Epilogue
Melody looked out at the sea and pondered her time in Morocco.
She had yearned for adventure, and that was indeed what she had found.
Now, with the hardships of travelling back to Tangier via Casablanca, the terror of Rat’s disappearance, and the fear for Alessandro’s safety behind her, Melody’s recollections of Morocco softened into images of vibrant designs and colours and memories of delicious smells and delectable bites.
She remembered the good, kind people who helped her and the fascinating culture she had caught a glimpse of.
They had been on the ship for two days and had at least one more day ahead of them before they arrived at the French port of Marseille.
From there, they would have a long train ride to Amsterdam.
Despite the length of the journey, it was by ship and train and not by horse or mule and so Melody was unphased by the prospect.
It was amazing how her appreciation of modern travel had grown after the arduous trips between Casablanca and Fes and then up to Tangier.
Dear Diary, where to begin? I know that I should be happy that I am being included in Rat and Alessandro’s trip to Amsterdam, but I have not been entrusted with the reason for our journey.
It seems that I haven’t yet proven myself sufficiently, though it is hard for me to understand how that could be.
What is most galling is that I am quite sure that Fatima knows more than I do.
Can you believe it? She has joined us on our journey.
Having that woman with us is almost enough to drive me to abandon my European travels and return to London.
Whatever respite I had from her petty insults and her preening during the trip to Fes, she reverted to form thoroughly once Alessandro was returned to us.
And yes, then there is Alessandro.
While Fatima was quick to take as much credit for his return as possible, Rat ensured that the conte was in no doubt as to where most of it lay: with me.
Alessandro thanked me very politely, and then that was that.
His behaviour has reverted to what it was once we left Venice: cool and distant.
Why does this irritate me so much?
As Melody put down her pen and contemplated this last sentence, her reverie was interrupted.
“Lalla Melody,” the sun is going down and so Miss Mary thought you might need your shawl.”
Melody took the shawl from the young boy and smiled.
“Thank you, Mustafa.
How do you feel about leaving Morocco?”
Mustafa smiled broadly.
“I am happy to serve Monsieur, you, and Sidi Matthew.
I have a soft bed and regular meals.
Mustafa is very happy.” With that, the child bowed and left Melody to return to her thoughts.
It wasn’t that long ago that she and Mary, accompanied by Rat, had set out for London.
Now, their group had doubled in size.
Between Mustafa, Alessandro and Fatima, there were new cultures, tensions, and, at least in Fatima’s case, layers of ulterior motives to deal with.
It all made Melody’s head spin and made her view the backbiting of London society with far gentler eyes.
She had thought she was escaping the drama of the Season by leaving London, but that now seemed like child’s play compared to the vortex of political tension, international intrigue, and personal ambition that she now found herself caught up in.
Pulling her shawl a little more tightly about her, Melody closed her journal and sighed.
She knew that she was not the same naive young woman who had set out for Europe barely three months prior with her head full of fictional heroines and their romantic adventures.
Now, Melody carried with her the understanding and fear that Europe was hovering on the precipice of war and that the success or failure of Rat and Alessandro’s missions could have a direct impact on whether or not the great powers were tipped into outright conflict.
That was an enormous burden to carry and Melody only wished that the two men were more willing to trust her to shoulder it with them.
Whatever their new mission was in Amsterdam, Melody anticipated it with a frisson of excitement but also with trepidation at the enormous stakes involved.