treasures capable of being used to perform great feats of good or evil.
Malory explained that he suspected Lord Hereford had taken one such treasure, although Hamilton would never admit to it. Our captor also suspected that, before the Viscount of Herefordshire had died, he’d entrusted this treasure to my sister-in-law’s safekeeping. This was why Molier was so keen to find our kinswoman; at least, that was Lord Malory’s theory.
I put two and two together to conclude that Malory was the man Ashlee had accused of murdering Lord Hamilton and so I found his story a little too convenient. ‘Lord Hereford may have given such a treasure to our sister-in-law before he was disposed of by your colleagues, don’t you mean?’ I said boldly, and Malory seemed genuinely stunned by my accusation.
‘Lord Hereford died of natural causes, I assure you, Lady Devere,’ he defended. ‘I’ll admit that I was aware of Lord Hereford’s death before the fact, for it was your aunt, Lady Charlotte, who prophesied that Miss Granville would marry Mr Devere, and that there would be an obstruction to the union which would resolve itself. I tried to warn Hereford of this, but he wouldn’t listen. Is it that meeting that gave you reason to suspect my order’s involvement?’
‘Don’t answer that,’ my husband intervened. ‘Whatever the truth behind Lord Hereford’s demise, it is my belief that you secret society fanatics are as certifiable and obsessed as each other!’ Lord Devere stated his belief in no uncertain terms.
For myself, I didn’t know what to think. Ashlee had never mentioned any such treasure to me, yet I had to admit that her psychic powers had increased since Lord Hamilton’s death, as had her ambition to travel to the East.
Having been insulted for the umpteenth time by my Lord Devere, Lord Malory withdrew from our chambers, taking his offer of release with him.
In less than a week our vessel would reach Alexandria, from where, Lord Malory thought, our in-laws would commence their overland journey to the Sinai. It was our captor’s hope to find our kin in this city. Then, perhaps we would all learn the truth behind this mystery. FROM THE TRAVEL JOURNALS OF MRS ASHLEE DEVERE
Two and a half weeks after leaving Ostia we reached the ancient land of Egypt and were nearing the fallen city of Alexandria. We crossed paths with many outward-bound vessels. We proceeded by the fleet of the Pasha anchored under the walls of the seraglio, and negotiated our way through the difficult and dangerous reef-ridden channel to anchor in the harbour.
Mariners were usually guided through the reefs by a local, but Captain Falco was not prepared to let any locals board our vessel, because at the port of Malta there had been reports of a plague in Alexandria. Captain Falco was here to drop us off and then leave; he would not risk his crew.
‘There is plague in the city?’ Thankfully, this was the first my husband had heard of the rumour, or he might have paid the captain to take us elsewhere.
‘In the Frankish quarter of the city it is not much of a concern, apparently, nor in the desert. It is just the poorer parts of town that one need worry about,’ the captain assured us.
‘So much history,’ I uttered, transfixed by the allure of the ancient city.
I was amazed to see that Pompey’s Pillar, a tribute to Egypt’s proud history, still stood tall and was one of the most prominent landmarks of the city.
‘I can’t wait to get in amongst it,’ I said with a huge smile.
‘Are you not listening?’ My husband was very concerned now. ‘There is plague in the city!’
‘When you travel so far abroad you have to expect to face a few hazards.’ I played down the risk.
‘Then we will head straight for the Frankish quarter,’ Devere stated.
‘Agreed.’ Anything to get my husband off the boat.
‘Agreed,’ echoed Cingar, whereby Devere and I both objected.
‘You are definitely going home with Captain Falco,’ I lectured. ‘I shall not be responsible for keeping you from your family any longer.’
‘You need me,’ he stated plainly. ‘Do either of you speak Arabic?’
‘I speak a little,’ I lied. I could read it, but I wasn’t too sure how well I could speak or interpret the local tongue. In truth, what I had heard so far sounded like gibberish.
Cingar gave me a look that implied disbelief, and then spoke a sentence in the local tongue and awaited my response.
I caught a couple of words I recognised and I tried to piece together the overall meaning of what he was saying, but I deliberated too long.
‘You won’t last five minutes,’ Cingar concluded, ‘as I just gave you directions to the Frankish quarter.’ He smiled to rest his case, but then added: ‘Let’s not even discuss what will happen when you attempt to arrange provisions for your journey.’
‘I feel sure there are translators to be found in the city.’ I tried to dismiss the gypsy one last time.
‘But none are so well disposed toward you and your safety as I,’ he stated sincerely, placing his right hand over his heart.
I clicked my fingers as I remembered. ‘Albray speaks Arabic, I’m sure of it.’
‘Albray,’ queried Cingar. ‘Who is Albray?’
‘No one worth mentioning,’ my husband decreed, making it plain by the look he served me that he did not entirely trust Albray. ‘You are a good friend to us, Cingar.’ Mr Devere was very grateful to our gypsy friend and rather fond of his company. ‘We humbly accept your fine offer and shall be eternally grateful for your guidance.’
The gypsy smiled broadly. ‘Then let us enter Alexandria!’
The dockside
