Chapter 10
T he following morning, Melody was up bright and early, despite a restless night. Whatever her current feelings towards Alessandro, she did not doubt that he was innocent of murder. She did not stop to think about why she had such faith in a man who had deceived her about his romantic feelings towards her.
Despite some recent noteworthy examples to the contrary, Melody liked to think of herself as a good judge of character. She had learned from Tabby Cat and Wolf what a man or woman of good character was. They surrounded themselves with decent, honest people who they trusted. Neither one of them cared a toss for rank or fortune but instead had a knack for judging the people they encountered based on their true worth as a person.
Melody knew that Tabby Cat and Granny had a difficult past. Indeed, they often had a somewhat contentious relationship still. However, Tabby Cat had once confessed something to a younger Melody. One day, when Granny had been particularly difficult, even for Granny, Melody asked the question, “She is not actually related to you, is she? Yet, you continue to put up with her ways. Why?”
Tabby Cat had thought for a moment and then answered, “There is no one who sees to the heart of a person quite like Mama. Yes, she has her peculiarities, but at the end of the day, she does not suffer fools, charlatans, nor those who would borrow their feathers. There is much to be said for someone who sees so clearly.” Tabby Cat had then added, “Of course, it is one thing to see other people’s behaviour with clear eyes, quite another to so judge your own.”
This caveat notwithstanding, Melody had often thought about these words. Now, when she considered Alessandro, she found that she considered him neither fool nor charlatan and certainly not a borrower of feathers. Even as she had this thought, she second-guessed herself. Was his behaviour towards her not that of a charlatan? But was it really? Now that she knew about the man’s role with the Secret Service Bureau, she realised that there were things that such operatives were required to do, regardless of how distasteful they might personally find them. She put aside for the moment the question of whether Alessandro had found his inauthentic pursuit of her distasteful.
It had crossed Melody’s mind over the last couple of weeks that, at some point, even Rat might have to engage in activities that he would prefer not to do. Might he even be called upon to take another’s life? It was certainly possible. Yet, Melody was sure that her brother’s motives in working for the Bureau were absolutely pure; his only thoughts were patriotism and loyalty to king and country. If she could make this excuse for Rat, surely, she should be able to view Alessandro’s actions a little more kindly.
Omar had turned up just after breakfast. Ahmed hadn’t announced him, so it seemed unlikely that he had just knocked on the front door. Instead, Rat, Fatima and Melody had entered the salon after breakfast to find the man there pouring himself a glass of mint tea.
If Fatima was surprised to see him in her salon, she didn’t show it. Instead, she said, “I expected you last night.”
The man stirred some sugar into his tea, even though Melody was sure it was already far too sweet. Then, after taking a sip, he replied, “It was not safe to do so. This morning, I had some book deliveries to make, including one in Anfa. It seemed best to combine this visit with that one.”
Fatima acknowledged the wisdom of his decision, then asked, “Have you found anything out about our dead man?”
Omar shook his head. No one is claiming him. The French and Germans are both disavowing any knowledge of the man.”
“Is it possible he is British?” Melody asked.
“It is very unlikely,” Omar answered. “And why would he be following the conte if he were?”
It was a valid question. Melody considered what she wanted to ask, then said, “Omar, who do you think the man is?”
“If the Qur’an allowed me to gamble, I would put my money on the man being French,” he answered.
“French?” Rat asked. “Really? Why?”
Omar laughed. “In Morocco, we are used to many different factions vying for power. The different tribes have been battling each other for many centuries. But you Europeans seem to see things as far more black and white. There are the French, and there are the Germans.”
“Isn’t that the case?” Rat asked, genuinely curious to hear the other man’s explanation.
In answer, Omar questioned, “In Great Britain, does everyone think the same? Is everyone in power moving towards the same one goal?”
“Well, of course not,” Rat answered. “We have a Liberal government at the moment, but the Tories will come back to power at some point and will pursue very different policies.”
“Indeed,” Omar agreed. “And do you think that everyone who works in the government agrees with everything your Liberal Prime Minister does?”
Rat thought about the question. He knew that there was a vast civil service in and around Whitehall whose job was to enact the laws that Parliament voted on. He supposed that those civil servants were tasked with implementing government policy whether or not they personally agreed with it. He hadn’t really thought about it in this way before.
“Are you saying that there are factions within the French and German governments that might be working against official policy?” he asked.
“I cannot speak to your German neighbours, but I can guarantee you that is the case within France.” Omar paused as if collecting his thoughts. “Have you heard of the Quai d’Orsay?”
Rat nodded that he had, but Melody shook her head in the negative. “It is the name by which the French Ministry of Foreign Affairs is often known,” Rat explained to her.
“Indeed,” Omar said. “And, how can I put this politely?”
Fatima saved him the trouble, “It is staffed by overly self-confident, foolhardy men who think far too highly of their own cleverness.”
Omar acknowledged the truth of her words.
“And these men are able to have that much sway over French foreign policy?” Melody asked. While she was no expert on how the British Government worked, she assumed that its elected officials were not powerless.
Again, Fatima answered, “Unfortunately, there has been a string of weak, ineffective ministers and this has led to the men of the Quai d’Orsay having undue influence. One might even say that it has gone beyond influence. I have heard rumours that some of the most nationalist, inflammatory news articles in Le Figaro and La Croix were leaked from within the Quai d’Orsay.”
Melody considered all they were saying. “So, are you suggesting that the dead man is connected to this faction in the French Government? And if so, why did he target Alessandro?”
“Your government cannot be happy about the extreme nationalistic fervour coming from its so-called ally,” Fatima observed.
