowd before I need to.’ That Man’s directions had been enough for her to orientate herself, given all the reading she had done, but she wanted an excuse to stay apart. Her heart-rate was slowly returning to normal, and she had no intention of raising it again.

‘Of course, my lady. The large mosque on the left is the Blue Mosque, in the centre is Aya Sofya mosque, which was built as a Christian church, and all the rest of the buildings as far as the point are the Topkapi Sarayi—the Sultan’s palace. Very soon we will sail into the mouth of the Golden Horn.’

‘So that will be Seraglio Point, where courtesans who offended would be tied up in silken sacks and thrown into the water?’ She pointed to where the stranger had indicated.

‘Er… yes.’ Mr Lomax did not seem comfortable discussing courtesans. ‘And not only such… er… ladies. Constantinople is still at heart a violent city in many ways; it is essential that you take the advice of the staff at the Embassy and do not go out without your escort.’

Caroline nodded with a meekness that would have stunned Sir Hubert. But defying her stepson’s pompous demands for respectability was one thing; taking advice from an expert in an alien city was simply common sense. Besides anything else, to travel outside Constantinople she would need a firman, the equivalent of a passport, showing the Sultan’s permission to go freely about the countryside, and to secure that she must behave with impeccable regard to all the conventions.

They remained at the rail as the ship swung into the Golden Horn and slowly glided into dock on the opposite bank to the old city. Above them loomed the hill where the quarters of Galata and Pera housed the Westerners and their embassies.

‘I think we should get back to our luggage,’ Mr Lomax pronounced. ‘If you would just care to take my arm, Lady Morvall, then there will be less risk of you being jostled in the crowd.’

Jostling was the least of her anxieties. Wishing her smart bonnet possessed a veil, Caroline kept her eyes down, only risking raising them as she negotiated the gangplank to the dockside. There, in front of her, a clear head over most of the jostling throng of porters and passengers, was an instantly recognisable pair of broad shoulders and a rakishly tilted broad-brimmed hat. Then she was down on the firm ground and he had gone.

She did not realise she had sighed aloud until Mr Lomax looked at her with some concern. ‘Are you quite well, my lady? Perhaps you are feeling a little unsteady after so much time at sea? I have sent a porter for a carriage; it will not be long coming.’

‘No, no, I am quite well, Mr Lomax. I was merely reflecting on my first Turkish… encounter.’ And hopefully all the rest would consist of colourful sightseeing and interesting exploration. It had, at least, taught her the foolishness of dreaming about taking a lover. I simply do not have the courage for that sort of thing, and it is as well to discover it now. Imagine what I would have done if he had made me a proposition!

The British Embassy was a handsome double-fronted residence, with overhanging enclosed balconies and great double gates through which the carriage bearing Caroline’s party swung, followed by the carts with their luggage.

Feeling slightly dazed by the crush of the streets, the babble of different tongues, the colour and endless details that had her head swivelling from one side to the other until she was dizzy, Caroline was only too glad to allow Mr Lomax to take control. She was going to have to learn to manage affairs herself soon, she knew, for she had only hired him as far as Constantinople, and he would return as soon as he acquired a new client to escort.

‘Lady Morvall—welcome.’ The thin, scholarly man who hastened down the steps of the inner courtyard held out his hand and shook hers with enthusiasm when she extended it. ‘Terrick Hamilton, ma’am, I am the Foreign Languages Secretary to the Ambassador, who sends his most sincere apologies for not being here to greet you in person. Unfortunately there is a tricky matter with some English and Russian traders on the Black Sea coast, and Sir Robert has found it necessary to deal with it in person. Do come in, ma’am.’

He snapped his fingers at a number of men who were waiting in the shadows. Caroline studied the turbans—no two seemed exactly the same—and noted the baggy trousers beneath the knee-length tunics that most of them wore; they would form the first subject for her Constantinople sketchbook, she resolved. The men began to unload the trunks.

‘Dikkat! Yavafl!’ Mr Hamilton called as one or two bags were dropped.

Caroline tucked the words away in her mind: careful and slow. She had seen them written down; now she tried to pay attention to pronunciation, determined to learn the language as much as possible. She would need guides and a dragoman, but the more she understood of what was going on around her, the less vulnerable she would be.

Established at last in her room, with only Gascoyne for company, Caroline cast off her bonnet and light pelisse and flopped down on the bed. ‘Phew! Gascoyne, do sit down and rest a while. The housekeeper says she will send up some refreshments and warm water shortly. How good it is to be in the quiet and to have nothing moving about!’

