Chapter 25
W hen Melody had finally descended to the courtyard that morning, she was relieved to see Mustafa again serving breakfast. As he put a plate of fruit on the table not far from where she was sitting, Melody motioned for him to come closer. When he did, she whispered that she’d like him to come to her room when the meal was finished. The boy nodded.
Within twenty minutes, the group had finished eating, and Melody was able to escape to her room. She had been waiting for another ten minutes when there was a tap on the door. She quickly crossed the room to open it and waved Mustafa inside, indicating that he should be quiet until the door was properly closed. While there was no particular reason for caution, Melody was uncertain enough about the loyalties of the various members of the household hat she felt discretion was warranted.
Once Mustafa was safely in the room, Melody pulled him into an embrace. She had felt so guilty questioning the boy’s true motives that it was a huge relief finally to put those worries aside. If Mustafa wondered about the hug, he said nothing. After Melody held him close for a few seconds, she released him and indicated that he should sit on her bed while she took the chair by her dressing table.
While she’d waited for Mustafa, Melody had considered how best to frame her question. Finally, she realised that it would be hard to explain away what she was asking if she was anything less than candid. “Mustafa, it was very helpful at the caravanserai when you told me what you had overheard the men discussing. So, I wonder, since we have been here, have you heard anything else that you believe might be helpful to Sidi Alessandro?”
The boy thought about the question carefully. “Do you believe that someone in Lalla Fatima’s household is not what they seem to be?”
Well, the boy was undoubtedly astute. It was clear there was no point in beating around the bush. “I believe it is a possibility,” Melody acknowledged. “That day when the man tried to attack Sidi Alessandro, and you stopped him, I wonder how that man knew we would be in the Medina. Someone must have been watching us ever since we entered Casablanca.”
Even as she said these words, it occurred to Melody that Shandling might have been following them from Tangier. She cast her mind back. Surely, they would have noticed. Wouldn’t they? Perhaps she wouldn’t have noticed, but she was sure that Alessandro would have. The dusty road between Tangier and Casablanca had been busy with merchants, often travelling in long caravans. Then she considered whether they would have noticed a solo traveller, perhaps dressed in local costume, riding a horse or a mule, who had perhaps attached himself to one of these caravans. No, they wouldn’t have noticed.
Despite this new consideration, Melody was still curious about what, if anything, Mustafa might have overheard. “I have heard nothing that would worry you or Sidi Matthew,” the boy assured her.
Melody phrased her next question very carefully. She wanted to trust Omar; she really did. However, having been burned by Xander Ashby’s betrayal, Melody was acutely aware that someone’s apparent friendship might not be all it seemed.
“That is very good to know, Mustafa,” Melody said before adding, “And Omar? Do you have any reason to believe that he is not the good friend that Sidi Alessandro believes him to be?”
The boy shook his head vehemently. “Omar is a very good man. He has been very kind to me.”
Melody wasn’t as comforted by these words as Mustafa intended. Again, reflecting on how hoodwinked she’d been by Xander, she wasn’t prepared to accept that Omar’s kindness towards Mustafa naturally translated to him being entirely honourable in every other regard.
Even so, she didn’t want to prejudice the boy toward Omar unduly, so she said nothing more than, “Please let me know if you hear anything you believe I should know about.”
“Of course, Lalla Melody. I would do anything to help Monsieur.”
“I do not doubt that, Mustafa.” And with that, she let the boy return to his duties.
Melody sat for a while, thinking. In some ways, they had quite a bit of information now, but it didn’t feel like it led to anything that they could use to win Alessandro’s freedom. In hindsight, she wished that she hadn’t allowed her attention to be so monopolised by the charming Captain Somerset. As delightful as the flirtation had been, it had distracted her from talking to anyone else at the dinner party. Given the high-level French officials in attendance, Melody was sure she might have used her time more productively, although she wasn’t even sure how much English they spoke. While it might have made more sense to have Fatima lead those conversations, she had been unable to extricate herself from Consul MacLeod.
