Mischief in Morocco (The Continental Capers of Melody Chesterton #2)

Chapter 1

June 1, 1911 - Morocco

D ear Diary, I’m dusty, exhausted, hungry and bored.

But more than any of those things, I am irritated beyond belief

Melody found that, in fact, she was too irritated to write anymore and put her diary aside.

As much as she tried to hide it, she was fuming.

Melody had spent multiple train and boat rides, to say nothing of some very uncomfortable, bumpy carriage rides, trying to maintain her composure around Alessandro.

As she usually did when confronted with a challenging situation, Melody had done her best to channel Granny, the Dowager Countess of Pembroke.

There was no doubt that Granny would never have given Alessandro the satisfaction of knowing how much he had hurt her.

Once Melody had realised that all of the charming Conte Foscari’s supposed romantic interest was nothing more than an attempt to get closer to her brother, Rat, in order to monitor his progress as a newly minted British Secret Service agent, she had determined to be as aloof with him as possible.

This would have been far easier if they hadn’t all been in very close quarters for the many days that it had taken them to travel from Venice to Casablanca.

What was most galling was that Alessandro seemed not even to notice her stiff formality.

Despite his initial reservations about Alessandro, Rat now seemed to be utterly in the man’s thrall.

He was happy to use the long journey to pick the brain of the more seasoned British operative.

The two men had quickly formed an easy camaraderie, with Alessandro taking the role of mentor to the younger man.

The resolution of the intrigue they had stumbled upon in Venice had only fed Rat’s insecurities about his readiness for assignments in the field.

There was no doubt that he would never have solved the murder of Antonio Graziano without the help of Melody, his little sister.

If this was not galling enough, discovering that Alessandro had been ordered to oversee his progress by some nameless sceptic in the British Secret Service Bureau had only added to these self-doubts.

While a lesser man might have allowed these doubts to fester into resentment towards the man sent to monitor him, Rat was too eager to learn and too modest to do anything other than be grateful for the guidance of the older, wiser operative.

He and Alessandro seemed to spend the entire trip discussing arcane details of European politics and British foreign policy.

Melody was determined to prove herself a worthy member of the Moroccan expedition and spent the first day trying to keep up with the conversation and feigning interest.

Still, once they started comparing the relative weaknesses of the various European heads of state and how those might affect the behaviour of their relative governments, Melody could no longer stifle her yawns nor even pretend to care.

Instead, she took up a book and reread Tabby Cat’s favourite novel, Pride and Prejudice.

Stealing secret glances at Alessandro’s handsome face, Melody considered Elizabeth Bennet’s initial distaste towards the proud Mr Darcy.

Of course, that comedy of errors had ended up with the star-crossed lovers in each other's arms.

Real life was never that simple.

If she was honest with herself, everything about their stay in Venice had left her discombobulated.

Melody had always considered herself a good judge of character.

Yet her inability to spot what a scoundrel Xander Ashby was, and to be so taken in by Alessandro’s romantic overtures, had disarmed her.

While Melody had cause to question her intuitions about character, she also felt proud and buoyed by her significant contributions towards discovering Signor Graziano’s killer.

Even Rat had admitted that he would never have solved the case if not for her help.

While she enjoyed the sense of pride she felt in her brother’s acknowledgement of her contribution, Melody couldn’t overlook the fact that, even so, his preference had been to leave her behind in Venice when he was called to Morocco to help deal with a crisis.

He had only agreed to her joining him on the trip under sufferance.

Though, she acknowledged to herself wryly, if he had mentioned that Alessandro was joining their party, Rat might have had a far easier time persuading Melody to stay behind in Venice.

Despite all the very dull talk of the various European powers’ jostling for power and influence in North Africa, Melody still had no real idea why Rat and Alessandro had been summoned to Morocco.

She had heard enough to understand that the major power battle was between France and Germany.

Britain’s interests were primarily in monitoring the situation and ensuring that it didn’t spiral out of control.

Perhaps if she hadn’t become bored and stopped paying attention she might have learned more.

As she had this thought, Melody realised that she had missed what might be the only opportunity she would have to learn the political context of whatever they were about to encounter.

