The Twelve Rooms of the Nile (45 page)

Polished the boots, scrubbed the chamber pots, washed out clothes, swept and polished the floor on my knees, made the beds, dressed and coiffed my lady
.

Flo set the diary down. This was a different Trout from the woman she’d slept alongside for the past three months and shared a household with for a year before that. It hadn’t occurred to her how often Trout might like to express her opinions or how pointed they were. Such a simple thing, speaking your mind. She took that right for granted, though it was a habit Fanny did not admire in her.
She reminded herself she was reading Trout’s
secret
thoughts, but she didn’t like it one bit.

And that dutiful list of daily chores! Flo had never so much as boiled an egg. Was it her fault if she had been born into a wealthy family? She felt guilty, always guilty, and yet incapable of satisfying even the few obligations of her privileged life. She trusted that in time her father would settle three or four hundred pounds a year on her so she could live independently of her family. She had only to reach the age when she was proclaimed a spinster without prospects. Then she’d be free, with perhaps one devoted servant, someone nothing like Trout.

She picked up the soft brown leather book and continued reading.

3 December 1849. We are in Cairo now
.

I have hardly sat still for a week, running after Miss N
.

We were towed up a canal from Alexandria. It was dandy and I worked on my crochet. Then we boarded a crowded steamer. Miss N jumped ashore without so much as a fare-thee-well. I shook like a wet hound until we found her on another boat. I do not care to make history like Miss N, who shows her derring-do at every turn. Nor do I trust her. When she gets an idea in her head, she does not consider anyone else. The second boat was as bad as the first, full of jabbering foreigners and bugs. The children cried all night and there was no room to lie on the floor
.

Polished 3 pairs of boots, washed Miss N’s hair and combed it dry, washed out her underthings and packed up 3 times
.

4 December 1849

There are not enough brooms in the world to sweep Cairo clean. Miss N loves it and calls it a garden. But she hates the desert. It is an abomination, says she, like Sodom and Gomorrah. At least in the desert I would not have to sweep the sand away. Here, that is all I do. But it comes back like black to a kettle
.

I saw a baby hippopotamus at the consul’s house. It was cute enough to kiss, with big whiskers and pink as a piglet. No crocodiles yet and I hope I never do
.

We are lodged in fancy rooms at the Hôtel de L’Europe. Dinner takes two hours, with fancy desserts like
Vol-au-Vent of Pears
, and
Dantzic Jelly
. Mr. Charles said it was a capital meal
.

Every afternoon I walk at Miss N’s side, nodding at the ladies with silk parasols. Remember the night you took me to the opera, and I was proud to be the only servant in the house? I would never wish to pass for a lady. Give me bootblack and soot so I can prove my worth to God with hard work
.

We wear veils wherever we go. They keep the sand out of our faces and spare the heathen the sin of looking at us
.

Miss N said she will not be surprised if Cook’s started tours on the Nile. And isn’t it grand to see it before the English middle classes wreck it forever? I kept my peace, as I have never booked a Cook’s tour, though I rode the railway third class to Shropshire last year. It was thrilling
.

7 December 1849

Mr. Charles engaged a houseboat for the next four months with hooks and cubbies everywhere since there is so little space. The parlor is pretty, with green panels and a divan all around. Miss N is content though she keeps saying
Squawk, squawk I am no dahabiyah bird
. I am sick of this cleverness and it is only the second day
.

We can see the pyramids from here. You know what they look like
.

8 December 1849

Miss N used up her petticoat tape to sew a flag that says PARTHENOPE whilst Mr. Charles hung a Union Jack and his family colors. Do you have family colors, Massa, you never said
.

Nine crewmen we have, all odd. They are not slaves and not
free men either, for each is beholden to another, like a wife to a husband. When the wind quits, they row and sing the loudest song. Otherwise they do not make a peep. We cannot walk the deck where they sleep and eat for fear of catching their fleas. Miss N says the Egyptians are too beaten down to drive the flies from their faces. She is disgusted with them
.

9 December 1849

I am tired of Miss N’s outings. I am her companion when Miss Selina is ailing. She is a delicate sort, not like your drudge, though lately, I suffer from headaches and stomachaches and pain in my eyes. But Miss N is no coddler and I must go with her
.

We visit filthy ruins and temples that all look the same. At one, human bones stuck out. I saw naked slaves in such poverty as breaks your heart. The poor things are humble and do not complain.
God will provide
, they say. Mr. Charles believes a contented mind is a curse
.

I sleep in a levinge to keep the bugs off. It works, but I don’t sleep sound tied up like a prisoner
.

Here the diary broke off for two pages where, Flo saw, Trout had written and rewritten a letter without finishing it to her satisfaction.

My sweetheart
,

I want to post this so you read about my trip before I return. Miss N writes for hours every day. I have heard her read to Miss Selina and seen her letters. Her words are so fine I can see the color of everything and smell its smell. So here is your drudge, writing a proper letter. The moon is like silver, the stars are diamonds. I miss you reading to me so much

Dearest Gilbert
,

A letter for you
.

We see beautiful skies and here was one. The moon was like a silver platter in need of polishing as I could see gray spots on it. And the stars were diamonds that would take your breath
.

I miss you. I wish I spelt better so you would not smile at my words. It is hard to write to a poet and a gentleman such as you are

Flo’s face grew warm, as if she were standing near a roaring fire. Apparently Trout had read her letters. Flo often left them lying about, assuming that Trout was bound by honor and devoid of curiosity. She decided on the spot not to mention the lapse, but to keep her papers out of sight in future. The irony of her own invasion of Trout’s privacy was not lost on her. She felt herself blush again, this time with shame.

