Chapter 3
Sitting beside Clodagh in the carriage, Onora kept her study firmly on the passing sights of the street. Seton was opposite, staring at her unabashedly, even while exchanging pleasantries with her aunt, answering her many questions.
The meeting with Mr. Balfour had left her unsettled.
It was apparent he was not merely working for Seton but enjoyed a family connection.
Clodagh, whose curiosity overrode her sense of propriety, had asked Seton about it as soon as they were out of the hotel.
It seemed Mr. Balfour was the nephew of Seton’s late wife, and Seton had agreed to bring him onto the dig, the fellow having proven his interest to be more than amateur.
Onora saw that she’d judged too quickly and behaved rudely. Now they’d be thrown into each other’s company, and she’d feel awkward about it—even after she’d apologized, which was evidently necessary.
Before long, they left behind the tumult of central Cairo. The houses became sparser as they headed south toward open, cultivated plains. Children, supervising grazing buffalo and goats, waved; others splashed in the river, or could be seen fishing from small boats.
Their destination was Giza, where three pyramids of pale limestone dominated the landscape, dazzling bright under a cloudless sky.
Clodagh was trepidatious, having heard that one had to bend at the waist to navigate certain passageways, which were dark, hot and airless. She’d also been told there were bats.
Seton promised to remain with her, and to ensure that a candle was in proximity.
He also made much of the tomb of Khufu, stating that it would be unthinkable to miss viewing the King’s Chamber, though the pharaoh’s immense black coffin was the sole remaining artefact in the room that had once contained every sort of treasure to serve him in the afterlife.
Onora was touched by his thoughtfulness. Her aunt’s talkativeness was undoubtedly more of an irritation than a pleasure. Without undue conceit, Onora could say that his patience was on her account and, for that, she was grateful.
Talk of the tomb’s interior was making her feel uneasy. She’d been inside, but so long ago it seemed another lifetime, and in the company of her father. Could she bear to return there, to those cramped spaces?
As they drew closer, their carriage veered to join four others, from which the occupants had already descended and were milling about.
There were the two elderly spinster sisters Clodagh had taken a liking to, as well as the Reverend and Mrs. Griffiths, who were from somewhere near Swansea.
Colonel Harris-Corbet spotted them and was making his way over, though Dr. MacGregor and Herr Müller remained with the Auvrays, who were French.
Seton helped her down then assisted her aunt, before instructing the driver to wait in the shade of some palm trees not far off. Guides were to take them within the grandest of the pyramids, the tour of which would last no more than an hour.
However, as their party made ready to enter, an engulfing fear swept over Onora, making her knees buckle.
Seton managed to grab her before she fell.
“Oh, my goodness!” Clodagh wailed. “She’s fainting!”
“Lower her down.” Mrs. Griffiths’s gentle Welsh lilt intervened. “Wilfred, dear, open up my parasol and hold it over Miss Montague.”
Onora found herself half-reclined upon the sand, with her back resting against Seton, who was kneeling behind.
The Scotsman, Dr. MacGregor, was alongside, putting his fingers to her wrist. “Hmmm. Rather fast, and she’s disoriented. Could be the start of heatstroke. Need to get the lass out of the sun. What do you think, Seton? Inside the entrance to the pyramid? It’s the best I can think of.”
“No! Not in there!” Onora tried to push herself upright but was helpless against Seton’s strength, now applied to hold her where she was.
“Calm yourself, my dear.” Close to her ear, Seton whispered, “Whenever I’m near, no harm can come. You trust me in all things. You know that whatever I say must be the truth.”
The leaping in her chest began to quieten, and her breathing became less jagged. “Thank you. I’m better now. Let me stand. Please.”
This time, as she attempted to rise, Seton assisted.
“We’ll return to the hotel,” her aunt declared. “Lord Seton, you’ll summon the driver for us? Laying down in a darkened room will be best. We’ll soon have her right again.”
“That’s really not…I don’t want to lie down.” Onora rubbed at her temple. It wasn’t like her to be affected by the sun, nor to suffer an attack of panic. She felt an aversion for the confined corridors of the pyramid, but Seton’s words filled her mind, urging her to trust him.
“Mademoiselle Montague shall remain with me.” Madame Auvray glided over.
“Clearly she does not wish to go into this tomb, and nor do I. The rest of you go ahead. Mademoiselle and I shall seat ourselves in the shade of the Sphinx. The drivers will arrange everything: the stools for sitting and the basket of refreshments. We shall be perfectly content, and we shall talk. There is nothing to cause worry.”
Seton took a step back. “A splendid suggestion. Thank you, Madame.”
