AN IDYLL, AND ITS ENDING.
After all, the tender care Cecil had shown for her pupil’s feelings,
almost disregarding Charlie’s in comparison with them, was not only
without result, but quite unnecessary. Azim Bey had read in her face
as she said good-night what had happened, and neither silence nor
denials on her part would have had the slightest effect in shaking his
belief in his discovery. Consequently her vain attempts to mollify him
were regarded with contempt as signs of conscious guilt, and the
rupture which concluded them only increased his wrath against Charlie,
over whom he had now been forced to quarrel with mademoiselle. He was
obliged to do his lessons as usual, but at other times he sat apart
and meditated vengeance.
His mind was full of schemes--indeed the only drawback was their
number and variety. He intended fully to get rid of Charlie, and to
punish Cecil for engaging herself to him; but as soon as he had
settled upon a means of doing this, a new and splendid idea was sure
to come into his head, and he would devote himself to working it out
until it in its turn was supplanted by a better. There was another
difficulty common to all these plans. It seemed absolutely impossible
to carry them out, situated as he was, under Cecil’s charge and
Masûd’s guardianship. Even when he had patched up a hollow peace with
Cecil, cemented by a mutual understanding that the subject of her
engagement was not to be mentioned between them, this difficulty
confronted him still, and it was therefore with a joy born of hope and
confidence that he found M. Karalampi one day in the Pasha’s anteroom.
Here was the man who could do what he wanted, and M. Karalampi was
astonished to find himself seized upon and dragged into a corner, and
adjured in excited whispers to get rid of that wretch, that criminal
of an English doctor who had dared to engage himself to Mdlle. Antaza.
M. Karalampi’s first feeling, which he was careful to conceal, was one
of helpless bewilderment, but of this Azim Bey had no idea. To him,
the Greek, backed up by all the help he could easily command, was a
_deus ex machinâ_ who could accomplish his purpose in the twinkling
of an eye. M. Karalampi knew better the difficulties of the situation.
Murder was out of the question, and so was kidnapping. Either, or an
attempt at either, would set the Balio Bey and all the English on the
alert, and lead to the discovery of the instigator of the deed, and M.
Karalampi was not at all inclined to compromise his position, either
with the Pasha or with the foreign consuls, for the sake of Azim Bey.
No; whatever was to be done must be done by careful diplomacy and
working underground, and for this time would be necessary. But to say
so to Azim Bey would mean that the boy would fly off at a tangent to
some other person who might be inclined to help him, and this M.
Karalampi could not allow. Almost simultaneously two plans formed
themselves in his brain, one for getting rid of Charlie, the other for
gaining time from Azim Bey, and he put the second into execution at
once. Lowering his voice mysteriously, and entreating pardon for
casting a doubt on the correctness of the Bey Effendi’s information,
he ventured to inquire whether he were absolutely certain that it was
Dr Egerton to whom mademoiselle was engaged? The doctor and she had
not seen one another for a long time before Christmas, whereas Captain
Rossiter was at the Residency all the time. It was known that the
Balio Bey thought very highly of him, and it was whispered that he
himself thought very highly of mademoiselle: indeed M. Karalampi had
heard it said that he was going to marry her. Was Azim Bey sure that
it was not Captain Rossiter to whom she was engaged? Of course M.
Karalampi could not guarantee the authenticity of his own information,
but it would certainly be very annoying to get rid of the wrong man
and find the evil untouched.
M. Karalampi knew very well the falsity of the suggestion he offered,
but it served his present purpose admirably. Azim Bey was struck dumb.
He beat his brains to try and find out why he had fixed upon Charlie
as the happy man, for he had certainly never been told that he was;
but he could find nothing but that early incursion into the harem, and
the little scene he had witnessed at the Residency on the day of the
riot, to justify his suspicions. Meanwhile, as M. Karalampi pointed
out respectfully, these were only proofs that Dr Egerton was in love
with mademoiselle, which no one had ever doubted, while it was
undeniable that Captain Rossiter had rushed to her rescue with the
utmost eagerness when he heard she was in danger. Azim Bey felt
nonplussed. He could only promise that he would do his best to
discover the truth--he must be able to do so without much
difficulty--and adjure his fellow-conspirator to be in readiness to
act the moment he let him know who was to be assailed.
