The Master's Wife (22 page)

Jago shook her gently. ‘It happened in seconds. You could not have prevented it. Besides, you were badly injured yourself.’

‘I know. But I lived and my mother died. Then when the boys – I wished it had been me. I would willingly have given my life in exchange for theirs.’

‘Stop!’ His grip tightened painfully. ‘Don’t say that. I cannot bear –’ He started to pull her close but pressed her palms flat against his chest.

‘Wait. Please, you must listen.’ She moistened dry lips, fighting to hold her voice level. ‘Since the boys died I have been talked about and avoided. When – when Louise Downing made a point of letting me know that you both were once more –’

She broke off, a shaky breath hissing between her teeth. ‘I love you, Jago. More than you know. And I always will. But I can’t go back to my life as it was. I won’t share you. I would sooner leave.’

‘And go where?’

‘I don’t care.’

He eased back. ‘So I must choose?’

‘It is only a choice if she is important to you. You said she wasn’t.’

‘I know what I said. You are my wife. You promised obedience.’

‘And you promised fidelity.’

Anger then astonishment crossed his face. ‘Are you threatening me?’

‘I deserve better than to be laughed at or pitied.’ Gently detaching herself, she walked away.
What had she done?

––––––––

J
ago watched her go, angry, unsettled and afraid. No woman had ever controlled him. How could she say she loved him then talk of leaving? She could not leave. She was his wife. She had a duty – 
Duty?
Even as the thought formed it appalled him. She was not a possession, or one of his crew. He could not lose her. Not now. Not ever. He had loved his sons. But she completed him. With her he was a better man. Without her...

He could not imagine his life without her in it.

He had always followed his own star. Women had come and gone from his life. He was a seafarer and sailors ashore took pleasure wherever it was offered. But by birth he was a gentleman. So, lightskirt or lady, he treated them well – and instantly forgot them.

Louise had been a convenience. Their previous liaison had spared him the usual dance that led – inevitably – to mutually satisfying consummation. Only there had been no satisfaction, merely fleeting relief.

He had missed Caseley. Cynics claimed all cats were grey in the dark. For them, perhaps. Not for him. He knew the scent of her skin, the texture of her tumbling hair. He knew the sound of her breathing when she slept, and the catch in her throat when he stroked her.

This journey had shown him her courage. It had reinforced his love for her, his desire to protect, his passion and his need for her. Until her he had never
needed
. Need implied weakness. It made him vulnerable and that scared him. Her accusation that his behaviour shamed him cut deep. It stung and angered because it was true.

Louise had been determined to gain his attention. First she had sent a letter of condolence to the office. Then she had begun meeting him in the street as he walked the length of the town between Greenbank and Bonython’s Yard on Bar Road. He had quickly recognised the encounters as contrived rather than chance.

Caseley’s desolation, the knowledge that he had failed her when she needed him most, had crucified him with guilt. He could not reach her. But if he had, what comfort could he have offered? What did he say to a loving mother whose sons had died in her arms?

He would have given his life for his boys. Instead theirs had been snuffed out far, far too soon. Caseley had been inconsolable. And he, on whom they all depended, could not retrieve what had been lost nor mend what was broken. So he had sought escape.

He despised himself. Louise might have pushed herself at him, but he had taken advantage of her. Telling Caseley that Louise meant nothing to him was the brutal truth. He had done nothing unusual. More than half the businessmen in Falmouth had connections outside marriage. Most of the wives knew. But, provided a husband was discreet, they were willing to look the other way.

Not Caseley.

Her defiance shouldn’t have surprised him. She had defied convention in so much else. But it had wrong-footed him, and he had reacted as any proud man would when challenged. He was master in his world. Though he listened to his crew and to Toby, the yard foreman, all decisions were his, and his word was law.

But in truth she was right. She did deserve better. From this moment, Louise was out of his life. There would be no others. He wanted – needed – only Caseley.

On this journey her acceptance of demanding conditions had amazed him. He had taken at face value her reassurance that she was comfortable with the Bedouin women because it left him free to focus on discussions with the elders.

This evening, for the first time since – in nearly a year, both of them had bared their souls. Realising how much she meant to him was terrifying.

