eyes, warming her.
Three days later, they saw the combined English and French fleets at anchor outside Alexandria harbour, ensigns fluttering from mizzen gaffs. The British ironclads had twin smoke funnels, as well as three masts and square yards to allow them to conserve coal on the voyage by using their sails whenever the wind was strong enough.
Caseley had gone below to wash and change into her lilac gown: a fitted, long-sleeved bodice buttoned down the front from a plain round neck trimmed with violet ribbon. The narrow skirt had a matching ruffle at the hem and tiers of ruffles down the back. She had drawn her hair back into a coil on the nape of her neck. A simple straw bonnet trimmed with lilac and violet ribbon shielded her eyes.
Jago was at the wheel. His glance swept over her as she emerged from the companionway. He waited until she was close before speaking. ‘You look –’
‘Unremarkable?’ she suggested.
‘Is that your intention?’
She nodded. She wanted to help him, but not to attract attention. Attention meant questions. Questions required answers and the truth – the truth was a private matter.
‘Only someone who doesn’t know you could think so.’
Touched and unsettled by the compliment, she crossed to join Robert Pawlyn at the weather rail while Jago guided Cygnet past the anchored ships and through the harbour entrance made narrower by a long, curved breakwater. On the left was a tall lighthouse surrounded by a rampart and gun batteries.
‘That’s asking for trouble,’ Pawlyn murmured.
Caseley looked at him. ‘What is?’
‘Egyptian soldiers are reinforcing the batteries. You see those earth ramparts? They’re new.’
‘As a squadron of foreign ships has anchored within gunfire range,’ Jago said, ‘you can hardly expect the Egyptians to do nothing.’
‘Nor do I. The Egyptians have every right to strengthen their defences against a foreign aggressor. But I doubt the admiral commanding the English fleet will see it that way.’
Intercepting the fierce glare Jago directed at Pawlyn, Caseley remained silent. Jago cared enough not to want her upset by talk of gunfire. He cared enough to pay her compliments. Why, then, could he not have cared enough to –? She pushed the thought aside. The past could not be changed, only accepted and learned from. But what lesson was she supposed to draw from her husband’s unfaithfulness?
Her vision blurred and she blinked until it cleared. Between the lighthouse and the city was a complex of buildings set in gardens shaded by trees.
‘That’s the Khedive’s palace, Ras-el-Tin,’ Pawlyn said. ‘It translates as “garden of figs”.’
Ahead of them the city curved in a semi-circular panorama of flat-roofed terraces, domed mosques and slender minarets gleaming in the afternoon sunshine. Jetties and quays stuck out like fingers into the turquoise water.
Despite the sea breeze, the air was very warm. It would be hotter still on shore. Caseley breathed in the smells of salt water and baked earth. Threaded through them, faint and subtle, she caught the fragrance of flowers, spices and coffee.
The formalities were quickly dealt with, through a combination of Pawlyn’s rapid Arabic and the smooth transfer of folding money from Jago’s palm to that of the uniformed customs officer.
‘I asked him to order two calèches,’ Pawlyn said. ‘They are very comfortable but seat only two people. I am not obliged to notify the Consulate of my return, but it’s a courtesy and will enable me to learn what has happened while we’ve been at sea. I don’t know Sir Charles Cookson, who is British Consul here in Alexandria. But I’ve met his deputy, Sir Douglas Collingwood, on several occasions. Our acquaintance might smooth the path for you.’
‘You’re a very useful man to know, Pawlyn.’
‘It’s the least I can do. Were it not for you I might still be kicking my heels in Gibraltar.’
At Jago’s request, Caseley followed him
Three days later, they saw the combined English and French fleets at anchor outside Alexandria harbour, ensigns fluttering from mizzen gaffs. The British ironclads had twin smoke funnels, as well as three masts and square yards to allow them to conserve coal on the voyage by using their sails whenever the wind was strong enough.
Caseley had gone below to wash and change into her lilac gown: a fitted, long-sleeved bodice buttoned down the front from a plain round neck trimmed with violet ribbon. The narrow skirt had a matching ruffle at the hem and tiers of ruffles down the back. She had drawn her hair back into a coil on the nape of her neck. A simple straw bonnet trimmed with lilac and violet ribbon shielded her eyes.
Jago was at the wheel. His glance swept over her as she emerged from the companionway. He waited until she was close before speaking. ‘You look –’
‘Unremarkable?’ she suggested.
‘Is that your intention?’
She nodded. She wanted to help him, but not to attract attention. Attention meant questions. Questions required answers and the truth – the truth was a private matter.
‘Only someone who doesn’t know you could think so.’
Touched and unsettled by the compliment, she crossed to join Robert Pawlyn at the weather rail while Jago guided Cygnet past the anchored ships and through the harbour entrance made narrower by a long, curved breakwater. On the left was a tall lighthouse surrounded by a rampart and gun batteries.
‘That’s asking for trouble,’ Pawlyn murmured.
Caseley looked at him. ‘What is?’
‘Egyptian soldiers are reinforcing the batteries. You see those earth ramparts? They’re new.’
‘As a squadron of foreign ships has anchored within gunfire range,’ Jago said, ‘you can hardly expect the Egyptians to do nothing.’
‘Nor do I. The Egyptians have every right to strengthen their defences against a foreign aggressor. But I doubt the admiral commanding the English fleet will see it that way.’
Intercepting the fierce glare Jago directed at Pawlyn, Caseley remained silent. Jago cared enough not to want her upset by talk of gunfire. He cared enough to pay her compliments. Why, then, could he not have cared enough to –? She pushed the thought aside. The past could not be changed, only accepted and learned from. But what lesson was she supposed to draw from her husband’s unfaithfulness?
Her vision blurred and she blinked until it cleared. Between the lighthouse and the city was a complex of buildings set in gardens shaded by trees.
‘That’s the Khedive’s palace, Ras-el-Tin,’ Pawlyn said. ‘It translates as “garden of figs”.’
Ahead of them the city curved in a semi-circular panorama of flat-roofed terraces, domed mosques and slender minarets gleaming in the afternoon sunshine. Jetties and quays stuck out like fingers into the turquoise water.
Despite the sea breeze, the air was very warm. It would be hotter still on shore. Caseley breathed in the smells of salt water and baked earth. Threaded through them, faint and subtle, she caught the fragrance of flowers, spices and coffee.
The formalities were quickly dealt with, through a combination of Pawlyn’s rapid Arabic and the smooth transfer of folding money from Jago’s palm to that of the uniformed customs officer.
‘I asked him to order two calèches,’ Pawlyn said. ‘They are very comfortable but seat only two people. I am not obliged to notify the Consulate of my return, but it’s a courtesy and will enable me to learn what has happened while we’ve been at sea. I don’t know Sir Charles Cookson, who is British Consul here in Alexandria. But I’ve met his deputy, Sir Douglas Collingwood, on several occasions. Our acquaintance might smooth the path for you.’
‘You’re a very useful man to know, Pawlyn.’
‘It’s the least I can do. Were it not for you I might still be kicking my heels in Gibraltar.’
At Jago’s request, Caseley followed him
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