‘Indeed it is, my lady.’ Gascoyne, who had been with her only since William had died, and was outwardly the most conventional and starched-up of dressers, had amazed Caroline by offering to come with her on her journey. She had expressed a desire to visit what she described sweepingly as foreign parts, but, much to Caroline’s secret amusement, insisted on maintaining herself and her mistress in a state which would pass muster in Bond Street.

Suggestions that bonnets might be replaced with sunhats, that corsets need not be laced quite so tight, and that the weather was hot enough to dispense with the lightest of pelisses outside, were met with a disapproving sniff. ‘You are an English lady, my lady,’ Gascoyne would pronounce. ‘And I know what is due to one of my ladies, whatever heathen customs might prevail.’

Caroline had given up explaining that Italy and Malta were far from heathen, and knew she faced an impossible task in convincing the dresser that Constantinople might be different from what they were used to, but its inhabitants were God-fearing, each in their own way, and that it could be considered as sophisticated and highly developed as London. More so in some ways, if what she had read about the baths was true. Caroline was looking forward to trying out a hammam.

With a characteristic sniff Gascoyne shed her gloves, bonnet and pelisse, placed them neatly on one chair and sat, bolt upright, on the edge of another. Even that appeared to strike her as frivolous idleness, for she drew a portmanteau towards her and began lifting out underwear and sorting it onto the camphor wood chest next to the chair.

‘What happens now, my lady, if I may be so bold as to enquire?’

‘We rest here at the Embassy, and one of the secretaries will send a request to the Sublime Porte—the palace—for us to be granted a firman which will allow us to travel. Then I can find a suitable dragoman and porters, and buy pack animals, horses and supplies. Then we set out for Anatolia.’

‘Where’s that, my lady?’ Gascoyne frowned at a minute mark on a camisole and placed it to one side. ‘I thought we were arrived, now we’re in Turkey.’

‘It is part of Turkey—the land to the east.’ Caroline rolled over onto her stomach and propped her chin on her hands. ‘It is unchanged for centuries, and there are many beautiful natural features and fascinating archaeological treasures that are hardly known about. This book—’ She pulled over her bulging reticule and dug out the volume she had been carrying around since leaving England. ‘This book tells all about what has been discovered so far. It is by the best-known explorer of the area—Mr Fenton. He writes so compellingly.’

Gascoyne looked down her long nose at the proffered volume. ‘I’m sure I wouldn’t understand it, my lady. It doesn’t sound very suitable for English ladies either. How many carriage dresses do you think I should pack? And what about evening wear? Full dress, or only demi?’

‘Neither!’ Caroline rolled off the bed and straightened her gown at the sound of a knock on the door. ‘Come in. Oh, thank you; will you also send bathwater to my dresser’s room, please?’

The housekeeper bowed, and supervised the setting out of a cold collation, while menservants struggled in with a bathtub and ewers of hot water. Disappointingly it seemed that the Embassy did not have its own hammam.

‘No evening gowns, my lady?’

‘No. I shall take two gowns, and otherwise all those riding habits I had made.’ Caroline bit her lip as a thought struck her. ‘Provided I can find a lady’s side-saddle out here. If I cannot, then I shall just have to resort to breeches and a long coat over. It can’t be so difficult to ride astride, can it? Men do it all the time.’

‘Astride? In breeches? But, my lady, that is enough to ruin your reputation!’

‘Amongst whom?’ Caroline enquired tartly. ‘Anatolian shepherds?’

‘But are we not taking a travelling carriage? I cannot ride on any sort of saddle,’ Gascoyne wailed.

‘I will hire a small carriage for you and the luggage,’ Caroline promised, firmly trampling down the thought that roads to run a carriage over might not exist. The idea of Gascoyne on a camel was irresistible, if cruel, but she kept it to herself. Time enough to worry about that if the problem arose. ‘Now, shall we have our baths before we eat?’

Gascoyne, despite an initial protest that she should stay and attend on her ladyship before taking her own bath, was surprisingly easy to persuade—presumably too shaken by the awful revelations about their mode of transport to protest about anything else. She went off, after unlacing Caroline’s corsets and abjuring her to lock the door behind her.

Caroline sank into the cool water with a sigh of relief and lay back, idly twiddling her feet over the edge. It was a nice big tub, with a high back and deep sides. William and she had used to have a lot of fun in baths. He would sneak in and pounce with a soapy sponge when she least expected it, or pour in far too much scented oil and then rub it in all over her until she was as sleek as a wet seal and twice as slippery.

