His Excellency's English Governess

by Sydney C. Grier

When Jamileh Khanum’s message reached Sardiyeh, it put an end at once to the tranquil and monotonous life which the two captives had been leading. They were informed late in the evening, immediately after the arrival of the courier, that they must prepare to start on a journey early the next morning, but they sought in vain from their gaolers for particulars of their destination, and for the reason of the sudden move. At first they consoled themselves under this taciturnity by mutual assurances that when they had once started they would certainly be able to discover at least the general direction of their march from the features of the country and the course of the sun; but when the time for the journey came, they found that this solace was to be denied them. A mule-litter was brought into the courtyard—not a gorgeous takhtrevan like that in which Jamileh Khanum queened it at the head of the harem procession, but a far humbler contrivance—and they were assisted to mount into it. It consisted simply of two large panniers, or kajavahs, suspended one on either side of a tall and sturdy mule, and surmounted by a high framework of cane, covered in and curtained all round with thick haircloth, so that the occupants found themselves in a kind of small dark tent, with the mule’s back between them as a table. The position in which they were obliged to remain was an exceedingly cramped and uncomfortable one, more especially to Cecil, since her pannier had to be weighted with several large stones in order to balance Um Yusuf’s, the good woman being much heavier than her mistress. The rough curtains promised certainly to be useful in keeping out the cold mountain winds, for it was now winter, and in this highland district the snow was on the ground, but they would also prevent entirely any sight of the scenery passed on the road. For the moment, however, they were left undrawn, while the agas were busy seeing to the loading of the baggage-mules, and Cecil took a last look through the open doorway of the court at the white houses of the little town, and at the frowning mountains beyond, in some cleft of which was Charlie’s nameless grave.

“It is like leaving home again, Um Yusuf,” she said, with tears in her eyes. “I should like to stay here always.”

Perhaps Um Yusuf, like Lady Haigh, detested sentiment. At any rate, she disliked the mountains very heartily, and she answered rather snappishly—

“You do no good here, mademoiselle. Once we leave this horrid place, you get plenty work to do, feel better.”

Here the agas came and drew close the black curtains, and the mule started off, led by a stalwart villager, who had been impressed into the Pasha’s service, and whose guttural remarks to the animal were the chief sounds that reached the ears of the two captives during the next fortnight, after which he was allowed to return to his home as best he might. The journey, which was carried on under such uncomfortable conditions for Cecil and Um Yusuf, lasted in all sixteen days, during which time they never obtained an inkling of their destination, knowing only that their caravan was kept persistently on the march during the hours of daylight. At night a tent was pitched for them, in which they found their own mattresses and other baggage; and with respect to food, they fared as well as did their guards, who exacted from the peasantry in the Pasha’s name whatever they desired. They never halted at night until after the sun was set; and whenever in the early morning they succeeded, as they passed from the tent to the litter, in obtaining a glimpse of the surrounding scenery, it was always unfamiliar to both of them. When on the march, it was possible for them to tell whether the mule was going up or down hill, and also whether the road traversed was smooth or rough or slippery, but these changes were far too frequent and bewildering to be any guide as to the locality.

When they had journeyed on for about ten days, the prisoners noticed a great change in their surroundings, much more bustle and conversation being perceptible about them than before. After much careful listening, they became aware that their caravan had joined another and a much larger one, in which women’s voices, all speaking Kurdish, were distinctly audible. That night they rested at a wayside khan, instead of in tents; and although a compartment of the building, called by courtesy a room, was specially reserved for Cecil and her maid, it was invaded, in the temporary absence of the agas, by several of the Kurdish ladies, who came to stare at their fellow-travellers. They seemed to wish to be friendly, but as neither party knew anything of the other’s language, the only possible approach to communication was to smile affably at one another and exchange gestures of mutual goodwill. One of the visitors brought with her her baby, which was suffering from ophthalmia; and when they were gone, Cecil bethought her of a little bottle of eye-water among her possessions, and despatched Um Yusuf after them to offer it to the mother. The attention seemed to be appreciated, for the chief of the Kurdish ladies sent them presently, through one of the agas, a dish from her own supper, and Cecil overlooked the extremely doubtful and untempting nature of the gift in view of the kindness intended. While she nibbled daintily at one or two fragments chosen from the mass, and Um Yusuf ate her way steadily through it, it struck Cecil to ask whether her maid had found any one among the strangers’ slaves able to speak Arabic or Turkish. Um Yusuf shook her head, but Cecil, knowing the marvellous freemasonry of signs by which the servants of different nationalities were able to carry on whole conversations without uttering a word, asked whether she had discovered anything about the Kurdish ladies.

“They prisoners, like us,” said Um Yusuf, withdrawing her attention for a moment from the tray of food. “They come from the mountains, but not know where they go. Chief lady’s husband very great man, but I think he killed or in prison. Ladies all hate Pasha very much.”

This was all that the two captives could learn from their companions in misfortune, but both parties felt some consolation in each other’s presence. The agas appeared to have no objection to their charges mingling with the Kurdish ladies, probably considering that little mischief could be done without the aid of the tongue, and Cecil found herself installed as consulting physician to her new friends, thanks to her eye-water, which showed signs of effecting a cure. With other ailments she was not so successful, owing to the difficulty of discovering symptoms by the aid of signs alone; but the mountain ladies held her in prodigious respect, and acquiesced cheerfully in the keeping for her of the best room every night at the khan, even going out of their way to do her little kindnesses. Thus the days went on until one afternoon when Um Yusuf and her mistress, jogging along in their respective kajavahs, heard one of the agas say to the other—

“Go to the leader of the caravan, O Mansûr, and urge him to push on, that we may reach the city by sunset, for there is a storm coming up.”

Cecil and Um Yusuf looked across at one another in the twilight of their moving tent with a sudden tightening of the breath, and their hands met mechanically in a convulsive clasp. They were nearing a city, and therefore some change, possibly some crisis, was at hand. It was with the most strained interest that they observed the mule’s stately pace quicken gradually, and heard the shouts and blows of the camel-drivers around them, as they urged on their animals. After a time there came a pause, in which the shouting and quarrelling that generally marked the progress of the caravan seemed to grow louder.