IN SEARCH OF HEALTH.
While Sir Dugald was taking his measures of precaution, Cecil had
been carried into one of the rooms on the ground-floor of the outer
court, and laid on the divan. Charlie rushed off to his surgery for
bandages, and sent a servant to fetch Lady Haigh, who came at once,
breathless and astonished, but capable and resourceful as ever. The
first step necessary was to get rid of Azim Bey, who was crouched in a
heap on the divan, looking like a little Eastern idol in very reduced
circumstances, and to turn him over to the care of Sir Dugald’s Indian
valet for some necessary personal attention. But the last rush through
the yelling mob seemed to have shaken the boy’s nerve, for he was
trembling and shivering, and his face was whitey-brown with fear. To
Lady Haigh he looked exactly like a monkey in mid-winter, but she
could not help pitying him as he shrank and cowered at every fresh
shout of the mob outside. To her greeting and advice he paid but
little heed.
“They are all saying we shall be killed, madame,” with a nod in the
direction of the knot of frightened servants near the gate, “and if we
are to be killed, why trouble about one’s appearance? It is destiny?”
“It is your destiny just now to go with Chanda Lal, and have a bath
and some clean clothes, if any one here has any small enough,” said
Charlie, returning with his bandages. “Now then, young man, off with
you,” and he evicted the boy summarily from the divan, and impelled
him in the right direction with a gentle shove. Charlie was the
surgeon now, not by any means the courtier, and he was not accustomed
to have his orders disobeyed.
The business of dressing the wounded ankle was a long and painful one,
and Cecil fainted again before it was over. Charlie fetched a
restorative and administered it, and was leaving the room quietly,
with an injunction to Lady Haigh not to allow the patient to be
disturbed, when Cecil opened her eyes and half sat up.
“Oh, Dr Egerton!” she cried, and Charlie came back at once. “You
mustn’t think me ungrateful,” she said, brokenly. “I do want to thank
you--I can never tell you how much--for coming to our rescue as you
did, and for saving us, especially the Bey. How should I ever have
faced his father if anything had happened to him?”
“Especially the Bey?” repeated Charlie, slowly. “Well, I can’t agree
with you there, Miss Anstruther; but I’m glad he’s all right, if you
are pleased. He’s not a bad little beggar, and I shouldn’t wonder if
he turns out rather well after all, now that you have got him in
hand.” This was a great concession, but Charlie was in an appreciative
and magnanimous mood.
“I don’t know what would have happened to us if you hadn’t been
there,” pursued Cecil, excitedly. “I thought it was all over, I could
not move another step, and then we came round that corner, and you
were there, and we were saved.” There was a hysterical catch in her
voice, but she hurried on. “What would they have done to us, do you
suppose? I can’t help thinking of that money-lender’s wife and
children, don’t you remember? Their house was destroyed, and they were
dragged out into the street, and trodden to death--trodden to
death--by the crowd. And that was in this very province. They might
have done the same to us--think of it!” and she broke into hard
gasping sobs.
“But you are not to think of it,” said Charlie, authoritatively, his
professional instincts aroused. “You will make yourself really ill,
perhaps bring on fever. What you are to do is to lie quietly here and
rest, and Cousin Elma will sit with you and talk to you.”
“But they are at the gate--they may break in at any moment,” and Cecil
looked round with terrified eyes.
“Oh, nonsense!” said Charlie. “Why, we have the Sepoys and Rossiter,
and any number of men, to defend the place. Look at Cousin Elma; she
isn’t a bit frightened, and I know that if she thought there was any
real danger she would be seeing what she could do to help in the
defence. Now, Miss Anstruther, lie down again and try to go to sleep,
and I promise you that if I see any signs of the mob’s being likely to
get in, I will come and carry you up to the roof. We can hold out
there for any length of time. You can trust me, you know.”
“Indeed I can,” said Cecil, putting her hand into his.
“Then that is a bargain,” said Charlie, retaining the hand; “and now I
must go and see whether I can give any help at the gate.”
“Good-bye, then,” said Cecil. “No, not good-bye, _auf wiedersehen_.”
“Yes, _au revoir_,” said Charlie, audaciously seizing the opportunity
to kiss the hand he held, regardless of the glance of burning
indignation which he received from Lady Haigh over Cecil’s head. It
was at this extremely unpropitious moment that Azim Bey elected to
return, fresh from the manipulations of Chanda Lal, and gorgeous in
the best raiment of the young son of the Armenian major-domo. He stood
transfixed for a moment at the door, astonishment making him dumb,
then withdrew behind the curtain, and pounced upon Charlie as he came
out.
“How dare you, monsieur?” he cried, flinging himself upon him like a
wild cat. “You shall not look at mademoiselle like that. She is my
mademoiselle, she is not yours. I will not have you touch her hand,
you----” And here followed a string of outrageous epithets in very
choice Arabic, a language extremely rich in such words, and lending
itself abundantly to purposes of abuse.
