CONFEDERATES.
After this, things went on quietly enough until it was a year and a
half since Charlie had left Baghdad. Only a year now remained of
Cecil’s stay at the Palace, and Azim Bey was growing so tall and manly
that she felt it was quite time he should soon leave her care. He was
just fourteen and a half, but looked much older than his age, and he
had made wonderful progress in his studies. He was an excellent talker
and a most agreeable companion, with a wide theoretical acquaintance
with modern political and social problems, and a deep practical
knowledge of Eastern ways of settling them. There was something
uncanny in such shrewdness in a boy of his age, and fond though Cecil
was of him, she could now never quite trust him. The subject of
Charlie had not again been mentioned between them, although Cecil
sometimes felt curious to know whether her pupil had got over his
childish dislike. Since the discovery of the fate of their first six
months’ letters, she and Charlie had corresponded with more success,
owing to the precautions they had adopted. Charlie’s letters were
addressed to Sir Dugald at the Residency, and Cecil posted hers there
after Sir Dugald had written the address. The abstraction of the
earlier epistles had been traced to an Armenian post-office clerk who
had died in the interval between the discovery of the theft and the
investigation subsequently made into it, and although for this reason
no punishment could be inflicted, the desires of any who might be
anxious to tread in the offender’s footsteps were frustrated. Whatever
the suspicions of the would-be thieves might be, they dared not stop a
letter addressed by or to the Balio Bey himself.
There were other ways of getting news, notably by means of letters
concealed in parcels, or brought by friends from England, and it was
by the former means that Cecil received the season’s greetings on the
occasion of her fourth Christmas in Baghdad. A great box was sent out
from Whitcliffe to Mrs Yehudi, containing presents for the
school-children’s Christmas-tree, and among the presents was a letter
for Cecil, very carefully and cunningly hidden. She tore it open
eagerly, wondering why it should be sent with such special care, but
found nothing of any unusual importance until she came to the last
paragraph, which filled her with a vague dread.
“I don’t feel as though I should be able to stay quiet in England all
next year. The travel-spirit is coming upon me again, and drawing me
Eastward ho! Perhaps it is not only that, but the longing to see some
one in Baghdad, which is drawing me--at any rate, if you don’t hear
from me for a time, you can imagine me anywhere between Beyrout and
Karachi, or between Resht and Aden. But perhaps I shall see you, my
dearest girl, without your knowing it. I wouldn’t get you into trouble
for the world, but I would do anything short of that just to see you
for a moment. I should feel happier about you, and know that that
abominable child had not quite worn you out. Don’t look out for me,
for it’s no good. If I come, you won’t know it, but I will tell you
about it afterwards, and we will laugh over it together.”
What could Charlie be intending to do? Surely he could not mean to try
and enter Baghdad again, in the face of the danger he had scarcely
escaped, but what else did his words signify? He must be only joking,
trying to make her look out for him, for the foolishness of an attempt
to return to the city must be patent even to his mind. There was no
need to be alarmed, nor to frighten Lady Haigh; but Cecil did not feel
happy until she had written a long letter scolding Charlie for his mad
project, and forbidding him to undertake it. Unhappily, before the
letter reached England, Charlie had started for the East, but Cecil
was not in a position to know this, as will presently appear.
When Hussein Bey died, it seemed as though the Pasha’s family troubles
were over, for a time at least, and he looked forward hopefully to a
year of domestic peace. Now that she had no one for whom to plot, it
was probable that his mother would soon tire of maintaining an
irreconcilable attitude, and consent to offer terms of accommodation.
The only cloud on the horizon was caused by the behaviour of Jamileh
Khanum, who had now a little son of her own, a fact which produced
exactly the result which Azim Bey had foreseen long ago. For her boy’s
sake, Jamileh Khanum was frantically jealous of his elder brother, and
every sign of favour bestowed by the Pasha on Azim Bey, every expense
incurred on his account, furnished her with a text for a passionate
attack on her husband. For months she teased him at every available
opportunity to procure a French governess for little Najib Bey, but in
vain. The Pasha had had some experience of the difficulty of keeping
the peace between dependents of different European nationalities, and
he had no desire that the tranquillity of the Palace should be
disturbed by the mutual jealousies and patriotic squabbles of Mdlle.
Antaza and any French lady. Jamileh Khanum might have an English nurse
for the baby if she liked, and as soon as he was old enough he might
share Azim Bey’s lessons with Mdlle. Antaza. But both these offers
were scouted by the indignant mother. Her boy to share the
instructions of that insolent Englishwoman, in company with the son of
that wild Arab creature (might her bones not rest in peace!)--never!