Returning to the tent where he was staying, he looked for Pawlyn and felt his muscles tighten at the frown on the journalist’s face.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked quietly. ‘I thought we were hopeful of agreement.’

The journalist looked up. ‘I suspect – actually, I’m almost certain, that hope is as much as we will achieve. You will have to decide whether it is worth leaving the gold here as a token of good faith. Though to take it back with us –’

Jago was already shaking his head. ‘We can’t. It would be an open admission of failure, and might even be seen as an insult. I’m very aware that few people know we are here. I won’t do anything that might jeopardise the safety of – of any of our party. Is that what was worrying you?’

‘No, though naturally I am disappointed not to be able to claim unqualified success, especially after all our efforts. The truth is my mind was on something else. Your mission is not the only matter being discussed at this gathering.’

Emotionally exhausted, Caseley slept deeply, undisturbed by the singing and chatter. When she woke soon after sunrise she lay for a few moments, surprised by her calm. Perhaps she was simply numb after such violent emotional upheaval. At last the truth was out. A weight had been lifted. Now it was up to him.

Three hours later, after shaking out rugs and blankets, she watched Zainab open a cloth containing a lump of salted milk solids then break off chunks, roll them into balls and set them on a tray to dry in the sun.

‘They are called jameed,’ Sabra explained. ‘They will keep for a year without spoiling.’

‘How do you use them?’

‘Break them up and soak the pieces in water overnight. In the morning give the mixture a brisk stir, then it is ready to be added to meat and broth for a yoghurt-based sauce.’

Sabra left, and Caseley took her place beside Fayruz. She was flipping dough between her palms when Antonia hurried over.

‘Caseley, come and sit for me. Please?’ she added.

Dusting flour from her hands, Caseley stood up. She held up her splayed fingers to indicate five minutes then realised Fayruz wouldn’t know what she meant.

‘How do I say in Arabic that I will be back very soon?’ she asked, listening carefully while Antonia, openly impatient, rattled off the phrase. Caseley repeated it as best she could. Fayruz nodded, her smile fading as her gaze switched from Caseley to Antonia, then returned to the dough.

‘I cannot imagine why you do it.’ Antonia headed towards her camera set up on its tripod by the rocks.

‘No,’ Caseley agreed. She would never tell anyone that after her conversation with Jago she desperately needed an anchor, and found it in sharing domestic jobs with women who accepted her presence as they moved about the tent or chatted around the fire. She felt less of an outsider among Fayruz’s family than she had during dinner with Maud Williamson at the Consulate.

Antonia directed her to a rock then crouched to rearrange her robes into graceful folds around her sandaled feet. ‘Cover your face so only your eyes are showing.’

Caseley didn’t move. ‘You want people to think I’m a Bedouin woman?’

Antonia waved the question aside. ‘They will think what they want. We both know you aren’t. But if you don’t cover your face you look like a European dressed for a masquerade. Sitting among the rocks with your face veiled and camels in the background, the image is so much more evocative. Please, Caseley? The women won’t help and there’s no other way for me to get a photograph.’

Reluctant, but recognising what it meant to Antonia, Caseley drew the fine fabric of her scarf over her nose and tucked it into the band above her temple.

‘That’s perfect. Sit very still while I take the lens cap off. Now.’

Holding her breath until Antonia had put the lens cap back on, she released the scarf.

‘Being here for the wedding will have helped focus Imad’s thoughts on our future,’ Antonia confided as she took the plate from the camera and slotted it into the box. She looked up. ‘Don’t you think?’

‘I’m sure he’s had a great deal to think about.’ Caseley couldn’t give the encouragement Antonia wanted. The Sheikh’s attention was more likely to be on politics and family matters, but to suggest it would only cause ill feeling. Nor would Antonia believe her.

She caught her breath as her heart gave an extra beat at the sight of Jago and Robert Pawlyn coming towards them.

Pawlyn beamed with pleasure as Antonia waved and smiled. ‘Robert, I’m so glad to see you. Please will you ask the elders if they will permit you to take a photograph of them? Obviously they won’t allow me to do it. I can’t even photograph the women.’

