Chapter Thirty
They covered the remaining distance to the consulate without another word between them. Good, he thought. At least she accepted that this would happen. Outside, they dismounted, and while Sabine held the reins of both horses since she remained, ostensibly, his servant, Foye gave a coin to a young boy waiting in the street.
“Tell him,” he said to Sabine in a measured voice, “that I will give him another coin if he and our horses are here and happy when we return.”
She did, and Foye opened the consulate door and in they went. They were greeted by a young Englishman who sat at a desk copying out documents. Foye walked to him:
“The Marquess of Foye, here to see Mr. Hugh Eglender,” he said when he had the young man’s attention.
The clerk’s chair scraped the floor when he jumped to his feet. “My lord.” He bowed a bit too deeply, but Foye was by now used to such reactions when he identified himself. “I’ll tell Mr. Eglender you are here.”
“Thank you.”
Five minutes later, the clerk returned to usher them into Eglender’s office. The vice-consul was standing behind a desk when Foye walked in with Sabine. Hugh Eglender was a moderately tall man with thinning brown hair and dark brown eyes. Behind the affable exterior, Foye knew, was a sharp mind. They had been at King’s College together. He wondered if Eglender had made it onto Sir Henry’s list He ought to have. A question for Sabine later.
“Foye,” Eglender said, smiling- broadly. “Good to see you.” He thrust out a hand and they shook briefly. “I am sorry I didn’t see you before I left this morning. I was hoping we’d sit down to coffee first and have a few moments to catch up on what you’ve been doing since you left Iskenderun. I’ve never known you to sleep so late. You must have been tired indeed.”
“I was,” Foye said. “Very tired.” He reached back to pull Sabine forward and establish her in the chair. Eglender’s eyes rose. “We’d been traveling for days without adequate sleep. I’m afraid we would neither of us have been fit company for you this morning.”
Eglender narrowed his eyes at Foye’s use of the plural. Other than another puzzled glance at Sabine, he paid no attention to her. “Is there something I can do for you, my lord?”
“In fact there is. I am about to tax you grievously, Eglender. I need passage for two on a ship bound for England, the sooner the better.”
“There are two in the harbor now waiting to sail.” He tapped his desk. “Captain York in command of the Thunderous is leaving in a fortnight, I believe.”
“Not a military ship unless it cannot be avoided. And a fortnight is too long. We cannot wait.” Like hell he was putting Sabine on a ship sailing for His Majesty’s Royal Navy. “It’s essential we be on our way as soon as possible.”
“The other is a merchant marine. The Eos. Bound for Portsmouth if I’m not mistaken. She’s waiting for the evening tide. That will be tight, if you’re to sail with them.”
“That will do. Can you arrange it for me?” There were advantages to his title, and he intended to use every single one that he could. “I fear I am here without any of my staff.”
Eglender bowed. “Of course, my lord. Consider it done.”
“The passage is for two, Eglender. Specifically, me and my wife.”
His eyes opened wide. “Your wife?”
“If you will but oblige me, yes.” He gripped Sabine’s hand. Jesus. He was actually nervous. “Allow me to present you to Miss Sabine Godard.”
Quite plainly, Eglender recognized the name. His eyes opened wide. “Miss Godard? Sir Henry Godard’s niece?”
“Take off the headdress, Sabine. If you please.”
“Good Lord,” Eglender said when Sabine complied.
“It was necessary to disguise her as my dragoman in order to get her safely out of Kilis. Nazim Pasha, I fear, had designs on her.”
Eglender leaned forward, pressing his hands to the desktop. He looked from Foye to Sabine and back. “I have a letter from Mr. Barker in from Aleppo, dated nearly three weeks ago now, that confirms Miss Sabine Godard perished from the illness that took her uncle.”
“A lie, as you can see.” Foye brought Eglender current with all, or nearly all, that had happened since he’d left Buyukdere and ended with the request that Eglender, with his authority as vice-consul, marry them before they returned to England.
Eglender sat down hard. “I don’t think I’ve heard a more remarkable tale in my life, Foye, and I have been in the Levant long enough to think myself immune to surprise. Are you quite sure?”
It was a measure of his frustration with Sabine and her similar hesitation about an immediate marriage that Foye’s voice hardened more than was necessary. “Yes, Eglender,” he said brusquely. “I am quite, quite certain.” He drew himself up. “I trust I need only assure you that I am certain this must be done since no one will listen to what I wish to be done.”
Eglender blanched. “My apologies, Foye.”
“So long as you marry us, all is forgiven.” He forced himself to smile. He would have what he wanted. And very soon, too.
“Very well, my lord.”