Rather should he grow up ignorant, a living monument of his father’s
parsimony and injustice. She had a good deal more to say on the
subject, and was proceeding to say it, when her husband, fortunately
for himself, was called away.
Much worried by this fresh piece of trouble, Ahmed Khémi Pasha lent a
ready ear to a message which reached him shortly before the great
Turkish festival of Moharram Ghün. His mother sent to say that she
was now advanced in years, a poor widow bereft of her best-beloved
grandson, and she wished to be reconciled at the festival to the
surviving members of her family. The Um-ul-Pasha was given to these
reconciliations, which were generally as shortlived as they were
sudden, but her son was touched by the terms of her message, and
prepared to meet her half-way. Accordingly he went to see her in the
most filial manner possible, was received with all due honour and
affection, and invited to partake of coffee and sweetmeats. During
this repast his mother electrified him still further by expressing a
desire for reconciliation also with Azim Bey. The Pasha caught eagerly
at the idea, for he was well aware of the scandal caused in the city
by his divided house, and he proposed to fetch his son at once to pay
his respects to his grandmother. But the Um-ul-Pasha was not inclined
to be in such a hurry. She had a condition to make before she would
consent to a reconciliation, and she brought it forward at once. It
was nothing less than a plain demand for Mdlle. Antaza’s dismissal.
Without giving her son time to express his astonishment or his dismay,
the old lady hurried on to give the reasons for her request. The
presence of the Frangi woman in the Palace was a direct insult to
herself, since she had always opposed her coming; her very position in
the household was a scandal, for she was technically in the harem, and
yet could visit her European friends when she liked. Moreover, Mdlle.
Antaza had conducted herself most insolently towards the Um-ul-Pasha
during the whole of her stay in Baghdad, had refused the husband
graciously recommended to her, and had calmly ignored the great lady’s
existence ever since. This sounded so very plausible when the little
episode of the attempted poisoning was forgotten, that the Um-ul-Pasha
paused to admire her own eloquence, but hurried on again when she
perceived that her son was about to speak. She had kept her chief
argument until last, and now produced it with obvious pride. To
dismiss mademoiselle at once would be a great saving of expense. If
she remained a year longer, her five years’ engagement would have been
fulfilled, and she would become entitled to the bonus promised on its
termination, while if she were sent away now for misconduct, this
extra sum would be saved.
“But there is no misconduct. What charge have you against her?” asked
the Pasha, blankly.
“Invent one. There’s nothing so easy,” replied his mother, instantly.
“Karalampi----” she perceived her mistake, and hastily altered the
form of the sentence. “I know of a person who will arrange everything,
and support it by unimpeachable evidence.”
The Pasha sat and pondered the matter deeply, while his mother went on
to declare that the Frangi woman had ruined Azim Bey. She had made him
into an Englishman, and there was nothing of a Turk left about him.
Thus she ran on, with great richness of language and illustration,
while the Pasha slowly made up his mind. It was no sentiment of
chivalry for a woman fighting the battle of life alone in a foreign
country that influenced him finally, but rather a prudent feeling of
reluctance to part with a valuable dependent as the price of a
reconciliation which could not, in all probability, last more than a
month. Then there was the matter of economy. To escape the necessity
of paying the bonus would certainly be a saving, but would it be
possible to get up an accusation of misconduct which could really be
sustained? He had a very clear impression, springing from what he knew
of the absolute blamelessness of Cecil’s behaviour during her life in
the harem, that it would not. To bring such an accusation, and then to
fail to substantiate it, would be nothing short of ruinous. He thought
apprehensively of the Courts, of the impression in England, where he
desired to stand well in public opinion, and he thought above all
things of the Balio Bey. Sir Dugald was certainly given to counselling
economy, but it was scarcely to be expected that he would approve this
particular way of exercising it, while he would be certain to resent
fiercely any charge made against Mdlle. Antaza, an Englishwoman and
his wife’s friend, and when he was officially angry he could be very
terrible indeed. It was this thought which decided the Pasha at last.
He could not face the Balio Bey in such a case, with the knowledge of
a trumped-up slander on his conscience, and he felt shrewdly that in
maintaining his position and carrying on his Government Sir Dugald’s
countenance and approval was of more vital consequence than his
mother’s. This he told her, as delicately as he could, and then
quitted her presence, after a few vain attempts to soften her
resentment, which was loud and voluble. Had he guessed what her next
step would be, it is possible that he might have yielded abjectly even
then, but he departed unconscious of what was in store for him in the
immediate future.