They parted, and Azim Bey set himself to his task; but it was more
difficult than he had imagined it would be. Cecil’s lips were sealed,
at any rate to him, on the subject of her engagement. If he attempted
to approach it, she froze instantly, and he could not obtain from her
the slightest clue to the mystery, while all his efforts to pump Um
Yusuf found her as impenetrable as the grave. It so happened that for
a considerable time he met no one who had sufficient interest in or
knowledge of the matter to enlighten him. He felt convinced that he
could have got the truth out of either Charlie or Captain Rossiter by
means of a few questions, but neither of them came in his way, and
though he saw Sir Dugald once or twice, the Balio Bey was not the kind
of person to approach on such a quest. Much time was consumed in these
delays, and winter had passed, and spring was over all the plains,
before the boy’s curiosity could be gratified.
It was just at the time when the fruit-trees were in bloom, and the
watered gardens around Baghdad miracles of loveliness, that it entered
Lady Haigh’s head to give a picnic. Some miles down the Tigris were
the ruins of an ancient fort, situated on a bold bluff overhanging the
stream, and surrounded by fruit-gardens, in one of which was a flimsy
summer-palace, built of wood, and almost in decay. The spot was noted
for its fruit-trees, which were supposed to flourish on the site of an
ancient battle-field, and Sir Dugald was accustomed to rent the place
every spring and summer as a refuge from the heat and miasma of
Baghdad. There was plenty of shooting to be had on the neighbouring
plains, and good fishing for any one that cared for it, so that a week
or two at the summer-villa was a coveted treat to the staff at the
Consulate. It was not yet time for the great heat which makes the city
almost unbearable, but the fruit-blossom was particularly lovely this
year, and Lady Haigh was fired with the desire to display
Takht-Iskandar in all its beauty. She could not have all her friends
out to stay with her, especially since the habitable part of the house
was now exceedingly limited in extent, but she could at any rate give
them a sight of the place, and therefore she sent out invitations for
a picnic.
Of course Cecil and Azim Bey were invited. The latter, who was deputed
by his father to represent him on the occasion, accepted the charge
with huge delight, and kept his attendants hard at work for days
beforehand in bringing all his equipments to the highest pitch of
perfection. He felt that he was about to perform a public function,
and his youthful heart beat high with pride. Cecil’s heart beat high
also, but not with pride. She would see Charlie--nay, she would
certainly, if Lady Haigh could compass it, get one of those long talks
with him which were now a distinguishing delight of Sunday evenings at
the Residency. In this hope she put on, under her great white sheet,
the newest and prettiest dress she had, one which had just been sent
out to her from England, and succeeded in mounting her donkey safely
in the unwonted garb. The party from the Residency and most of their
guests went down the river to Takht-Iskandar in a steam-launch, but
the Pasha preferred the land journey for his son, and thus Cecil and
Azim Bey jogged along soberly on donkey-back, followed by a motley
group of servants, and preceded by a running groom.
The way was very pleasant, lying as it did across the wide plains of
Mesopotamia, now gay with their brief verdure and studded with flowers
of every hue. The start was made as soon as it was light, so that it
was still quite early in the day when the frowning ruins which the
Arabs called Alexander’s Throne came into view. Sir Dugald advanced to
the gate of the garden to welcome his guests, and Lady Haigh met them
at the edge of the great terrace of masonry, with its tanks and
fountains, which supplied a site for the picnic in place of the
non-existent grass-plot. Here tents had been pitched and carpets
spread in the shade of the trees, and everything seemed to promise
ease and rest. Azim Bey gave his arm to his hostess to conduct her to
her seat, an honour which reflected much glory, but some
inconvenience, on Lady Haigh, who was much taller than her youthful
cavalier. Sir Dugald followed with Cecil, her pupil looking round
sharply to make sure that she had not wandered away in more congenial
society. Arrived at the encampment under the trees, the party reclined
on gorgeous rugs and listened to the voices and instruments of a band
of native musicians, refreshing themselves with sherbet the while.