And then, when they were both thoroughly wet and laughing, he would tumble her out onto the piles of linen towels and they would make love…

‘Stop it!’ Caroline sat up abruptly, slopping water over the sides onto the highly polished wood. For goodness’sake, I have got to stop thinking about that! I have just made a complete fool of myself with a man, and proved I haven’t the temperament to even think about taking a lover. And I certainly don’t want to get married again: I would never find anyone as sweet as William, and I would probably end up with an insensitive lump like Hubert. So I had better learn to stop thinking about sex once and for all.

Which was an extremely sensible resolution, of course, if only one knew how to carry it out. And if only the memory of a mobile, sensual mouth and a pair of mocking grey eyes did not intrude every time one closed one’s own lids.

Two days’ rest in the Embassy served to restore the tone of Caroline’s mind somewhat. She had not ventured out yet, taking Mr Hamilton’s advice to adjust to the air and food, to rest, and decide what equipment she needed to purchase for her onward journey.

‘You will be visiting Bursa, I expect,’ he said confidently. ‘That is a relatively easy journey by land. If you wish to explore further along the coast, then I suggest hiring a boat.’

‘I am sure it is fascinating,’ Caroline replied politely. ‘And I will visit there at some stage. But my purpose in coming is chiefly to go into Anatolia.’

‘Anatolia? But very few westerners ever do that. It is wild and quite unchanged for centuries.’

‘Exactly—that is why I want to see it.’ She could see he was anxious, and added, ‘Will I have a problem getting a firman for that area? Is it restricted in some way?’

‘I do not think so—but it is so unusual, especially for a lady.’

‘I did not come all this way to do the usual thing,’ Caroline said briskly. ‘Now, what must I do to get my firman?’

‘I have sent a note to the official at the Sublime Porte who deals with such things. I expect an answer within a few days.’

Caroline told herself that she should not expect an instant response, and requested the loan of an interpreter who could show her around the city while she was waiting. Mr Lomax had departed even more promptly than he had expected, in the service of a returning diplomat rendered temporarily lame as a result of an injury.

She had been promised a guide for the afternoon, and had retreated to the sitting room placed at her disposal to con her notebooks for those sights she wished to visit first, when the Secretary reappeared, an expression of mixed alarm and satisfaction on his face.

‘The most extraordinary thing, Lady Morvall. A message from the Topkapi Sarayi: the Sultan will receive you personally in audience.’

‘The Sultan? But I did not ask for an audience! How has he even heard of me?’

‘Possibly officials dealing with your application for a firman were intrigued by the fact that a titled English lady is asking for such a thing. Lady Hester Stanhope caused no little stir, you know—she still does, for all that she is now in Syria.’

‘Well, I am no Lady Hester.’

‘Indeed not, I am glad to say,’ Mr Hamilton pronounced, reminding her forcefully of Hubert for a moment.

‘I presume declining is out of the question?’

‘Most certainly. I beg you would do nothing so deleterious to British interests, ma’am. This is a great honour.’

‘But what should I wear? How should I behave?’

‘Dress and behave as though you were summoned to a daytime audience with the Prince Regent, Lady Morvall.’

‘Should I wear a veil?’

‘No—His Majesty will want to meet an English lady in her native habit, as it were. His Majesty the Sultan Mahmud has a French mother, you know. She is a great influence upon him.’

‘His father married a Frenchwoman? I had no idea.’

Mr Hamilton coughed discreetly. ‘Not… er… married as such. Aimée Dubucq de Rivery, the Queen Mother, was captured by slavers and sold into the harem. She is the cousin of the late Empress Josephine.’

‘My goodness.’ Caroline was virtually speechless. It was like a sensational novel. But this was real. ‘When must I go?’

‘Tomorrow, after morning prayer. I will send a guide with you who can then take you on a tour of the old city, if you wish. Or you can return here if the visit has wearied you.’

‘Thank you.’ Just getting through an audience in a palace where the Queen Mother was a captured French slave was as far ahead as she could think. ‘I must go and tell my maid, and decide what we are to wear.’

‘Your maid is not included, Lady Morvall. To take her would imply a lack of faith in the protection His Majesty is able to extend to a visitor.’

‘Oh.’ One could only hope that in 1817 keeping female visitors was not considered an acceptable way of filling vacancies in the harem. ‘Well, I had better choose a gown and practise my court curtsey, Mr Hamilton.’