Alexandria, Egypt
March, 1860

Jenny stood on the deck of the Indus, watching the ancient city of Alexandria come into view. The weather had turned warmer. It was still nothing like the baking heat she imagined in India, but it was warm enough that most of the other passengers had come up on deck to join her. Some were still bundled up against the cold. Others were already garbed in their muslins and linens.

As for herself, she’d dressed in her black caraco jacket and skirt, a wide-brimmed straw hat pinned to her rolled and plaited coiffure.

Tom emerged from the crowd across the deck. When he saw her, his mouth hitched into a lopsided smile.

She smiled back at him, a little foolishly, she feared. No doubt she looked like a love-smitten schoolgirl. It was impossible not to after the kiss they’d shared. She watched as he made his way toward her. He’d gone no more than a few steps when Lydia Plank caught at his arm.

Tom looked down at Miss Plank. His face was solemn, his attention fixed on whatever she was telling him. And then, much to Jenny’s chagrin, he turned and walked off with the girl.

Jenny stared after them, chewing at her lip. It was stupid to be jealous. The Plank daughters were young and pretty, it was true, but Tom had shown no particular fondness for them. And even if he had, what of it? Who was Jenny to get in the way of a shipboard flirtation? Or any flirtation, for that matter. She and Tom had no formal understanding. Rather the opposite. She’d made it plain to him that she didn’t wish to marry. That she had no desire to become entangled with a man.

Having firmly established her independence, was she now going to play the part of dog in the manger every time Tom looked at a young lady?

And Miss Plank was young. No more than nineteen, at Jenny’s guess. She tried to recall what she’d been doing at a similar age. Still living at the vicarage in Chipping St. Mary, cooking and cleaning for her father and brothers and trying to scrape up enough money to pay the tradesman’s bills. She hadn’t had the time for flirtations. Her entire focus had been on finding a way to get out. To get free.

Her hand moved reflexively to the gold chain at her neck. It was half-hidden by the collar of her jacket, the bottom looping down to rest at the top of her corset busk. No one could see it, not when she was in ordinary day dress. But it wasn’t meant to be seen. It was enough that she knew it was there. An ever-present reminder of why she must guard her independence.

As if she needed reminding.

She folded her arms at her waist, focusing her gaze on the view of the bustling city. Whatever happened with Tom, she was free now. Freer than most spinsters of modest fortunes could ever dream of being. Heaven’s sake, she was in Egypt! She, Jenny Holloway, former lady’s companion, was on the greatest adventure of her life. No man could spoil it, and no woman, either. Certainly not one of the feather-headed Planks.

The Indus docked not far from a multitude of other ships, all of them busy with activity. Bradshaw’s described the Port of Alexandria as being the foremost port in Egypt, a fact to which the crowded harbor appeared to attest. Situated at the meeting of the Nile River and the Mediterranean Sea, it was fringed in a reef of rocks and smelled—in its way—no more pleasant than had the harbor at Marseilles.

Ahmad and Mira appeared at Jenny’s side, both of them clutching carpetbags. The luggage was going ahead to the steamer at Port Suez. The contents of the carpetbags were the only articles they would be carrying with them on the rail journey through Egypt.

Tom arrived shortly after, giving Jenny a smile so faint she couldn’t even be sure it was a smile and not a trick of the sunlight on his face. “Miss Plank had some difficulty with one of the stewards.”

Jenny refrained from commenting on the subject, saying instead, “Our train leaves in five hours, I believe.”

“Four and half,” Tom said. “Ample time to take rooms at a hotel and order something to eat.”

“Enough time to see any of the sights?”

“Which ones did you have in mind?”

“Bradshaw’s mentions Pompey’s Pillar and Cleopatra’s Needle.” Jenny fumbled for the guide book in her reticule. She flipped through to the dog-eared page on Alexandria. “It says here that they’re both reachable by carriage or donkey.”

Ahmad gave Tom a doubtful look.

“Carriage it is, then,” Tom said. “Providing we can settle our other affairs in a timely manner.”

There wasn’t a great deal to settle. As passengers of the Peninsular and Oriental Steam Navigation Company, their luggage and railway passage were already taken care of, as was the passage for their P & O steamship journey from Suez to Calcutta. All that was required was for them to book in at one of the hotels. After disembarking, they fought their way through a multitude of shouting donkey drivers all battling for the passengers’ attention, and boarded an omnibus bound for the grand square.

A short time later, they arrived at their destination, only to discover that the first three hotels they called upon were already full.

The fourth hotel—the Hotel d’Angleterre—had two rooms available, which they booked at once. Tom ordered their dinner for three hours hence and Jenny ordered baths for both herself and Mira. They then departed by carriage for Cleopatra’s Needle.

