of Nazeera’s company.” He swung the sling of his rifle over his shoulder.
“You should be equally grateful to see their backs,” Bacheet’s tone was astringent, ‘although the leopard has already been in the goat kraal, or so I have heard.”
Ryder stopped in his tracks and tried to fathom Bacheet’s expression in the starlight. “What leopard, and whose goats?”
“Yesterday morning Nazeera changed the linen in the palace bedrooms. She had to wash one set in cold water.” It was an oblique reference, but Ryder understood it. Hot water removes most stains, but not blood. For that, one used cold water.
They did not speak again until they had crossed the canal into the city. Ryder was still filled with disbelief and betrayal as he entered his compound and went to his private quarters. Of course he knew of Penrod Ballantyne’s reputation as a lady-killer, but Rebecca Benbrook? Surely not. She was a young girl of excellent family and strict upbringing. His respect and affection for her had led him to expect certain standards of her, those a man might look for in his future wife.
Bacheet and Nazeera are notorious gossips I do not believe it. Then, suddenly, he remembered an observation his elder brother, Waite, had once made: “The colonel’s lady and Katie O’Grady are both women under the skin. In certain circumstances both think with their organs of generation, instead of their brains.” Ryder had laughed at the time, but now it sickened him.
He did not feel better until he had shaved and drunk two large mugs of black coffee, almost the last of his hoarded supply. Even then when he sat down at his desk, he found it difficult to concentrate on his ledgers. The most lurid and disquieting images kept forming in his mind. It was with relief that he made the final entry in his journal, closed the heavy leather bound book and went out to begin his morning rounds of the compound.
As he stepped into the animal enclosure, Saffron ran to meet him. She had Lucy the monkey on her shoulder. Unperturbed the remaining infant was clinging to Lucy’s belly fluff with all four paws and suckling busily. Lucy had lost the other to a disease that not even AH had been able to cure. Saffron skipped along beside him, blissfully relating every shred of information and gem of wisdom that Ali had shared with her that morning.
“Victoria is scouring,” she informed him.
“Are we discussing the female bongo, or the Queen of England and Empress of India?” Ryder asked.
“Oh, don’t be silly! You know exactly who I mean.” Saffron laughed. “Ali says that the acacia leaves do not agree with her. He and I are going to dose her as soon as he has brewed his medicine. It’s what he uses for the horses.”
Ryder felt his dark mood lift a little. Saffron’s company was always healing and distracting. “Why aren’t you helping Amber in the green-cake kitchens?” he asked, as they came to the last cages.
“My sister is a bore, so bossy and overbearing. She hasn’t been here for weeks and today she appears and gives orders as though she was a duchess.”
They walked between the ranks of Sudanese women who were crushing the bundles of fresh greenery in the wooden stamp pots. Ryder greeted most by name and asked a question, which demonstrated his interest and concern for them. They giggled in gratification. Some of the younger girls were openly saucy and flirtatious for Ryder was a great favourite among them. He knew that the way to get the best out of his people was to make certain they liked him. Saffron took part in the banter with the women, for she shared their sense of fun and they enjoyed her sparkle. High spirits were rare in the city, where terror and starvation had turned the populace into wild animals. We have the green-cake to thank for that. It keeps all of us healthy and human, thought Ryder.
He tried not to show it but he was eager to get to the inner enclosure where the smoke was rising from the line of three-legged cauldrons. When they reached it they found Rebecca, Amber and five Arab girls weighing and packing the loaves of green-cake into woven baskets for distribution to those who needed it most. This was not easy to decide, for there was not nearly enough to go round. Rebecca was reading the scale and Amber was writing down the results as her elder sister called them out.
“This is our best day ever, Ryder. One hundred and thirty-eight pounds,” Amber announced with pride, as he came up.
“Excellent. You ladies have done wonderfully well.” Ryder turned to Rebecca. She wore long skirts and a wide-brimmed straw hat, for the sun was already high and hot.
“Miss Benbrook, I hope I find you well?” He could see that she had lost more weight. He was sure he would be able to encircle her waist with his hands. But the thought of touching her made him uneasy, and he shifted from one foot to the other.
She gave him the first direct smile since their indiscreet behaviour had been discovered, but it lacked her usual sparkle and verve. She seemed depressed and subdued. “Thank you, Mr. Courtney. For a while I was unwell but I am now fully recovered.” They exchanged a few more stilted pleasantries, while Saffron pouted because she had lost Ryder’s attention.
“If you will excuse us we should get back to work.” Rebecca ended the conversation. “Amber, we have finished with the scale and you may take it back to the shed. Saffron, you are killing Lucy and her baby with love. Go and put them back into their cage. We need your help here.”
Saffron pulled a face but went to do as she was told leaving Ryder and Rebecca alone.
“You are wearing Arab dress,” Rebecca remarked. “That is unusual, is it not?”
“Not at all,” Ryder replied. “I always wear it when I travel in the desert. It is cooler and more practical for riding and walking. Also, my people prefer me to do so. It makes me seem one of them, and less a stranger.”
“Oh? I thought it was because you and Bacheet went out to find camels for Captain Ballantyne and Yakub.”
“Who told you that?”
“For me to know and you to find out.”
“Nazeera’s a chatterbox. You should not pay attention to everything she tells you.”
“You are jumping to conclusions, Mr. Courtney. However, I have always found Nazeera’s information highly reliable,” she replied.
If only you knew Nazeera’s latest bulletin, he thought, but she went on, “Tell me, sir, did Captain Ballantyne get away safely?”
It was a direct question to which she obviously knew the answer. Ryder considered it carefully. It occurred to him that Penrod’s departure had left the field clear for him, On the other hand did he really want the pretty soldier- boy’s discarded toy?
“Well, did he?” Rebecca insisted on a reply. “It is of no interest to me, but Nazeera will want to know about Yakub. He is her particular friend.”
Ryder grimaced at her delicate description of their relationship. Did Rebecca think of the soldier-boy as her particular friend, he wondered. “I don’t think that we should discuss military matters that relate to the safety of the city,” he said at last.
“Oh, la, Mr. Courtney! I am not a spy for the Mahdi. If you don’t tell me I shall simply ask my father. However, I thought you might save me the trouble.”
“Very well. I cannot see any pressing reason why you should not know. Captain Ballantyne left a little after midnight. He and Yakub are heading north, and in all probability will cross the Blue Nile tonight. They plan to join up with the Mahdist army that is moving north along the river towards Abu Hamed.”
Rebecca paled. “They plan to travel in company with the Dervish? That is madness.”
“It is known as hiding in full view. They will conceal themselves among the host,” he assured her. “You need not worry, Captain Ballantyne is adept at disguise. He can change like a veritable chameleon.” And he thought, She can take that as a warning, if she wishes.
“Oh, I am not worried, I assure you, Captain.” The lie was transparent: she looked as though she might burst into tears.
There is no doubt now that Nazeera was telling the truth, and that Ballantyne has made her his doxy, but what of it? Ryder reflected. She was never mine, and I don’t love her at least, not now that she is spoilt fruit. Even in his own ears that did not ring true. He tried to be more honest with himself. Do I love her? But he did not want to face that question four square.
“I will leave you to your labours, Miss Benbrook,” he murmured, and turned towards the door of the shed. “Amber!” he exclaimed. He and Rebecca had been so caught up in their own conversation that neither had noticed she had returned.
