A CUP OF COFFEE.
For more than a year Azim Bey continued to be sulky on the subject
of the Mission-school, although in everything else he was a pattern
pupil. His intended career as a public benefactor seemed destined to
end abruptly with Charlie Egerton’s appearance in the Yehudis’
parlour, and Cecil could not be wholly sorry for this, since political
feeling in the city was not in a state to make house-to-house
visitation either safe or pleasant. Matters were going rather badly in
the pashalik just now. Two or three scanty harvests had been followed
by famine, and the general distress was increased by the fact that the
Pasha, who was much in want of money, had chosen this singularly
inopportune moment for imposing a duty on the importation of foreign
corn, a course which was strongly resented. Bands of marauders
infested the country districts, and the constant expeditions necessary
to keep the main trade-routes open involved an expenditure of men and
money which could with difficulty be met. Hussein Bey, the Pasha’s
disaffected eldest son, who had been “lying low” for some time, had
reappeared as the leader of one of these bands, and was doing his best
to stir the populace to revolt. His wrongs, in being set aside for his
younger brother, who was being brought up as half a Christian, were in
every one’s mouth, and many people did not scruple to attribute the
misfortunes of the province to the malign influence of the
Englishwoman who was scarcely ever absent from Azim Bey’s side. The
position she enjoyed in the Palace was constantly attributed to
witchcraft; and there were even those who said that things would never
be right in Baghdad until Azim Bey and his governess were--well,
disposed of. By degrees matters went from bad to worse. Riotous mobs
beset unpopular officials in the streets, and more than one house was
attacked and rifled. The Pasha shut himself up in the Palace, with a
strong guard on duty night and day, and none of the household ventured
out without an escort. When Cecil went to the Residency she was
attended by a small army of soldiers and cavasses, and even these
could scarcely keep back the howling mobs. Still no actual danger
touched her personally, and she was inclined to adopt Sir Dugald’s
consolatory opinion that the bark of the Baghdadis was always worse
than their bite, and that the latter might be considered, in
mathematical language, as a negligible quantity, when something came
to pass one day which showed her in what a perilous position she and
her charge really stood at this time.
After lessons on this particular morning, Azim Bey despatched one of
the slave-women to bring some coffee. The negress was longer than
usual on her errand, and he waxed impatient, but she reappeared at
last, hurrying in with three tiny jewelled cups on a silver tray. One
cup was for herself, for it was her duty to taste the beverages
supplied to the Bey, the remaining two for him and for Cecil. As the
woman set the tray down on the little octagonal table, Azim Bey gave
it a slight twist so as to bring the cup which had been nearest to her
hand opposite to himself. Her hand was already outstretched to take
it, and she paused in surprise and hesitated.
“Taste the coffee, O Salimeh,” said the boy, authoritatively.
Rather doubtfully, Salimeh stretched her hand across the tray, took
the cup which was in front of her young master, and drank off the
contents.
“Now drink another,” said Azim Bey.
“O, my lord, they are for thee and for mademoiselle,” remonstrated the
woman, with a note of anxiety in her voice which attracted Cecil’s
attention. “How shall I drink my lord’s coffee?”
“Drink it,” said Azim Bey, shortly, fixing his eyes upon her.
As though fascinated by his gaze, she slowly stretched out her hand
and took up another cup, raised it half-way to her lips, and paused.
“Drink it,” he repeated, gazing at her, while her dark face grew pale
and ghastly-looking with terror, until in a sudden frenzy she dashed
the cup to the ground.
“O, my lord, pardon thy servant,” she sobbed, flinging herself on her
knees and grovelling before him. “God has made my lord very wise.
There is death in the cup.”
“Drink the other,” said Azim Bey, unmoved.
His voice had been so calm throughout that it was only now that Cecil
realised that she had barely escaped taking a prominent part in a
tremendous tragedy. She interposed hastily.
“Bey, you cannot mean to make her drink it if it is poisoned? It will
kill her.”
“She would have killed you and me, mademoiselle. Get up and drink it,
thou granddaughter of a dog!” he added to the wretched woman, who was
weeping and howling at his feet.
“But it is not for you to punish her,” remonstrated Cecil. “She may
have been terrified into doing it. It ought to be inquired into.”
“It shall be,” said Azim Bey, grimly, and he summoned Masûd from the
door. With the poisoned cup held to her lips, Salimeh confessed that
she had been bribed to leave the tray of coffee on the ledge of a
window which looked into the harem enclosure, and to turn her back for
a moment. She had held in her hand the cup she intended for herself,
so as to make things safe, but she could only guess what had been done
to the other two. It took longer to find out who had been the other
party to the dreadful transaction, but after a lengthy
cross-examination she confessed that it was Zubeydeh Kalfa, the
Um-ul-Pasha’s head-slave. When this conclusion was reached, Azim Bey
turned a meaning glance on Cecil.
