Chapter 26
T he carriage left the fortified walls of Fes behind and quickly climbed into the hills behind the city. Melody had insisted that Mustafa ride in the carriage with them. Captain Somerset seemed a little put out by this unexpected impediment to his wooing. However, deciding to make the most of the time he had with Melody, he regaled her with more stories of his childhood and the trouble that he and his mischievous brothers used to cause.
When the captain asked about her childhood, she was a little vague. It wasn’t that she meant to hide her working-class roots in the East End, but she also felt that she needed to know the captain better before revealing all her secrets. Instead, she said merely that she and her brother were orphaned and were taken in by the Earl and Countess of Pembroke.
Melody had been correct in her assumption that the captain was from an upper-class family. It turned out that his father was a baron. “With five older brothers, my father had his heir and more than enough spares and I was left to my own devices. I kicked around a little when I was younger but found my way to the army, and it was the making of me.”
William Somerset was easy company. Unlike Alessandro when she first met him, the captain was very open and happily talked about his family and life back in England. Her time with Alessandro in Venice had made Melody all aflutter, unsure of herself. She had felt unsophisticated and immature. But her time with Captain Somerset couldn’t be more different. He made her feel that she was the most beautiful, witty, fascinating woman in the world.
William gazed at her with adoring eyes, but not the puppy dog eyes that Xander Ashby had looked at her with. Or at least he had done an excellent job of pretending to look at her with adoration. Xander’s infatuation, or supposed infatuation, had never felt serious to Melody. And now she knew why; it hadn’t been. However, in Captain William Somerset, she felt she had met a man who saw her for who she really was; not as an idealised woman on a pedestal, and not as a silly girl, but instead, as an independent, strong-willed young woman who was ready to find her place in the world. Melody couldn’t even put her finger on why she felt this way, but she did.
By the time the carriage came to a standstill high above Fes, she felt as if she had known William, as he now insisted she call him, for far longer than even less than twenty-four hours. Mustafa hopped out of the carriage, and William handed Melody down. Strapped to the back of the carriage was a hamper, which he retrieved, as well as a blanket. He spread the blanket down under an olive tree and offered Melody his hand as an aid while she sat.
It was fascinating seeing Fes from above. The warren of alleyways that made up so much of the Medina appeared from above as a dense expanse of earth-toned rooftops punctuated by the tall, tiled minarets of mosques.
“Why don’t you sit, Mustafa?” Melody suggested. Instead of doing so, the boy hopped up and down and seemed too full of energy to relax on the blanket. Looking at him, Melody was reminded that he was a child and one who didn’t have many opportunities to run around in the fresh air. “Would you like to explore a little?” she asked gently. The boy nodded his head enthusiastically. With a warning to not stray too far, Melody gave him permission to leave her side.
“I thought he was supposed to be your chaperone,” William said in a gently mocking voice. “Do you now feel safe enough with me?”
Melody laughed, acknowledging the seeming inconsistency. “Is there a reason that I should not feel safe?” she asked coyly.
At this, William sat on the blanket, perhaps a little closer than he ought, and said in a solemn voice, all teasing gone, “If I have anything to say about it, you will always feel safe, Miss Chesterton.”
Melody blushed deeply at the allusion. This was all moving quite fast. “If I am to call you William, then you must call me Melody,” she said if only to cover her embarrassment.
The captain opened the hamper, which was positively bursting with scrumptious goodies. He also brought out a flask of mint-infused water, which was very refreshing on that hot day. He laid some of the food out on the blanket, and Melody took a sampling onto a plate. She called Mustafa to come and eat something. The boy ran over, plucked an orange out of the basket, and then skipped away.
“How did the boy come into your service?” William asked.
Melody couldn’t have asked for a better opening for the conversation she hoped to have with the captain. She had been considering how she could tell the story while omitting the part where Alessandro and Rat were Secret Service Bureau operatives. Even though William worked for the Foreign Office, it was not her place to share that secret.
Instead, she spoke of Alessandro being called to Morocco on business. She said that she and her brother had asked if they might join him, and Alessandro agreed. Melody wasn’t sure how credible that story really was, and she hoped that William wouldn’t question the rather apparent holes in the narrative.
