Desert Song (DeWinter's Song 3) by Constance O'Banyon Page A

swallowed him up?"
    "Mr. Abrams, you must understand I will not leave until I know all there is to know about my father. Just what has this office done to locate him?"
    "We've talked to the viceroy, Mehemet Ali, and he assures us everything is being done to locate your father. He's a good man and will do what he can to help."
    "Well, if neither you nor the viceroy know where my father is, or who's responsible for his disappearance, then you're not doing enough."
    "Now, see here, m'lord—"
    "No, you see here, Mr. Abrams. I want some answers and I want them now. If you can't get them for me, as I told you, I'll find someone who can."
    Abrams removed his glasses and anxiously wiped them with his handkerchief, feeling inadequate in dealing with the earl. Why had the consul chosen this time to leave the country? he wondered. "I'm sure if the consul were here, he could tell you no more than I have, m'lord. But you must understand that I have no authority to help you in a matter concerning Egyptian policy."
    "Then I'll ask for an audience with the viceroy. Damn it, someone is going to give me the answers I seek, or I'll bring so much trouble down on your head, you'll never be able to free yourself."
    Looking into angry green eyes, Abrams never doubted for a moment that Lord Michael would do just as he threatened. He searched his mind for a solution to the dilemma. Surely he would lose his position and be sent back to England in disgrace if he made a wrong decision. "I'll attempt to arrange an audience with Mehemet Ali, but it won't be easy. Come back this afternoon, and I'll know if he will see you. However, I doubt he'll be able to tell you more than I have."
    The cart came to a halt in front of an imposing wall that looked more like a compound than a private residence. "This is your parents' house," Sergeant Wickett announced.
    Mallory glanced at the high walls, feeling raw panic. She would soon be with her mother and father—would they welcome her or look on her as an encumbrance?
    "Shall we come in with you, m'lady?" Mrs. Wickett offered.
    "I'm sure you two have many things to do, while I must become reacquainted with my parents. I do hope to see you both very soon." She reached forward and hugged the woman who had been her companion. "Thank you for your pleasant company. You made an otherwise tedious voyage bearable."
    Mrs. Wickett smiled with pleasure and then looked doubtful. "Are you sure you'll be all right if we leave? We could come in for just a moment."
    Already the native driver was unloading Mallory's trunk under the guidance of Sergeant Wickett.
    "Don't worry about me," she said, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt. She climbed down from the cart. "Good-bye, Mrs. Wickett."
    Sergeant Wickett was giving instructions to the driver, who opened the gate and placed Mallory's trunk inside the compound.
    "Take care of yourself, m'lady," Sergeant Wickett said. "My wife is most fond of you."
    "Thank you for everything, Sergeant. I shan't forget either of you."
    When she heard the cart move away, Mallory stood undecided inside the high compound walls. Down a curved pathway, she saw the residence. She took her courage in hand and moved toward the imposing front doors.
    A servant wearing an immaculate white robe opened the door to Mallory. He spoke to her in English. "May I help you, Madame?" he inquired with a smile.
    "I'm Lord Tyler's daughter. I believe my father and mother are expecting me."
    The servant looked puzzled for a moment. "If his lordship and her ladyship were expecting you, they failed to inform me, my lady."
    Mallory was tired, hot, and thirsty and she had no desire to stand at the door conversing with the man. "What's your name?" she asked pointedly.
    He smiled broadly. "I am called Safwat, my lady."
    "Well, Safwat, take me to my father at once."
    He stood aside and allowed her to enter. "I am sorry, my lady, but his lordship and her ladyship are not at home. Further, my lady, they are not even in