“This case must go before my father, mademoiselle,” he said; “it is
too much for me to deal with. No doubt he would much prefer that I
should settle it for myself and not involve him in trouble with my
grandmother, but it is too serious. An example must be made. Take the
woman away, O Masûd, and keep her safely until the Pasha can give
thee orders about her.”
“Upon my head be it, O my lord,” responded Masûd, with a grin, and
dragged away the miserable Salimeh, shrieking and praying for mercy.
“Did you know beforehand that the coffee was poisoned, Bey?” was the
first question Cecil asked her pupil when they were alone.
“We in Turkey learn to expect such incidents in times like these,
mademoiselle,” said the boy, with lofty, almost _blasé_,
condescension, “and I have long been looking out for some token of the
kind from my grandmother or my brother, but I knew no more about this
attempt before it was made than you did.”
“Then how did you discover it?” asked Cecil, with natural curiosity.
“Perhaps, mademoiselle, you may not have observed that I am of a
somewhat suspicious nature? Any unnecessary action or unusual
occurrence sets me to reflect upon the reason for its happening. Apply
this to our experience to-day. I send the villanous Salimeh for
coffee. She is much longer than she need be in bringing it, and
returns to the room hastily, and with an air of disturbance. My
suspicions are aroused, but I say nothing, knowing that no one looks
so foolish as the person who imagines perpetually that plots are being
directed against him. I merely turn the tray partly round, secure that
the would-be murderess will not murder herself. Her very first
movement confirms my suspicions, and if any further assurance is
wanted, it is supplied by her later behaviour. There you have the
whole thing.”
“It is very dreadful,” said Cecil, with a shudder; “but you will ask
his Excellency to deal gently with her, Bey?”
“Gently, mademoiselle?” and a smile broke over Azim Bey’s solemn
countenance. “Is she to have liberty to murder us successfully another
time? Besides, an example is necessary, and she is the only culprit
that can be reached. Zubeydeh Kalfa may possibly be seized, but to
defend herself she would implicate her employers, and then the matter
could not be hushed up.”
“But this is not justice, Bey,” remonstrated Cecil.
“No, mademoiselle, it is policy,” said Azim Bey, unabashed.
And the dictates of policy were followed in the investigation which
succeeded. No one who heard of the matter doubted for an instant that
the Um-ul-Pasha had planned the murder of her younger grandson in the
interests of Hussein Bey, but all Ahmed Khémi Pasha’s efforts were
directed to prevent the slightest whisper being breathed against his
mother. He guarded with the utmost loyalty the good name which she had
perilled so rashly, and succeeded in preventing any open declaration
of the truth. Zubeydeh Kalfa was got rid of by being married to a
former pipe-bearer of the Pasha’s, who was going to live in Mosul, a
town which has a Pasha of its own, and where gossip concerning the
Palace harem at Baghdad would therefore be at a discount. Salimeh
disappeared. Cecil was left in doubt as to her fate, and could never
discover what had become of her. All that Azim Bey would say when
questioned was that she had gone to a far country, but whether she had
been put to death, or disposed of in the same way that Zubeydeh Kalfa
had been, Cecil never knew. Masûd and the women-servants who had seen
and heard what had happened received handsome presents to induce them
to keep the matter quiet, and Cecil was astonished by the gift of a
gold watch of abnormal size, with a richly jewelled case and a massive
chain. Its value was considerable, and she exhibited it at the
Residency with surprise and delight, until Lady Haigh told her that it
was intended as a bribe to make her hold her tongue. She was horrified
at this, and wished to return it to the Pasha at once, but Lady Haigh
objected.
“You don’t intend to publish abroad your belief that the Um-ul-Pasha
tried to poison you and Azim Bey, I suppose?” she said; “so why not
keep the watch, if you are going to earn it?”
“But the Pasha will think that I am silent on account of his having
given it to me,” said Cecil.
“Of course he will, my dear; and if you give it back, he will take it
as a sign that it is not valuable enough, and he will go on piling up
his bribes, but he will never understand your scruples. Orientals
don’t indulge in such luxuries, and why should you not let the poor
man have the happy feeling that your silence is secured, since it is
so after all?”
