CHAPTER XXI.
CONFEDERATES.
After this, things went on quietly enough until it was a year and a half since Charlie had left Baghdad. Only a year now remained of Cecil’s stay at the Palace, and Azim Bey was growing so tall and manly that she felt it was quite time he should soon leave her care. He was just fourteen and a half, but looked much older than his age, and he had made wonderful progress in his studies. He was an excellent talker and a most agreeable companion, with a wide theoretical acquaintance with modern political and social problems, and a deep practical knowledge of Eastern ways of settling them. There was something uncanny in such shrewdness in a boy of his age, and fond though Cecil was of him, she could now never quite trust him. The subject of Charlie had not again been mentioned between them, although Cecil sometimes felt curious to know whether her pupil had got over his childish dislike. Since the discovery of the fate of their first six months’ letters, she and Charlie had corresponded with more success, owing to the precautions they had adopted. Charlie’s letters were addressed to Sir Dugald at the Residency, and Cecil posted hers there after Sir Dugald had written the address. The abstraction of the earlier epistles had been traced to an Armenian post-office clerk who had died in the interval between the discovery of the theft and the investigation subsequently made into it, and although for this reason no punishment could be inflicted, the desires of any who might be anxious to tread in the offender’s footsteps were frustrated. Whatever the suspicions of the would-be thieves might be, they dared not stop a letter addressed by or to the Balio Bey himself.
There were other ways of getting news, notably by means of letters concealed in parcels, or brought by friends from England, and it was by the former means that Cecil received the season’s greetings on the occasion of her fourth Christmas in Baghdad. A great box was sent out from Whitcliffe to Mrs Yehudi, containing presents for the school-children’s Christmas-tree, and among the presents was a letter for Cecil, very carefully and cunningly hidden. She tore it open eagerly, wondering why it should be sent with such special care, but found nothing of any unusual importance until she came to the last paragraph, which filled her with a vague dread.
“I don’t feel as though I should be able to stay quiet in England all next year. The travel-spirit is coming upon me again, and drawing me Eastward ho! Perhaps it is not only that, but the longing to see some one in Baghdad, which is drawing me—at any rate, if you don’t hear from me for a time, you can imagine me anywhere between Beyrout and Karachi, or between Resht and Aden. But perhaps I shall see you, my dearest girl, without your knowing it. I wouldn’t get you into trouble for the world, but I would do anything short of that just to see you for a moment. I should feel happier about you, and know that that abominable child had not quite worn you out. Don’t look out for me, for it’s no good. If I come, you won’t know it, but I will tell you about it afterwards, and we will laugh over it together.”
What could Charlie be intending to do? Surely he could not mean to try and enter Baghdad again, in the face of the danger he had scarcely escaped, but what else did his words signify? He must be only joking, trying to make her look out for him, for the foolishness of an attempt to return to the city must be patent even to his mind. There was no need to be alarmed, nor to frighten Lady Haigh; but Cecil did not feel happy until she had written a long letter scolding Charlie for his mad project, and forbidding him to undertake it. Unhappily, before the letter reached England, Charlie had started for the East, but Cecil was not in a position to know this, as will presently appear.
When Hussein Bey died, it seemed as though the Pasha’s family troubles were over, for a time at least, and he looked forward hopefully to a year of domestic peace. Now that she had no one for whom to plot, it was probable that his mother would soon tire of maintaining an irreconcilable attitude, and consent to offer terms of accommodation. The only cloud on the horizon was caused by the behaviour of Jamileh Khanum, who had now a little son of her own, a fact which produced exactly the result which Azim Bey had foreseen long ago. For her boy’s sake, Jamileh Khanum was frantically jealous of his elder brother, and every sign of favour bestowed by the Pasha on Azim Bey, every expense incurred on his account, furnished her with a text for a passionate attack on her husband. For months she teased him at every available opportunity to procure a French governess for little Najib Bey, but in vain. The Pasha had had some experience of the difficulty of keeping the peace between dependents of different European nationalities, and he had no desire that the tranquillity of the Palace should be disturbed by the mutual jealousies and patriotic squabbles of Mdlle. Antaza and any French lady. Jamileh Khanum might have an English nurse for the baby if she liked, and as soon as he was old enough he might share Azim Bey’s lessons with Mdlle. Antaza. But both these offers were scouted by the indignant mother. Her boy to share the instructions of that insolent Englishwoman, in company with the son of that wild Arab creature (might her bones not rest in peace!)—never! Rather should he grow up ignorant, a living monument of his father’s parsimony and injustice. She had a good deal more to say on the subject, and was proceeding to say it, when her husband, fortunately for himself, was called away.
Much worried by this fresh piece of trouble, Ahmed Khémi Pasha lent a ready ear to a message which reached him shortly before the great Turkish festival of Moharram Ghün. His mother sent to say that she was now advanced in years, a poor widow bereft of her best-beloved grandson, and she wished to be reconciled at the festival to the surviving members of her family. The Um-ul-Pasha was given to these reconciliations, which were generally as shortlived as they were sudden, but her son was touched by the terms of her message, and prepared to meet her half-way. Accordingly he went to see her in the most filial manner possible, was received with all due honour and affection, and invited to partake of coffee and sweetmeats. During this repast his mother electrified him still further by expressing a desire for reconciliation also with Azim Bey. The Pasha caught eagerly at the idea, for he was well aware of the scandal caused in the city by his divided house, and he proposed to fetch his son at once to pay his respects to his grandmother. But the Um-ul-Pasha was not inclined to be in such a hurry. She had a condition to make before she would consent to a reconciliation, and she brought it forward at once. It was nothing less than a plain demand for Mdlle. Antaza’s dismissal.
Without giving her son time to express his astonishment or his dismay, the old lady hurried on to give the reasons for her request. The presence of the Frangi woman in the Palace was a direct insult to herself, since she had always opposed her coming; her very position in the household was a scandal, for she was technically in the harem, and yet could visit her European friends when she liked. Moreover, Mdlle. Antaza had conducted herself most insolently towards the Um-ul-Pasha during the whole of her stay in Baghdad, had refused the husband graciously recommended to her, and had calmly ignored the great lady’s existence ever since. This sounded so very plausible when the little episode of the attempted poisoning was forgotten, that the Um-ul-Pasha paused to admire her own eloquence, but hurried on again when she perceived that her son was about to speak. She had kept her chief argument until last, and now produced it with obvious pride. To dismiss mademoiselle at once would be a great saving of expense. If she remained a year longer, her five years’ engagement would have been fulfilled, and she would become entitled to the bonus promised on its termination, while if she were sent away now for misconduct, this extra sum would be saved.
“But there is no misconduct. What charge have you against her?” asked the Pasha, blankly.
“Invent one. There’s nothing so easy,” replied his mother, instantly. “Karalampi——” she perceived her mistake, and hastily altered the form of the sentence. “I know of a person who will arrange everything, and support it by unimpeachable evidence.”