Where the Library Hides (Secrets of the Nile #2)

Capítulo Ocho

CAPíTULO OCHO

I could tell Isadora liked the dining room. Her attention flickered from the glossy flatware to the plush rugs, the sparkling glasses and satiny tablecloth. She faced me from across the table, her posture straight and not touching the back of the chair. For years, my mother had tried to ensure I’d do the same. There were other little things that telegraphed we were both raised by the same woman. Isadora wore her hair in the style my mother liked, braided and coiled at the crown of the head, a few delicate strands grazing her cheekbones. She kept her elbows off the table and both feet planted on the ground. My mother and Isadora knew how to sit still while I never did, constantly fidgeting, playing with my wineglass, tapping my toes against the floor.

Isadora knew all the rules of perfect etiquette—but she had been allowed to explore and shoot guns and excavate. She had been allowed to be herself. While I’d had to resort to trickery and secrecy and lying. It dawned on me how my mother had to do the same in order to lead the life she wanted.

With a whole new family.

The plate of food in front of Isadora sat untouched. The warmed pita had long since cooled, along with the ful mudammas, a savory fava bean porridge flavored with cumin, fresh herbs, and a lemon-garlic sauce and then slow-cooked overnight. I’d watched Kareem make it while on board the Elephantine , and the dish was a personal favorite of mine.

“Have you tried the tomato-and-cucumber salad?” I asked. “It’s delicious dipped in the—”

“I’m not hungry,” Isadora said.

Frustration and concern pulled me forward in my seat, and I leaned across the table to push the pot of tea toward her. We were in the dining room, surrounded by tourists and waiters, the noise level bustling and loud.

“Eat a little something.”

Isadora’s lips twitched. “You are so… sisterly .”

“Am I?”

“Need I remind you that I know how to take care of myself?”

“And need I remind you that you’ve barely had anything to eat in the last couple of days? That you’re under enormous stress?”

She smiled.

“Why are you smiling?”

“It amuses me that you’re concerned about my nutritional intake.”

“I’m only being practical,” I muttered, leaning back against my chair, breaking one of Mamá’s rules. “What would happen if you fainted in the middle of the street?”

“That has literally never happened to me.”

“Papá always said he felt better when he’d eaten something after going through a trying day.” He used to leave alfajores for me before voyaging to Egypt. The sandwich cookies were coated in powdered sugar and filled with layers of dulce de leche. Because of him, I’d developed quite a sweet tooth.

“What was he like?”

I looked at her sharply. “Did my mother ever talk to you about him?”

Isadora pushed the plate away. “She didn’t. I think she wanted to keep that part of her life separate.”

“Did you know our mother had another daughter?”

Isadora gazed at me unflinchingly. “No. Not until after you, Ricardo, and Whit left Philae. My father told me then who you were.” Her eyes flicked down. “In a way, I wasn’t surprised. I’d been drawn to you ever since you were pulled out of the river.”

“But my mother kept me a secret,” I said, bitterness stealing over me.

“I think she’s an unhappy person who tried to make a new life for herself.”

A new life that had set fire to our family. A new life that had turned her into a criminal. I couldn’t believe Isadora was defending her. It seemed incredible that she didn’t know who Mamá really was.

“You know,” I began slowly, “that our mother is just as guilty as your father.”

Isadora’s jaw dropped. I startled, realizing that it was the first real expression I’d seen on her face. She leaned forward, her breath coming out in quick huffs. “What? What are you talking about?”

“Where do you think she is right now?”

Isadora frowned. “Back home, of course.”

“Where is home ?”

“London,” she said. “We divided our time between England and Alexandria. We have an apartment there, and a house in Grosvenor Square.”

It hardly seemed believable, the lengths my mother went to to secure a new existence for herself. She must have hated my father. Had she been planning on leaving Papá and me altogether? “Isadora, our mother trades in the black market here in Cairo.”

She stood up, tucked her chair neatly under the table. “You’re lying to me.”

“Please sit down.”

“Why are you doing this?” she asked. No emotion warbled her voice, and she held herself tall, chin tilted upward. She was frighteningly composed while I wished I knew how to keep myself from shattering. Talking about my mother always unsettled me—I was either angry or hurt or terrified.

“It’s the truth,” I said. “Please sit down.”

She gazed toward the exit and I waited, breath caught in my chest. I didn’t know what I’d do if she walked out of this room and out of my life.

“Where will you go?” I asked.

Isadora slowly turned her head. Her face remained expressionless, but her hands were shaking. “I have friends in the city.”

I nodded, heart sinking. At least she wouldn’t be alone. “I’m glad. Please keep in touch.”