This style of entertainment was quite to the taste of the orientals
among the guests, and the Europeans had learnt by long experience to
tolerate it with apparent resignation, so that the time passed in
great contentment. As for Cecil, she leaned back on her cushions and
enjoyed the colour contrasts afforded by the gay hues of the carpets
relieved against the yellow of the stonework and the dark shade of the
trees, and by the twisting and crossing of the blossomy boughs against
the blue of the sky, and wondered where Charlie could be.
After some time the calm of the party was broken by the arrival of a
juggler, a most marvellous Hindoo, such a one as Azim Bey had often
read of but had never seen, and the luxurious guests raised themselves
and moved a little closer, so as to be able to see his tricks more
easily. This left Cecil rather on the outskirts of the group, and
before she could rise to go nearer a voice said in her ear--
“Come and see the ruins.”
With one glance at Azim Bey, deeply absorbed in the juggler’s tricks,
under Lady Haigh’s guardianship, Cecil was up in a moment, scarcely
needing the help of Charlie’s hand, and he hurried her round the
nearest tent and into the wood. There were no footpaths, but they
hastened, laughing guiltily, like two children playing truant, along
the banks of earth left between the innumerable little canals by which
each row of trees was irrigated, and finally came out on a grassy
knoll set with pomegranate-trees, which were now gay with scarlet
blossoms.
“Now we’re safe,” said Charlie. “We can take it easy. Do you see where
you are? There are the ruins just in front.”
No one, as it happened, had observed Charlie’s sudden appearance and
their flight. Even Lady Haigh, with heroic self-restraint, kept her
eyes fixed on the juggler, lest she should by looking round attract
attention to the pair, and the performance went on. When it was over,
Lady Haigh invited Azim Bey to come and see a small plantation of
English fruit-trees, belonging to several choice varieties, which Sir
Dugald had lately imported. He complied with her request, but in the
one glance around which he took before accompanying her, he had
perceived and realised the fact that his governess had disappeared.
His face showed, however, no trace of his having made this discovery.
He escorted Lady Haigh from place to place, asked intelligent
questions about the foreign trees, promised to recommend his father to
try planting some, and kept his eyes open all the time for some trace
of the truant. His manner was so natural, he seemed so deeply
interested, that Lady Haigh was completely deceived; nay, more, the
very thought of the need there was for watchfulness slipped from her
mind, and when they returned to the rest of the guests, she entered
into conversation with Denarien Bey, who was among them. Azim Bey saw
and seized his opportunity. He removed his hand softly from Lady
Haigh’s arm, and sheltered by her capacious person from the
observation of Sir Dugald and Captain Rossiter, edged his way out just
as Cecil and Charlie had done, until, when fairly hidden by the tent,
he ran off at full speed in the direction of the clue he had
discovered as he returned with his hostess from the plantation. It was
a little strip of flimsy white stuff, which he had noticed clinging to
the rough bark of a gnarled old apple-tree--only that, but he knew it
to be a piece of the muslin veil Cecil was wearing, and it showed that
she must have passed that way. Azim Bey followed the path she and
Charlie had taken through the wood, and came out as they had done on
the knoll where the pomegranate-trees grew; but here he was at a loss,
for those whom he sought were not visible, and Cecil had not been so
considerate as to leave another clue for his guidance. He spent some
time fruitlessly in following paths that led nowhere, and in losing
himself among the trees and the little canals, but at last he came
upon an ascending track leading through a dense thicket of fruit-trees
and shrubs. As he went on he heard the sound of voices, and he crept
cautiously nearer, keeping in the shadow of the bushes, until he was
able to see what filled him with rage and longings for vengeance, and
made him swear the blackest oaths he could think of in any language.