It would, indeed, have taken a shrewd observer of human nature to
forecast the Um-ul-Pasha’s next move. Having failed to secure her end,
she wasted no time in negotiations, but threw herself into the arms,
figuratively speaking, of Jamileh Khanum, with whom she had been at
daggers drawn ever since the young wife had entered the harem. Angry
with her husband and jealous for her boy, Jamileh Khanum displayed no
inclination to stand upon ceremony when she saw the prospect of
gaining such a powerful ally, and the reconciliation was sealed over
the sleeping form of little Najib Bey, upon whom his grandmother
lavished all the vituperative epithets that occurred to her, for the
purpose of averting the evil-eye. Before the evening of that day
mother and grandmother had united in a league against Azim Bey. The
son of the Hajar woman was to be displaced at any cost, and before
another day was over, M. Karalampi had been informed that his services
were retained on behalf of this new claimant to the rights of Hussein
Bey.
Unfortunately, from the ladies’ point of view, the negotiations which
had so nearly been crowned with success in the former case had been
allowed entirely to fall through, and a change in the Padishah’s
_entourage_ had removed the persons on whose help M. Karalampi had
relied. It was necessary to begin the work all over again, and to set
about it in a different way, but M. Karalampi still contrived to keep
himself in the background, while all that the distracted Pasha knew
was that his mother and his favourite wife were now bosom friends, and
that this boded mischief to his elder son. He could act decisively
enough, however, when the issue was a clear one, and he took his
measures at once. Azim Bey should accompany him on the progress he was
about to make through the country inhabited by the Kurdish tribes, in
order to keep him out of harm’s way, and Jamileh Khanum should come
also, that she and the Um-ul-Pasha might not have the opportunity of
weaving their plots together in his absence. The plan was no sooner
decided upon than it was put into execution. As before, Cecil and Azim
Bey, with their attendants, received orders to start first, spending a
few days at Said Bey’s house at Hillah, where the Pasha’s great
cavalcade would pick them up.
Cecil heard this news with dismay. It seemed to her that everything
depended upon her being at Baghdad, in case Charlie really carried out
his foolhardy plan, for if she saw him she might succeed in turning
him back at the threshold of his adventure. But Lady Haigh, who knew
that the last two summers in Baghdad had tried her very much, was
delighted that this one should be passed in the cooler atmosphere of
the Kurdish uplands, and commended the Pasha’s wisdom. Cecil said
nothing to her of the reason she had for wishing to remain in the
city. On the one side was the possibility of endangering Charlie by
attracting attention to him should he really enter the country; on the
other, the fear of lowering him in Sir Dugald’s eyes by revealing the
foolishness to which the Balio Bey would grant no quarter. In spite of
his kindness, Cecil resented extremely the contemptuous light in which
Sir Dugald continued to regard Charlie, and she was resolved not to
give him the chance of thinking him more reckless than he was, in case
he decided to forego his scheme.
“I suppose it isn’t possible for a European traveller to come into the
pashalik without your knowing it?” she said to Sir Dugald the evening
before her departure, with a desire to make everything sure.
“Scarcely,” said Sir Dugald. “They seem invariably to begin their
wanderings by getting into trouble with the Turks, and then they write
to me to help them out. No vice-consul will do for them, however near
at hand--it must be the Consul-General or no one.”
“But suppose they didn’t wish to make themselves prominent, and
managed not to get into trouble--in fact, came into the country quite
quietly, and did their best to remain unnoticed?”
“Then I should hear of them rather sooner than in the other case,”
said Sir Dugald. “English travellers who didn’t bluster or bully the
natives would be such a phenomenon that both the Pasha and I should be
simply inundated with full, true, and particular accounts of them. It
would be evident to the Turkish mind that they were come for no good,
and were probably either spies or on the look-out for hidden
treasures.”
“But if they were in disguise?” suggested Cecil, bringing forward
reluctantly her true fear. Sir Dugald laughed heartily.
“That would be the quickest thing of all,” he said. “An Englishman
trying to pass for a native would be spotted immediately. I have known
of several cases, and the people take a perverse delight in finding
them out. In fact, it’s an infallible means of proclaiming your
nationality and attracting attention to pretend to be an oriental. If
a man is such a fool as to try it, every person he meets becomes a spy
on him at once. It’s natural, of course, for they are afraid he might
try to profane their holy places.”