She remained standing, but she didn’t make a move toward the dining room entrance. She must have expected me to argue with her, but I’d had plenty of experience in begging people to stay. It never went well. My parents always left, even when they knew I would have given anything for them to take me along or for them to stay home with me.

“Do you have proof of Mother’s involvement?”

“I do,” I whispered.

Isadora pulled out her chair, and slowly sat down, watching me warily. Then she drew her plate closer and took a delicate bite of the cold pita.

“We’ve both gone through a shock—”

“Like realizing one’s father is a criminal?”

I played with the fork on my empty plate. “Yes—that would certainly constitute a trying time. Did you really have no idea?”

Isadora pulled at her lip, remaining quiet for so long I thought she wouldn’t answer. When she did speak, her words came out haltingly.

“I’ve gone over and over it in my head… and the truth is there was always… some question I had at the back of my mind.”

“Go on,” I prodded.

Isadora took a sip from her teacup. “I suppose a part of me thought it was strange that they’d be gone all hours of the night several times a week. And I never questioned them when they hosted scores of people in the drawing room, even if they appeared to be… suspicious.”

“Suspicious how?”

Her lips twisted in a grimace. On her, it looked like she’d just sucked on a lemon. “They weren’t part of gentle society. Mother never served them anything to drink or eat. Some of them looked quite rough, and they stayed over long into the night.”

I didn’t know how much to tell her of the truth. My instincts were to shield her. It was likely the people Lourdes and Mr. Fincastle were meeting dealt with the illegal-artifact trade, too. But if it were me in her position, I wouldn’t want to be coddled.

“What is it?”

I grimaced. Isadora was perceptive, and hiding something from her would take considerable effort. I deliberated, and for some reason, Elvira’s face clouded in my mind. I had tried to shield her, too, often giving her only half truths. And look where that had gotten her.

“Have you heard of Tradesman’s Gate?”

“No,” Isadora said. “It sounds like something Wilkie Collins might have written.”

I furrowed my brow.

“He writes mystery novels,” Isadora explained.

“Ah,” I said. “Well, I’m afraid this organization is real, and they steal priceless artifacts and fence them to buyers across several markets, predominately in Europe. Museums, private collectors, and the like. Our mother is just such a thief, and she’s used the market to make a fortune. It seems like Mr. Fincastle is not only involved, but they are partners as well. They clearly planned what happened on Philae together.”

Isadora made an unladylike groan, sounding so much like me it made the hair on my arms stand on end. Now that I was paying attention, her mannerisms continued to remind me of my mother. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear, how she fiddled with the collar of her dress, making sure it was perfectly flat. The straight line of her shoulders, her perfect posture. Isadora really was the young lady my mother always hoped to raise.

But then I remembered how Isadora had pulled out her sleek handgun, firing at the crocodile. It had been a bold and confident move. She knew how to behave, but that didn’t mean she was stuffy and prim.

It meant she knew how to play the game to her advantage.

“That makes sense,” Isadora said. “I’m only sorry I was a part of it, even peripherally. I don’t know what to do now. How to move forward from all this.”

“There are many particulars we need to discuss,” I acknowledged. “But for now, please know that you will always have a place with Whit and me. It’s perfectly acceptable for you to live with us, and I have the means to care for you.”

“Speaking of, where is your husband this morning?”

“I don’t know,” I said, the corners of my mouth turning downward. “Running an errand most likely.”

It annoyed me that he had taken off without so much as a goodbye. If I had done such a thing, he wouldn’t have appreciated it. In fact, that was exactly what I was going to do. I knew that I would most likely need Whit at my side for what I wanted to accomplish, but I needed to do something, and perhaps I’d learn exactly what I would need to do in order to have access to my fortune. Perhaps I only needed a note from Whit or my uncle, or to show proof of our marriage in the form of a license. Regardless, I could go and ask my questions in person.

I was so sick of doing nothing.

Isadora eyed me shrewdly. “What were you thinking just now?”

“How would you like to accompany me to the bank?”

“I’m not sure,” she said dryly. “I’m quite busy these days.”

I laughed and polished off my coffee.

I left Isadora waiting in the lobby of the Anglo-Egyptian Bank, settled comfortably on a wooden bench laden with brightly woven pillows. The building had a blend of European and Arabic decor, and while it was designed to look like something from a Parisian street, the windows had the gorgeous latticework popular in Egypt. Outside, the Ezbekieh Gardens could be seen in all of their lush greenery, and beyond the tall palm trees, the stately Khedivial Opera House stood, flanked by two reservation kiosks.

