To Catch a Bride (22 page)

 

 

 

T
he captain had started snapping out orders, sailors were scurrying back and forth doing things to sails, winding ropes, and there was a loud grating sound that suggested they were hauling up the anchor, and yet there was still no sign of a tall Englishman in long black boots.

Ayisha paced restlessly back and forth on deck. Her new red leather Turkish slippers were beginning to pinch.

What on earth was so important that he must rush off like that and risk missing the ship?

And then she spotted him, striding along as if he had all the time in the world, carrying a large heavy-looking sack slung over his shoulder.

He came striding up the gangplank just as the men were about to raise it, making some sort of joke that made them laugh. An officer saluted, welcoming him aboard.

She waited for his explanation, but he almost passed her by, but then stopped and stared.

“Well now, look at you,” he said softly. “You’re a woman. And don’t you look lovely. Who did your hair?”

A warm surge of pleasure at the compliment robbed her of the caustic speech she’d been about to deliver. “Higgins cut it for me,” she mumbled.

“Very pretty.” His gaze ran over her, taking in everything. She felt self-conscious enough before he’d looked at her. Now she felt exposed. Half naked.

She pulled the shawl tighter around her. “Are you cold?” he said.

“No,” she said quickly. “But Higgins and I have been very worried.”

“What about?”

Her mouth dropped open. “What about? You nearly missed the ship!”

“Higgins knows I never miss ships,” he said. “Did you miss me?” He looked very pleased with himself.

She folded her arms. “No. But what made you go off like that? With no warning or explanation?”

He grinned. “You did miss me.”

“Actually, Higgins and I had decided to toss a coin for your cabin.”

He laughed. “Nonsense, Higgins would never have agreed to that. Now, aren’t you interested in what I’ve brought you?” He held up the bag. “You’ll never believe what’s in this.”

“I don’t care what it is—”

“Sand,” he said.

“That’s not all . . .”

“You nearly missed the ship for
sand
?” She glared at him. “How dare you drag me across Egypt, then almost abandon me on a strange ship with a bunch of strangers, for such a reason,” she said grumpily. It was very hard to stay angry with him when he kept smiling down at her like that. It was a very annoying habit.

“I didn’t abandon you at all,” he said, his blue eyes dancing. “You had Higgins.”

She thumped him on the arm. At the same instant his waistcoat gave a small yowl.

“What’s that noise?” She stared as a small bulge in his waistcoat moved.

“Your bon-voyage present,” he said triumphantly and pulled out a small, silvery white kitten covered in black spots. Its ears were large with tiny tufts of dark hair at the tips. It looked like a miniature silver and black snow leopard. It stared at Ayisha with big amber eyes and yowled plaintively.

“It’s a kitten,” she said. The snow leopard was a symbol of her mother’s country.

“I know. I thought you’d like the company on the long trip.” His voice was deep, faintly amused, and yet it conveyed his understanding of her grief at leaving Tom behind.

She stared at him wordlessly, her mouth working.

“Hey,” he said in a coaxing voice. “I thought you liked cats.”

She gave a ragged laugh and blinked the incipient tears away. “You know I do, and she’s beautiful, thank you.”

“That’s better.” He handed the kitten to her, and Ayisha snuggled it against her breast, stroking it and murmuring to it. At the same moment, the deck jerked beneath their feet and their ship pulled away from Egyptian shores.

Ayisha stood, looking out, stroking her kitten, until Egypt was just a smudge on the horizon.

“Shall we go below, get this young lady settled?” Rafe Ramsey said at last, and she nodded. Her throat had something stuck in it and she couldn’t speak.

 

 

 

 

T
hat is an animal!” a voice said as Ayisha entered the cabin.

A thin, elegant, older woman was sitting on the lower bunk, legs outstretched, reading. She lifted a lorgnette and peered through it at the kitten.

“Yes, a kitten.”

“I can see that, but what’s it doing in my cabin?”

“This is my cabin, too,” Ayisha said pleasantly. “I’m Ayisha . . . Cleeve,” she added reluctantly, holding out her hand. It was the first time she’d used Cleeve. She didn’t much want to, but she had to have a surname and it was her father’s name, even if she wasn’t entitled to it.