Foye produced a ring from his pocket. He had last night sent Eglender’s butler instructions to purchase what he needed. Though he’d described a plain gold band, this morning the servant had put into his hand a ring set with sapphires and citrine. He didn’t care what it looked like. This one, or any other, would suffice until he was back in England and could see to having the union consecrated by the Church of England.
A quarter of an hour later, he was a married man, and Sabine Godard legally no longer existed.
His. She was his at last.
Sabine was silent on their ride back to Bayt Salem, and Foye decided it would be best to leave her to her thoughts for now. They’d been through enough, for pity’s sake. Hell, he needed some time to adjust himself. Besides, it was done. She was his wife. Lady Foye. The fact was, he liked the sound of that. She was his. They had a lifetime to learn how to live with their love, but only a few hours until the Eos sailed. Between now and then, he had a great deal to see to, not the least of which was obtaining suitable clothing for her. He could hardly bring his wife home with nothing but the clothes on her back. When they were home, he’d bring her to London and see she had a wardrobe befitting a marchioness.
“Foye.” Sabine grabbed his arm, squeezing hard. “Foye!” she said in a low voice.
He stopped. Without his noticing they’d reached the interior courtyard of Bayt Salem.
They were not alone. The courtyard teemed with men and horses. He recognized his Janissaries, his Druze captain, and the pasha’s men as well. Most of the Janissaries had their weapons drawn. The captain had confronted one of the Janissaries, and the two stood across from each other, glaring at one another.
As Foye took in the scene, a solitary man emerged from among the Janissaries. He held a pistol himself. His splendidly embroidered kaftan rustled as he walked. Nazim Pasha caught the soldier’s arm and said something in a sharp voice. The soldier kept his musket trained on the Druze.
“Sabine,” Foye said. She dismounted and stayed behind him, a hand pressed into the small of his back.
Nazim Pasha pushed forward until he stood before Foye. In French, he said, “Marquis. How delightful that I have caught up to you at last.”
“I’m afraid I can’t say the same,” Foye replied.
“Perhaps you might call for coffee and refreshments,” the pasha said.
“Alas.” Foye crossed his arms over his chest. “This is not my house, Excellency. Such hospitality is not mine to extend. I do not think the owner would appreciate learning that your Janissaries have been here, terrorizing his household.”
“Where is Miss Godard?” the pasha asked. “I know you have arranged to meet her here.” The rings on his fingers sparkled in the light.
“Beyond your reach at last.” Foye grabbed the reins to Sabine’s horse and walked out of the corridor, leading both animals. He kept Sabine behind him.
The pasha said something in his own language.
“Was that as vile as it sounded?” he asked Sabine.
“Yes, Foye.”
He heard the ominous sound of a pistol being cocked. “Now that I look closely,” the pasha said, “she does not make a convincing boy at all.” He took a step toward Sabine. “She is too lovely a woman to be dressed in such clothes and treated in so low a fashion.”
Sabine lifted her pistol and aimed it at the pasha’s heart. “One more step, Excellency, and you are a dead man,” she said in perfect French.
“My love,” Foye said, “please tell Nazim Pasha’s men that you or I will shoot him dead if they do anything but turn about and go back to Kilis.” When she had complied, Foye looked the pasha straight in the eye and said, “Pasha, you would do well to forget Sabine Godard entirely. She no longer exists.”
The pasha had his hands up by his ears. He was still smiling. Behind the pasha, Foye’s Janissaries had moved into a better position to react should this come out badly. His odds of getting Sabine out alive improved a great deal. “Marquis, you overreact.”
Foye kept his own pistol trained on the pasha. “You might have succeeded in convincing the authorities to look the other way when you were arranging to kidnap an innocent young woman.” The pasha’s grin grated on him. “I promise you, they won’t look the other way when the woman involved is my wife.”
“Wife?” He took a step back and clapped his hands in mock delight. He stopped when Sabine took a step forward, aiming her pistol at the pasha’s heart. Foye had no idea if she was any kind of a decent shot, but the focused look on her face was probably enough to convince the pasha that this was not the time to find out. “And this is something you can prove?”
He gazed steadily at the pasha. He saw the rage in his dark eyes, and it was no comfort to see. “Does it matter, Excellency?”
“Perhaps not at this moment, no.”
“I promise you, it’s so. Sabine Godard is my wife.” He leaned forward. “She is no longer without a man’s protection, Pasha, and you should be quite certain that I will protect her with my last breath. Or yours, if necessary.” He smiled. “I do so hope it is, Pasha.”
Nazim Pasha stood unmoving for quite a while. At last, though, he brought his hands together and bowed. “What a shame I cannot stay to drink a toast of felicitations to your happiness.”
