“SIDNEY IS IN a harem?” Mrs. Higginbotham peered over his shoulder. For an old lady, she certainly had extraordinary eyesight.
“Mrs. Gordon is in a harem?” Corbin’s voice sounded behind them. Fine time for Corbin to finally make an appearance.
“What are you doing here?” Harry said sharply.
“I was coming to find out why you didn’t inform me about Mrs. Gordon’s kidnapping.”
“I might have mentioned it to him,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore said with a wince. “But I did think he already knew.”
“There was no kidnapping,” Harry said firmly and turned his attention back to Nazzal’s missive.
“Well, what was there?” Lady Blodgett asked. “And why is Sidney in a harem? Did she go there of her own accord?”
“Where is this harem?” Mrs. Higginbotham squared her shoulders. “We shall have to fetch her ourselves.”
“You have my assistance in any rescue of Mrs. Gordon,” Corbin said staunchly. “It will make an excellent story,” he added under his breath.
“Come now, Mr. Corbin.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore glared at the reporter. “Our first priority is retrieving Sidney, not your story.”
Corbin winced.
“Furthermore.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore raised her chin. “I daresay we can rescue Sidney without you.”
“And yet I do not intend to be left out,” Corbin warned.
“I don’t know that anyone needs to be rescued.” Harry glared at the group. “If you would all restrain yourselves, and allow me a moment to read this, then we can decide what needs to be done.”
“Yes, of course.” Lady Blodgett waved at the note. “But quickly would be appreciated.”
“Perhaps we should adjourn to somewhere more private.” Mrs. Higginbotham glanced around the entrance hall. Tea at Shepheard’s always attracted a crowd, especially on weekdays when a military band played.
“Your rooms perhaps, Harry?” Lady Blodgett asked.
“Excellent idea.”
A few minutes later, they were in Harry’s suite on the first floor, down the hall from Sidney’s.
“According to Nazzal,” Harry began, “Mrs. Gordon is in the harem in one of the lesser royal residences, not far from here.”
“May I see that?” Lady Blodgett held out her hand for the note and Harry passed it to her.
“Is she being held against her will?” Corbin asked, a bit too eagerly.
“He doesn’t say but I doubt it.” Harry shot him an irritated look. “Do you know anything about Egypt at all?”
“Only what I’ve read in Mrs. Gordon’s stories,” the reporter snapped. “You tell me if they’re accurate or not.” A distinct challenge sounded in the man’s voice.
“Oh, I don’t believe Sidney has ever written about harems,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore said in an aside to Lady Blodgett beside her.
“I would suggest we have far more important matters to discuss at the moment than the veracity of Sidney’s stories.” Mrs. Higginbotham aimed a pointed look at Corbin.
“You’re right, of course.” Corbin straightened his shoulders as if about to head off to conquer the unknown in the best manner of a fictional hero. “Far more important.” What an idiot.
“Harems, Mr. Corbin, are not bastions of immorality. That’s a false impression advanced by European fiction. They are simply the quarters of the female members of a household as well as their servants and children. The wives of the household, limited to no more than four, are free to come and go as they please. Servants and, well, slaves, have no such liberty.”
Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore gasped. “Do you think they want Sidney for a slave?”
“No, I do not,” Harry said firmly. “As I do not think she has been kidnapped. Frankly, if that was the case, even Nazzal would not have been able to find out where she is this quickly. She would be hidden and she’s not. From what Nazzal has written—”
“Why isn’t he here?” Mrs. Higginbotham crossed her arms over her chest. “We could certainly use his assistance.”
Harry’s jaw tightened. He had thought exactly the same thing himself. “Unfortunately, he was called away but expects to return within a day or so.”
“Then this is in your hands.” Lady Blodgett offered him an encouraging smile.
“You can manage this, Harry,” Mrs. Higginbotham said as if there wasn’t a doubt in her mind. It was most gratifying.
“And if you can’t,” Corbin added, “I can.”
“No one needs to manage anything,” Harry said sharply. “The fact that Sidney has not yet returned could be due to any number of as yet unknown reasons. I suggest we wait until this evening. If she has not returned by then, we should turn this over to the British consulate. Sidney is in a royal household and this could be better handled through diplomatic means.”
The three ladies and Corbin stared in disbelief.
“That’s it?” Mrs. Higginbotham glared. “That’s your plan?”
Lady Blodgett shook her head. “We did expect more from you, Harry.”
“Richard Weatherly would certainly do more,” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore muttered.
“Why wait?” Corbin said slowly, staring at Harry, a definite challenge in his eyes. “I think we need to go and fetch her. Rescue her as it were.”
