Chapter 5
They sat at the long table in the central portion of the upper deck and enjoyed a feast of succulent lamb roasted with vegetables on the open fire of the stove, accompanied by spiced lentils and warm flatbreads. Creamed chickpeas sat alongside dishes of thick yoghurt, with honey drizzled atop.
Afterward, they retired to the farther end, which was set out as an open-air drawing room, complete with rattan-woven armchairs and low tables.
Here they took sweet, bite-sized pastries, nuts, dates, and figs, complemented by traditional Egyptian coffee, flavored with cardamon.
At Madame Auvray’s pressing, Onora accepted a small glass of brandy, while the men lit cigars.
Lanterns hanging from the canopy created an atmosphere of intimacy, bringing them together in a small pool of light.
Onora’s aunt was chatting with the Misses Feathermount, while Mrs. Griffiths was listening to some story being told by Colonel Harris-Corbet.
Her husband was in discussion with the Doctor and Herr Müller, while Monsieur Auvray was amusing his wife and Seton with some story Onora couldn’t make sense of, about a mutual acquaintance from Guatemala.
Madame Auvray made some comment that had the men chuckling, and Onora noticed one of those particular glances passing between the Frenchwoman and Seton: a glance that held for several beats.
Onora swiftly looked away.
There is nothing untoward. How can there be? If the two were…anything more to one another than they should be, they would hardly flaunt it before her husband. No man allows himself to be made a fool of.
Monsieur Auvray was very much in love with his wife, and she clearly basked in that attention. She was positively glowing tonight, looking more youthful than her years in the soft candlelight, sensuality in the curve of her lips and the curve of her figure.
Such women are made to be flirtatious. They simply hold a man’s stare, and he is under their spell. It does not mean they wish to act upon what might be.
Onora tipped back the goblet of brandy, glad to let it burn upon the lump in her throat. She was not yet in love with Seton—at least, not in the way she would like to be; and yet, if they were to be married, she wanted him to herself.
For him to be enchanted by looking upon me, and no other. Except that, perhaps he never shall love me like that, nor I him.
She felt very much alone again, though the conversation about her swelled.
What did she really want?
The security of a husband, as her father had envisioned for her, and the children who would surely come?
If so, then she could wish for no one more suitable than Seton.
To reside here, in Egypt, returning to the life she’d grown up with—digging into the mysterious past, being present when its secrets were unearthed?
Again, Seton was the answer to that wish.
Why, then, was she so fearful?
“Onora, dear, you must hear what Gardenia and Hyacinth have been telling me!” Aunt Clodagh proclaimed.
Pull yourself together! Now isn’t the time for soul-searching. Save that for when you’re truly alone, and the pillow can hide your anguish.
“Such a life they’ve had!” Clodagh clapped her hands excitedly.
“The Feathermount ladies grew up in Calcutta with their father, who ran a hospital there. Hyacinth is adept at snake charming of all things, and Gardenia learnt the art of mesmerism, which they used to great effect, rendering patients oblivious to pain while undergoing surgical procedures. Can you believe it? All most astonishing! She had some fellow entirely under her will while they amputated his foot!”
“How…astonishing.” Onora was lost for words. “That could be useful if someone was boring you; stare into their eyes and convince them they want to be somewhere else.”
Gardenia’s eyebrows rose. “There’s rather more to it than that…”
Onora gave a nervous laugh. “I’m jesting. As if you would ever do such a thing. Mesmerism! I’d love to hear more. And about the charming of the serpents. Another skill that must come in useful whenever you…ahhh…meet a snake!”
Her aunt shot her a concerned look.
I must stop talking. If Clodagh thinks I’m babbling, I really have gone too far.
Onora reached for the brandy glass and was relieved to find someone had topped it up.
Quickly. Change the subject.
“What an unusual pendant!” Onora seized upon the first thing she could think of.
Leaning forward, she peered at the red stone about Miss Gardenia Feathermount’s neck. Set in gold, it hung from a black velvet ribbon. “Is that…is it a scarab?”
Miss Feathermount touched her fingers there. “What sharp eyes you have. A friend gifted it to me. Hyacinth has one too, though she wears hers as a brooch. It’s very prettily done.”
