Pride and pyramids : Mr. Darcy in Egypt

Chapter 7

Elizabeth sat up, startled by the eerie wailing which had awakened her. It was a sound she had never heard before. The searing heat was confusing as well, despite the fact that dawn was only just beginning to creep across the horizon. The windows were wide open.

“It’s the muezzin,” came a sleepy voice beside her.

“The what?”

“The muezzin.” Darcy repeated. “Had you forgotten? We arrived in Egypt last night and the wailing is the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer. Potheroe said we would get used to it. He said after a couple of days we wouldn’t even notice it anymore.”

“Ah! I remember,” said Elizabeth.

She lay down in his arms and listened to the muezzin. Now that she was awake, the sound was not so disturbing. In fact there was something quite hypnotic about it.

They had arrived at the port of Alexandria late the night before. Even so late, the harbour had been teeming with people, and as Darcy and Captain Merriweather organised odd carriages called caleches to convey them to their rented house, Elizabeth and Sophie had watched with amazement as copper-skinned people swarmed up to them laden with strange fruits and little cups of tea, chattering in a language none of them could understand. Even Mrs Bennet had been stunned into silence, and Beth, William, and John had stood close to their mother, mouths open in astonishment. The three younger children had slept through it all.

Elizabeth lay quietly for a while, trying to reconcile herself to her exotic surroundings. But to her surprise, she found that now she was wide-awake. Gently she moved away from Darcy and, pulling on a wrapper, she moved across to the window.

The sun was taking more of a hold on the day, and she could see figures move about in the grey light, although they were still dim and shapeless. Up closer to the window, the noises of the day were more apparent. Donkeys began to bray as they were laden down with wares, and from the kitchen below someone laughed.

“You are awake now, my love?”

She turned to see Darcy behind her. He put an arm around her shoulders and they watched Alexandria come to life.

“It seems I am. Is it too early for breakfast?”

“I fear it is. However, since we are both awake…”

“Yes?”

“Perhaps we might use our time in a different way?”

Elizabeth smiled and agreed.

***

All the household rose early; excitement and the heat drove them from their beds, and although Elizabeth and Darcy were the first to arrive downstairs for breakfast, soon all their children appeared with Sophie and Edward.

“Good morning, Mama, good morning, Papa,” Beth greeted them, looking cool and fresh in a white linen gown decorated with damask rose ribbons. She took her place at the table, with William and John following behind her. Laurence and Jane sat together as always, and Margaret slipped into a seat next to Sophie. The look of disappointment on Edward’s face was not lost on either Elizabeth or Darcy, as he had to take a seat farther down the table.

“Where is Grandmama?” Elizabeth asked William, who was examining some round, flat bread rolls with interest.

“She bade us come to breakfast without her, Mama. She said the heat was too ferocious, and she could not leave her bed.”

Sophie looked up in concern. “Should I go to her, Elizabeth?” she enquired, but Elizabeth merely shook her head.

“No, sit down and eat your breakfast. I will go to her presently.”

“Make sure you eat well, children,” Darcy continued, determined that his mother-in-law would not monopolise the proceedings. “We have a busy day ahead of us.”

But he need not have been so concerned. The table, laden with exotic food, was of far greater interest to his children than their grandmother was. Fortunately, the servant who supplied them with great jugs of juice and hot coffee spoke a little English and some French, and he was in great demand explaining the names of the different fruits. Watermelons, figs, pomegranates, and apricots made up the unfamiliar meal, and the children were delighted.

After breakfast the children were dispatched to spend some time with their tutors, and the older members of the group discussed their plans. When organising the trip Darcy had decided that they should relax for a few days in Alexandria before undertaking the next stage of their journey to Cairo. The sea voyage had been exciting but arduous, and the journey to Cairo would take at least five days; it was important for the household to keep a reasonable equilibrium if they were to get the most from their travels.

“What are your plans this morning, Edward?” Darcy asked, finishing the last of the thick black tea they had been served in tiny cups.

“I thought I would visit the site of the ancient lighthouse to begin with…”

“I thought the lighthouse was no longer there?” said Darcy.

“You are right, but I want to imagine it as it was. And then I want to visit the acropolis and see its monument to Diocletian and the Serapeum and the catacombs—” He paused, seeing the look of amusement in Darcy’s eyes. “Forgive me. As you can see I have much to occupy myself with today. I want to see as much as possible before we meet up with Sir Matthew in Cairo. I do not want him to think that I have been wasting my time!”

