When she arrived at 14 Montagu Place that afternoon, she was reluctantly allowed into the house by Mrs. Angell, who had the brazen effrontery, in Isabel's opinion, to ask whether the 'young miss' was sure this visit was entirely wise. The kindly old dame then suggested that if Isabel was determined to go through with it, then perhaps she-Mrs. Angell-should remain at her side throughout, to satisfy social mores.
Isabel impatiently dismissed the well-meant offer and, without further ado, she marched up the stairs and entered the study.
Burton was slumped in his saddlebag armchair by the fire, wrapped in his jubbah, smoking one of his disreputable cheroots and staring into the room's thick blue haze of tobacco smoke. He'd been there since his return from Downing Street an hour ago and had barely moved a muscle. His mind was far away and he was completely unaware that Isabel had entered.
'For goodness' sake, Dick,' she chided, 'I've stepped out of one fog and into another! If you must be-'
She stopped, gasped, and raised her gloved hands to her mouth, for she'd noticed that a yellowing bruise curved around one of his eyes, a livid and much darker one marked his left temple, there were scratches and grazes all over his face, and he looked somewhat as if the Charge of the Light Brigade had galloped over him.
'What-what-what-?' she stuttered.
His eyes turned slowly toward her and she saw his pupils shrink into focus.
'Ah,' he said, and stood. 'Isabel, my apologies-I forgot you were coming.'
'Your face, Dick!' she exclaimed, and she suddenly flung herself into his arms. 'Your face! What on earth has happened!'
He kissed her forehead and stepped back, holding her at arm's length.
'Everything, Isabel. Everything has happened. My life seems to have changed in an instant! I have been commissioned by the king himselfl'
'The king? Commissioned? Dick, I don't understand. And why are you bruised and cut so?'
'Sit down. I'll endeavour to explain. But, Isabel, you must prepare yourself. Remember the Arabic proverb I taught you: In lam yakhun ma tureed, fa'ariid ma yakhoon. '
She translated: '`When what you want doesn't happen, learn to want what does.''
She sat and frowned and waited while he went to the bureau and poured her a tonic. He returned and handed her the glass but remained standing. His expression was unreadable.
'The Foreign Office was going to offer me a consulship in Fernando Po-' he began.
She interrupted, 'Yes, I have sent many a letter to Lord Russell recommending you for just such a post. Though I requested Damascus.'
'You did what?' he muttered in surprise. 'You thought it acceptable to write to Lord Russell on my behalf without first consulting with me?'
'Don't be bullish, Dick. We've spoken about a consulship often. But, pray, tell me what happened to you!'
'In due course. And I should say there is a great difference between a conversation shared between us and a begging letter sent to a government minister.'
'It was hardly that!' she cried.
'Be that as it may, you should neither speak nor write on my behalf unless expressly asked by me to do so.'
'I was trying to help you!'
'And in doing so made it appear that I lacked the wherewithal to forward my own career. By myself perhaps I could have secured Damascus. As it is, your intervention earned me an invitation to Fernando Po. They offered me a governmental crumb when I wanted a governmental loaf. Do you know where Fernando Po is?'
'No,' she whispered, a tear rolling down her cheek. This visit wasn't going at all as she had planned.
'It's a Spanish island off the west coast of Africa; an insignificant, diseaseridden fleapit, widely regarded as `the white man's graveyard.' A man who is made consul of Fernando Po is a man the Foreign Office wants out of the way. The fact that Lord Russell suggested it for me means only one thing: I have irritated him. Except, of course, I haven't. In fact, I've had no contact with him at all.'
'It was me! It's my fault! Oh, I'm so sorry, Dick-I wanted only the best for you!'
'And achieved the worst,' he noted, ruthlessly.
Isabel hid her face in her hands and wept.
'Isabel,' said Burton softly, 'when the king honoured me with a knighthood, I thought my future was secured-our future. Then came John's betrayal. Why he did it, I know not. He'd been a younger brother to me, but he was weak and allowed himself to be manipulated by a malignant force. I'd striven like no man to make a name for myself: in India, I had to overcome disappointments and the jealous opposition of officers; in Arabia, I risked execution by taking the pilgrimage to Mecca; in Berbera, I was nearly killed by natives; and in central Africa, I almost died from illness and exhaustion. It all became worthless when he turned against me and tarnished my reputation. The things he suggested! By God! I should have horsewhipped him! But sentiment caused me to stay my hand and in that pause, the harm was done. When he shot himself, it might have been my head he levelled the gun at for all the damage it did me; for now, on top of all the malicious lies he'd told, I am blamed for his attempted suicide. On Monday, when I learned what he'd done, the Richard Burton you met in Boulogne ten years ago-the Burton you fell in love with-that man ceased to exist.'
'No, Richard! Don't say that!' she wailed.
'It's true. You would have married a broken man-but for one thing.'
'What?' she whimpered.
'That evening, I was physically assaulted.'
Isabel blinked rapidly. 'You were attacked? By whom?'
'By a thing out of myth and folklore; by a seemingly supernatural being; by Spring Heeled Jack.'
She stared at him wordlessly.
'It's true, Isabel. Then, on Tuesday morning, I was summoned by Palmerston and he offered me a post on behalf of the king. I have become a-well, there's no real name for it; Palmerston calls me the `king's agent,' though 'investigator' or `researcher' or even `detective' might do just as well. One of my first commissions is to discover more about the very creature that assaulted me.'
Isabel Arundell suddenly rose to her feet and crossed the room to one of the windows. She looked out of it as she spoke.
'This is poppycock, Dick,' she snapped, decisively. 'Has your malaria returned?'
He moved back to the bureau, beside her, and poured himself a glass of port.
'Do you mean to suggest that I might be delusional?'
There was a deep sadness in his voice. She swung around at the sound of it.
'Spring Heeled Jack is a children's story!'
'And if I were also to tell you that I've seen werewolves in London?'
'Werewolves! Richard! Listen to what you are saying!'
'I know how it sounds, Isabel, but I also know what I saw. Furthermore, a man died and it was my fault. It taught me a painful lesson: that this post I now hold brings with it immense danger, not just for me, but for those close to me, too.'
'I can't-I can't-' she stammered. 'Dear God! You mean to give me up?' She clutched at her chest as if her heart were failing.
'You know what manner of man am I,' he replied. 'Discovery is my mania. Africa is closed to me now and, anyway, I have little desire for the ill health that expeditions bring with them. The last almost killed me, and I would rather die on my feet than on my back. Besides, geographical exploration is but one form of discovery; there are others, and the king has given me the opportunity to use my mania in a fashion I had hitherto never imagined. I can-'
'Stop!' commanded Isabel. Her chin went up and her eyes flashed dangerously. 'And what of me, Richard? Answer me that! What of me?'
Ignoring the great ache that suddenly gripped his heart, Sir Richard Francis Burton answered.
Despite her flaws, Burton loved Isabel, and despite his, she returned that love. She was meant to be his wife, that he could not dispute, yet he had defied Destiny and willfully forced his life down a different path.
He was left empty and emotionless; yet he suddenly acquired a heightened self-awareness, too, and
