A Burial at Sea

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

A man came in through the door.

“Mr. Lenox?” he said in a French accent.

Lenox blinked twice and pondered the scene in his room, which now bore a more than passing resemblance to King’s Cross Station at the rush hour.

“Who are you?”

But he scarcely needed to ask. “I am Sournois,” the man said. “What has happened here? Is this related to … to our business?”

“No. It’s an old business—an ugly one, I’m sorry to say. McEwan, do you know this man?”

“No, sir. He woke the butler and the butler woke me.”

Lenox, still in bed, though now up on his arms, looked at the Frenchman. “How do I know you’re … Sournois?”

“In front of him?” the Frenchman said, gesturing to McEwan.

“He just saved my life. It’s fair to say that he has earned my trust.”

“Thankee, sir.”

“The kitchen is always closed when one is hungriest,” said Sournois.

“There’s never a meal to be had in Port Said after ten,” Lenox replied. “Show me your hands?”

“Eh?”

“Your finger.”

“Ah, of course.” Sournois held up his left hand, and it was, as expected, missing a single digit. “That is settled, then.”

McEwan, baffled, looked at both of them. “What is it, sir?” he said.

“This man is helping our government, McEwan. He’s French.”

A pained look flashed across Sournois’s face, but he nodded. “It is true. Mr. Lenox, we cannot stay here. I took a great risk in coming, but—”

“Mainton betrayed us.”

“Pierre Mainton? No, no, not that amiable buffoon. I am with the French delegation here. It was one of your men who betrayed your plans. He still has connections in the highest parts of your government, apparently. Lord—”

And here Sournois said the name of the earl’s son, the one who had fled England after a duel. Cosmo Ashenden. The one Lenox had dined with the night before.

“I never took him for a traitor,” said Lenox.

“Use that word more gingerly, please,” said Sournois.

“Are you discovered?”

“No. There are presently three hundred and forty Frenchmen in Port Said, and I have a better reason for being here than any of them. As it happens I also am in control of them, at least those who work in government, while I remain here.”

“I see. And am I betrayed?”

“Perhaps. We only received information that an Englishman was meeting with a Frenchman in the kitchen below the gentleman’s club, but of course it is known that you are freshly arrived in Port Said. Still, two hundred people came with you on the Lucy, and the French government would never take action against a member of Parliament. It was their own traitor they wanted.”

Just as Edmund had predicted. “I was chased.”

“Perhaps incorrectly. We must go, at any rate—every minute I linger here endangers both of our lives. I took a risk in coming.”

“Thank God you did.” Lenox stood up. “Where would you have us go?”

“Neutral territory.”

“Oh?”

“I have an idea—my carriage is outside.”

“Should I trust you?” said Lenox.

Sournois glanced around the room, and saw, lying on Lenox’s desk, the ornamental dagger that the wali’s nephew had gifted to the prime minister. “Please, bring this. You may check my driver and me for weapons.”

“Very well.”

“But, sir!” said McEwan. “There’s Mr. Billings!”

Lenox, dressing now, looked down at Billings’s still body. “What do you think we should we do, McEwan?”

“He must be arrested—handed over to Mr. Carrow!”

“I quite agree. Bind his hands and legs and sit over him until I return, please. I’ll send word to the Lucy tonight.”

McEwan nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“And have at those ginger biscuits while I’m gone, the ones Jane sent along with me. You’ve earned them.”

McEwan smiled. “Just as you say.”

Lenox went to him and looked him in the eyes. “Really, Mr. McEwan; shake my hand. I thank you, as does my family. When we return to England I will think of some way I can properly express my gratitude.”

“Thank—”

“But now I have to go.” Lenox took the dagger and nodded to Sournois.

A carriage was waiting in the shadows near the consulate, not far from the road. Feeling rather ridiculous, Lenox patted down its driver and then Sournois, and had them turn their pockets inside out.

“Are you satisfied?” said Sournois.

“Yes. Where are we going?”

“The water.”

“Can we not speak in the carriage, as we drive?”

“It will take several hours, I expect, our conversation. A carriage at this time of the evening is conspicuous, unless…”

“Yes?”

“Well, unless it carries a European gentleman bound for the pleasure boats. The floating brothels.”

“And that is where you mean to take us?”

“Yes, Mr. Lenox.”

“Very well.”

As they drove Lenox kept a hand on the dagger, but his thoughts kept wandering to Billings, to Billings’s manic face looming over his own in the half darkness. How close death had come again! If not for Sournois, for McEwan, for Butterworth—his mind was anxious and racing, still convinced of some imminent danger. He felt himself still trembling, every so often.

They came to the water soon, and found it busy and bright, a thousand lanterns from a hundred ships casting a flickering yellow warmth over the water.

There were small messenger boats, and for a few coppers Lenox asked one to take a note to the Lucy, which he scrawled out in great haste with pencil and paper bought from the boatman. In fifteen minutes, perhaps twenty, Carrow would receive the message that Billings was alive and in Port Said.

When this business was done Sournois hailed a pleasure bark floating nearby.

“No,” murmured Lenox. “Not this one.”

“You fear a trap?” asked the Frenchman in an urgent whisper. “Very well. We shall wait for the next one, then. But we wait separately.” He walked fifteen paces away from Lenox and lit a small cigar, his hat low and his cloak gathered up around his neck. It was chill out near the water.

The next pleasure bark passed by ten minutes later, and Sournois hailed this one with a flick of his hand in the air.

It pulled up alongside the dock and a gangway was flung out to meet them. A silent Egyptian waited on the deck.

First Sournois and then Lenox crossed onto the ship. Was he being foolish, he wondered? Or daring? He hoped it was daring.

The Egyptian held up a hand to halt them, then held up four fingers and pantomimed payment.

“I am surprised he does not speak English or French,” said Lenox, handing over the coin.

“The more expensive boats all call at this dock,” said Sournois, “and are all run by illiterate mutes. They cannot ask or answer questions. Many of the wali’s family come here, though it is forbidden them.”

The Egyptian led them into a small cabin, hung with lanterns and draped with red tapestries that cast a hedonistic crimson glow over the plain chairs and tables. Lenox, distinctly uneasy, took a seat.

After the Egyptian had gone for a few moments, he returned and beckoned them onward, through a small corridor; the ship was rocking unpleasantly, but they followed him. At the end of the hallway he pointed to two doors, then flashed ten fingers three times.

“Half an hour,” said Lenox.

Sournois removed a purse and counted out several pieces of silver. Then he pointed out to the sea, and flashed ten fingers ten times. Finally he pointed at the room they had come from, and beyond it the dock, and shook his head firmly.

The Egyptian grinned and nodded, and then left them, apparently, to their own devices.

“The women will be in that room, waiting for us to choose among them,” said Sournois. “I will speak to them. Wait in the smoking room, just there. Then we may converse.”