“Will you postpone at least one of those visits until this afternoon when the children will be with us? You know so much more than the rest of us, and I know they will be delighted.”

“Of course,” said Edward good-naturedly. “In that case I shall make a visit to the bazaar by the port instead this morning. It is renowned for its variety, and perhaps I can pick up some interesting items to show Sir Matthew.”

“I am looking forward to visiting the bazaar myself,” said Elizabeth. “Might we join you?”

“I would be enchanted. And perhaps Miss Lucas could be persuaded to accompany us as well.”

“It sounds very pleasant, but perhaps we should see if Mr Inkworthy would care to join us also…?” said Sophie.

Elizabeth admired Sophie’s efforts to protect her reputation by making it clear that she did not have a favourite, and she was amused by the deflated look in Edward’s eye, which quickly disappeared when Darcy said, “Mr Inkworthy left very early this morning before you arrived to breakfast with us. It seems he needs some new watercolours or pastels, and he could not spare a moment without them.”

“Then let us all meet in half an hour and set out together.”

Once they were alone, Darcy said to Elizabeth, “It seems that Sophie has not made up her mind between the two men. Sometimes I think she favours one, and sometimes another. And sometimes, like today, I think she favours neither.”

“She is certainly anxious to make it seem that way, though more in an effort to protect herself than anything else, I think,” said Elizabeth.

“Do you know if she has any strong feelings for either of them?”

“At the moment, she enjoys their company in different ways. Their attentions have lifted her out of her melancholy and she likes Edward’s enthusiasms and chivalry, while she appreciates Paul’s quieter kindnesses. But as to anything serious, no, I do not think so, at least not yet, although I must confess that I do not fully know her thoughts. She confides in me a little, but of her deepest feelings I know nothing. I suspect she does not understand them herself.”

Darcy nodded thoughtfully.

“It will perhaps be as well if she enjoys an agreeable flirtation with both of them and then forgets them when the trip is over,” Elizabeth continued. “But life is seldom convenient, and I am watching her progress with interest.”

***

By nine o’clock they were all sitting in a caleche and driving slowly through the crowded streets. The white walls of the buildings, designed to keep the heat at bay, were blinding in the sun. Every few minutes they came upon a market square with tiny stalls set up wherever there was a space. People shouted in shrill tones, advertising their wares, and all four travellers were entranced by the flowing white robes and rolled-up headdresses worn by the men. Donkeys brayed on every corner and each time they stopped, small boys appeared as if from nowhere entreating them to buy sticky brown dates and succulent figs.

At last they arrived at the entrance to a bazaar. The circular architecture with its sweeping domes was enough to set Edward off on a lecture about the mingling of French, English, and Arabic cultures. The bazaar was cooler inside thanks to the high ceiling and the thick stone of which it was built. As soon as they alighted from the caleche, Elizabeth and Sophie were drawn to an area given over to jewellery and brightly coloured fabrics.

All four wandered together at first, examining the stalls for their wares, but they separated naturally into two couples and finally they agreed to meet near the entrance in two hours’ time. Since Sophie and Edward were to remain in sight there was no danger of impropriety, and they soon wandered off to follow their own interests.

Elizabeth and Darcy spent a happy morning, trying to compete with the market holders in their game of haggling, until at last, exhausted, they made their way back to the entrance. In one corner they found a coffeehouse with seats that looked out onto the scene. It advertised refreshments in French, English, and German as well as Arabic, and they sank down gratefully onto the beautifully embroidered seats.

“Good day to you, effendi,” said the waiter, immediately spotting them. “How may I serve you? We have tea, coffee, many fruit juices, and many pastries.”

“Coffee, please,” said Darcy, and the young man bowed and slipped away as quickly as he had come.

“Are you satisfied with your purchases, my love?” Darcy asked with amusement. Elizabeth was surrounded by packages containing fabrics, toys and trinkets for the children, as well as gifts for friends and family at home.

“I am. I know Beth will love this cloth,” she said, taking out a length of fabric in purple and red, entranced again by its cool silkiness. “And I have remembered the Egyptian cotton for my sister Jane. As for her namesake, I have bought this. I am sure she will adore it.”