Foye didn’t relax until every last one of the pasha’s men had gone. Only when he heard the distant sound of the outer doors being locked did he put away his pistol. After which there was an explosion of sound, with everyone speaking at once in too many languages to keep straight. There were a great many explanations and directions to convey to too damn many people, in too damn many languages, all of which were somehow duly made, Foye made sure his Janissaries were paid and their services extended until such time as he and Sabine were sailing forborne.
Later, when emotions had settled down and the household was once again quiet, Foye and Sabine went downstairs to one of the storerooms where Foye had left a trunk of his. Eglender’s butler had produced, from God knows where, two valises sufficient to stow such things for their voyage as they would be able to procure from among Foye’s belongings or from the bazaar in Iskenderun. Servants were busy packing what belongings Foye had on hand.
An hour later a letter came from Eglender that changed everything. “What is it?” Sabine asked after Foye read it and said nothing.
He reread the letter, but the result was the same. The Eos has no room for more passengers. No berth can be procured for love or money.” He resisted the urge to crumple the paper. A duke’s mistress was on board, with an extensive retinue.
“We’ll take the next, then,” Sabine said. “The military ship.”
“I won’t put you on a fighting ship, Sabine, and that is at present all that sits in the harbor.”
“What of Constantinople?” Yes, he saw she understood very well the danger of them remaining within Nazim Pasha’s reach. “Can we not sail from there?”
“It’s nearly a month from here to Constantinople.” He walked to her and held her face between his hands. “I want you safely out of Turkey. I want you home. At Maralee.”
“There are no ships, Foye.”
“You’ll go alone. On the Eos as planned.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “Even if I wanted to, how could I, Foye, if there is no room?”
“Eglender moved heaven and earth and found two women who agreed to share their cabin with you.”
She shook her head.
“You must go, Sabine. You know you must.”
“Don’t send me away without you,” she whispered.
“I’ll take the very next ship possible. I promise you. The Thunderous, if I must.” He kissed her forehead and then her mouth, and her lips were so soft beneath his. Foye pulled back with a long sigh. “We haven’t much time. The Eos sails in less than two hours.”
After some discussion about her final destination once she arrived in England—Foye wanted her to go directly to Maralee—they agreed Sabine would proceed to Oxford and see to her uncle’s estate. He’d come afterward as soon as passage could be obtained for him. And they would, at last begin their married life together.
In the storeroom, Foye hung a lamp on a hook in the wall. He pulled out his kit and saddlebags and went through them for anything that might be useful to her. His scissors. His brush and comb were upstairs. Flint. Half a candle. He opened the trunk he’d left behind when he first arrived in the country weeks ago.
As he lifted out items, he set things aside for her to look at. Books mostly. A sheaf of paper. A spare writing case. “You’ll have something to read,” he said “And to write and draw with.” He put a hand on the books. “Take them all if you like.”
“Thank you, I will.” She too intently examined the book.
“Sabine.”
“Yes?” She wouldn’t look at him.
“I wish you could stay with me. I wish it were possible, but it’s not. Do you doubt for a moment that the pasha has not given up thoughts of revenge? If we stay in Turkey, I assure you he’ll find us.”
She lifted her head at last. “That is precisely the point, Foye. What is to keep the pasha from extracting his revenge on you while you wait for another ship?”
“I need you safe. I need to know you are safe and on your way to England.” He took her in his arms. They had very little time now. He swallowed the lump in his throat. The fact was, he did not want her to go. He wanted to keep her with him, and damn the risk. “I wish you did not have to go so far on your own.”
“It’s all right, Foye.” She bowed her neck until her forehead rested against his chest. After a bit she said, “Promise me you’ll be careful?”
He kissed the top of her head. “I promise.”
She looked into his face. “I’ll wait for you in Oxford, then.”
“I would prefer you go to Maralee to wait for me, but Oxford suits.” She would need time to see to her uncle’s effects and to make whatever personal amends were needed. He nodded and opened the portable writing case. He opened the bottle of ink and took out paper. “A letter for my solicitor. If anything should happen, if you should find yourself in need of funds or assistance of any sort he’ll see to it. I’ll give you the papers from Eglender as well. Best you have those with you.” He wrote quickly, signed his name, and when the ink was dried folded and sealed the letter. He took out two more sheets of paper. “My banker. And another for the butler at Maralee House.” He looked at her while he wrote. “For my peace of mind, Lady Foye. Maralee is your home now. Always. No matter what.”
She took the sealed papers from him. “I can’t shake the conviction that something will go wrong.”
“All will come right, Sabine. You’ll see.”
But it didn’t.