Chapter 32
I t had been more than two weeks since the confrontation with Alister Blackadder in the abandoned warehouse in the tanneries, and Melody and Rat were still in Fes, still staying at Lahcen’s riad. All in all, it had been quite a frustrating time. They had initially taken the wounded Alister Blackadder back to the riad to discuss what to do with him. Given that he did, in fact, seem to be acting on orders from the Foreign Office, or at least someone there, and that there had been some kind of unofficial partnership with the Grand Vizier, al-Muqri, it wasn’t a simple matter to accuse the man of even kidnapping, let alone of being a possible co-conspirator in the death of Timothy Shandling. And, because none of this was simple, Alessandro was still being held in the Sultan’s palace.
Finally, Consul MacLeod decided that he would send his secretary back to Britain to answer for any overzealousness in carrying out his Foreign Office orders. Even Blackadder’s imprisonment of Brett and Rat wasn’t viewed as entirely out of line with his mission. As frustrated as Rat and Melody were by this decision, William made clear that this was an injustice they would likely have to make their peace with.
In the immediate aftermath of the confrontation with Alister, Melody had found Captain William Somerset to be a rock of support. It had not been lost on Melody that he had partnered with her, in the truest sense of the word, to rescue Rat. Unlike so many of the men she seemed to encounter and be related to, he hadn’t tried to wrap her in cotton wool but instead had welcomed her help, even as the plan became more dangerous.
William had visited the riad most days, and this second day of July was no different. Initially, Fatima had insisted on remaining in the courtyard when the captain had visited. However, her pleasure in thwarting Melody’s blossoming romance had waned as the days passed, and soon enough, she went about her business and ignored the not-quite-official young lovers.
Rat had his own qualms about the romance. He was convinced that the Somerset that Lord Langley’s telegram referred to was William’s brother, Adam. Nevertheless, the entire incident had left a lingering sour taste regarding the captain. When challenged about his attitude by Melody, all Rat could do was shrug and say, “I’m trying to get over it.” Rat acknowledged that his worries about Captain Somerset had no logical basis, and he tried to make himself scarce during the visits.
That morning, Melody was sitting in the courtyard with Rat, sipping mint tea and anticipating a morning visit from William. When, as expected, he was announced by a servant, Rat rose and made to leave as per usual. William put his hand out and said, “Mr Sandworth, I need you to remain, if you do not mind. I have news, and you should both hear it.”
Well, that was quite ominous. Melody’s first thought was that something untoward had happened to Alessandro. What she was not expecting were William’s next words, “Germany has sent a gunboat to the Moroccan port of Agadir. They claim that it is to protect Germany’s interests in the region, but I’m not sure anyone believes that.”
A gunboat? That couldn’t be good, Melody thought.
“What will this mean?” Rat asked.
William shook his head. “I am not sure, but it cannot bode well. I can only imagine that the French will interpret it as an aggressive manoeuvre designed to pressure them into giving Germany concessions that they would rather not give.”
“Why would the Germans escalate the situation in Morocco like this?”
“Well, to be fair to our Teutonic friends, I imagine they would say that France escalated the situation by occupying Fes,” William explained. “Meanwhile, our Foreign Secretary has quickly and strongly voiced Britain's support for France and warned Germany against any further escalation of the situation. In particular, he has said publicly that any attempt by Germany to establish a naval base at Agadir would be unacceptable.”
Rat nodded, and even Melody, who had finally found a reason to be interested in foreign affairs, understood the gravity of the situation.
William added somewhat bitterly, “Of course, one might say that the Germans have played into Grey's hands. From word that I received from Whitehall, it seems that this has strained Anglo-German relations, with many in Britain, including the press, finally agreeing with Sir Edward's position and viewing the incident as evidence of Germany’s ambitions to challenge British interests overseas.”
“Any word from the Sultan?”
“None that I have heard. However, this cannot help his efforts to seem independent of foreign influence. I can only imagine that this crisis will make it even more evident that Morocco is no longer an independent country.”
Then Melody asked the question that was most personal to her, “And what will this mean for Conte Foscari?”
When the captain didn’t answer immediately, Melody’s thoughts went to the darkest of places. Her hands flew to her mouth, and she exclaimed, “No! Don’t tell me this has made his situation worse?”