“It is very colourful,” Darcy agreed, laughing as he saw the sequined headdress Elizabeth had bought for their daughter. It was clinked with metals of different shapes and patterns, and he could only too easily imagine how thrilled she would be.

“Do not laugh,” said Elizabeth severely. “She has an eye for the unusual.”

“I bow to your superior wisdom, my dear. But I must confess, I prefer the boys’ presents.”

Elizabeth nodded, equally as pleased with these purchases. She had found a book for William of Arabic myths and legends, which some enterprising writer had decorated with Arabic words and pictures; a set of toy soldiers in Napoleonic uniform, which she knew would soon be seeing battle in John’s ever-increasing toy armies; and a small wooden sword for Laurence. As the waiter returned, she searched for the last present.

“Shukran,” said Darcy, proudly displaying his one word in Arabic and receiving a wide smile from the waiter in return. He placed a glass jug on their table, intricately painted in blue and green and red, and beside it set down two tiny cups of the same design. A bowl of sugar completed the set. Elizabeth lifted the lid of the jug and the rich aroma of coffee revived her almost immediately.

“And I think Margaret will love this,” she said, pointing to a soft felt doll in full Arab dress.

“Ah, you found one,” said Darcy, turning it over and examining the different textures on the dress and turban. “Let us hope it diverts some of her attention from her other, unpleasant doll. I must say…”

“Yes.”

He smiled a little shamefacedly. “I was going to say that there is something disturbing about Aahotep’s features. In a dim light I could almost think she were alive and plotting some new atrocities. I am surprised that Meg is so devoted to her—it,” he corrected himself.

Elizabeth poured out the steaming brew into the miniature cups and added sugar.

“It is strange you should say that. On board the ship, Sophie was telling me much the same thing. She said she fancied the doll actually turned its head of its own accord… though she was forced to admit that she had been sitting in the sun without a hat or a parasol at the time! But she says she keeps taking it away from Margaret when she is asleep, yet somehow it always seems to end up in her bed again.”

“I think that is more likely to be Meg’s determination not to be parted from it, rather than supernatural powers on the part of the doll!” said Darcy. “Even so, I am glad you have bought her a new one. I am sure that Meg will abandon the old one, as you predicted, when she sees how much better this one is. Are you hungry? I see the waiter is serving some pastries to that couple over there. Perhaps we should try some.”

He signalled to the waiter to return and in no time at all, they had a plate piled high with cakes that were a mixture of European and Arabic cuisines. Neither spoke again about Margaret’s odd doll. Instead, while waiting for Sophie and Edward to return they diverted themselves discussing the exotic habits of the Egyptians. Elizabeth was intrigued by the long water pipes prevalent in the cafés around the bazaar. Wherever one looked, one could see old men sucking contentedly as they played against each other at chess. The waiter told them these pipes were known as sheeshas and offered Darcy a chance to try it, but he declined, although it occurred to him that when Elizabeth and Sophie were engaged with Mrs Bennet in finding new clothes later on, he and Edward might test the experience.

After eating a delicious honey cake covered in sticky nuts Elizabeth declared her spirits restored. She looked about her, taking an interest in their fellows.

“Do you know, Darcy, it occurs to me that we are not the only English people here, and there are many French and German travellers here, too.”

“It is true,” said Darcy, looking round the bazaar. Now that they had become more accustomed to the scene, he found he too could pick out European fashions as well as Arabic robes. “Napoleon could not have guessed, when he forced his way here years ago, that he would make this place such a fashionable spot. The people over there, I would say, are French,” he added, pointing to a young couple admiring the rugs on a stall.

“And those over there, German,” said Elizabeth, joining in the game. “And perhaps those people by the jewellery stand are Italian.”

“No, I would say Spanish. What do you think of that group?”

“Most definitely English, my dear.”

“Agreed. And over there—oh!”

Darcy stopped and stared at a stall in the distance where two Alexandrians in full white robes were arguing ferociously. Seeing his face, Elizabeth leaned forward.

“What is it, Darcy?”

“The most extraordinary thing,” he replied, still searching the bazaar with his eyes. “Just for a moment I could have sworn I saw George Wickham.”

***

Sophie and Edward had stopped at every stall in the huge bazaar, and still it seemed Edward had not yet had his fill of the place. At last Sophie halted by a coffeehouse tucked in the corner of the market. The smell of coffee and sweet, sticky cakes made her almost faint with hunger. It seemed to have been a long time since breakfast.