Mrs. Higginbotham huffed. “Isn’t that what I just said?”
“It’s an excellent idea, regardless of who said it first.” Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore nodded.
“No.” Harry shook his head. “It’s not.”
“If you’re not willing to go—” Corbin smirked “—I can certainly do this without you.”
“I doubt that, Corbin.”
“At least I am willing to try.”
“As are we,” Mrs. Higginbotham said staunchly.
Determination showed on each lady’s face and even Corbin adopted an expression of resolve.
Bloody hell. Why not?
There was the slimmest possibility he was wrong. That Sidney was indeed in trouble and being held against her will. He doubted it. It made no sense and Nazzal didn’t seem to think that was the case. Even so, the nasty feeling in his stomach had never been wrong. Of course, he had never liked a woman before which had certainly mucked up everything else in his life.
The proper, appropriate thing to do was to contact the consulate. It was exactly what the Earl of Brenton would do.
Charging off to rescue Sidney was probably a dreadful mistake, a reckless and irrational course of action and there was every likelihood that it could go terribly wrong. It was exactly the kind of stupid, brash thing Harry Armstrong would do. The kind of thing that ridiculous character Richard Weatherly would do that would sweep Millicent Forester off her feet. Would it do the same to Sidney Gordon?
“Very well.” He blew a resigned breath. “Let’s go rescue Mrs. Gordon.”
* * *
HARRY AND CORBIN stood in a narrow street before what he assumed was the west door of the palace. Fortunately, this particular royal residence was not far from the hotel. Even better it was now dark. Harry had sent out errand boys with inquiries to several Egyptian acquaintances who, like Nazzal, usually knew what was going on in the city. While he had gotten directions and some information as to the interior of the building, he had also received visits from two more creditors—apparently among those Nazzal had warned knew he was in Egypt. As he had no time to argue about charges and simply paid what they claimed he owed, they offered whatever assistance he may need in any future endeavors. As well as credit. That, coupled with the purchases of a few essential items, took longer than he had wanted which was more a matter of his own impatience than any sense of real urgency. Still, it was for the best. The later they attempted this, the darker it would be and the fewer people they would encounter. Besides, the longer this escapade took—the more likely it was Sidney would return on her own. He did feel the need to keep Corbin busy as well. There was no telling how much trouble the man would get into attempting to rescue Sidney by himself.
Harry had hired horses, much to Corbin’s dismay. The reporter insisted Sidney would prefer a carriage but had given in when Harry had pointed out the narrowness of the streets surrounding the royal residence. Once they were out of sight of the hotel, they donned the robes and turbans of a typical Cairo resident. They had hidden the garments with Harry’s other purchases in sacks each man had slung over his shoulder. Harry would never pass for an Egyptian in the hard light of day but at night, with his dark blond hair hidden beneath a turban, he knew from past experience no one would give him a second look. They had left the horses around the corner at the quarter gate under the alert eye of a young man who had agreed to watch the animals for a price.
The street was poorly lit by no more than a handful of lanterns. Infrequent pools of illumination were threatened by dark pockets of unnerving shadow. The door was simple and traditional—wood with an iron knocker and a wooden lock. Directly above it, a squared bow window—what the Egyptians called a mashrabiya—jutted outward, supported by scalloped wooden brackets.
“It doesn’t look much like a palace,” Corbin said skeptically.
“It’s not supposed to. That’s precisely the idea.”
Harry had done any number of stupid things in his life. Usually he realized they were stupid when there was no going back. Tonight, from the moment he agreed to this, he’d known it was stupid. And probably nothing more than a desire to put Corbin in his place. Also stupid.
“This is not the main entrance but a door used for function and discretion.”
“I understand that but the building itself does not look like a royal residence.”
“One never knows what’s behind the walls on any street in Cairo. Especially the older ones. The stonework is all the same, the doors are similar and unadorned. It’s really quite brilliant. But if you look down on the area from the rooftops you see something entirely different.” Harry studied the building. “According to my information, if we climb to the roof, we’ll be able to identify the west wing which houses the harem. There is a large covered courtyard within the harem which should be fairly easy to spot. There are usually latticework screens that allow for ventilation. That’s probably the easiest way to get into the building.”
“Are you mad?” Corbin stared at him. “I’ve read about this sort of thing. Do you know what they do to men who violate the sanctity of a harem?”
Perhaps this was something Corbin should have considered before insisting they do this. Harry met his gaze. “Yes.”
“Are you at least going to tell me that too is a false impression?”
Harry was not about to relieve the man’s concerns. He pulled a metal hook and a coil of rope from his bag. “No.”
“You do realize, this is a three-story building.”
