The boat shuddered. The wood cracked and groaned, but I held on to the rope. Every gust of wind pushed us onto the banks. Any moment I was sure the rocks would do enough damage to run us aground. I thought about the chemistry books my sister had sent me, the ones I wouldn’t have time to save if the water buried us. They had tethered me to her. She had always known about my love of the sciences, my desire to know how the world worked. I pulled harder on the rope, not wanting to lose that connection to her.
The crew rushed around in a dizzying blur wearing tight and worried frowns.
A fleeting thought of Olivera stole across my mind. I’d promised nothing would happen to her. Irritation pulled my mouth into a sharp grimace. I had no business making any promises to her. Best to keep far away from her.
The only girl I had a right to think about was the one back in England.
Capítulo Diecisiete
The knock on the door came hours later. I’d been pacing through the night, unable to sit or sleep or rest. My uncle was a murderer. The thought hadn’t left me once, a never-ending chorus to a song I never wanted to hear again. At some point, I had gone and returned Mamá’s journal to Tío Ricardo’s trunk, and a part of me wished I’d never read it at all.
The knock came again.
Whit stood on the other side in his customary rumpled state, but perhaps a trifle more so. His whole body seemed to exhale at the sight of me. His perusal was thorough; his gaze raked over me as if he wanted to assure himself I was hale and whole. I knew exactly what he saw; tired eyes, tense jaw, slumped shoulders.
The storm had been awful. But what I learned last night had truly wrecked me.
He bent his knees so he could stare into my eyes. “Are you all right? You look exhausted.”
“Estoy bien,” I croaked, surprised I could manage to speak at all. I had screamed into my pillow, overwhelmed by my uncle’s betrayal. My imagination had created a nightmare of my parents’ last moments on earth. The details were fuzzy, entirely made up, but their terror had felt real enough.
I cried through the night. When the morning came, I told myself I wouldn’t shed another tear until I discovered the truth about their deaths.
And then, somehow, I would ruin Tío Ricardo.
“You’ve been summoned,” Whit said without preamble.
“Is it over?” More croaking. “Is everyone all right?”
“We’re all in a right state, but yes.”
I sagged against the doorframe. There was that, at least.
“The Elephantine survived the winds without any serious issues,” he said, his voice curiously gentle. “We’re approaching Aswan. While the crew is purchasing supplies, we’ll take refreshments at the Old Cataract Hotel. They have the best hibiscus tea in the desert. You’ll love it. Abdullah and his granddaughter will be there to meet us. You’ll get along fine with Farida, she has a lot of opinions. The view of the Nile from the terrace will be spectacular, and I highly recommend bringing your sketch pad, Olivera.”
He gestured with his hands while he talked, and something caught my attention.
“Whit,” I murmured. “Your hands.” They were red, a few angry blisters marring his palms.
I reached for them, but he stuffed both into his pockets and leaned back on his heels, creating a wider distance between us. I frowned, not understanding why he suddenly didn’t want to breathe the same air, why he suddenly didn’t seem to want to be around me.
“Be ready in ten minutes,” he said. “Please.”
“Are you being polite?” I asked, shocked.
He strode away.
“I guess not,” I muttered, blinking after him, watching the long line of his back as he disappeared down the corridor and out of sight. He didn’t look back, didn’t slow his abrupt departure. I turned away and gathered my things, and went off to the dock, encountering the entire staff and crew gathered at the railing in silent contemplation.
I looked beyond and gasped. Without really realizing it, I stepped forward until I stood shoulder to shoulder with Tío Ricardo. The city of Aswan came into view with its tall sandbanks and stately palms, the leaves curled like a finger beckoning me home, and as we drew nearer, the sand gave way to granite. From where I stood, I could easily spot the first cataract, sprawled across the river, rocks studding the scenery like mushrooms rising above a forest floor.
“It’s beautiful,” I murmured.
My uncle tipped his chin toward me. “There’s much more.”
Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.
I stiffened at his proximity, and a second later, I forced myself to relax my shoulders. The smile on my face didn’t feel natural.
“How much more could there be?” I asked.
He met my gaze. “More.”
*
“There is the island of Elephantine,” Tío Ricardo pointed out to me as we waited for an empty carriage to take us to the Old Cataract Hotel. “I’ve always loved it.”
I made a noncommittal noise and shifted away from him. Every word out of his mouth unnerved me. My eyes found Whit.
He stood off to the side next to everyone’s trunks, and while he remained helpful and polite, he still wouldn’t look in my direction. I must have done or said something wrong. But what? Our interactions had been normal. Well—normal for us, anyway. I fought down my unease, reminding myself that he had a job to do and I was merely an item to be checked off on a long list of responsibilities.
“If you’ll excuse us for the rest of the evening,” Mr. Fincastle said as a brougham came to a stop, “my daughter and I have a previous engagement that we can’t miss.”
“But I wanted you to meet Abdullah,” my uncle protested. “He’s waiting for us on the hotel terrace with his granddaughter. Won’t you cancel?”
Mr. Fincastle’s lips tightened. I got the impression he didn’t appreciate being put on the spot. “I’m afraid meeting your foreman—”
“Business partner,” my uncle corrected with a narrowed gaze. “Which you already knew.”
“Will have to wait for the introductions until tomorrow, I’m afraid,” Mr. Fincastle said, as if my uncle hadn’t spoken.
“But surely we can take a few moments to say hello, Papá.” Isadora brushed dust off her skirt.
“Isadora, we’re already late,” Mr. Fincastle said, his tone brooking no argument.
She fell silent, her fingers gripping her handbag tightly. I suddenly wished I’d made more of an effort in getting to know her on the Elephantine. Except she was never far from her father. He was constantly at her elbow, or directing her to their shared cabin, or in deep conversation. She never seemed to have a free moment.
“The Elephantine will depart for Philae in the morning,” Tío Ricardo said. “We’ll meet in the lobby of the Old Cataract. Please take care to be punctual.”
Mr. Fincastle’s lips tightened, but he nodded and led his daughter into a waiting carriage.
We climbed into our own, and the two drivers wove us through the crowded street until we reached a picturesque building in the Victorian style, painted the color of a sunset. It stood on a granite cliff that faced Elephantine Island. The lush greenery surrounding the establishment gave a feeling of refinement. Whit hopped out of the brougham first, and then turned to assist me, his hand stretched toward me.
I debated ignoring it, decided it would be childish, and accepted his help. His calloused fingers closed over mine for a brief moment, and a tingle radiated outward from the touch, climbed up my arm, and stole my breath.