“Forgive me,” said Edward apologetically, noticing her glance at the café. “I have indulged myself too much at your expense. Come, let us sit down and rest for a while.”

Gratefully, Sophie nodded and they sat down by a rather rickety table. The waiter who served them spoke no other language than Arabic, and so Edward found himself forced to try his hand at the few words he knew and a great deal of sign language. Eventually two cups of coffee appeared, along with two glasses of what looked like milk.

“Laban,” the waiter kept repeating in response to their expressions of puzzlement before walking away in disgust.

Edward smiled wryly.

“I am not sure exactly what I asked for,” he admitted, picking up the glass and examining it warily. “It seems to be milk, but perhaps it would be wise not to take the risk.”

Taking his lead, Sophie picked up the other glass.

“If we both took a little sip, it couldn’t do us much harm, could it?” she said. “After all, what is the point of travelling if one does not take a chance occasionally?”

Edward looked at her with admiration. “Bravo, Miss Lucas, you are quite right. Shall we?”

He lifted his own glass in a toast and after a slight hesitation, Sophie nodded and they each took a small sip.

“It is milk,” Sophie said. “Only very sweet, with a flavour I do not recognise.”

“And thicker than milk should be. Do you know? I recall reading somewhere that a French king in the sixteenth century was miraculously cured of some disease after eating a fermented milk drink sent to him by an Arabic doctor. Perhaps this is it. However,” he added, as Sophie took another sip, “I would counsel some caution. This is only our first day here; we should be prudent in our experiments.”

Sophie agreed and turned instead to the tiny cup of steaming black coffee in front of her. It was rich and thick, copiously sweetened, and very refreshing. “Most invigorating,” she said.

“I am glad you are enjoying yourself.”

“How could I not?” she said. “It is hard to believe that only a few short months ago I was languishing in Meryton, and all I had to look forward to was decorating the church with Mama for the harvest festival. It was a good notion of yours to come to Egypt.”

“I have dreamed of this trip all my life,” he said, and all his enthusiasm and natural good spirits were in evidence. “And now I am here, I am determined not to waste one single moment. There is so much to do and see that at times I almost feel overwhelmed by the thought of it all. When I woke this morning and smelled the jasmine in the air and heard the strange chatter in the streets below, I could scarcely believe that I was at last here. And this adventure has barely started for me. When we arrive in Cairo, there will be much to see and do. You will be entranced, S… Miss Lucas. There are the pyramids, and then there is the sphinx, which is a wonder to behold—or so I am told. And after that the beauty of the Nile and then down into the Valley of the Kings with all its splendour—” He stopped, suddenly aware that he was monopolising the conversation. “Forgive me, Miss Lucas, I am afraid that when I start talking about Egypt I find it hard to stop, but I know not everyone finds it as fascinating as I do. How are you feeling now? If you are rested, we should perhaps continue with our shopping.”

He was making a special effort to drag himself away from the topic which intrigued him, and Sophie smiled.

“I have spent so much of my life listening to my brothers talk of nothing but hunting and shooting and my father talking of his presentation at St James’s that it is a pleasure to hear a man talk of something more interesting for a change. And you speak this strange language, too, which is something most of us have not even considered.”

“Only a few words,” Edward said, but Sophie shook her head.

“Nevertheless, we would not have managed without you today. Perhaps when we return to the hotel you might teach me some phrases.”

“It would be my pleasure, Miss Lucas,” he said warmly, looking at her with new respect. For a moment neither of them spoke—then Edward stood up. Leaving what he hoped was enough money on the table, he leaned forward to take Sophie’s hand. “We really should be joining Elizabeth and Darcy now.”

They began to gather up their purchases as the waiter came over to them. When he saw the small fortune that had been left, he was almost in paroxysms of delight.

“There, Mr Fitzwilliam,” said Sophie, her eyes twinkling with amusement as the waiter showered them with “Allahs.” “You have made a new friend at this coffeehouse today.”

He looked at her warmly and said, “I hope I have made two.”

She smiled in answer. He offered her his arm, and as they set off toward Elizabeth and Darcy she felt lucky she had discovered that there was more to life than deciding on which hymn to practise for the Sunday service and that feckless young men did not have the right to destroy her life. There were other young men in the world, interesting and courteous and chivalrous young men, who, perhaps in time, might be trusted. And then, who knew what might happen?