Perhaps I’d walk there afterward and buy tickets to whatever musical was in season. Maybe a night out was what the three of us needed. Isadora and Whit needed time together to become better acquainted. I wasn’t lying when I told Isadora that she had a place with us if she wanted.

“Right this way, Mrs. Hayes,” a bank teller named Ahmed said, motioning for me to step into his office.

I blinked in surprise—I still wasn’t used to my new name, and a pleasant thrill skipped down my spine. For the rest of my life, I would be Inez Emilia Hayes. We could be a real family. Legally, I supposed we were one. It was a fresh start, a chance to do things our own way. Warmth pooled in my belly, and I beamed at the bank attendant. He seemed surprised by my expression, but I couldn’t very well tell him that he was the first person to address me as Mrs. Hayes.

I took the seat Ahmed offered, and settled across from him as he made himself comfortable in a high-backed chair. He wore a dark business suit, all clean lines and precise hems.

“I’m sure it’s highly unusual for you to host a woman,” I began. “But I’ve recently married, and I would like to begin the process of transferring ownership of my funds from my guardian over to my husband.”

Ahmed opened his mouth, but I pressed on before he could tell me no.

“I can assure you that my husband would approve,” I said. “In fact, will you tell me what I would need in order to set him up as the—”

“But he’s already been here,” Ahmed cut in. “He showed proper documentation, and your uncle is no longer the name on the account. The honor belongs to your husband.”

My mouth dropped. So that was Whit’s errand. He must have been wanting to surprise me. Well, that made things quite easy. “Excellent,” I said, grinning. “I’d like to withdraw funds—”

Ahmed frowned. “Withdraw?”

“Yes. Please.”

“But you cannot.”

A flare of annoyance rose to the surface, and I squashed it with a determined smile. “My husband wouldn’t object. In fact, I’m sure he gave you permission to allow me access to the money?”

Ahmed shifted in his seat and steepled his fingers. He seemed uneasy, and my annoyance turned into impatience.

“I’m sure that he would have,” Ahmed said slowly, “if he hadn’t withdrawn every last shilling in your account.”

“He withdrew the money?”

Ahmed nodded.

A roar sounded in my ears, and I shook my head, trying to escape from the sound. It persisted, growing louder and louder. Tension gathered at my temples. I wished for a glass of water—my mouth was suddenly dry. I began reasoning with myself. There was a suitable explanation, I was sure of it. “Did he open a new account?”

“Not with us, no.”

“I don’t understand. I’d like my money.”

“There is none left in the account your uncle previously managed.”

I felt the blood drain from my face. I leaned forward, sure I had misheard. It sounded like he’d said that Whit had taken all of my money. Without speaking to me first. Without telling me his plans. That couldn’t be right.

I swayed in my seat. “But—”

“Are you well, madam? You’ve gone pale. May I fetch your companion?”

“There’s been a mistake,” I said, hardly recognizing the dry rasp of my voice.

Ahmed shook his head. “No mistake. He left not five minutes before you arrived, madam. He showed me the proper registration and license of your marriage, and he asked me to place a call to a bank in London, where your uncle ran your account.”

“So he moved—”

“He wired it to another bank in London.”

“Can I access it?”

“Not from our establishment,” Ahmed said gently. “You’d have to reach out to that particular bank in England.” He hesitated. “Or ask your husband.”

“There must be a perfectly reasonable explanation as to why my husband would move my money before I could access it for myself.”

The bank teller stared at me silently with a faintly pitying expression on his face. He didn’t have to speak in order for me to comprehend his thoughts. My husband was in control of my fortune, and at the first opportunity, he had wired it to a bank account I couldn’t access.

Without talking to me first.

“No,” I said faintly. “ No .”

“It was all rather straightforward,” Ahmed said.

Anguish crept up my throat, tasting like acid. This couldn’t be. Whit wouldn’t betray me; he wouldn’t steal—

“Is there anything else you need from me?” Ahmed asked.

It would have been better for someone to have stabbed me in the gut. It would have hurt far less. I stood on shaking legs, my head swimming. I was strangely light-headed and nauseated, as if desperately ill.

Ahmed came around the desk, concern in his dark eyes. “Mrs. Hayes, are you all right?”

I licked my dry lips. “Don’t call me that.”

Somehow, I made it to the lobby, where Isadora immediately came to stand by my side. She seemed to know something had gone terribly, disastrously wrong. Later, I would call it sisterly intuition. But right then, I wouldn’t know my own name if someone asked me.