Instead, he said, “Yes, I remember your brother mentioning that you had both met Conte Foscari in Venice and then travelled here with him. You mentioned last night that the conte has been falsely arrested for murder.”
Melody then explained how they had first met Mustafa and the role the boy had played in alerting Alessandro to his would-be attacker. They had then taken the orphan into their employ.
“You must have identified strongly with the idea of taking in an orphan and providing a safe harbour,” William observed.
“Exactly!” Melody exclaimed, happy that he so immediately understood. She then told the rest of the story: the vice-consul’s party, Mustafa recognising the man who had tried to attack Alessandro and finally the discovery of the dead body.
“And so, the conte was discovered by the Pasha’s men, leaning over the dead body and was arrested?” William asked. “And the vice-consul and consul did not step in to help?”
Now, they were getting to the crux of what she wanted to discuss. “No! They said that the Pasha was adamant about taking Alessandro, I mean Conte Foscari, into custody, and the French consul was concerned about further inflaming local tensions and insisted that the Pasha be allowed to do as he wished. Then, the next morning, we heard that the conte had been brought to Fes, and we followed. It seems that he is being held in the palace. We were able to get an audience with the Sultan and spoke with the conte briefly.”
William looked surprised and impressed at this news. “How did you manage to get an audience with the Sultan?”
“Fatima is related to one of his wives.” Melody took a deep breath before making her request. “Captain Somerset, William, while the British vice-consul and consul in Casablanca were unwilling to lift a finger to help the conte, is there anything you might be able to do to help given your role in the Foreign Office.”
There was a pause. A long pause. So long that Melody was worried that she had angered William with her request. Finally, he answered, “Perhaps.” Then, seeing Melody’s eyes light up, he added, “Though probably not. As you may know, the situation is very tense in Morocco now. The Foreign Secretary, Sir Edward Grey, wants to do everything he can to bolster the French claims in the region at the expense of the Germans. If the Moroccan authorities want to hold your friend and make an example of him, there may be little that the British Government is prepared to do. Particularly if the French consul refused to step in.”
“But that’s the thing, why does the Sultan want to make an example of the conte?”
“I doubt it is personal. I think that an opportunity presented itself to make a show of independence from the French, and he seized it. Though, why were the Pasha’s men there so quickly?” William asked.
“Exactly!” Melody exclaimed. “That was the question we asked.”
In the end, all William could promise was that he would send a telegram back to Whitehall to see if the Foreign Secretary were at all inclined to get involved. “But I would not get your hopes up,” he cautioned.
Melody expressed how grateful she was that he was even prepared to try. This was the first glimmer of real hope she had felt in days. Laying a hand on his arm, she said warmly, “Thank you, William. It means a lot that you would even try.” The smile he flashed her in return said more than any words could about why he was prepared to extend himself in this way.
The rest of the afternoon was delightful. Melody and William relaxed in the shade of the olive trees, eating dates and pastries while Mustafa played in the grass near them. For the first time since they had left Venice, Melody felt happy. For a few hours, she was able to forget about the difficult situation she and Rat had found themselves in and enjoy being in the company of a handsome, charming man who was obviously smitten with her.
Too soon, William suggested that perhaps they should pack up the remnants of the picnic and head back into Fes. Melody knew he was right. She had left word for Rat that she was going out for a ride with Captain Somerset, but if she were gone much longer, he would start to worry. He was probably already worried, in fact.
Less than thirty minutes later, the carriage had dropped them back in Fes, and William had escorted her and Mustafa to the riad's door. He declined to come in, saying that he had work to get back to. Melody dismissed Mustafa and wandered into the riad’s courtyard, feeling as if nothing could ruin her good mood.
“Well, finally! And where have you been with the oh-so-charming Captain Somerset?” Fatima demanded. “Wasting time, I presume, when we should be dedicating every waking hour to securing Sandro’s release.”