***

Paul Inkworthy looked at the camel driver in front of him. He tried to keep his mind on his subject as he sketched the man’s long, flowing robe and characterful face, instead of letting his thoughts wander to the far more interesting subject of Miss Sophie Lucas.

Sophie had come to occupy his mind far more than was wise over the past few weeks. It had been impossible to escape her on the sea voyage, despite his noble intentions to stay away from her, as he knew full well that a poverty-stricken artist had nothing to offer a woman whose father was a knight. But now that they had arrived in Alexandria he knew that he must gradually withdraw his attentions, which had been more marked than they should have been, given that he was not in a position to support a wife. And so he had set out early that morning in order to remove himself from temptation.

Reminding himself that he was on the trip as the Darcys’ artist, he forced himself to pay attention to his work. He had promised Mr Darcy a faithful representation of all the varied scenes of Alexandria: the boats coming and going along the river, the little boys driving donkeys, the camels with water jugs on their backs, the men with their copper faces and their long robes, the women with their black hair and eyes—all the noise and confusion of a busy Egyptian port.

He finished the sketch of the camel driver and then flicked back through his sketchbook, marvelling at the opportunities that had come his way since setting out from England.

The earliest sketches were of the Darcys in their London home: Darcy standing in front of the fireplace; Elizabeth walking in the garden, with the wind whipping her skirt about her ankles; the children at work and play. But these soon gave way to a collection of drawings and paintings of the sea voyage, which had provided him with a chance to produce character sketches of the sailors as well. It had also given him an unprecedented opportunity to perfect his rendering of tall sailing ships as well as to capture an endless array of seascapes, from calm to storm. In addition, the ports they had visited had given him a chance to sketch places as varied as Southampton and Malta.

And now he was in Alexandria, where the light effects alone would provide him with a year’s study as he sought to capture the way the air shimmered in the heat and the way the water dazzled under the full glare of the sun.

He picked up a half-finished painting and put it on his easel, returning to the scene he had abandoned half an hour earlier and, newly inspired, captured the heat haze that had defeated him before.

He stood back to look at his painting when he was done, squinting against the bright Egyptian sun.

“Exceptional,” came a voice at his shoulder. “I have seen many artists at work here, and they have all captured the scene in front of them to great effect. But you have caught the wind in the sails, the movement of the water, the bray of the camels, and the scent of the spices. I have long been searching for an artist to record my travels and I have been on the point of making arrangements with three of them, but something always held me back. I was looking for something more, though I didn’t know what that something was. But now I know. Whereas other artists will bring Egypt into my living room, you, dear sir, will transport my living room to Egypt.”

Paul turned to see an English gentleman who was well dressed and whose attire made no concessions to the heat. He was wearing a tight tailcoat and breeches together with a frilled shirt and a starched cravat. On his head was a tall hat, and he carried a cane.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” said the gentleman. “Here, my card.”

He handed it to Paul, and Paul felt the quality of it even as he read the name, Sir Mark Bellingham, Bart.

“Of the Shropshire Bellinghams,” said Sir Mark.

“I don’t know the Shropshire Bellinghams,” said Paul awkwardly, feeling his lack of status.

“My dear sir, I would be surprised if you did,” said Sir Mark, amused. “But you will, I hope, become further acquainted with this one. I am looking for an artist to travel with me through Egypt, making a record of my journey and providing me with a number of finished paintings to hang on my wall when I return to England. You have just the talent… no,” he said, looking again at the paintings clustered haphazardly round Paul’s feet, “the genius I am looking for.”

Paul was flattered by the praise and the offer of employment, but he said, “I am already engaged.”

“Whatever your patron is paying, I will double it,” said Sir Mark, unconcerned.

“I think you would regret the offer if you knew the cost,” said Paul with a sudden smile. “Besides, I cannot abandon my current patron in the middle of his journey.”

“I admire your loyalty, if regretting its consequences. But can we not share you? If you will accept a commission for three paintings of Alexandria from me—”

Paul shook his head.

“We will only be in Alexandria for a few days. After that, we travel to Cairo.”

“That is no difficulty,” said Sir Mark, waving away the problem. “I will be going to Cairo myself next week.”

“But we will not be long there, either,” said Paul. “We will be travelling down the Nile shortly afterward.”