Mrs. Ferris looked her up and down through the lorgnette. “I agreed to share with a Miss Cleeve, but not an animal.”

“I didn’t know about the kitten, either; she was a last-minute gift,” Ayisha explained, stroking the kitten. “She doesn’t even have a name yet. Don’t you think she’s pretty?”

Mrs. Ferris sniffed. “Well, its markings are certainly unusual. I’ve never seen a spotted cat before. Has it got fleas?”

“I don’t know,” Ayisha said, “But I’ve ordered some warm water. I’m going to give her a bath, to make sure.”

Mrs. Ferris sat up. “Give a cat a bath? I thought they hated water.”

Ayisha smiled. “Not all cats. My cat, Tom, liked water. We shall see if this one does.” As she spoke, there was a knock at the door.

It was Higgins, bringing a bucket of warm water, a deep basin, a tin mug, some soap, and a towel. He glanced behind her at Mrs. Ferris watching from her bunk, lorgnette raised. “Here you go, miss. I’ll return in a short time to fetch it all away. I’m just arranging a sandbox and something to eat.”

“Thank you, Higgins.” Ayisha gave him a warm smile and took the water.

“Who is that man?” Mrs. Ferris demanded as the door closed.

“Higgins? He is Mr. Ramsey’s manservant.”

“And who is Mr. Ramsey?”

Ayisha busied herself pouring water into the bowl and wondered briefly how to explain. “He’s a friend of my grandmother,” she said in the end. “He’s escorting me to her home in Hampshire.”

“I see. I don’t much like this Higgins fellow coming and going in my cabin. Where is your own maid?”

Ayisha seated herself on the floor, draped a towel over her front, and picked up the kitten. “I don’t have a maid.”

“Don’t have a maid?”

“No.” Ayisha lowered the kitten into the water.

“Why not?”

Ayisha pretended not to hear. It wasn’t hard. The kitten objected vociferously, yowling and wiggling and trying to climb up her arm to get away from the water. She had very sharp little claws.

Ayisha soothed her with words and hands and finally, unhappily, she settled, chin deep in the water, staring up at her with big, reproachful eyes.

“See, it’s not so bad, is it?” Ayisha told her.

The kitten seemed to consider her words, then bit Ayisha on the finger.

“Ow, little imp,” Ayisha chuckled, not blaming her in the least.

She lathered some soap in one hand—smelling faintly medicinal this time, Higgins must have a soap manufactory, she decided—and gently massaged it through the kitten’s fur. She rinsed it thoroughly, put the towel on her lap, then lifted the miserable clump of wet fur out and began to gently rub it dry.

The kitten sneezed twice, and shook itself indignantly, but soon started to enjoy the toweling. She purred and began to knead the towel, catching the fabric in her claws, then decided the corner of the towel was its enemy and started batting at it with her paws and biting it.

Ayisha put the kitten on the floor and tidied everything up. The kitten looked curiously around, then, as if she hadn’t just had a bath, proceeded to wash itself all over.

Mrs. Ferris observed the whole operation curiously. “I always heard cats were clean and this one certainly seems to be,” she commented at last. “Funny little creature.”

“She’s lovely,” Ayisha agreed, though it wasn’t quite what Mrs. Ferris meant. “I’ll have to think up a name for her.”

The kitten began to explore the cabin, sniffing and eyeing everything with caution. Ayisha tried to think of names. The kitten pounced on an imaginary enemy. Pounce? For some reason that conjured up a fatter cat to mind, and this one was slender and elegant. Ayisha eyed the scratches on her forearms. Sharp little claws. Claudette?

“What’s it sniffing there for?” Mrs. Ferris asked. The kitten was sniffing in a corner.

It suddenly occurred to Ayisha that she might be sniffing for a specific purpose. Ayisha scooped her up in one hand. She opened the cabin door and picked up the bucket of dirty water with the other.

“I’ll take her with me while I get rid of this,” she explained to Mrs. Ferris hurriedly. “I’ll be back in a short while.”

Luckily Higgins was outside and well prepared. A few doors down was a small storeroom and with a little judicial bribery, he’d made arrangements for a sand tray, spare sand, and various other kitten needs to be stored there. There was also a basket, with a lid fastening, so that the kitten could be safely locked up when necessary.

