Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Dusk settled on the streets of Alexandria as the wooden tram rattled forward on the steel tracks in the street.
The windows of the narrow streetcar were open, and Ginger leaned toward them, waving air onto her face to deter both the heat and the smell of body odor from the packed car.
She’d been fortunate to find a seat on a bench.
Men and women, mostly European, left standing room only.
Ginger wanted to attribute her unease to the dark, but ever since she’d gotten off the train in Kantara the evening before, a taut feeling had gripped her in the chest. The sides of her neck hurt and she rubbed them under the bottom edge of her boater hat.
The lieutenant from the train had failed to reappear, but his threat lingered.
She couldn’t force herself to feel the fear he’d intended, though.
She’d make the same choice. Again and again.
She had to live with her conscience. She was too tired, too weary of the agonized bloodshed she’d witnessed these last three years. Enough.
Still, it was a wretched way to end her time at the clearing station frontline hospital.
She’d kept her head down for several months now, gone about her business without bringing notice to herself.
With the deaths of her brother and father in the spring, her meager wages had transformed from pocket change into a necessity.
Her mother and sister depended on the money she sent them each month while they stayed in Egypt.
The breeze from the window pushed her hair into her eyes.
A terrible crack. Henry slumped forward.
Ginger startled, grabbing the arm of the wooden bench seat. She searched the street for the source of the sound but saw nothing. Just street traffic, horses, wagons … yellow light from the streetlamps.
What had made her jump? Had the sound been in her mind this time?
She gulped a deep breath, trying to steel herself into composure. As she’d done so many times over the last few months, she pushed the images out of her mind. Bury them deeply. Where she couldn’t find them.
Her eyes darted past the other passengers on the tram. In a far corner, a man caught her attention. He didn’t look out of place for this quarter of Alexandria—though he didn’t wear a uniform and he appeared to be European. His suit seemed expensive, and he smoked a cigarette.
He looked up, his eyes meeting Ginger’s. She glanced away.
An unsettled feeling rose. He seemed to watch her. Then she laughed at herself. Ridiculous. Her imagination must be as exhausted as she was.
The tram turned onto the main street in front of the Eastern Harbor, which curved beautifully along the sea.
When the rains and storm were fierce, the waves came right onto the street, stopped only in some places by a sea wall.
A promenade, called the New Quays, stretched alongside the seawall and was a popular location for tourists to stroll.
Tonight, the mild weather and moonlight cooperated with the soldiers attempting to court the women they’d met while on a pass.
The corners of Ginger’s lips turned up and she was glad to see them enjoying themselves.
In Egypt, the British soldiers had much to celebrate—after the victory at Gaza in early November, General Allenby had pushed the army closer to Jerusalem. The campaign seemed to be the sole bright spot in what had been a terrible year for the Allies in the war.
A strong, fetid odor crept into the tram, and she wrinkled her nose. Lovely as the promenade was, with the swaying palm trees, the Mediterranean views, and jeweled sand—the stench of dead marine life and the rubbish produced by humans marred the space.
They passed the Kait Bey side of the promenade, heading toward the residential area of the cosmopolitan city.
Ginger strained her eyes, trying to see the old fort at the end of the promenade.
No matter how many times she passed the location, she thought of it with a sense of admiration.
Thousands of years before, the area had been the site of the famed lighthouse at Alexandria—one of the Seven Wonders of the World.
Now, what little remained of it had been incorporated into the fort.
Something about Alexandria broke her heart. So much rich history of the city seemed crumbled and faded—but the knowledge that she passed landscapes viewed by Alexander the Great and Cleopatra gave her chills.
She didn’t have much time to play tourist now though. With the British offensive, there was an ever-steady stream of wounded soldiers entering the military hospitals. The men were often the most seriously wounded, too ill to board the ships heading back home.
The tram stopped at a cross street. Despite herself, Ginger glanced back. The man was gone. When had he gotten off?
Ginger disembarked. When she’d arrived at the hospital from the front and found a note from her mother requesting she come to dinner, the matron had warned her she shouldn’t be out late. Tensions with the locals had been rising.
The heels of her shoes clacked against the pavement as she increased her pace.
She reached the three-story narrow house Lord Helton had loaned the Whitman women for their use.