Cecil was silenced, but not convinced, and put the watch by, for her
pleasure in it was spoilt. Presently she had to encounter another
argument from Charlie Egerton, to whom the news of the attempted
murder had filtered through the gossip of the servants and the
streets. He was horrified to learn the danger she had been in, and
urgently desirous that she should at once quit the Palace and take
refuge at the Residency. To his great concern, Cecil refused to do
anything of the kind. It was true that she had felt nervous and
unstrung for a few days after the shock of the sudden danger and
escape, but since then she had pulled herself together and looked the
situation boldly in the face. She was ashamed of the hasty impulse
which had seized her to seek refuge in flight, and determined to
remain at the post of duty. Hence, when Charlie attacked her, he found
her armed at all points.
“It isn’t right,” he said, vehemently. “You are in constant danger.
They may catch you off your guard at any moment, and there you are,
alone in that great place, with traitors all round you.”
“I am not afraid,” said Cecil. “Don’t you know that ‘each man’s
immortal till his work is done’? My work certainly lies at the Palace,
and while I can, I hope to do it.”
“That would be a poor consolation if you and your work both ended
together,” said Charlie, bitterly, too much in earnest to pick his
phrases.
“Why?” said Cecil. “We know that I shan’t die so long as there is any
work at all left for me to do, so that if I am killed it must mean
that my work is done.”
“I can’t see it as you do,” said Charlie, conscious that this was not
what he meant at all; “and I have no wish to try, either. You are
wrought up and overstrained just now. I see that you are taking your
life in your hand, and going into fearful danger quite needlessly.”
“But it’s not needlessly,” said Cecil; “it’s my duty. Why, suppose
that cholera, or the plague, broke out here, would you shut yourself
up and refuse to go among the people? I know you wouldn’t. You would
work night and day, and never think of the danger.”
“That’s different,” said Charlie. “It would be my business to do it. A
fellow would be a cad not to. But I wouldn’t let you do it, as you
know. It’s a very different thing going into danger oneself, and
seeing you go.”
“But you will have to submit to it, Charlie,” said Lady Haigh’s voice.
“Cecil, my dear, I want you.” And Charlie’s chance of breaking down
Cecil’s resolution was gone.
In his desperation, when Cecil was about to return to the Palace, he
applied to Sir Dugald, and was politely snubbed for his pains.
Certainly, Sir Dugald admitted, he was bound to afford protection to
all British subjects, but he could not force any of them to avail
themselves of it, and he pointed out the painful absurdity of the
situation which would be caused by any attempt to detain Cecil at the
Residency against her will. Such an argument had little effect upon
Charlie, but Sir Dugald’s ruling characteristic was the fear of being
made to look absurd, and he really felt that this consideration
settled the matter. Charlie poured out his woes, as usual, to Lady
Haigh, who attempted to console him by the reflection that the
Um-ul-Pasha was not likely to make another effort at poisoning just
yet, since her intended victims would be on their guard, to which he
replied that she would probably be counting on this very confidence as
to her intentions, and thus be emboldened to renew her attack.
In the little courtyard which formed Cecil’s world during six days out
of every seven, public opinion agreed with Lady Haigh rather than with
Charlie. It was the general feeling that although no public reference
had been made to the Um-ul-Pasha’s share in the conspiracy, yet the
danger of detection had approached sufficiently near to give her a
very good fright, and that she would make no further attempt on her
grandson’s life for the present. The Pasha’s prevailing fear was lest
more violent means might now be employed, and some band of brigands
subsidised to effect the desired object. His Excellency was between
two fires. On one side were the Hajar Arabs, the tribesmen of Azim
Bey’s dead mother, who had espoused the boy’s cause with
characteristic and troublesome ardour, and threatened to murder the
Pasha if he allowed any harm to come to him; and on the other the rest
of the powerful Arab tribes of the neighbourhood, who had no special
interest in Hussein Bey, but adopted his cause on account of its not
being that of the Hajar. With these were the majority of the
Baghdadis, some because of a natural instinct for opposing the powers
that be, others because they sincerely attributed to Azim Bey and the
Englishwoman the misfortunes of the time.
On account of this danger from brigands and from the disaffected
Arabs, the Pasha forbade his son ever to go beyond the city walls,
except in company with himself and his large escort. This prohibition
fell hardly upon Azim Bey, who found his daily rides much curtailed
and his weekly hunting-parties almost entirely stopped; but Cecil held
sole command in their own courtyard, and would not permit any evasion
of his Excellency’s orders. Her pupil felt it very dull, and at last,
when he grew thoroughly tired of rambles confined to the garden, began
to ask again about the Yehudis and their work. Hearing that the yearly
prize-giving at the schools was again approaching, he became much
interested; and when Cecil hinted that he might possibly be invited to
preside at the ceremony, his excitement rose to fever heat. An
announcement that the children had been taught to sing an Arabic
version of “God save the Queen,” so arranged as to refer to the Sultan
instead of to her most gracious Majesty, and an elaborate letter in
Turkish from Dr Yehudi, adorned with many flourishes, both literary
and caligraphical, and requesting the honour of his presence, decided
him to go, were it only with the view of encouraging loyalty in the
rising generation. Even in this exalted state of mind, however, he
exacted a solemn promise from both Cecil and Dr Yehudi that Dr Egerton
should not be invited. This once settled, he bent himself to the task
of obtaining his father’s permission to go--a formality which the
deluded Cecil had imagined to have been complied with long before.