Her aunt began to object but Onora urged, “Please, continue without me. I know how you wanted to view inside the pyramid. You may tell me your impressions afterward. I’ll be perfectly fine with Madame Auvray.”
“Well, if you’re sure, dear, but please do keep to the shade.” Her aunt was already being steered away by Lord Seton.
“Voilà!” Madame Auvray gave a bright smile. “No dusty tombs for us today. Let us go, chérie. I am eager to know you better, and this gives us the perfect opportunity to speak in private.”
Onora didn’t know what to make of Madame Auvray, who had immediately insisted on being spoken to as Virginie or even Gigi—as she said her friends called her.
Lord Seton had employed a dragoman to accompany them on the outing, and it was he who organized the setting up of the picnic: stools side by side in the shade, as Virginie directed, and several small folding tables, covered with prettily patterned cloths.
Baskets opened to reveal an urn of sweetened tea and a selection of delicacies packed by the hotel, as well as glasses, plates, cutlery, and fine linen napkins.
The Frenchwoman loaded a plate with small pastries, sweet and savory, as well as dates stuffed with almond paste and pistachio nuts, then placed it not before herself but in front of Onora.
“I’m not the least bit hungry. I can’t eat any of this,” Onora protested.
“Nonsense. The tea and the food will revive you. Take a mouthful of something; to please me, yes?” Madame Auvray coaxed, looking at Onora through thick lashes.
She really was most attractive. Not forty years in age, Onora guessed, and with lustrous dark hair, elaborately coiffed. Her jacket and skirt were tailored well—in ivory with a subtle stripe of pink, and her hat matched perfectly, the brim angled jauntily with silk roses on one side of the crown.
Onora felt gauche in comparison, though she’d found her yellow costume pretty enough when Clodagh had helped her dress earlier.
Virginie made polite conversation, asking how Onora’s aunt was enjoying her travels, and what they thought of Shepheard’s. Her comments were both insightful and wry so that Onora found herself laughing at her companion’s impish sense of humor.
She worked up the courage to ask, “Have you known Lord Seton long? That is…how did your acquaintance come about?”
“Ah, there is a tale.” Her eyes twinkled mischievously.
“It was some years ago, when Antoine and I were in Guatemala, on a diplomatic assignment. We were intrigued by the finds at Tikal. Do you know it? So strange, those buildings, almost like pyramids, lost in the jungle then uncovered—though the local people naturally knew of them all along.”
“And it was there you met Lord Seton?” Onora could hardly fathom it. He’d never mentioned such a thing though, in fairness, there were likely a great many aspects of his life about which she knew nothing.
“He was most fascinated, as many people were, especially those with an interest in ancient civilizations. Dr. MacGregor was there in a professional capacity. Klaus also. Such a clever man. Herr Müller is Swiss, not German, but he worked with Schliemann at one time.”
“Goodness!” Onora certainly knew of Schliemann’s work, excavating the ancient sites of Mycenae and Troy. “And the Misses Feathermount and the Colonel, and the Reverend and Mrs. Griffiths? Were they in Guatemala too?”
“At Tikal?” Madame Auvray gave a peal of merriment.
“I cannot imagine it. These people Seton knows from England. They are, what do you say…funny birds? Though we are here together as guests of Lord Seton, and such trips are best enjoyed when everyone gets along. There is always something worth knowing about people, of course…and His Lordship has discerning taste. After all, chérie, we are both here, and what could be more discerning than that?”
Onora could not help but smile. Perhaps these days ahead would not be so bad.
It seemed that Virginie was determined to befriend her, and Onora had need of a friend.
Perhaps, in time, she would confide some of what most worried her.
It would be such a relief, to be able to speak of it with someone who would not judge…
Do not get ahead of yourself.
Onora reprimanded herself. As amicable as Virginie was, she really knew nothing of her. As tempting as it was to share her innermost thoughts, such openness mightn’t be wise.
There was one thing Onora knew she would never share—these dreams that came, night after night.
Sometimes she was alone, sometimes there were others with her, but the sensations that ran hot through her body were always the same: torrid, sensual, and all-consuming.
She was not herself, driven by desire which could not be abated—letting herself be caressed, touching others, doing things that shocked her waking self, almost as if she were possessed by something outside herself, urging her on to lurid acts.
There was no question, the dreams were becoming more vivid. Since she’d arrived in Egypt, they’d worsened immeasurably, so that she feared going to sleep.
Onora pulled herself back to the present moment. Madame Auvray was offering her more tea, and she accepted gratefully.
Before long the others returned from touring the tomb of Khufu, and there was a flurry of chatter. If any hint of disquiet entered Onora’s mind, observing the look exchanged between Lord Seton and Madame Auvray, she refused to acknowledge it.