“The roof will be flat.”
Corbin looked at the rope in horror. “If we make it to the roof.”
“It’s not that difficult,” Harry said coolly. “Do you have a better idea?”
“No.” Corbin huffed then paused. “Yes.”
Harry clenched his teeth. “Well, now would be a good time to mention it.”
“Well...” Corbin studied the building. “If we just climb to the top of that projecting window—”
“It’s called a mashrabiya.”
“We can probably get in through there.”
“Of course then we’ll have to make our way to the women’s quarters inside the building, thus increasing the likelihood of discovery.” It was a bad idea. They could break the window but that would create a great deal of noise and attract attention. They would have to open the window as quietly as possible. Chances were good that it wasn’t locked—given their height, mashrabiyas rarely were. But to do that, it would be necessary to dangle upside down from the top of the mashrabiya. An idea only made better by the thought of dangling Corbin by his heels. No doubt Corbin would come to his senses as soon as he realized that. Harry shrugged. “Why not.”
Approaching voices sounded at the far end of the street. Harry tossed the rope and hook back in the bag and whispered to Corbin to follow his lead. The men huddled together as if engaged in a financial negotiation.
As soon as the passersby had vanished from sight, Harry pulled the rope out and knotted it about every three feet.
“What are you doing?” the reporter asked.
“Handholds,” Harry said curtly.
Once he had enough knots, he tied the hook to one end then stepped away from the wall and assessed the height of the windows. This was not going to be easy. But with decent aim and a great deal of luck, the hook would wedge at the point where the mashrabiya attached to the wall. He drew a deep breath, hefted the hook in his hand and let it fly. It fell short by a few inches then clattered to the stone street.
“Quiet,” Corbin snapped. “Do you want to wake everyone up?”
Harry resisted the urge to point out as it was barely past eight o’clock the chances were slim they would awaken anyone although attracting attention was a distinct possibility. “Do you want to do this?”
“Sorry,” Corbin muttered.
Harry tried again. Again it fell short. Corbin wisely refrained from comment. Harry drew a steadying breath and threw the hook once more. This time it caught on the edge of the mashrabiya’s roof. He carefully inched it toward the wall until it wedged in the niche between mashrabiya and wall, exactly where he wanted it. He yanked hard to set the hook then glanced at Corbin. “Do you want to go first or should I?”
“By all means.” Corbin gestured at the rope. “Go on.”
Harry wrapped the rope around one hand, braced one foot on the stonework around the door and pulled himself up. The first few feet were always the hardest. Slowly he walked up the side of the building until he reached the window. He grabbed on to the ornate carved moldings that would provide excellent hand-and footholds. From there it was a simple matter to climb onto the top of the mashrabiya.
“Your turn,” he called quietly to Corbin.
“I’ve never done anything like this.” Unease edged the reporter’s voice.
“Always a first time. Get up here.” Harry resisted the urge to raise his voice. “Now.”
Apparently Corbin, in spite of his apparent physical fitness, was not athletically inclined. It took him more than one attempt and far longer than it had taken Harry to finally reach the top of the window. Harry pulled up the rope after him.
“What are you doing?” Horror rang in Corbin’s hushed voice. “How are we going to get down?”
“The same way we got up,” Harry said sharply. “But if we leave the rope dangling and anyone wanders by or worse, comes out of the door, there will be questions.”
“Of course. Yes. Sorry.” He shook his head. “I’m not used to this sort of thing.”
“Apparently.”
Corbin studied him curiously. “You are though, aren’t you?”
“Not anymore,” Harry muttered. “Now, all we have to do—”
A creak sounded beneath them.
Corbin froze. “What is that?”
“It’s the door. Quiet!” Harry flattened himself against the wall and—much to Harry’s surprise—Corbin immediately followed suit.
Beneath the mashrabiya the door slowly creaked open. Thank God for ancient hinges and the lax nature of those responsible for their oiling. The distinct sound of female voices drifted up to them. A moment later four—no—five figures appeared below them. A short man, carrying a large bundle, accompanied a cloaked woman and three others dressed in European fashion but from this angle little could be seen. A nasty suspicion—because surely he was wrong—struck him and was confirmed not more than a moment later.
“That was certainly interesting.” Lady Blodgett’s distinct voice sounded below them.
“Quite the adventure I’d say,” a voice that was definitely Mrs. Higginbotham’s added.
“I have so much to tell you.” What was surely Sidney’s voice rang with excitement.
Relief washed through him. Sidney was fine. He had known it all along even if he now realized, somewhere inside him, he hadn’t been completely confident. Without warning it struck him—this could have been truly perilous. Her life could have been at risk. He had refused to think it overly serious for fear that it really was. She could have been in grave danger.