“I, too, will be sailing down the Nile,” said Sir Mark. “Whereabouts will you be staying?”

“We will be joining Sir Matthew Rosen’s dig.”

“Ah,” said Sir Mark. For the first time he acknowledged the problem.

“I believe Mr Darcy had a certain amount of difficulty in persuading Sir Matthew to accept his presence,” said Paul. “I am not sure Sir Matthew would welcome another…”

“Dilettante?” suggested Sir Mark. “Well, perhaps not. But you will not be working for Mr Darcy forever. Perhaps you will be good enough to keep me informed of your progress, and when your present patron announces his intention of returning to England, you will find another patron waiting for you.”

“That is very good of you,” said Paul. The thought of continuing employment was very welcome. “But I believe I must return to England with the Darcys.”

“Must you?” asked Sir Mark. “But why?” His eye, which had been travelling over Paul’s collection of sketches and paintings, came to rest on a portrait of Elizabeth. “Ah!” he said. “It seems there is a lady in the case. Your patron has a daughter, and a very lovely one. I understand now your reluctance to leave him.”

“That is not his daughter; it is his wife,” said Paul.

“Indeed,” said Sir Mark with a quick glance at Paul. “A beautiful woman.”

“Yes, she is,” said Paul.

Sir Mark looked at him appraisingly for a moment then looked again at his paintings, letting his gaze wander over them until they came to rest on a sketch of Sophie.

“And who is this?” he asked.

“That is Miss Lucas, a friend of the Darcys,” said Paul, blushing as he said it.

Sir Mark smiled.

“I see. A family friend. A young lady who is well-connected and therefore above a poverty-stricken artist with his way to make in the world. But not above an artist with a wealthy patron and a handsome income, I think. Keep me informed of your whereabouts, young man. True artists are hard to find, and I believe you could make my reputation as a serious patron of the arts. In return, I could make your fortune.”

With that, he tipped his hat and walked away.

Paul watched him go and then turned the card over in his hand again. Sir Mark Bellingham. A wealthy baronet with a love of art.

Visions of a rosy future opened up in front of Paul. He saw himself paying court to Sophie, winning her hand, and then settling in some splendid home, thanks to Sir Mark. There would be London exhibitions, fame, fortune, success…

A camel bumped into his easel and the painting fell, still wet, toward the sand. Leaping into action, Paul managed to catch it before it hit the ground, while the camel driver shouted at him in rich, colourful language and the passing throng laughed, brought together by the comical scene, before moving on.

Paul began to pack up his belongings, laughing at himself wryly for his daydreams. It was too hot now to paint and he wanted to return to his room, where in the relative cool he could ponder the morning’s events.

***

The man who had introduced himself as Sir Mark Bellingham returned to his lodgings with no less to ponder. He had learned a lot about the movements of the Darcys and had confirmed what he already knew, as well as giving himself the advantage of an informant in Darcy’s camp, for he did not doubt that the artist would apprise him of his movements, particularly if there should be any change to the Darcys’ plan.

He went into the walled house, with its refuse-strewn courtyard, and up the crumbling flight of steps to the large room beyond. His wife was there, surrounded by a host of colourful items: shawls and scarves and earthenware pots. She looked up as he entered the room.

“La, George, where have you been?” she asked. “I have been wanting to go out this last half hour, but it is not safe for a woman to go out unaccompanied here. I set my foot out of the door and nearly had it shot off by a soldier of some kind. The men here are not what they are at home.”

“And so I told you before we arrived,” he said.

“I wish you would tell me what we are doing here. You told me it would be an adventure, but all it has been so far is seasickness and dysentery,” Lydia said discontentedly.

“You did nothing but flirt with the sailors on the various ships that brought us here, and as for dysentery, you have the strongest stomach I have ever come across in a woman,” said her husband without sympathy.

“La, George, ever since Mama told us that Lizzy was going to Egypt you have been acting very strange. I am sure I had no objection to leaving England, seeing as how our creditors were pressing us close, but I wish you would tell me what we are doing here. And what are these cards for?” she asked, picking up one of the calling cards he had lately given to Paul Inkworthy. “Who is Sir Mark Bellingham?”

“For the moment, I am,” said George.

“Oh, another scheme,” said Lydia. “You are always hatching some plan or other.”

“This one will make our fortune,” said Wickham.