Melody pointed out what she thought was the obvious flaw in this argument, “How would the French know about Alessandro’s covert work?” She was nervous about stating too blatantly the job that Alessandro and Rat were in Morocco for. It was evident that Fatima knew something of their work, but it was unclear if she knew the full extent. If she didn’t, then Melody certainly wouldn’t be the one to illuminate her. Because, as she had thought previously, how did they know that they could trust Fatima? After all, one obvious answer to how the French Government might know why Alessandro was in Morocco was that the half-French Fatima had informed them.
No one had a good answer to her question, and the conversation went on for at least twenty minutes. Just as Melody looked at the grandfather clock in the corner and decided it was time to change her clothes for their visit to Sir Reginald, Ahmed entered the room with a message for Fatima.
It was clear from Fatima’s expression that this wasn’t good news. She folded the paper after reading it, pursed her lips, and sat silently, reflecting on what she had read. Melody wanted to scream. What was in the note? Had something happened to Alessandro?
Finally, Fatima spoke. “Sandro has been taken to Fes.”
“Fes!” Rat exclaimed. “They can’t do that, can they? It is bad enough that he wasn’t handed over to Sir Reginald. British citizens here are protected under a special agreement. But to take him to Fes is unprecedented, is it not?” This was directed at Omar, who made a face.
“What? What are you not saying?” Melody demanded.
“You might as well say it, Omar,” Fatima said in a resigned voice. “At least we now have some sense of the magnitude of what we are dealing with.”
This all sounded so dire that Melody found that her palms were sweating with anxiety.
“The only reason for taking the conte to Fes would be if this somehow requires direct input by the Sultan,” Omar explained.
Melody shook her head in confusion and frustration. “How did they even have time between last night and this morning to arrange this with Fes?”
“Miss Chesterton, while Morocco might not be as technologically advanced as Europe, our major cities are connected by telegram,” Omar said somewhat tersely. “I am sure that the Pasha has the ability to communicate with the Sultan and his court when necessary.”
“I did not mean to imply that Morocco is backwards,” Melody said apologetically. “I am merely upset and concerned.”
“As are we all,” Omar said in a kinder tone. He then stood and said, “I must follow them to Fes. It seems as if the local British officials are unwilling to step in and assert the conte’s extraterritorial rights. Someone must be there to try to intervene on his behalf.”
“I totally agree, Omar,” Fatima said. “And so, I will be joining you.”
Omar shook his head vehemently, “Lalla Fatima, I must insist that you stay in Casablanca. The trip is far too treacherous.”
In a tone that made clear that she would have her way, Fatima replied, “Omar, I realise that as a Berber you know the area better than I do. Nevertheless, I have contacts in Fes that you do not. I assume that you have not forgotten that the Sultan’s favourite wife is my cousin.”
Cousin? That was news to Melody and apparently to Rat as well, if his surprised look was anything to go by.
“And, of course, I will accompany you,” Rat said in a determined voice. Before anyone could object, he continued, “In my official capacity.”
Well, she certainly wasn’t going to be the only one left behind in Casablanca, Melody decided. This resolution must have shown on her face or Rat just knew her very well. He turned and said, “Melody, you will wait for me here, if that is acceptable to Fatima, of course.”
“I am not waiting anywhere,” Melody said with a determination that more than rivalled Rat’s.
Before Rat could even argue with her, Omar said, “Lalla Melody, the route to Fes is long, arduous and dangerous. There are bandits in the region, to say nothing of the general tribal unrest of late. It is not an appropriate trip for a young woman.”
“And yet Lalla Fatima will be joining you,” Melody said in rejoinder.
Omar knew that he had lost but made one final attempt at a plea to Rat. “Sidi Matthew, it is not safe.”
Rat sighed; he knew a lost fight when he saw one. Turning to Melody, he said sternly, “You cannot slow us down.”
“How will sitting in a carriage along with me slow you down?” Melody sneered.
“We will ride on horseback to Fes,” Fatima explained, surprising both siblings. Thanks to multiple visits each year to the Pembroke Estate, both could ride a horse, but neither of them would be considered anything more than proficient. And it was one thing to go for an afternoon canter through the Welsh countryside and quite another to navigate the Moroccan terrain, particularly the foothills of the Middle Atlas Mountains that they would have to trek through before arriving in Fes.
Despite her determination to be included in the journey, Melody was taken aback to learn that it would all be on horseback.
“Have you ever ridden astride?” Fatima asked. “This is a far too long and difficult journey to make side-saddle.” As it happened, Melody had ridden astride when she was young and nodded her head. Of course, she didn’t have any outfit appropriate for riding, side-saddle or otherwise.
It seemed that Fatima had the same thought and said, “I have some split skirts that I will wear for the ride. You may borrow one or two. We will pack as lightly as possible. Do not bring any clothes that you cannot put on yourself.”
Melody hadn’t had time to consider whether Mary would be joining them, but as soon as Fatima said this, she realised that it was unfair to ask Mary, who did not ride, to make the journey.
“My men will accompany us,” Fatima said to Omar. “Just in case.” She didn’t specify what the “just-in-case” was, but Melody assumed that it was anything that fell into the bandits and tribal unrest bucket.
“We will bring the boy with us,” Fatima continued. This surprised Melody. Why was it necessary to bring Mustafa? “He is the only witness to what happened,” Fatima explained. “He summoned Sandro and is the one who saw the victim in the Medina. If we are able to get an audience with the Sultan, it may be necessary to have Mustafa describe what he knows.”
It seemed there wasn’t much more to say. Omar returned home to prepare for their journey and said he would be back and ready to leave by early afternoon. Fatima went to gather her servants and ensure they had sufficient horses. This left Rat and Melody to pack. Fatima had said that she would send the split skirts and some riding boots to Melody’s room, so there wasn’t even much that had to be gathered in the way of clothes. The siblings sat in the salon and looked at each other. It seemed they were going to Fes.