Looking at the red-hued stone, Onora reflected that it was similar to the one in her own possession: the one she’d tried many times to throw away. Yet even now it was with her, hidden at the bottom of her tray of watercolors.
Why had she brought it?
She wished to tell herself she’d forgotten the thing was there, but that would be a lie.
On the sailing from Marseille, she’d almost convinced herself to cast it into the water. Something had held her back, though she’d held the scarab in her hand as she stood at the rail, facing the open sea. It was almost as if it would not permit itself to be cast away.
Or that it wants to return here, to the place from whence it hailed.
If she replaced the thing exactly where she’d found it, would some reparation be achieved? It would not bring back her father, but might the weight upon her shoulders be lifted, even a little?
“Lord Seton, as we are to arrive at your desert home tomorrow, might you tell us more about the site?” Clodagh’s question cut across Onora’s thoughts.
“A grand idea! We’re all ears, Seton.” The Colonel, most cheekily, sent a wink in her aunt’s direction.
Despite the lively chatter of a few moments ago, as Seton began, their party quietened, their attention falling entirely upon their host.
“I imagine you’re all familiar with how the city was founded—by Pharaoh Akhenaten, as an alternative to the old capital of Thebes, and to honor the sun god Aten, to whom he proclaimed all worship should be directed, the old gods being set aside.
No doubt you also know that, upon the Pharaoh’s death, his monuments were dismantled or hidden, and his heretical monotheism reviled, bringing a return to the traditional worship of the pantheon. ”
Seton’s gaze roamed from one face to the next. “The first partial map of the site was produced by French scholars in Bonaparte’s employ, a full century ago, but our own Flinders Petrie has been making excavations more recently, uncovering the Great Palace and a well-preserved painted pavement.”
“But your site is a fair bit north of where Petrie is digging, away from where the main city is thought to lie. A wee bit strange, eh Seton?” Dr. MacGregor leaned forward upon his knees.
“That circumstance was a gift from the gods, we might say.” Seton’s lips twitched in a smile.
“I was funding a project to record paintings and hieroglyphs in nearby cliff tombs when a sandstorm blew in. We were obliged to shelter there for the duration but, when the wind ceased, we were rewarded with something unseen for three thousand years or more. The contours of the desert had altered, revealing the uppermost section of a monumental gateway.”
Onora kept her eyes lowered as Seton relayed the details.
She was familiar with the story, having been there at the time of the discovery; had watched, enthralled, as her father supervised the excavation.
Seton had brought in labor from surrounding villages, paying triple the usual rate so that they might work tirelessly to uncover the full extent of the site.
Seton made no mention of her father’s name—neither regarding his contribution, nor his death. In all likelihood, the others knew already exactly who she was, and how the betrothal between her and the Marquess had come about. It was the sort of story people discussed in hushed whispers.
There would be a degree of pity, and a larger portion of…she was unsure how one described it…not envy, but a feeling of her having cheated ill-fortune, being blessed with quite the opposite. The loss of a father, and the gaining of a much-desirable husband.
“But this temple, as it turned out to be”—Reverend Griffiths interjected—“Odd, wouldn’t you say, since there was a far bigger temple already in the main portion of the city.”
“Odd indeed,” Seton continued. “Until one learns of how the place came to be built. It was not entirely by chance that I found myself in that part of Egypt, for my time in Syria brought me an understanding of one of the old gods of the Canaanites—or goddess, I should say, whose worship was gradually integrated into the Egyptian system.”
Where it had been quiet before, an almost eerie stillness now descended on the group.
“The temple we unearthed was ostensibly founded for the worship of Aten, but records came into my possession that the high priestess who presided there was none other than a servant of that revered Levantine goddess, Qadesh.”
Onora looked up, surprised, for it was the first she’d heard of such a thing.
“And this most unusual high priestess, how did she come to arrive there?” It was Herr Müller who spoke.
“According to a papyrus I purchased from a seller in Luxor, she had long been a concubine of the Pharaoh, working her way into his favor, until he permitted her the honor. The temple he built at her request, exclusively for the use of the women of that part of the city.”
“How touching!” Aunt Clodagh sighed.
“One might think so, but for the order he gave upon discovering the illicit rituals she was performing under guise of her role.” Seton’s face was grim. “He commanded her execution, and that of the lesser priestesses who resided in the temple with her.”
Onora’s head swam.