And yet the picture before him was not an unpleasing one. In the heart
of the thicket was a space clear of bushes, but occupied by the ruins
of one of the ancient towers of the fortress, partly overgrown with
grass. On a mass of fallen masonry sat Cecil in her blue dress, her
veil thrown back. Above her were twisted boughs of apple and apricot,
covered with bloom, and the thin smooth rods of the almond-tree, with
pink and blush-coloured blossoms interspersed with tiny fresh green
leaves. The branches bent and swayed in the light breeze, and swept
her hair softly, and every wind scattered over her a shower of pink
and white petals. But she was not studying the beauties of nature now.
Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted, her eyelids drooping, and
beside her was Charlie Egerton, holding both her hands in his, his
eyes passionately devouring her face. They were not talking. It was a
moment of supreme content, such as they had not enjoyed for months,
and they were too happy to speak. The unseen spectator perceived it
all, and gnashed his teeth with rage.
Poor little Azim Bey! He knelt there, taking in every detail of the
scene before him, and cursing one, at least, of the actors in it very
heartily. If a loaded pistol had been put into his hand Charlie might
have fared ill, but even Azim Bey did not feel impelled to test his
dagger upon him before Cecil’s eyes. Therefore he only remained where
he was, peering through the bushes, and listening eagerly when some
chance sound disturbed the pair and they began to talk. Their talk
filled him with amazement. It was by no means particularly deep, and
it was undeniably disjointed; but the listener carried away with him
ideas of love which differed widely both from those inculcated in his
French novels and those engendered in his precocious little mind by
the sensuous atmosphere of the harem in which he had been brought up.
It gave him his first glimpse of the gulf which remained fixed between
the most thoroughly Europeanised Turk and even an orientalised
Englishman, who, with all his faults and follies, was still the heir
of centuries of knightly training and Christian influence. Naimeh
Khanum would have rejoiced if she could have known the thoughts which
passed through her young brother’s mind in that half hour, for she
would have hoped that the realisation of the underlying difference
would lead him to make efforts to eradicate it altogether. But Azim
Bey differed in many respects from his sister. His nature, like those
of the men of his nation of whom she had spoken, was inclined to be
satisfied with external resemblance to Europeans, and the discovery of
the real unlikeness only made him hate all the more the individual
through whom it was brought home to him.
“I really must go back to Lady Haigh now,” said Cecil, at last. “Azim
Bey will begin to suspect something.”
Charlie’s reply was a remark not complimentary to Azim Bey.
“And I haven’t seen you really since Christmas,” he went on--“not
properly, I mean. You keep me alive on very little crumbs of hope,
Cecil, and when the time comes for fulfilment you just give me some
more crumbs. I did think I should get a good talk with you to-day, but
I haven’t told you anything of all that I wanted to say. Now don’t
tell me I can say it next Sunday, for you know we get scarcely any
time together then.”
“Poor boy! why don’t you talk faster, and get more into the time?”
laughed Cecil, rising from her seat, and sending a little shower of
petals falling as the flower-laden boughs brushed her head. “I am sure
you have wasted a good deal of time to-day.”
“Because I wanted to look at you, and not to talk,” said Charlie, and
they both laughed, much to Azim Bey’s disgust. Then Cecil’s veil
caught in something as she rearranged it (it was a most inconvenient
garment that veil, continually catching in things), and Charlie had to
disentangle it--a lengthy process, which made the onlooker more angry
still. Charlie caught Cecil’s hand in his once and kissed it, and Azim
Bey made bitter remarks in his own mind on the foolishness of lovers.
“We must come,” said Cecil again. “Just think how very embarrassing it
would be if Azim Bey took it into his head to come and look for me.”
“I don’t care,” said Charlie. “What does he signify?”
“I don’t think you would be able to get much talk if he was here
listening to every word,” said Cecil. “Now, Charlie, please don’t,
_please_! I have just made myself tidy, and I must get my gloves on.”