“Stop that,” said Charlie, giving the boy a shake which sobered him,
and putting him down on the divan with no very gentle hand. “You are
the Pasha’s son, are you? Why, you are as bad as the most foul-mouthed
little blackguard in the streets. Don’t let me hear any more of such
language, and don’t talk any nonsense to Miss Anstruther, or
I’ll--I’ll keep her here at the Residency for six months on a medical
certificate!”
And Charlie went off whistling to the gate, only to be reminded by Sir
Dugald that he was a non-combatant, and ordered to remain in the rear
unless matters came to extremities, an order which seemed to him
somewhat ludicrously unfair after the events of the day. As for Azim
Bey, he shook his small fist after Charlie’s retreating form, and
then, peeping round the curtain, glared solemnly and ferociously at
Cecil. He found her, however, quite unconscious of his gaze, for the
exhaustion had returned again after the momentary excitement, and she
was lying still with closed eyes. Obeying Lady Haigh’s warning finger,
Azim Bey tiptoed noiselessly into the room, and took up his post again
on the divan, where he seemed inclined to remain. But this did not
suit Lady Haigh, for the boy’s unchildlike ways always irritated her,
and his fixed and solemn gaze now made her feel nervous, and she
suggested that he should go up to the housetop and see what was going
on. This he was graciously pleased to do, seeing that Charlie was
safely out of the way, and for the next half hour he occupied himself
satisfactorily in keeping Lady Haigh acquainted with all the details
of the situation. The mob had temporarily turned their attention from
the Residency to the shops near, which they were pillaging in search
of arms, and Azim Bey’s shrill little voice grew excited as he
described the scene. But a more important discovery than the
damascened sword-blades and old-fashioned matchlocks, which were all
that could be obtained from the armourers’ shops, and which did not
promise to be of much use against an enemy protected by stone walls,
was a great beam of wood, which was now dragged up in triumph by the
mob with the evident intention of its being used as a battering-ram.
Things began to look serious at this point, and Sir Dugald ordered the
Sepoys to be posted at the windows commanding the space in front of
the gate, whence they might pick off the assailants if they ventured
to come to close quarters. The non-combatants now took the place of
the Sepoys in bringing bags of earth to strengthen the gate on the
inside, and the more warlike among them got out such weapons as they
happened to possess, with the intention of giving the enemy a warm
reception if they succeeded in forcing their way in. The female
portion of the establishment, with the natural instinct of seeking
companionship in times of terror, crowded into the room where Lady
Haigh was watching over Cecil, and there lamented their hard fate in
tones of abject fear. Charlie, on his way to the gate from his
surgery, looked in to reassure them, and also to entreat that they
would make less noise, but found that they rejected all his comfort.
To give them something to do, he allowed them to move Cecil into the
inner court, and establish her at the foot of the staircase which led
to the roof, so as to be ready to retreat thither in case it was
necessary. Aided by the combined exertions of all the women, and also
by the encouraging remarks of Azim Bey, the move was effected; but it
caused Cecil too much pain for her to be willing to attempt the
stairs. In vain did her pupil offer her his place, from whence she
might obtain an excellent view of all that was to be seen; the
exertion of mounting to the roof was too great, and she dropped down
on the cushions which had been placed for her in the corner, where the
staircase shielded her from the strong rays of the setting sun.
The men in charge of the battering-ram seemed to have been deterred
from using it by the sight of Sir Dugald’s preparations, and they were
now gathered together at a safe distance from the gate, squabbling
noisily over their engine of warfare, and apparently trying each to
persuade the other to lead the attack. The main body of the besiegers
kept up a desultory shower of stones at the gate, varied by a flight
directed at the roof when any one was visible there, and Sir Dugald
sent up orders that the women were to keep well below the parapet, and
not to show themselves. Azim Bey was in high glee as he dodged the
stones, and did his best to return them to the senders; but Lady Haigh
chafed under his father’s delay in sending relief.
“It’s all very well, my dear,” she said to Cecil, “but I shouldn’t
wonder if this riot came in very opportunely for the Pasha. Here he
has the chance of getting rid at once of Azim Bey, who is so
unpopular, and whose very existence drives the Arabs to quarrel, and
of the Balio Bey, who is always giving him good advice. Ah, you may
laugh, but did you ever know any one to like the person who gave him
good advice? Ahmed Khémi Pasha hates Sir Dugald because he knows that
if he had done as he advised all along this would not have happened,
and what could be a neater way of revenging himself than to let the
mob have time to break in and massacre us all? He could punish them
afterwards, and so escape all blame.”
“But what would he do if Azim Bey were killed?” asked Cecil, with a
feeble smile, caused by Lady Haigh’s ineradicable suspiciousness.