If William thought anything about her very apparent distress over the conte’s dilemma, he made no comment. Instead, he replied, “Well, truly, I’m not sure. I know that in light of what we learned from Blackadder, the consul has visited the Grand Vizier and made a case for the conte’s release, but so far, there has been no official response.”
As he said these words, a servant entered the courtyard, followed by Brett and Olympia Rothnie. After his release from the warehouse, Brett had accompanied them back to the riad with Alister Blackadder. However, since then, he hadn’t been heard from and had been somewhat forgotten in all the efforts to get Alessandro released.
Now, Brett and his wife were greeted warmly and joined everyone on the couches. Mint tea was brought out and some dates and fruit.
The group made small talk for some minutes until Olympia Rothnie cleared her throat. “I must tell you how very grateful I am to you for returning Brett to me. He has decided to retire from, well, from all his professions.”
“Will you return to Britain?” Melody asked.
“Heavens, no!” Brett said fervently. “After what my government has put me through, I have no interest in returning. And anyway, I don’t believe the weather will suit my dear Olympia. We will be returning to Greece, where I intend to photograph nothing more exciting than birds and the occasional fisherman.”
Everyone gave their best wishes and assumed that expressing gratitude had been the primary reason for the social call. Thus, they were surprised when Brett continued, “But that is not the reason for our visit today. Olympia has informed me that you guessed that I had discovered evidence that the French Government might not want to be made public.”
Now Brett had his audience’s rapt attention as everyone leant forward a little in anticipation of his explanation. Melody couldn’t help adding, “The Sultan’s wife, Lalla Rabia also suggested that such a document exists.”
“Did she now?” Brett said in surprise. “I always assumed that her father had known about the letter. It was only after my release from that pit that I discovered that Madani El Glaoui had been dismissed from his role as Grand Vizier and replaced with al-Muqri. I would imagine that Madani El Glaoui’s knowledge of the letter only fortified his resistance to the French occupation.”
“But what was this letter, and where is it now?” Rat asked, impatient with the winding explanation.
“It was from Justin de Selves, the French Minister of Foreign Affairs, to General Paul-Charles Moinier, who was the highest-ranking French official in Fes at the time. It instructed him to ensure that the Sultan formally requested French assistance to restore order in Fes. It was signed and had an official seal. I was alerted to its existence and was able to take a photograph of it.”
“Who alerted you, and how on earth did you get access to it?” William asked in amazement. Brett’s only answer was to tap the side of his nose with his forefinger. Realising he was not going to get an answer, William tried a different question, “I am assuming that you alerted the Bureau to the existence of this proof of French manipulation of the situation?”
“Indeed. The next thing I knew, that weasel Blackadder waylaid me in the street, demanding I hand over the photo. I told him that I didn’t report to the Foreign Office and I certainly didn’t report to him and that the photo was in a secure place. The Bureau had said I was to sit tight and that a secure courier was arriving in Fes and would contact me and transport the evidence back to Britain. After that encounter with Blackadder, I had a feeling I was being watched. Then, that Tuesday, I went out, and that hulk of a man, Kacem, I think his name is, snatched me.”
Melody was confused, “If Alister Blackadder was working for the Foreign Office, why didn’t they just wait until you had sent the photo to London to intercept it?”
Brett had no idea, but William could guess. “My brother, Adam, is fervently anti-German, much like his employer, Sir Edward. However, there are others in the Prime Minister’s cabinet who are inclined to a more conciliatory approach to Germany and are wary of Britain being too overtly supportive of France’s ambitions in Morocco. In particular, they are nervous about the unintended commitments towards the French and being drawn into an entanglement that might escalate tensions with Germany. I am sure that the Grey faction, spearheaded by my brother, considered that the safest option was to ensure that the photograph never arrived in Whitehall.”
Picking up the thread of the conversation, Rat asked, “Isn’t that all rather moot now that the Germans have sent a gunboat? It seems that the escalation has happened.”
“Indeed,” William agreed. “And as I said before Mr Rothnie arrived, I am sure that the Foreign Secretary is thrilled. Whatever voices of dissent there are in the government must find their opinions no longer carry weight either with the Prime Minister or the public; Germany is now seen as the aggressor.”