Another tap on the door interrupted her despondent thoughts. When she opened it, she found one of Lahcen’s household staff. He bowed and then handed her an envelope. Instead of leaving, the man stood there, evidently waiting to receive a reply. Melody was too curious about who the note was from to wait until she was back in the room, so she ripped it open as she stood in the doorway.
Melody pulled out of the envelope a folded light blue sheet of notepaper covered with an elegant script.
My dearest Miss Chesterton.
I wish that I could have sent a bouquet this morning, but alas, Fes is not London, and such things are not commonplace here. Instead, I will just have to relay my deep appreciation of you with mere words. I am not a poet and so cannot hope to convey my sentiments sufficiently. However, if you will do me the honour of accompanying me on a carriage ride to the most perfect picnic spot in all of Fes, I will at least try to put my admiration into practice. My man has brought this note and will wait for a reply.
Yours Eternally
William Somerset
Melody reread the note with great pleasure. There was no doubt that Captain Somerset’s attentions were very flattering. While Melody’s first thought was to write immediately to accept the invitation, this was quickly followed up by a wave of guilt; how could she think about gallivanting with a handsome man for the afternoon when every moment not spent working to free Alessandro meant another night he would spend in prison?
Of course, Alessandro wasn’t in a actual prison but in a nice enough room in a palace. Nevertheless, he was under arrest, and that couldn’t be pleasant. They had no idea what the Sultan’s plans were for a trial, but presumably, that would happen at some point. Or did they not bother with trials in Morocco? Perhaps, as far as the Sultan was concerned, Alessandro’s guilt was self-evident, and judgement had already been passed.
Certainly, Melody could only imagine what Fatima would say about her spending precious time so frivolously. Then, she considered Captain Somerset’s position in the Foreign Office. She didn’t know precisely what he did, but was it possible he could be helpful? While Sir Reginald had been unwilling to cross the Moroccan authorities on Alessandro’s behalf, did that mean no British official would?
As she reflected on this question, it was not lost on Melody that they had no other plans for how they might more productively spend their day. The investigation seemed to be at a standstill, and so perhaps there was no good reason to refuse Captain Somerset’s invitation, regardless of whether he could help.
Finally, deciding that she didn’t care what nasty comment Fatima was likely to make, Melody took a sheet of paper and replied to Captain Somerset’s note. She would be delighted to join him for a picnic. Would noon be a convenient time?
Melody found the manservant still waiting outside her door for whatever reply she was sending. She handed him the note she had put in an envelope. The man nodded and left. Now, she had some time to deal with the question of what to wear. Her caftans seemed far too much for a picnic, but the split skirts and blouses she had with her seemed to go too far in the opposite direction. Finally, she decided that a silk robe just spoke of trying far too hard to impress, and she changed into the least worn split skirt and the smartest of the blouses she had with her.
At noon on the dot, Captain Somerset presented himself at the riad. Melody had been waiting on tenterhooks in the courtyard. She stood to greet him with her stomach full of butterflies. Mustafa stood as well. As the captain approached her, he glanced at the boy, unsure what was going on.
Seeing his confusion, Melody explained, “While I am delighted to accept your invitation, it would hardly be appropriate for me to be out with an unmarried man alone. I can only imagine what Granny, the Dowager Countess of Pembroke, would have to say about such a dereliction of etiquette. This is Mustafa. He will be joining us as a chaperone.” Privately, she was unsure that the dowager would consider an eight-year-old boy to be an appropriate guardian of a young woman’s virtue, but needs must. The alternative was to have Rat or Fatima join them and neither option was particularly palatable.
Captain Somerset raised his eyebrows at her words but was wise enough to say nothing. Instead, he offered Melody his arm and then led her, with Mustafa following close behind, through the alleys back to where they had first arrived in Fes. There, where there was sufficient room for one, a carriage was waiting.