Ayisha placed the cat in the sand, and with a little encouragement, the kitten sniffed at the sand, scratched a hole, and made a deposit. She covered the hole, stepped out of the tray, shaking sand off her paws fastidiously, and looked up at Ayisha in clear expectation of being picked up. Her tail rippled and her black-tipped ears twitched.
Mrroww?

“I’ll call her Cleo,” Ayisha said, lifting her up. “She’s bossy, regal, beautiful, and Egyptian. And,” she added as the kitten gave a plaintive mew, “hungry.”

“Yes, miss,” Higgins agreed. “I got her a bit of fish from the galley.”

 

 

 

 

D
id you travel to Egypt with this Mr. Ramsey?” Mrs. Ferris asked her next morning.

“No, I met him for the first time in Cairo.”

“How did you get there, then—to Egypt, I mean?”

“I was born in Egypt.”

“You don’t look Egyptian. And despite that outlandish first name of yours, Cleeve is not an Egyptian name.” Mrs. Ferris was determined to work out exactly who Ayisha was, to pigeonhole her, and work out exactly how much respect she needed to give—or not give.

“No.” Ayisha slid her feet into slippers and picked Cleo up. “My father was born in India.” That would puzzle the nosey old creature. She didn’t look Indian, either.

But Mrs. Ferris was not so easily fooled. “John Company? He worked for John Company?” She meant the British East India Company; it was the name insiders used.

“No, but his father did. Please excuse me,” Ayisha said as she slipped out of the cabin. “The kitten needs to go.”

But Mrs. Ferris was waiting with more questions when they returned.

“Who did you know in Egypt—it was Cairo, you came from, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, Cairo, but there are too many people to name.” Ayisha put Cleo on her bunk and climbed up herself, hoping Mrs. Ferris would take the hint.

But the interrogation went on. “Who of importance did you know?”

Ayisha rolled her eyes. “Well, there was Mr. Salt, of course,” she began, naming the consul general. “Papa knew him quite well.” She didn’t though. Mr. Salt had come to their house once when she was a little girl, with an English traveler, Viscount something, who called his employee simply Salt. Salt was a young painter then and had shown Papa some of his pictures. She’d watched them between the railings of the stairs, but she only remembered him because of his name. It seemed so funny to her to call someone Salt.

Years later Salt had come back to Cairo, all important now, as Mr. Salt, the British consul general. She’d seen him up close several times, but by that time she was living as a boy. And even if she’d been dressed as she was now, he still wouldn’t have known her unless she’d explained who her father was.

But people said Mr. Salt had slaves, so she wouldn’t have told him anything.

“Pooh, everyone knows Mr. Salt,” Mrs. Ferris said. “Who did you visit? What about—” She listed a string of names, to each one of which, Ayisha said, “No, no, no,” and played with her cat.

“Where did your father live?”

“In the old part of Cairo, overlooking the river.”

“Describe where, exactly.”

Ayisha gave a vague description.

Not vague enough. “I believe you mean that old house that has a shifting population of clerks,” Mrs. Ferris sniffed. “Well, if that’s where you lived . . .” Clearly Ayisha was a person of no account.

“I don’t know who lives there now,” Ayisha said, annoyed. “Since my parents died, I’ve been living with an Egyptian lady.”

“An
Egyptian
?” Mrs. Ferris said, scorn dripping from the word.

“Yes, a very kind and respectable lady who is shortly to be married to an Englishman.”

“Who?”

“To Mr. Johnny Baxter,” Ayisha told her, thinking that would silence the woman. Mr. Baxter was kind, handsome, and rich, as well as being English; nobody could disparage him.

She was wrong. Mrs. Ferris could disparage anyone. “That fellow who’s gone native?” She pronounced it “gorn native.” “A disgrace to his country!”

“He’s not! He’s a war hero,” Ayisha declared hotly. “He was badly wounded in the Battle of the Nile.”

“Then it’s a pity he went native, isn’t it?”

Ayisha jumped off her bunk and scooped Cleo up. “The kitten has to go,” she declared and stormed from the room.

“Again?” Mrs. Ferris’s voice floated out as Ayisha shut the door. “I hope that animal isn’t sickening with something. I won’t share a cabin with a sick cat.”