Melody was irritated beyond belief. “And how have you spent the day more productively?” she challenged. The look on the other woman’s face was all the answer she needed. So, Melody continued, “As it happens, I used the outing to request that Captain Somerset try to use his connections within the Foreign Office to assert influence with the Sultan!” She said this last sentence more gleefully than she had intended. In truth, William had promised to try but also had little faith that the Foreign Office would be prepared to intervene. However, Melody decided to omit this detail for now; she had no desire to dilute her triumph. She was rewarded with a sulky look from Fatima who huffed but said no more about the outing.
Melody was about to retire to her room when Omar and Lahcen entered the courtyard. “Have you seen my brother?” she asked.
Lahcen and Omar shook their heads, but Fatima said, “I believe that he had returned to the vice-consul’s home sometime this morning. It seems that there was something in the telegram he received yesterday that led him to believe that there might be an additional one today. Or maybe he wanted to send one. Perhaps both.”
Melody wondered what Rat was expecting or wanted to send. Rat hadn’t mentioned anything when he relayed the telegram’s contents the previous evening. Had he omitted to tell them something? Why would he do that? Curious but not worried, Melody excused herself and returned to her room. She hadn’t written in her diary in days and felt the need to commit her thoughts about William to paper while they were fresh in her mind. She found that writing things out usually helped her to work them out in her head.
In her bedroom, Melody took out her diary and sat at the dressing table, but the words didn’t come as easily as they usually did. Chewing on the end of her pen, Melody wondered what was preventing the words from flowing. She tried again.
Dear Diary, Captain Somerset, William seems to be such a wonderful man.
Then she crossed that out and tried again.
William seems to be everything I’ve ever looked for in a man.
She paused again. Was he everything she’d looked for in a man? This wasn’t so much a question about William but more about the idea that she had ever previously thought very deeply about what she wanted in a romantic partner. Trying one more time, she crossed out that line as well and wrote.
I had a lovely afternoon with William. His evident admiration was a true salve to my bruised ego. However, even as I say that, I second-guess myself. I thought that Xander’s admiration was evident. I believed that he was quite infatuated with me, and yet I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Putting down the pen, she considered her flirtation with Xander Ashby from the first time she had met him at Lady Bainbridge’s party to that last, final encounter when he had laughed in her face and mocked the very idea that he had ever admired her. As she thought about that last conversation, Melody realised something that hadn’t really penetrated through her shock and fear at the time: while it had seemed then that all of Xander’s infatuation had been playacting, on reflection, she didn’t entirely believe Xander’s protestation that he had never felt anything for her. While there was no doubt that he had put on quite a performance, Melody didn’t think that he was a good enough actor to have so thoroughly convinced her of feelings he hadn’t truly felt.
Even as she thought this Melody told herself, what did it matter if there was a small kernel of genuine admiration? There was no doubt that Xander would have killed her or at least let Martha kill her and Rat.
Then, Melody’s thoughts inevitably turned to the other romantic entanglement in Venice that hadn’t been all that it seemed: Alessandro. It was a far more uncomfortable experience to revisit this, and it made Melody squirm just to remember the very amorous gondola ride that she had shared with the conte. Had there been anything true in his feelings for her? At the time, Alessandro had pointed out that she was a maiden, not a woman of the world, and that it would not be right to go any further despite his desire for her.
Now, as she remembered his words, Melody blushed at the memory of her rather wanton behaviour that evening. Alessandro had pushed her away from him and told her that despite his attraction to and desire for Melody, he couldn’t overlook her naiveté and lack of understanding of what she was agreeing to when she seemed to be encouraging him to go further than merely kissing.
Was there any truth to any of this? Not the bit about her naivety; Melody did not doubt that was both true and what Alessandro genuinely felt about her. But the rest? Had he totally feigned desire for her? Melody wanted to believe that he hadn’t, but his ability to detach from her utterly after that moment and during their entire trip to Casablanca made her wonder.
So, now she let her mind wander back to Captain William Somerset.
Diary, I am unsure that I trust my judgement about men after Venice. I will proceed cautiously with William and guard my heart carefully until I can be sure that there is no artifice in his professed admiration.
Satisfied that she had finally articulated what she truly felt, Melody decided to rest until dinner. It had been a challenging few weeks, physically, intellectually, and emotionally demanding.