He could have lost her. His heart clenched at the thought.
“I say, Armstrong,” Corbin said in an urgent whisper. “Can we get down now? They’re gone.”
Good Lord! He was in love with the woman! How had something this absurd happened? How ironic. How inconvenient. How...right? Certainly he liked her but... God help him, how was he going to deal with this?
“Wait another minute,” Harry said absently.
How had this happened? When did it happen? Certainly not the moment he first met her. No, while he had been surprised by her age and that she was really rather lovely, especially when she smiled, he certainly hadn’t fallen for her then. When she denied her excitement for everything she saw? No, that was definitely annoying. When he’d realized he was indeed right about her? Not that it was difficult. From the beginning she was a bad liar. He liked that about her.
When he’d first wanted to kiss her?
“Armstrong?” Corbin waved his hand in front of Harry’s face.
Harry’s attention jerked to the other man. “What? Oh. Right.” He’d have time later to think about Sidney and feelings. “I’ll go first.”
Harry threw the rope down and was on the street in no time. Corbin took a little longer but the man seemed to be catching on. They returned to their horses, and headed to the hotel, pausing to discard their robes. They rode back in near silence but it was a short ride and Harry’s thoughts were on other matters. Upon their return, Harry was presented with a note at the front desk from the ladies, succinctly detailing Sidney’s absence starting with an invitation from a princess to her return no more than an hour ahead of Corbin and Harry. There was no mention of the old ladies’ role in this. They had assured him they would not leave the hotel and yet they had merrily done exactly what they wanted. This kind of nonsense would have to stop. Harry passed the note to Corbin.
Corbin scanned it and shook his head. “Blasted woman was in a harem telling stories for God’s sake. Do you know the kind of stories I’ve been writing since my arrival?”
“No.” Nor did he care.
“I might as well have been reporting on the last meeting of the Women’s Co-operative Guild. Or the latest society outing. We’re in Egypt! But there’s been no discovery of a new tomb, no uncovering of an ancient artifact, no locating of lost treasure.”
“Is that what you expected?” Harry asked mildly.
“Didn’t you?”
“I’m not sure what I expected.”
“Frankly, I did expect more from the Queen of the bloody Desert. The most interesting thing that’s happened thus far was losing the old ladies and even that was insignificant. Her stories are filled with adventure and excitement but this has been no better than an organized tour. I’m beginning to agree with you about her authenticity. Mrs. Gordon’s return to Egypt has been decidedly ordinary. Unless of course...” He brightened. “You’ve found proof that she’s a fraud?”
“I’m afraid not,” Harry lied. He wasn’t about to tell Corbin about the little discrepancies in Sidney’s story that added up to the truth. Besides he had no choice. Not if he loved her.
“I didn’t think so.” Corbin shook his head. “According to this—” he waved the note at Harry “—she was answering questions and reading from her book. She was in a harem discussing books? That was it? Do you know what kind of story that is?”
“Rather charming I’d say.” Or terrifying depending on whether one was cheerfully sipping tea with an Egyptian princess or one was trying not to think what dire fate had befallen someone whose whereabouts were unknown.
“Charming?” Corbin snorted in disdain. “Readers don’t want charming. Charming doesn’t keep them turning the pages and wanting more. Charming, Armstrong, does not sell newspapers or further careers.” He blew a frustrated breath. “I suppose I can make something out of the harem angle.”
“The truth is usually a good idea.”
“The truth, Armstrong, is relative.” Corbin glanced at the door to the Long Bar. “I believe I’ll stop in the bar before going to my room. They don’t allow women in there, do they?”
“A last bastion, Corbin. Someday they’ll probably even be voting.”
“God help us,” Corbin muttered and strode across the entrance hall toward the bar.
As much as the bar was tempting, Harry had no desire to do anything except see Sidney. Ascertain for himself that she was all right.
And then what?
Proclaim his feelings? Announce his undying love? Sweep her off her feet?
Marry the woman?
Not a bad idea. She did apparently know everything there was to know about Egypt. And she did tell a fairly good story. Not to mention that she was clever and amusing with the most remarkable blue eyes and a kiss that did something unexpected to his senses.
And it was entirely possible he could no longer live without her.
By the time he headed for Sidney’s room relief had been swept aside by anger at her irresponsible behavior as well as that of her friends. What were they thinking? Any of them? Whether he wanted to be or not, he did feel responsible for each gray-or white-haired head. He would never forgive himself if something happened to the old ladies. They wouldn’t be here if not for him.
As for Sidney, apparently it was not enough to protect her from Corbin’s ambition.
He had to save her from herself.