cried.
“Are you all right?” she heard Mr. Owens say, as large hands clasped her shoulders and pulled her upright. “Mildred, are you all right?”
She snuffled miserably again, wondering who Mildred was until she realized he meant her. She peeked up. He was on his knees, his brow furrowed with concern.
It was her undoing. She didn’t deserve his concern. She’d lied to him, used him, made him dive into a river and risk his life for her, shouted at him, and now he was taking care of her.
She turned around, flung her arms around his neck, buried her face against his throat, and sobbed. She bawled in a way she hadn’t since she’d been banished from Egypt: loud, heartrending sobs of undiluted wretchedness. And he let her. He just put his arms around her and let her cry.
“Now, now,” he said finally, his voice awkward and self-conscious. “There now. You’re all right. You’re fine.” He patted her head with one hand while his other arm tightened around her.
“No, I’m not,” she wailed. “I’m not fine. I’m a disaster.”
“No, you’re not,” he said. He didn’t sound very convincing.
“I’m a disaster and you despise me!” she wailed. “You wish we had never met. You…you rue the day!”
“No, I don’t,” he said, using the hem of his shirt to dab at her eyes. “No ruing. I promise.”
“You do,” she said, sniffling. “And I don’t blame you. I should, too, if I were you.”
“No, I don’t. Really,” he said.
“You’re just saying that to be kind. Everything I do turns out badly.”
“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” he said, again with that odd, lost tone to his voice, still dabbing assiduously away at her tears. “It’s not your fault.”
She blinked away her remaining tears. “It’s not?”
“No. You’re…I don’t know.” It wasn’t exactly a vindication, but it was enough. She smiled at him, suddenly happy, and thought she heard him catch his breath.
“And you really don’t rue the day we met?” she asked.
“I really don’t.”
“That’s awfully decent of you.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. And I promise, I will not cause a moment’s more trouble.”
“That’s nice.” He sounded like he didn’t have the least hope she’d keep her promise. She wasn’t too sure herself, if it came down to it, but she was going to try her hardest.
She pushed herself to an upright position, and he rose to his feet, effortlessly pulling her up. She smiled sunnily up at him. He stared down into her face, looking a little strange. Then he turned around and without a word headed toward the back of the felucca . She watched him go, befuddled.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To my kit,” he said.
“Why?”
He stopped, turned around, and looked at her. “Because I need a drink.”
“Now, Mr. Owens,” she said worriedly. “I know these last few minutes have been harrowing, but spirits, as we all know, only provide false courage.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
She frowned. “You must try to resist.”
He turned back around. “That’s what I keep telling myself,” she heard him mutter.
But he kept on walking.
C HAPTER E LEVEN
“Look, Miss Whimpelhall. I’m going to talk to the police officer over there and find out the whereabouts of Pomfrey’s soldiers.”
Ginesse looked dubiously at the old man in an Egyptian uniform sitting outside a very small whitewashed building at the end of the wharf. He seemed to be asleep.
“I want you to just sit right there on that crate. Right where you are. Don’t move, don’t talk to anyone, and don’t touch anything .”
She frowned at his inference.
“Do you think you can do that?”
“What a ridiculous question.”
“Yes,” he said evenly. “It’s a ridiculous question. But, do you think you can do that? For five minutes?”
She gave a haughty sniff, turned her head away, and nodded.
“Good.”
She looked back around, but he’d already started down the pier. He
“Are you all right?” she heard Mr. Owens say, as large hands clasped her shoulders and pulled her upright. “Mildred, are you all right?”
She snuffled miserably again, wondering who Mildred was until she realized he meant her. She peeked up. He was on his knees, his brow furrowed with concern.
It was her undoing. She didn’t deserve his concern. She’d lied to him, used him, made him dive into a river and risk his life for her, shouted at him, and now he was taking care of her.
She turned around, flung her arms around his neck, buried her face against his throat, and sobbed. She bawled in a way she hadn’t since she’d been banished from Egypt: loud, heartrending sobs of undiluted wretchedness. And he let her. He just put his arms around her and let her cry.
“Now, now,” he said finally, his voice awkward and self-conscious. “There now. You’re all right. You’re fine.” He patted her head with one hand while his other arm tightened around her.
“No, I’m not,” she wailed. “I’m not fine. I’m a disaster.”
“No, you’re not,” he said. He didn’t sound very convincing.
“I’m a disaster and you despise me!” she wailed. “You wish we had never met. You…you rue the day!”
“No, I don’t,” he said, using the hem of his shirt to dab at her eyes. “No ruing. I promise.”
“You do,” she said, sniffling. “And I don’t blame you. I should, too, if I were you.”
“No, I don’t. Really,” he said.
“You’re just saying that to be kind. Everything I do turns out badly.”
“It does seem that way, doesn’t it?” he said, again with that odd, lost tone to his voice, still dabbing assiduously away at her tears. “It’s not your fault.”
She blinked away her remaining tears. “It’s not?”
“No. You’re…I don’t know.” It wasn’t exactly a vindication, but it was enough. She smiled at him, suddenly happy, and thought she heard him catch his breath.
“And you really don’t rue the day we met?” she asked.
“I really don’t.”
“That’s awfully decent of you.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. And I promise, I will not cause a moment’s more trouble.”
“That’s nice.” He sounded like he didn’t have the least hope she’d keep her promise. She wasn’t too sure herself, if it came down to it, but she was going to try her hardest.
She pushed herself to an upright position, and he rose to his feet, effortlessly pulling her up. She smiled sunnily up at him. He stared down into her face, looking a little strange. Then he turned around and without a word headed toward the back of the felucca . She watched him go, befuddled.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To my kit,” he said.
“Why?”
He stopped, turned around, and looked at her. “Because I need a drink.”
“Now, Mr. Owens,” she said worriedly. “I know these last few minutes have been harrowing, but spirits, as we all know, only provide false courage.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
She frowned. “You must try to resist.”
He turned back around. “That’s what I keep telling myself,” she heard him mutter.
But he kept on walking.
C HAPTER E LEVEN
“Look, Miss Whimpelhall. I’m going to talk to the police officer over there and find out the whereabouts of Pomfrey’s soldiers.”
Ginesse looked dubiously at the old man in an Egyptian uniform sitting outside a very small whitewashed building at the end of the wharf. He seemed to be asleep.
“I want you to just sit right there on that crate. Right where you are. Don’t move, don’t talk to anyone, and don’t touch anything .”
She frowned at his inference.
“Do you think you can do that?”
“What a ridiculous question.”
“Yes,” he said evenly. “It’s a ridiculous question. But, do you think you can do that? For five minutes?”
She gave a haughty sniff, turned her head away, and nodded.
“Good.”
She looked back around, but he’d already started down the pier. He
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