“Do? Why, make it up with Hussein Bey, and so have everything
comfortable in the Palace and the city and the whole pashalik, of
course,” replied Lady Haigh, promptly.
Cecil was about to remark that in such a case the Pasha would probably
find it hard to deal with the Hajar Arabs, who had adopted Azim Bey’s
cause so zealously; but Lady Haigh was summoned to the roof at this
point by a cry of joy from the Bey himself, who called out that there
was a squadron of cavalry advancing from each end of the street into
which the Residency gate opened. The two bodies were approaching each
other, slowly and determinedly, forcing the sullen mob before them as
they came. The men who had been squabbling over the battering-ram
seemed all at once to determine to unite against this new foe, and
turned to oppose them, whereupon a scene began which made Lady Haigh
retreat down the stairs into the court in horror, but which caused
Azim Bey to clap his hands and shout. The soldiers, with their heavy
sabres, mowed down the mob as they advanced, until the few who were
left broke their ranks and did their best to shrink close to the walls
on either side and slip past the horses. The orders of the troops were
evidently to secure the safety of the Residency and its inhabitants
first, and to leave the punishment of the insurgents until afterwards,
for when once the way was clear they allowed the survivors to escape
if they could.
Azim Bey had been cheering on the soldiers from his coign of vantage
on the house-top, but he was the first to descend, and was ready to
meet them when the gate was opened. His fear and his anger and his
excitement had now alike passed away, and he was his usual courteous,
grown-up little self, thanking Sir Dugald for his hospitality and
protection, and Captain Rossiter and the Sepoys for their timely aid.
Notwithstanding his affability, however, he displayed great anxiety to
get back to the Palace, and would not hear of allowing Cecil to remain
at the Residency even for the night, in spite of Lady Haigh’s
declaring that she would not permit her to leave it. It was obviously
impossible for her to mount a donkey, and Charlie was firm on this
point, although, remembering his encounter with Azim Bey, he kept in
the background as much as he could, for fear of getting Cecil into
trouble with her pupil and his father. Baghdad could produce a few
carriages, but the streets were far too rough and narrow to admit of
their use. At last an antiquated litter, borne by two mules, was
procured from the Palace, and Cecil was helped into it and made
comfortable with cushions. Then the gold-embroidered curtains were
drawn, and the procession started, Azim Bey riding in front of the
litter on a horse lent by Sir Dugald, while the soldiers formed an
escort on either side.
“Do you know, Cousin Elma,” said Charlie, as the party at the
Residency lingered on the verandah after dinner to discuss the
exciting events of the day, “I fancy”--he lowered his voice as he
glanced across at Sir Dugald and Captain Rossiter, who were deep in an
argument on the probable effects of the battering-ram if it had been
used--“I can’t help thinking that that small boy has taken it into his
head to be jealous.”
“It’s quite possible, Charlie. My youngest brother was frantically
jealous when I was engaged, though you mayn’t believe it.”
“But that was quite different. He had something to take hold of; but
really I can’t think what that little wretch has seen--until to-day,
at any rate.”
“Charlie, Charlie,” said Lady Haigh, in her most maternal tone, “let
me give you one piece of advice. You are perfectly at liberty to think
yourself a fool if you like, but never let yourself imagine that Azim
Bey is one. If he ever permits you to think so, that will only show
how well he is fooling you.”
Charlie had leisure to think over this unpalatable remark in the days
that followed, for he and Cecil did not meet again for some time.
Cecil’s foot was very painful, and the pain, combined with the shock
of that eventful day, brought on another attack of fever, which spread
mingled anxiety and hope among the European colony at Baghdad. The
authorities at the French Consulate rejoiced in anticipation of
Cecil’s final removal from the scene, and were prepared with a
candidate of unexceptionable qualifications to supply her place. The
Austrian representative, while preserving an appearance of decorous
sympathy, had his eye on an elderly relative of his own who had
occupied a position in a princely family, and was well suited, both by
character and training, to tread the tortuous paths of domestic
diplomacy. A casual remark dropped by the French Consul in Azim Bey’s
hearing enlightened him as to the intrigues that were maturing, and
the speculations that were abroad as to the issue of his dear
mademoiselle’s illness, and threw him into a pitiable state. He passed
his time in alternate fits of wild despair and petulant anger, which
so affected his father that he sent for his own physician, who was
attending the patient, and ordered him, on pain of death, to effect
her recovery--a command which was received by the hapless man of
medicine with an impassive “If God pleases, it shall be as my lord
wills.” Lady Haigh also was untiring in her care. She came to see
Cecil every day, and often sat with her for hours, only to meet, when
she left the Palace, the reproaches of Charlie, who invariably
accompanied her to the gate, and tried warning, entreaty, and menace
in vain to induce her to take him in with her.
“She ought to see an English doctor,” he urged. “What can this man
know about English constitutions? I have no confidence in him.”