“I’ll put them on for you,” said Charlie, kindly, but the offer was
declined with thanks. The pair passed out of the little cleared spot
in the woods, so close to Azim Bey that Cecil’s dress almost brushed
him as she went by, and when they were out of sight he rose and made a
circuit through the grounds, so as to come upon the picnic-party from
an opposite direction. Lady Haigh had discovered her charge’s absence
by this time, and was in dire dismay about him; but his appearance and
his unruffled demeanour reassured her, for she could not guess that
his heart was so full of rage and fury that he could scarcely bring
himself to speak civilly to any one. It was a triumph of oriental
dissimulation which enabled him to keep cool, and no one ever
suspected that he had done more than search the grounds for Cecil and
had not found her. The rest of the day passed calmly enough, and Azim
Bey kept close to Cecil’s side, and conversed graciously, and behaved
like a civilised and well-brought-up young gentleman, while all the
time he was planning vengeance in his mind.
The sun began to approach the horizon at last, and the party, hosts
and guests alike, prepared to return to the city. Torches were
lighted, the tents hastily taken down and rolled up with the carpets,
and while these were being taken on board the steam-launch the donkeys
belonging to the Palace party were brought round. Azim Bey was in a
great hurry to start, being anxious to prevent long leave-takings. He
mounted quickly, although this process was usually a lengthy and
dignified one, and waited impatiently for Cecil. So impatient was he
that he started before she was properly mounted, and she would have
fallen had not Charlie caught her in his arms. Boiling over with rage,
Charlie gave her into Lady Haigh’s care, and confronted Azim Bey, who
had returned in some alarm.
“You did that on purpose, you little rascal!” cried Charlie, seizing
the boy’s rein. Azim Bey’s face became pale with rage.
“You dare, monsieur? You venture to say that I desired to hurt
mademoiselle? Go, you are a pig, a serpent--I despise you! Go, I say!”
and he lifted his riding-whip, which Charlie immediately grasped.
“Don’t try that sort of thing on with me, young one,” he cried. “You’d
better not, or I may be tempted to give you a thrashing, which would
do you a lot of good.”
“How, monsieur, you threaten me?” screamed Azim Bey. “I will remember
it, I will remember it well! You and I will meet, and you also shall
remember this. Go, dog of an Englishman!” with a vigorous tug at the
whip, to which Charlie gave a wrench that broke it between them. Azim
Bey flung the fragments in his face, with a torrent of curses.
“Egerton!” said Sir Dugald, stepping between them, “what is the
meaning of this?”
“He has insulted me, monsieur,” cried Azim Bey, trembling with
passion. Sir Dugald cast a scathing glance at Charlie.
“I am sure Dr Egerton is willing to apologise if he has inadvertently
said anything to offend you, Bey,” he said. “Egerton, you must
certainly see that there is no other course open to you. It is
impossible that you could have intended to insult the Bey.”
“He shall apologise for it--in blood,” growled Azim Bey, ferociously,
while Charlie stood silent, nettled by Sir Dugald’s authoritative
tone. “He said I meant to hurt mademoiselle. The rest is for him and
me to settle alone.”
“Oh, Charlie,” said Cecil, coming up with anxious eyes, “you did not
mean that, I’m sure. You must have known that the Bey would never
think of such a thing. You will apologise, won’t you? You really
ought.”
“As you say I ought, I will,” said Charlie, turning from the whispered
colloquy with a defiant glance at Azim Bey and Sir Dugald. “I regret,
Bey, to have wounded your feelings by a hasty accusation which was not
justified by facts. I can’t say more than that.”
“If you have done enough mischief, Egerton, perhaps you will rejoin
the rest of the party,” said Sir Dugald, in a low voice. “Allow me to
assist you to mount, Miss Anstruther.”
Cecil complied in silence, feeling ready to hate Sir Dugald for his
treatment of Charlie, and yet conscious that he had much to try him.
Diplomatic complications had arisen out of incidents no more important
than this one, and it was hard for her Majesty’s Consul-General to
find his best-laid plans endangered by the imprudence of a hot-headed
fool in love. And therefore he did his best to pacify Azim Bey, and
succeeded so well that the boy talked quite graciously to Cecil as
they rode back to the city over the short grass, lighted by the
flaring torches of their escort.