Nestled among a row of similar homes, it wasn’t in the poshest neighborhood of the European quarter of Alexandria.
Many of the homes provided shelter for the local British officers and their wives—at least, the women who’d come into Egypt before the government had banned the practice.
Unfortunately, as the war had gone on, the enlisted soldiers who had risen in the ranks were not the upper class, polished officers from war’s beginning. Even the local Egyptians, who had at first looked at the officers with admiration, disliked this new crop of ill-mannered men.
Her mother, a dowager countess, bore the surroundings with as much dignity as possible. Lucy never ceased complaining about the neighbors.
Her mother’s maid from Cairo—the only servant whose service Lady Braddock had kept—greeted her with a smile when she opened the door. “Good evening, Bahiti,” Ginger said, breezing past her and into the foyer.
Bahiti led Ginger back toward the dining room. Ginger nearly tripped as she entered. Her mother and Lucy stood by the table, each wearing stylish evening dresses fit for one of the many white tie dinners they’d attended at their home in England. Ginger hadn’t expected this level of elegance.
Her mother smiled. “Ginger, darling! It’s so good to see you safe and sound.
” She wrapped her arms around Ginger’s neck.
“Though you’re barely on time. We’ll speak more at dinner.
Hurry, go upstairs and change.” She wrinkled her nose at Ginger.
“That scarlet hat clashes terribly with your red hair.”
Ginger removed her boater hat and turned it in her hands. “I—” She frowned. “I wasn’t planning on changing, Mother.”
Her mother gaped at her. “You can’t meet William looking like that.”
William? Ginger blinked, her brain slogging.
Lucy poured a glass of wine from the crystal decanter on the buffet. “Mother told you about this dinner two months ago.” She sipped her wine, and her eyes narrowed. “And don’t say she didn’t because I heard her. It doesn’t matter to you.”
Ginger adjusted her collar. Don’t start, Lucy. She wouldn’t let her sister dampen her good mood. “What am I supposed to change into?”
“I have a dress in your room.” Her mother slipped her hands into hers. “Don’t you remember? William is coming tonight. He arrived in Alexandria this morning. He’s come to tour the house in Cairo.”
Oh. Ginger nearly groaned. Since her father’s earldom had passed to a distant cousin after his and Henry’s death, all Lucy could talk about was “Cousin William Thorne” and how he’d stolen Penmore out from under them.
He’d planned a trip to Egypt to settle her father’s estate and review the details with the Whitman women. “I forgot he was coming.”
“Hurry now. William will be here at any moment.” Her mother waved to Bahiti to take Ginger upstairs.
Her mother’s sudden need to impress him seemed strange. “I don’t think I really need to change. I must be back at the hospital in a few hours. It’s a dinner. And I’m tired, Mother.”
“Clearly. You look terrible.” Lucy glared. “You’ll never impress him with bags under your eyes and that dowdy outfit.”
Ah. There it was. Leave it to Lucy to be so blunt, both about Ginger’s appearance and the goal of this dinner.
This was to be a matchmaking occasion. William was a distant cousin and a bachelor.
If he married Ginger, her family could regain their home.
Ginger was the logical choice, considering Lucy’s age.
Lucy hadn’t even debuted into society yet.
“I don’t want to impress him.” Ginger studied the twinkling crystal decanter on the buffet.
Where had the crystal come from? “My outfit is what I’m allowed to wear while traveling.
I’ve seen nurses reprimanded for wearing pastel-colored blouses and pearls—they’re quite strict with what we can wear. ”
“Go and change.” Her mother shooed her from the room. “Bahiti will see to your hair.”
Too tired to argue, Ginger allowed Bahiti to lead her up the tight staircase in the back of the house.
Frustration throbbed at the base of her skull, but she couldn’t be angry with her mother over this.
She didn’t know any better. They moved past the two larger bedrooms, which her mother and Lucy occupied, to a small one facing the alley behind the house.
As Ginger ducked into the room, she sighed. She shouldn’t have had to ask why her mother went to such trouble. Or why a fancy gown they couldn’t afford lay on Ginger’s bed.
She’d turned twenty-five in October. In her mother’s mind—really, in the eyes of society—she was an old maid.