“I don’t understand what happened,” I said to her dumbly. My hands were shaking, my heartbeat thundering in my ears, the only noise I heard, the only thing I could hold on to that didn’t make me feel as if I were adrift.

“Inez, what is it?” she said, peering into my face. “You look like you’ve seen a phantom.”

Yes, it did feel like that. I would be haunted by this moment for the rest of my life.

“Please,” I said. “Let’s leave at once.”

We went out into the blistering sunlight, and it seemed wrong. There ought to have been a torrential downpour and angry-looking clouds. Everything ought to have been backward or upside-down to match the turmoil flooding my body. I stood off to the side as Isadora whistled for a cab. It was long and piercing, and I had the fleeting thought of asking her to teach me how to do that.

A bubble of hysterical laughter escaped me.

Isadora glanced at me in alarm.

“I think I’ve been robbed.”

“Come,” she said, frowning at the street. “Let’s walk over one block. I can’t seem to find any available drivers.”

I followed her in a trance, the swish of my skirt barely brushing against the path. Once again, she let out her sharp whistle, and this time a pair of horses ambled toward us, the driver flicking the reins lazily. My conversation with Ahmed repeated in my mind, and slowly I began to understand that my life had changed in an instant.

And that I had been a fool.

“ Inez? ”

Horror gripped me. That voice. I’d know it anywhere. I’d heard it nearly every day since I first arrived in Egypt. Slowly, I turned to find Whit striding toward me, dressed in an English suit: dark trousers, crisp shirt buttoned all the way to the chin. His jacket was all sharp lines and expertly tailored. A tall man trailed after him. He looked remarkably like my thieving husband. Same auburn hair. Same pale blue eyes. I knew who he must have been.

“Hola, Porter,” I said. I was amazed at how calm I sounded when all I wanted was to scream until my voice left me altogether.

Whit’s brother didn’t offer a greeting or a smile, only shooting an uneasy glance at my husband.

My lying husband. My manipulative husband.

“Inez,” Whit said, his expression revealing a hint of unease. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d still be at Shepheard’s.”

I couldn’t frame the words, even as the truth settled deep in my heart, fracturing it into sharp pieces. I felt as if I were staring down an oncoming locomotive, and I could do nothing to save myself from being plowed over.

“Look at me,” he said softly. “Are you all right?”

I needed a moment to compose myself, and so I averted my gaze, staring blankly at a long row of carriages ambling to their destinations. After a few moments of breathing deeply, fighting to remain calm, steadying my rioting heartbeat, I wrenched my gaze from the street, meeting his blue eyes.

My stomach somersaulted, and I flinched.

I had been fooled on every level by Whitford Hayes, starting with any warmth and tenderness I had imagined in his gaze. I relived every moment that I’d had with him. Every kindness, every soft word, every promise.

All lies .

“What are you doing here, so far from the hotel?” Whit repeated. “You ought to have—”

“What are you going to spend my money on, Whit?”

He froze, and all emotion bled from his face. He was a door snapped shut, the lock sliding into place with an almost audible click; all that remained was his English suit. His impassiveness only made me angrier. The longer he stood silent and remote, the worse I felt. As if by some mutual agreement, Isadora and Porter drew away, giving us some privacy on the busy Cairo street. Everything went on as normal, but I felt as if I were in another world, lost in parts unknown.

And it scared me.

“I just spoke to Ahmed,” I said at his continued and infuriating silence. “And he told me that you’ve stolen all my money from me. Unless, of course, he’s mistaken?”

Whit shook his head.

My heart fractured. A part of me had held hope it wasn’t true. “You’ve stolen everything, then?” I asked again, even as I cursed the fragile hope still clinging to my edges.

“Correct.”

“Well, thank you for being honest,” I replied sarcastically.

His jaw locked, but he nodded. Perhaps he would never speak to me again. Perhaps this was the end of everything between us. Fury rose, blinding and obliterating.

“Do you have anything to say?” I demanded.

Still he said nothing—but I knew his mind was working. He was hiding behind that aristocratic English mask that I hated so much, faintly polite and bored. But his heart visibly pulsed hard on the side of his throat, a quick rhythm that revealed he wasn’t as unaffected by me as much as he would have liked to have been.

And that infuriated me.

I acted without thinking, on instinct, my hand rising as if by its own accord. The slap turned his face, the sound ringing in my ear. Irritated skin turned red from my hand’s imprint.

Whit shut his eyes, and I expected him to become cold and angry, but then he turned back to me, opening his eyes, and lifting his chin. His blank expression stole my breath. His face had lost all color, all warmth. He had retreated so far from me he might as well have been on another continent.