Along the way, they passed through crowded, zigzagging streets of well-trod sand, adorned here and there with feathery palm trees. Jenny had never seen such a diverse collection of human beings. British travelers, garbed as anyone might be in the English countryside, mingled with olive-skinned Greeks and Spaniards, black-bearded Arabs in gracefully flowing robes, and veiled women with babies riding on donkeys. There were men puffing long pipes, and merchants bartering with customers in swiftly uttered French and Arabic. She even saw her first camel—a whole string of them—being led through the street by an Egyptian in a tasseled hat.

It was a cacophony of smoke and sound and stimulating scents.

Some of the residents of the city were, indeed, as semiclothed as Mrs. Plank had foretold, but there was nothing of savagery in it. The streets were dusty and the sun was shining bright. The city was vivid. Wholly alive. The diversity of language and skin color—of dress and undress—was as well-suited to the setting as anything Jenny could imagine.

And yet she couldn’t be entirely at ease. No sooner had they climbed into their hired carriage than a flock of children began to run after them with desperate pleas for “baksheesh.”

Jenny gave Tom an anxious glance. “Can’t we give them something?”

Tom hesitated a moment before calling out to the driver. “Stop the carriage!” And then again in French, “Arrêter le chariot!”

The carriage came to a jolting halt on the street. It was at once surrounded by beggars. Not only the children, but grown men and women, too; all of whom seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

“Don’t get out,” Ahmad warned. “Unless you wish to have your pockets picked clean.”

Mira peered warily out the carriage window. “We shouldn’t have stopped, madam.”

Jenny had to admit they were right. The money she’d withdrawn from her reticule seemed dreadfully inadequate now, even when combined with Tom’s contribution. As he tossed the coins from the window, a crippling sense of helplessness assailed her.

The experience made it near impossible to enjoy seeing Cleopatra’s Needle. There were beggar children there, too. A small group of them, following along as she and Tom circled the red granite obelisk.

It was a beautiful relic. One of the most fascinating sights Jenny had ever seen—and also one of the saddest. Instead of standing upright, it was half buried in a ditch. A European gentleman in a cloth-covered helmet was perched atop the exposed end of it, breaking off a portion of the inscribed stone with a small mallet and chisel.

She suppressed a cry of protest. “Is that permitted?”

Tom frowned. “Judging by the state of the thing, I’d say it’s encouraged.”

The obelisk was indeed missing several chunks. As if countless tourists had taken pieces away with them as souvenirs.

“It belongs to Britain,” she said under her breath. “He has no right to deface it.”

“I don’t recommend we tell him so.”

Jenny had no intention of saying anything to the man. But she wasn’t averse to scowling at him as they passed, giving him a look so sharp with disapproval that it briefly stopped the trajectory of his mallet.

As they walked, the beggars kept pace with them, calling out, and—every so often—tugging at Jenny’s skirts or touching the velvet of her caraco with curious fingers. It became more and more difficult to ignore them. They weren’t hardened criminals. They were just children, some of them scarcely more than babies, toddling along in the wake of their elders. One of them looked up at her, giving her a gap-toothed smile. Jenny smiled back at him, alarmed to feel the sting of tears in her eyes.

Tom didn’t fail to notice. When they paused to examine the hieroglyphics, he discreetly pressed her hand. “There are desperate people in every capital of the world, Jenny. It helps no one if you make yourself wretched over it.”

“I can’t just ignore them. It’s too cruel. If there were children like this at home—”

“What do you mean if? Have you never been to the East End? To St. Giles or any of the other neighborhoods in London where people live in poverty and despair? You must have heard of such places.”

“I have. Of course I have. But I never thought… I never considered…”

“It’s nothing to rake yourself over the coals for. When you—” He broke off. “If you decide to return to England, there are things you can do to aid the poor. But while we’re here, we shouldn’t interfere.”

Jenny didn’t understand how Tom could call it interference. He’d been an orphan. He knew what it was to go hungry. “You believe I should refrain from giving them coins?”

“Give them coins, by all means, but don’t fall into the trap of thinking only we can help them. We’re visitors to their country, not their saviors.”

They returned to the hotel in grim silence. Jenny and Mira retired to their room. After they’d both had their bath, Mira patiently combed the tangles from Jenny’s freshly washed hair.

Jenny felt suddenly much younger than her eight and twenty years. Young and woefully ignorant. “I mustn’t involve myself,” she said. “But how can I not? Am I to just walk past it all, as if it were of no more consequence than an exhibit at the Zoological Gardens?”

“Madam?”

“There will be more children begging in India, won’t there? I shan’t be able to give coins to all of them.”

Mira met her eyes briefly in the looking glass before swiftly dropping her gaze.

“What is it?” Jenny asked. “I’d value your opinion on the matter.”

The maid hesitated. “My mother…”

“Yes?”

“She said we must not give them money. That it is better to give them food and clothing.”

“Did your mother do so?”

“Often.”

“That was very kind of her.”

“She was a very kind lady.”

There was a note of sadness in Mira’s voice that touched Jenny’s heart. “Were you quite young when she died?”