“How will coming to Egypt make our fortune?” said Lydia. “And why did we have to come by ourselves instead of travelling with Lizzy and Darcy? We could have travelled in comfort, instead of taking passage on a variety of cheap old tubs, setting off before Lizzy and arriving after her.”

“Because no one must know we are here, least of all Darcy.” He had no particular wish to take her into his confidence, but she gave him no peace until at last he rapped out, “If he knows we are here, he will know we are after the treasure.”

“Treasure?” said Lydia, stopping in midsentence. “What treasure? There is something you are not telling me, George. Very well, if you will not tell me, I will ask Mr Darcy. I am sure it will not be hard to find out where he is staying.”

Wickham scowled, but seeing that she would not be satisfied unless he told her everything, he said, “You know that my father was a friend of Darcy’s father? And a friend of Edward Fitzwilliam’s father, too, for that matter.”

“I know he was old Mr Darcy’s steward,” said Lydia unhelpfully.

“He should have never been a steward,” said Wickham, a flash of anger breaking through his crocodile charm. “He should have been a wealthy man and in a position to employ a steward himself, not become one. He saved old Mr Darcy’s life, and for that, old Mr Darcy rewarded him by making him his servant! My father was not born to be a servant. He was the son of a gentleman. He should have been a wealthy landowner. Then he would have left his estate to me. And he would have been, had old Mr Darcy valued the service my father did for him, saving his miserable existence.”

“I never heard he saved old Mr Darcy’s life,” said Lydia, her interest aroused.

“It was in Egypt, many years ago,” said Wickham. “When my father was a young man, before he met George Darcy, he was left a small inheritance and he used it to finance a Grand Tour. He visited France and Italy then he travelled on to Malta, where he met Charles Fitzwilliam and George Darcy. The three of them became friends and travelled on to Egypt together. They sailed down the Nile, stopping every now and then to explore half-visible temples which rose out of the mountains of sand. When they were returning from one such expedition, they found a man in the middle of the desert. He was lying in the full sun, collapsed, more dead than alive. He begged them to take him back to Luxor and promised them a reward if they did so.

“The reward meant nothing to them, but they did as he asked. However, by the time they arrived at Luxor he was so weak that he died. They paid for his funeral and afterward were surprised to find that he had left his few worldly possessions to them in his will, namely three pieces of a map and a curious Egyptian doll. He left a piece of the map to each of them, with the assurance that it pointed the way to an unplundered tomb. It showed various landmarks and had an inscription in hieroglyphic writing. They did not believe him, as the tombs thereabouts had been plundered many times, but nevertheless they were curious and they set out to find it.

“But they never did, and their search came to an abrupt end when they had a terrifying experience, becoming trapped in a cave by a landslide. My father was on the outside at the time and he dug them out with his bare hands, working until they were bleeding and raw. And what happened once he had rescued them? They returned to Luxor and thence to England to resume their lives.

“Charles Fitzwilliam returned to his estate in Cumbria, George Darcy returned to Pemberley in Derbyshire, but my father had nowhere to go. He had spent his small inheritance on his Grand Tour and did not know what to do. Instead of rewarding him handsomely for saving his life, George Darcy offered my father a job as his steward.”

“But what does that have to do with any treasure?” asked Lydia.

“I think that Charles Fitzwilliam’s son Edward has discovered the map and knows where to find the tomb,” said George. “Once your mother told us he was going to Egypt, I made some enquiries and discovered that ever since last winter, he has been in constant contact with various men who are engaged in trying to decipher the Egyptian hieroglyphs found on the Rosetta Stone. And when I found that he was intending to travel to Egypt, I was sure. There are men here who are experts and whose help will be invaluable to him, and when he finds out where the tomb is hidden, he will be in the right place to look for it. The fact that Darcy is with him confirms it. They are trying to find the treasure, and they are doing it without me. They have two parts of the map and they must feel that, with the new clues revealed by the hieroglyphs, they do not need the third.”

“But you have the third part?” said Lydia.

“Alas, no, I do not have it. It was destroyed, which is a pity, as it was the section of the map which marked the exact spot. But no matter. I have something better than the map. I have a plan.”

“And when we have found the tomb, will all the treasure make us rich?”

“Very rich,” said George.

“Rich enough to buy a home of our own?”

Wickham smiled, and restored to good humour, he picked his wife up and kissed her. “Rich enough to buy us a palace.”