Chagrined at her easy willingness to tune out the critical conversation going on in front of her, Melody sat up a little straighter and was determined to take advantage of however much of the journey they had left to soak up whatever knowledge she could.

“Of course, the Germans did not need to be quite so provocative,”

Alessandro was saying.

“One would think it would be obvious how the French would react.

After the crisis of 1905, there could be little doubt how such a move would be interpreted.”

“Indeed,”

Rat agreed.

“And so, what can we conclude from such a deliberate provocation?”

Alessandro shook his head, “I am not sure.

And more to the point, neither is the British Government.

Hence, our orders to travel to Morocco.

While there are certainly those who consider war as inevitable at some point, I do not believe that anyone wishes us to stumble into it because of some minor skirmish.”

“Could this really be the match that starts a broader conflagration?”

Rat asked, eager for the other man’s insights.

Alessandro considered the question.

“From a distance, and indeed if one were only to read the more populist London broadsheets, there is no question that Germany is our enemy and France our ally.

However, many voices in the government would argue quite the opposite.

Indeed, Britain’s history with both powers is complicated, to say the least.

For the most part, our government’s primary interest is in maintaining the political status quo in the region and ensuring that no single European power can monopolise Morocco’s trade.

However, British interests go beyond securing trade for British merchants and businesses in Morocco; whoever controls this country controls the Straits of Gibraltar, which is a maritime choke point for travel to India and beyond.”

Alessandro’s words made perfect sense and yet they seemed to sit uneasily with Rat.

Melody knew her brother too well not to sense his anxiety.

His chewing on his bottom lip told her all she needed to know.

Yet, he seemed hesitant to vocalise whatever was on his mind.

Finally, Melody became too impatient with her brother’s hemming and hawing and said, rather more sharply than she might have wished, “Conte Foscari, this lesson in international relations is all very well, but what is the mission that you and my brother are tasked with?”

If there was any doubt as to how inappropriate this question was, the daggers that Rat was shooting at her with his eyes left no doubt.

For his part, Alessandro merely looked amused.

In a tone so patronising that it set Melody’s teeth on edge, the conte took on the look and tone of indulgence that one might with a precocious yet truculent child and replied, “Miss Chesterton, you cannot imagine that is something that I am able to reveal, however charming the questioner.

I suggest you return to your book and not worry yourself about such matters.”

Melody was so infuriated by this answer that she didn’t reply for fear that she would be unable to control her emotions.

Hence, the silent fuming.

But then she thought again about what Granny would do; she would never let anyone, certainly not a man, talk down to her.

Taking a calming breath, Melody sat up a bit straighter and, channelling the dowager as best she could, replied, “Conte Foscari, I realise that you believe that your secret mission is somehow beyond my capacity either to understand or to be sufficiently discreet about.

However, I assure you that if someone who spends as much time worrying about the best tie of his cravat, as you seem to, can grasp the concepts, then I can as well.”

Alessandro said nothing, but the smirk he gave her made Melody want to slap that handsome face.

As hard as it was to believe, Rat seemed oblivious to the tension between his new friend and his sister.

He pulled Alessandro’s attention back to discussing arcane points of official and unofficial British policy towards its European allies and foes.

Melody turned away from their conversation and looked out of the carriage window.

There was something quite mesmerising about the countryside they were driving through.

While there were some cultivated plots of land, and trees that she couldn’t identify were dotted throughout the fields, the minimal greenery threw the otherwise golden-brown of the rest of the vista into stark relief.

Most of the landscape was arid, hardy, often dusty, land, with some scrubby vegetation at best.

It was like nothing she had ever seen.

Occasionally, Melody would see a small cluster of stone dwellings making up a village.

They passed farmers and herders tending to their flocks of goats and lambs.

Sometimes, someone would pass them, riding a donkey or a horse.

As Melody continued to stare out of the window, she started to notice the landscape changing.

Now, there were increasing signs of trade and commerce with groupings of roadside stalls selling fruit and vegetables or other goods, including pottery.

The owners of the stalls would look up as their carriage passed, calling out in an exotic-sounding language that Melody couldn’t understand.

Sometimes, they passed beggars who cried out to them for alms.

Nothing in Melody’s eighteen-sheltered years had prepared her for the sights, sounds, and smells of Morocco.