Mira’s olive-green eyes brightened with unshed tears. “I was not yet nine years of age.”

Jenny reached up to clasp her hand. “My own mother succumbed to fever when I was just ten years old. It broke my heart. I was still grieving when my father came to me and said that I must be the little mother of the family now, for my brothers’ sake.”

“Babies,” Mira said with a nod of understanding.

“Hardly. My two brothers are much older than I am. Older, and I must confess, terribly useless as far as household matters are concerned.”

“What did you do, madam?”

“What could I do? I grew up. Far too quickly, I expect.” Jenny gave Mira’s hand a final squeeze before releasing it. “Females are incredibly resilient.”

“Strong,” Mira agreed.

“Yes. But not infallible. I shall have to find my own way out here. I can only hope I don’t make too much more of a mull of it.”

After a leisurely dinner at the hotel, they all boarded the omnibus to the Alexandria railway terminus. There, they encountered many of their fellow travelers from the Indus—including the Planks and the Hardcastles.

“I knew we’d see you again,” Miss Plank said. “Didn’t I say so, Mama?”

Tom did his level best to ignore the young lady’s batting eyes. Why she’d singled him out for attention, he had no idea. Unless she truly was that desperate to avoid marrying some chap in India. In which case, he’d better remain on his guard. Trapping unsuspecting fellows into marriage to their daughters was the stock-in-trade of women like Mrs. Plank. All it would take was one compromising moment—one ill-thought familiarity—and the hammer of wedlock would be brought down upon him.

“So you did, my dear.” Mrs. Plank eyed him with interest. “And where have you got to today, sir? We didn’t see you at the Hotel d’ Orient. I trust you and your sister have dined?”

“We have, thank you.” Tom looked to Jenny. She was standing with Mira a short distance away, the pair of them flipping through the worn pages of Jenny’s dratted travel guide.

Mrs. Plank followed his gaze. “Your sister will want to avail herself of the refreshment hall. One can’t have too many provisions for the rail journey. I shall advise her. Ursula, come with me. Lydia, you may wait with Mr. Finchley. Mind you don’t wander off.”

“Forgive me, ma’am,” Tom said, “but I must away for a few moments. I have business to conduct before we depart.”

“I can accompany you,” Miss Plank offered. “Mama wouldn’t mind.”

“I’m obliged to you, but my business is of a personal nature. If I can trouble you to look after my sister?”

Mrs. Plank could do nothing but acquiesce. “Never fear, sir. We shall keep her with us. Come, girls.”

Miss Plank reluctantly followed after her mother and sister, her lower lip stuck out in a pout.

Tom waited until they’d collected Jenny and Mira before taking himself off to the telegraph office to send a wire to Devon. It was short and to the point:

ACCOMPANYING MISS HOLLOWAY TO INDIA VIA OVERLAND ROUTE.
ALL PRECAUTIONS TAKEN. LETTER TO FOLLOW. FINCHLEY.

He then posted the referenced letter, thankful that at the moment he and Justin Thornhill had a continent between them. Justin wouldn’t take kindly to Tom’s accompanying Jenny to India. Not with her reputation to consider. And not with her being his wife’s distant relation and dearest friend.

After settling his business, Tom joined Mr. Hardcastle in waiting for the ladies. Hardcastle was a heavyset man on the shady side of forty with receding hair and lavish side-whiskers. He stood outside the refreshment hall, smoking a cheap Egyptian cigar he’d procured at the bazaar.

“Are you certain you won’t try one, Finchley?”

Tom politely declined.

“Don’t say as I blame you.” Hardcastle puffed smoke with a grimace. “Damned Oriental tobacco. Never have grown accustomed to it. Don’t know why I buy the stuff. Can’t bring it along without paying a hefty duty.”

“Have you made the journey to Port Suez by rail before?”

“Not as yet. It’s bound to be a blessing for the ladies. Nothing worse for them than traveling across country in a van. Your sister wouldn’t enjoy it.”

Tom cast him a sharp glance. “Do you have something you wish to say, Hardcastle?”

“About your sister? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

The muscles in Tom’s arms and shoulders tensed. He wanted nothing more than to smack the knowing smile off of Hardcastle’s face. But violence rarely solved anything. Instead, he extracted his pocket watch to check the time. “You wouldn’t happen to be a relation of Frederick Hardcastle, formerly of Christchurch Street?”

Hardcastle withdrew his cigar from his mouth with a scowl. “Are you trying to make a point, Finchley? To threaten me in some way?”

“With my knowledge of Frederick Hardcastle? What in the world would give you that idea? At this moment, I don’t even know if you’re related to the man.”

Hardcastle put out his cigar under his foot. “Blackmail is a dastardly business, sir.”

“As I’m well aware. Indeed, I believe it may be one of the first things I learned when I was articled to Josiah Fothergill.” Tom watched the color drain from Hardcastle’s face. “Mrs. Plank was right,” he said mildly. “It is a small world in these parts. One never knows who one might meet.”