After all, the Pasha was not very difficult to coax into consent, for
he was specially anxious to stand well with England just then, and he
had a vague idea that there were a good many people there who took an
utterly incomprehensible interest in such an unimportant and far-off
object as the Jewish Mission-school at Baghdad. But although he was
willing that England should know of his tolerant behaviour, he was
particularly anxious that the news of it should not spread in Baghdad,
lest the mob should seek revenge at once against the Christians and
against Azim Bey by burning down the Mission-house, in which case his
Excellency would have to make good the damage. For this reason, Azim
Bey was informed, to his great chagrin, that he must go quite
privately to the prize-giving, without any pomp and circumstance
whatever, for fear of exciting the populace. Not a word was to be
breathed of the matter to any one but the parties immediately
concerned; there was to be no military escort, no long train of
servants, only the two nurses and the donkey-boys to attend upon Cecil
and himself, and Masûd to give an air of respectability to the
outing. All were to wear their plainest clothes, even the donkeys were
not to be decked with their State trappings, and the route was
strictly to be limited to unfrequented streets. Was there ever such a
poor and mean caricature of the gorgeous pageant Azim Bey had proposed
to himself? Still, it was a great thing to get out of the Palace for a
day, and the anticipated delights of playing Lord Paramount at the
prize-giving consoled the boy under his disappointment.
The ride from the Palace to the Mission-house was undertaken in the
quietest part of the day, when there were few people in the streets,
and it passed without any hostile manifestation or even any
recognition of the riders. This fact delighted Cecil, but her pupil
seemed to be a little piqued. He had been looking forward to an
exciting and perilous transit, and this was rather tame in comparison;
but his grievance was forgotten when the Mission-house courtyard was
safely reached, and he found that the buildings were decorated with
flags, and that all the school-children were drawn up in line to
receive him. When once he had dismounted, he drew himself up with an
exact imitation of his father’s rather pompous stride on State
occasions, greeted Dr and Mrs Yehudi and Mr and Mrs Schad with great
urbanity, and passed on to the house with them between the lines of
children, bowing graciously right and left in his progress, as Cecil
had told him was the custom of royalty in England. At the examination
which followed he sat gravely in his chair and made sage remarks on
what he heard, while the musical drill delighted him excessively. He
distributed the prizes without the least shyness or awkwardness, and
consoled the less fortunate children with sweets, a form of comfort
which appealed very strongly to himself. He was an interested
spectator of the games which followed, and of the feast to which the
children at length sat down, and only consented to tear himself away
at Cecil’s repeated entreaties, assuring his hosts that he had enjoyed
himself extremely, and would have liked to remain until night.
Cecil was not so happy, for during the latter part of the time she had
been on thorns lest anything should happen to prevent their getting
safely back through the city. With all her haste it was the cool of
the day when they emerged from the gate of the Mission-house, a time
at which the streets were at their fullest. She dared not order her
cavalcade to quicken their pace, for fear of attracting attention, but
her precaution was in vain, for her pupil was recognised as they
passed through a crowd collected at the street corner, and they were
soon followed by a number of ill-conditioned men and boys making
uncomplimentary remarks in Arabic. Azim Bey waxed exceedingly wroth at
this, and wanted to order Masûd and the donkey-boys to charge the
crowd, but Cecil succeeded in restraining him. She could not, however,
keep him from exchanging defiances with his ragged escort, a
proceeding which improved the temper of neither.
“I will have your heads cut off! You shall be impaled upon the walls!”
shrieked the little fellow at last, and the crowd replied by derisive
laughter and ominous threats directed against himself and the foreign
woman, heaping special abuse on Cecil.
“These people not good, mademoiselle,” said Um Yusuf, coming to her
mistress’s bridle-rein. “Some one from the harem gone tell them who we
are, and they kill us. We should get away from them. See, there is a
house with door open. Perhaps we find shelter there.”
Cecil repeated what Um Yusuf had said to her pupil, and Azim Bey,
somewhat frightened now, consented to adopt the plan proposed. The
donkeys’ heads were quickly turned in the direction of the house, and
before the astonished owners realised what was happening, the party
were all inside the courtyard and the door shut and fastened.