As for the fussy, spoiled, and thoughtless “Miss N,” she barely recognized her. What if the rest of the world saw her as Trout did? Surely she would know if she were horrid, wouldn’t she? The heat spread down through her torso. She could feel her pulse at her throat and in her chest.

She reminded herself that she was never intended to see these words. Trout was unhappy; what she had written was as much a reflection of her own feelings and flawed character as of Flo’s.

Flo blew her nose and sighed.

It was the old question of evil in different guise. Did people intend to do bad? Certainly Fanny and Parthe did not. Nor did Flo believe they were evil. That was the essence of the conundrum that the ancient Egyptians had solved millennia ago: Good came out of evil and evil out of good. She could be both saintly and horrid—like Gustave, who had devoted a book to resisting temptation yet patronized brothels. This unfathomable paradox, this engine of history, seemed an impractical way for God to have fashioned the world. How could there ever be justice if good intentions led to ill? Her head was throbbing.

No, I
am
horrid, she thought. I simply blind myself to it, inured to others’ protestations. That is why I cannot bear my family and why
I refused Richard. I am selfish and willful, lacking,
severely
lacking in humility. She put her head between her knees.

She wished she’d never read the diary, and knew, too, that she’d finish it. She had to find out if there was a happier ending for her, as if her actual future depended on Trout’s opinion. Had Trout thought better of her in time? She began to tremble. Her teeth chattered and a few tears dropped onto her hands.

She stood, found her hairbrush, and languidly began to brush her hair, establishing a calming rhythm in the strokes. Trout was no icon of perfection. Her secret life did not bear scrutiny. She had an illicit love affair or at the very least a clandestine friendship with a man. Flo tried to form a picture in her mind of Gilbert, but conjured instead Max. Because they both had cameras? But Gilbert was a poet if Trout could be believed. Her lover!

Stunning. Trout led a double life, cavorting in the evenings with a gentleman who lived in the Temple at the Inns of Court, a dignified address on the Embankment reserved for barristers and judges. How long had Trout known him? How old was he, and what possible interest could he have in a servant? None of it cohered. She wondered if he had a wife and whether he and Trout slept in the same bed. If Trout were morally deficient, Flo might be less inclined to credit her judgments.

Shakily, she picked up the book again.

11 December 1849

Miss N is sinking into one of her moods. Miss Selina knows it I can tell from the looks she gives me
.

We had no wind the last two days. Miss N found a tomb in the desert and began to weep, saying it was not the lack of life but the death of life that made the desert unbearable. She hates to see skeletons or any sign of a dead thing. I think she is losing her wits, which has happened before. She gave me a petrified shell that looks like a tiny ram’s horn. She keeps calling my name, though she does not need anything.
Trout, Trout, it is all dead, dead and evil
, over
and over. I put her to bed early and she did not read at all and tossed about for a long while as I mopped the floor
.

14 December 1849

Every day Mr. Charles goes ashore with Paolo to shoot partridges or turtledoves. In the evening, we sit on deck and watch the sunset. Miss N keeps saying I must read the
Arabian Nights
so I will know what I have seen. I am glad she does not have the book on hand
.

Mr. Charles likes to visit other English people, for which I am grateful as there is always good wine and clean food. Miss N says she would rather be the hermit, but then goes and charms everyone
.

18 December 1849

I am reading Exodus because I am miserable in Egypt like the Hebrews
.

Bennysoof, Benny Hah San, Benny-this-and-that. I am weary of ruins and beset with ailments. Sore feet and knees. Itchy rashes. Tired eyes
.

The river is wider now, more like a sea.
White Horses
, Miss N calls the waves.
White Horses
, I say back. We make a game of it. We have not seen a house for days, only mud huts with people creeping in and out
.

I have become lazy. My hands are lily-white and I have lost my calluses. Miss Selina will not let me wash her clothes. I would feel better if I was a help to her. When I am not in my dirt, I feel useless
.

19 December 1849

It scares me that I cannot call your face to mind. I was never afraid at home and here I tremble over the smallest things. I wish I’d of quit my job and stayed in London. How can a gentleman like you love me I am such a plain creature?

I am sleeping poorly. Do I snore in your rooms? Miss N says I am cutting wood in my sleep
.

There is bad feeling twixt her and me. Words here and there over little things, like one dog snapping at another. My mother used to say to take care when you sew, even a small needle can draw blood. We stay out of each other’s way
.

12 January 1850

Aswan nearly kilt me
.

The first time you asked me to keep a diary I did not want to and wrote only lists. Do you remember? “Polished 40 pairs of boots, blacked the grates and fenders, scrubbed the flags,” and so on. Now the diary is a comfort to me, though betimes it makes me miss you so much my chest hurts
.

Here is my close call with Death. Mr. Charles invited three chiefs to the parlor. The oldest one said our houseboat was too big to go up the falls. I liked to cry from joy. But Miss N said it was a trick to raise the price. After many cups of tea, they agreed upon a sum to try the rapids the next morning
.

I did not sleep more than five minutes that night. Miss N was so happy she bought ostrich eggs to celebrate.
Squawk, squawk, we are going upstairs to Noobia
. I had no appetite due to terror sticking in my belly like a knife
.

The next morning, we moved everything below so it would not fly away. Furniture, pots, dishes. Miss N said I would stay on board with her and Mr. Charles. I was so scared I could not peep
.