“You married me for my money.” If I had to speak the words underwater, it would have been easier. In my whole life, I never thought I’d be in this situation. “You used me.”

I shoved him, both palms against his immovable chest.

He bore it without a ripple of emotion, only staring back at me stonily.

“You’re a liar,” I said sharply, my voice rising with every word. “Everything between us was a lie. Every word, every vow.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. The only indication he had heard me at all.

“Say something .”

Color returned to his cheeks, twin patches of red blooming bright. “Not everything,” he said through clenched teeth. “Our friendship was— is —real to me.”

“It was never a friendship,” I said in disgust. I regretted pushing him to talk to me. “And you knew that.”

He flinched. Opened his mouth—

“You want to say more words to me, Whit?” I asked incredulously. “Really?”

Whit closed his mouth.

I couldn’t stand to see this version of him, remote, locked up tight. I was unraveling, fracturing into a million pieces, while he became more stiff, more rigid, more isolated. “Your words are cheap. They mean nothing.”

He didn’t bat an eye at this. That should have been the end, but my feet remained rooted to the ground. Curiosity burned in my chest, a sharp ache. I wanted to know why he’d betrayed me. I wanted to know what was worth our marriage. Our relationship, and whatever it might have been.

My damned heart.

I was torn, wanting to run as far away from him as possible, to create enough distance that it’d take him years to find me. But I wanted answers, too.

“I have a right to know where the money went,” I said.

He clenched and unclenched his jaw. “I sent it to my family,” he said, after a long, torturous beat. “They’re in debt and they were about to marry off Arabella to a man forty years her senior. I wanted to protect my sister from that fate.”

My heart foolishly leapt. He’d taken the money for love of his sister. But he was being cruel—he’d made a choice, and it wasn’t me. He married me and then robbed me blind. Did he expect me to be sympathetic? Was I supposed to be moved? Everything he was saying might be more manipulation.

More words that cost nothing.

I wasn’t sure if I could take anything else from him, but the question ripped out of me. “Why didn’t you ask me for it?”

Whit stared at me unflinchingly, his expression hard. “Are you honestly telling me that if I were to have told you that I needed all of your money, you would have given it to me?”

Everyone had warned me off from anyone who was even in clamoring distance of a fortune hunter. It was why all my suitors had come from families with means. Men who had no need of my fortune. Who might come to care for me, without the allure of piles of gold in an account.

If Whit would have asked me for the money, I certainly wouldn’t have given him all of it, but I might have given him some. I stared past his shoulder, considering. But I would have always wondered if he had married me or my inheritance. Except, he had clearly planned all of this from the beginning. He had known about my parents’ money even before I had met him, would have seen where their cash had gone in funding Abdullah and Ricardo’s excavation seasons.

Whit’s expression turned shrewd. “Would you have thought of me as a fortune hunter?” He let out a mirthless laugh. “You would have, Inez. And I couldn’t risk asking you. My sister’s life was at stake.”

Well, I’d heard his explanation. He had married me to save someone else. I was the one who had been lied to, the one not picked. The one rejected. Again. Tears clouded my vision. With a start, I realized that I didn’t care that the money was gone. The fortune belonged to my parents. Then it became my uncle’s. It was always out of my reach. No, what I cared more about was the fact that I had married a man I loved, hoping to call him family.

But he had never planned to have a life with me.

I let out a shuddering breath. Anger burned, icy and hot in my veins. My voice shook with it. “This whole time, I was just a pawn to you. You’re a con artist, and you know how to play the game. Isn’t that basically your job description for my uncle?”

Whit rocked back on his heels, staring at me as if I were a stranger. It broke my heart, because we were slipping away from each other, and even if a small part of me wanted to hold on to him for dear life, I had to let go.

Something fractured between us. Or maybe it had always been broken.

“I trusted you,” I whispered haltingly.

Isadora came to stand next to me and pulled me gently backward. “Let’s return to the hotel, Inez.”

I nodded, still shaken, climbing into the cab as if in a hazy dream, barely noticing as my sister rearranged my bustle. When I glanced back at Whit, the reality of our situation crashed into me. Time seemed to freeze, oddly suspended as our gazes met. Mine roiling in despair, his guarded and remote. An intense and obliterating tension flashed between us.

His brother approached him, whispering something into his ear. Whit glanced away from me, as easily as if I were a mere stranger, and stared blankly in the distance.

We were over. We had to be.

The hackney cab lurched forward, and we left Whit and his brother staring after us in the dust swirling in our wake. My heart locked itself away, tight in my chest, and I vowed I would never be so stupid as to reveal any part of it to Mr. Hayes ever again.