“And if you heard of any one who was trying to pass as a native, what
would you do?” asked Cecil.
“Frighten him out of the country if possible, and if not have him here
and reason him out,” said Sir Dugald. “In his character as a native he
couldn’t venture to resist me, and if he dropped it he would be afraid
of his life. I can’t have irresponsible fools coming here and stirring
up the fanatics to attempt outrages.”
Cecil was a little comforted by the sense of Sir Dugald’s power which
this conversation gave her, and she left Baghdad cheered by the
conviction that if Charlie did venture into Turkish Arabia, he would
be obliged to quit it very quickly, and with no undue courtesy
lavished upon him. In the absence of her own persuasive reasoning, she
had considerable faith in Sir Dugald’s certain use of _force majeure_,
and he guessed the real source of her anxiety, and smiled grimly as he
promised himself that her confidence in him should be fully justified
if it was necessary.
At Hillah Naimeh Khanum received Cecil with open arms. They had not
met since Cecil’s visit to the place in the summer of the riot,
although Azim Bey had ridden over several times with his father for a
short stay. In some way or other Naimeh Khanum had obtained an inkling
of her brother’s hatred for Charlie Egerton and its cause, and in the
only long conversation she held with Cecil they talked the matter
over. Naimeh Khanum had been speaking of Azim Bey’s improvement in
appearance and in health, and of the pleasure his progress in his
studies gave to the Pasha, and Cecil in return confessed her
disappointment with respect to the moral side of his nature.
“But what do you expect?” asked Naimeh Khanum. “Why should he
sacrifice his own wishes for your pleasure? What is there in our
religion to teach him to deny himself? He is a man, a true
believer--what can the happiness of a woman, a Giaour, signify to
him?”
“But one might hope,” said Cecil, rather hesitatingly, “that some
measure of Christian influence might reach him from all he has read,
even without direct teaching.”
Naimeh Khanum shook her head. “You forget the strength of the
influences at work in the opposite direction,” she said. “As it is,
you have made my brother wiser, more polished, more European, but his
character is unchanged. He will take all you can give him, and wear it
like a cloak, covering his Eastern nature with it, but he will remain
a Turk underneath all the same. His ideals, his views of women, are
the same as my father’s--they are not yours. You cannot Europeanise
Turkey from the outside.”
“And you, Khanum?” asked Cecil, “do you still feel as you did?”
“The same. I have read your book, and its words are good words, but I
have too much to give up. But I must not talk to you about this,
mademoiselle. My husband found me reading the book, and he would have
taken it away if I had not promised him never to speak about it to any
one, especially to you. Ah, mademoiselle, if your people want to make
us good and happy, they must teach the women as well as the men, and
begin at the heart with both.”
And Cecil could gain no more from her, the rather as they had very
little time for private conversation. Azim Bey’s lessons were going on
just as if they were still at Baghdad, and Said Bey displayed a
disposition to keep his wife from having much to say to the Frangi
woman. Moreover, there were some English people at Hillah just now who
had come out for the purpose of making excavations among the ruins of
Babylon, and had spent much time in measuring and surveying once again
the mighty mounds. The work of exploration, carried on throughout the
pleasant spring days, was now over for the season, and Professor
Howard White and his wife were about to leave Hillah before the summer
heat came on, and to return to Baghdad preparatory to sailing for
home, but for the moment their path crossed Cecil’s on her way to the
Kurdish hills.
Mrs Howard White had lived at Whitcliffe before her marriage, and had
been a member of Mr Anstruther’s congregation, and when on a visit to
her family, just before starting for Babylonia, she had met Charlie at
St Barnabas’ Vicarage, and all these were reasons which made Cecil
very desirous of seeing her. It seemed as though Azim Bey guessed
this, for he hung about his governess persistently when Mrs Howard
White came to call, and anything approaching confidential talk was out
of the question. But the professor’s wife read rightly the entreaty in
Cecil’s eyes, and an invitation to tea on the last evening of their
stay at Hillah gladdened the hearts of both pupil and governess. Azim
Bey was eager to inspect Professor Howard White’s instruments, of
which he had heard wonderful tales from his brother-in-law, and Cecil,
counting upon his insatiable curiosity to keep him safely in the study
for a time, away from her, was tremblingly anxious for a little
private conversation with her hostess. It was just possible that she
might be able to set her heart at rest by assuring her that Charlie
had given up his foolhardy plan. To know for certain that he was
safely at home in England, absorbed in the repairs of his house and
the business of his estate, Cecil felt that she would go through fire
and water.