As everyone reflected on William’s words, there was a noise coming from the riad’s vestibule. It seemed that someone else had arrived. Melody assumed it was Fatima back from whatever social call or shopping expedition she had been busy with that morning. She glanced up, expecting to see a servant laden with parcels following in Fatima’s wake. To her amazement, the face she saw was Alessandro’s. Looking perhaps a little wan but otherwise no worse for his weeks as a prisoner. Without considering her actions or audience, Melody leapt to her feet and threw herself into his arms.
“Alessandro. You’re here? How? Why? What happened?” Melody cried as she hugged him tightly. Suddenly, aware of the impropriety of her behaviour, Melody pulled back, but she couldn’t contain her amazement. “We just heard that the Sultan refused to release you. How did this happen?”
The conte shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea. All I know is that a guard came into my room earlier and said that I was free to go.”
“Hmm, well, I may have had something to do with that,” Brett offered. “I am only sorry it took this long for me to act. Honestly, being stuck in that pit for weeks was quite traumatic.”
“He wasn’t himself when he first returned home,” Olympia added. “He was so thin and had terrible dreams each night.”
“It’s true. At first, I never wanted to think about that damn photo again. But then, as I started to feel better, I began to think about the conversations I’d had in that pit with young Matthew here. He’d told me everything about what you were all doing to obtain the release of your friend. I had been tempted just to destroy the photo, but I hadn’t done it yet. I talked it over with Olympia and we knew we wanted to do something to repay what you had done for me. Then, this morning, I heard about the German gunboat and the kerfuffle it’s caused, and I knew just what to do.”
Rat and Melody looked at each other in amazement. What on earth had Brett done that had managed to secure Alessandro’s release after all their failed attempts over the past few weeks? And where had he managed to hide that photo that they had been unable to find it in his study? Rat gave a little shrug; it didn’t really matter at this point.
“I went to visit the office of Colonel Henri Gouraud,” Brett continued with a flourish, clearly enjoying the dramatic telling of his story. “I am now a private citizen again and do not feel myself beholden to the Bureau. I told the colonel that I believe that the British newspapers might be very interested to learn that the situation that Morocco now finds itself in with a German warship anchored off its coast was perhaps not quite as unavoidable as is now being claimed. I told him that all I wanted was for his government to ensure Conte Foscari’s release. And hey presto! What do you know, here he is!”
Melody retook her seat, and Alessandro joined the group. He seemed a little dazed at his sudden freedom but otherwise happy to be back amongst friends. Melody had noticed that he looked at William with curiosity. Suddenly, she realised that, as much as the captain had become a fixture in their lives at the riad, the two men had never met. She made a mental note to introduce them when the group was a little less exuberant and to ensure that Alessandro knew what a pivotal role William had played in releasing Brett and Rat and, therefore, Alessandro himself.
It was only when a servant approached the couches with more pastries that Melody glanced up and saw that William had left the table and was slipping out of the courtyard. She jumped to her feet and rushed to follow him, calling out his name.
Finally catching up with him just as William was opening the door to the riad, Melody exclaimed, “Why did you not say goodbye before you left, William?”
He turned towards her with a look of sad longing in his eyes. “It seemed better if I just slipped away, Melody.”
“What do you mean? I don’t understand. Is something wrong?” she asked, closing the space between them.
William reached up and brushed a stray curl from Melody’s face, then left his hand gently cupping her cheek. “These last few weeks with you have been magical, Melody,” he said softly.
“For me as well. So why are you leaving like this?”
“What I feel for you, Melody… well, I have been hoping that you feel the same way. But I saw your face when Conte Foscari arrived, and I knew that my cause was a lost one.”
“No, no. You have it all wrong. I was merely happy that a friend was now safe. That is all,” Melody protested.
“I have been down this path before and know better than to attempt it again. Loving a woman who is in love with another man only leads to heartache.” Then he removed his hand, turned and opened the door. Pausing with his hand on the doorknob, he looked back. “Be well Melody. Love well.” And with that, William was gone.
Melody stood looking at the closing door, overwhelmed by confusion and sadness. She knew that a good man had just walked out of her life. A man she might have been happy sharing a life with. And she had lost him for what? A silly infatuation for a man who felt nothing in return. Melody wiped the tears from her cheeks as she whispered William’s parting words, “Love well.” Shaking her head, Melody took a deep breath and made a vow: she would no longer look or hope for love. Certainly, she would never expect it from Alessandro.