His smile faded as he realised her warm greeting had a price. Caseley watched as disappointment gave way to acceptance.

‘It would be a waste of time.’

‘How do you know unless you try?’

‘Antonia, I’ve spent the past three days with these men. Because they are nomadic, meetings like these can happen only rarely. A lot must be discussed and decided in a short time. It’s a simple matter of priorities and implies no disrespect to you.’

Caseley suspected he was being less than truthful out of kindness. She could see Antonia fighting tears of sheer frustration as she huffed out an impatient breath.

‘I know it’s not the same,’ he went on, ‘but what about taking one of me?’ He gestured at his dusty robes. ‘I never imagined seeing myself dressed like this. I would very much like a memento of this trip. Then perhaps I could take one of you. Come on, I’ll help you move the camera. Where shall we set it up?’ He went to pick up the tripod. Antonia hurried after him, pointing and calling instructions.

‘He’s more patient than she deserves,’ Jago said.

‘She believes Sheikh Imad is about to declare himself.’

‘To her?’

Caseley nodded.

‘You aren’t serious.’

‘I am. It’s so sad.’

‘What is?’

‘That she yearns for Sheikh Imad while Robert Pawlyn yearns for her. He’s not blind to her faults but seems able to see past them.’

‘Indeed,’ Jago’s expression was cold. ‘Then he has better vision than I.’

Caseley changed the subject. ‘This morning’s meeting?’

‘Interesting.’ His expression was grim. ‘As some of the visiting elders only spoke dialect the Sheikh translated it into Egyptian Arabic so Pawlyn could keep me informed of what was being said. As a final persuasion Imad condemned Egypt’s Turco-Circassian ruling elite as having no honour. Honour is more important than wealth to the Bedouin. He is usually so formal and diplomatic. Yet this morning he spoke with barely-controlled loathing. I suspected there had to be a personal reason.’

‘And was there?’

Jago nodded. ‘During a break for coffee I asked him through Pawlyn. He was quiet for so long I thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he told us that a Turco-Circassian officer had raped the daughter of one of his uncles.’

Shock made Caseley gasp.

‘That’s not the worst of it.’ His mouth tightened. ‘She was then killed by her father and brothers.’

Caseley’s hands flew to her mouth. ‘
What?
Why?’

‘To erase the stain on the family honour.’ He kept his voice low. ‘I know this is a different country with different codes of behaviour, but even so –’ He shook his head. ‘Apparently Imad was fond of his cousin and at the time of the ... attack, marriage discussions were taking place between their families. I asked what was done about the officer. Imad had hoped for justice from the Khedive. But none of the officers would admit even knowing what had occurred. So his uncle organised a night raid. The officer was seized and brought to a desert camp for
Bisha’a
.’

‘What’s that?’

‘The accused must lick a metal spoon that has been heated in a fire then rinse his mouth with water. A burned or scarred tongue is proof that he lied. Only one particular elder can order this and he was away. But the officer had dishonoured the girl, her family and the tribe, and had to be punished.’ He paused, glancing away.

‘What happened to him?’

‘He was tortured then Imad ended his life.’

The brutality of it shocked her.

‘I shouldn’t have told you –’

‘I’m glad you did. As you said, things are different here. That officer’s attack on a defenceless girl led to her being murdered by her own family. He chose to do what he did. She had no choice at all. I cannot like the thought of torture, but his life for hers is justice.’

Jago touched her hand. ‘I was sure you would understand.’

‘One of Sheikh Imad’s bodyguards is coming.’

‘I must go.’ He hesitated. ‘Caseley, last night – I should have told you –’ His gaze held hers. ‘There is no choice for me. It’s you. It always was, always will be.’

Her heart leapt, relief made her legs weak, and she pressed a hand to her chest, watching as he joined Pawlyn and they returned to the meeting.

‘You’re looking very serious.’ Antonia shortened the last of the tripod’s telescopic legs, turned the securing wing nuts then fastened the leather strap that bound them together.

Caseley gathered her scattered thoughts. What had passed between her and Jago was private. She would never share it, not even with Rosina. ‘I’ve just heard something shocking.’