“But I have every confidence in him,” responded Lady Haigh, severely;
“and so has Sir Dugald, and so has the Pasha. Why, you know he was
trained in Germany. Besides, Cecil herself has expressed no wish for a
change of doctors (and I really can’t wonder at it, after your
behaviour the last time you saw her); and you know it would be
absolutely unprofessional for you to intrude uninvited on one of the
_hakim bashi’s_ cases.”
“What do I care about professional etiquette in such a case?” cried
Charlie. “Besides, if we come to that, she was my patient first.
Cousin Elma, let me see her.”
“No, indeed,” said Lady Haigh, resolutely. “You let me in for one
_faux pas_, Charlie, when you frightened me into sending you to the
Palace before, and that is not a pleasant thing for a woman in my
position to have to remember. How it is that we have never had any
remonstrance about your invasion of the harem precincts on that
occasion I cannot imagine, unless you bribed Masûd heavily. Well,
there is not going to be any repetition of that sort of thing. Cecil
is getting on perfectly well, and Um Yusuf and old Ayesha and Basmeh
Kalfa all nurse her devotedly, so you must be content with that.”
And very much against his will, Charlie was obliged to be content with
that, and did not even see Cecil when she was better, for as soon as
she was convalescent she was sent with Azim Bey and their attendants
to the house of Naimeh Khanum, the Pasha’s married daughter, at
Hillah, to recruit. The journey of fifty miles was performed in great
state, under the conduct of a large escort of mounted Bashi Bazouks.
Three of the Pasha’s own horses, with splendid trappings, were led in
the forefront of the procession, and flags and kettle-drums gave it a
martial air. The way lay entirely through the desert, and the prospect
was always the same, the wide sandy plains being crossed and recrossed
by the dry channels of the ancient irrigation canals, now choked and
useless, even the drinking-water having to be carried in leathern
bottles. At night halts were made at the fortified khans on the road,
where the terror of the Pasha’s name proved sufficient to ensure the
provision of all necessaries for the travellers. The journey was taken
in easy stages, that Cecil’s strength might not be overtasked, and it
was not until four days after leaving Baghdad that the palm-groves and
the mighty rubbish-heaps of Hillah came in sight. Cecil felt her
strength and her enthusiasm revive at the prospect. Before her lay the
ruins of Babylon! She entreated that they might turn aside to visit
them at once, but Um Yusuf proved most unsympathetic, and scornfully
refused to communicate her mistress’s wish to the leader of the
caravan. Who cared about old ruins, haunted by ghouls and jinn, and
just at the fever-time too? Did Mdlle. Antaza wish to throw her life
away? Cecil yielded with a sigh, and the procession passed on through
the palm-groves, where the ripening dates hung like bunches of golden
grapes, to the house of Said Bey, Naimeh Khanum’s husband, who was the
military governor of Hillah.
Here Cecil and her pupil passed several quiet weeks. They did little
exploring, for Cecil was not strong enough for it, and Azim Bey was
deterred by fear of the jinn, but antiquities in abundance were
brought to them to purchase by the Jews of the place, who spent their
lives in searching for them. Azim Bey passed most of his time in his
brother-in-law’s company, riding out with him to hunt, and assisting
him to review his troops, to the intense amusement of Said Bey, who
was a big jolly man, the son of an Irish renegade who had entered the
Turkish service, and preserved some of the national characteristics
even among his oriental surroundings. As for Cecil, she resigned
herself to a thoroughly Eastern existence as a denizen of the harem,
and became better acquainted with the manners and customs of its
inhabitants than she had had opportunity to be during her stay in
Baghdad. Said Bey’s mother was dead, as Naimeh Khanum informed her
with evident relief and gratitude to Providence, and the household was
therefore under the rule of the young wife, who was now much occupied
with a wonderful baby son, of whom Azim Bey was intensely jealous, as
he always was of every one and everything that interfered with the
attention he conceived to be due to his imperious little self. The
proud mother, who had herself enjoyed for a short time the advantage
of the teaching of a European governess, was eager to consult Cecil as
to the best way of educating her boy when he grew older, and many were
the anxious discussions they held under the date-palms in the garden
or in the evening on the terrace. Naimeh Khanum’s lovely face appeared
on almost every page of Cecil’s sketch-book, only rivalled in
popularity by endless studies of the great mounds of Babylon, seen
under every possible variety of light and shade, and the English girl
felt herself strangely drawn to the oriental, who looked out from her
cage at the unknown world with eager inquisitive eyes. They used to
spend hours in conversation, Cecil sketching, Naimeh Khanum busy with
her baby, until the warning cry of “_Dastûr!_” announced the return
of Said Bey, and Cecil would wrap her veil round her and retire to the
temporary schoolroom, where her pupil would be waiting to tell her of
the day’s adventures.