André stepped aside so that his son could look inside. An expression of grim satisfaction appeared on Frédéric’s face. “Thanks be to the justice of God!” He raised his clenched fist to the heavens.
“Where was the murderous gang hiding?” André asked.
“Those villains had hidden high up in the mountains, but not too high for my sons,” the sheikh declared with pride.
André smiled. “You have brought us good news, my friend. Please be our guest. Malika has made a delicious lamb roast. And that,” he said, pointing to the sack, “will be thrown to the vultures.”
Frédéric roared with laughter, but the sheikh raised his hand. “I have more important news for you: when they were tortured, the bastards confessed that there was someone else. Someone who instigated the attack against your estate.”
“What are you saying?!” André grabbed the reins of the man’s horse. “Who was it? Is he still alive? Where is this fiend?”
The sheikh shrugged sorrowfully. “Before my sons could beat that information out of those villains, the weaklings were already dead! The only thing they know was that the stranger came from Mogador.”
“Mogador! And I was sure they just wanted to drive us off their land!”
The sheikh’s revelation changed everything. André tried to think who in Mogador could possibly have become his enemy. He shook his head in confusion. What if this unknown man should strike again? He needed to find him as quickly as possible.
“Frédéric!” He turned to his eldest. “You’ll have to look after your brothers and sister for a while. Always keep the gate closed and never leave the house alone or unarmed. I’m riding to Mogador to hunt down this devil, whoever he is.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Mogador, May 1862
“My brother writes that you are planning to begin your well-earned retirement when you return to London, Captain Comstock,” Sibylla said as they looked at the Queen Charlotte, anchored far out in the harbor basin.
A light wind off the ocean mitigated the heat and heavy gray rain clouds were piling up. The sun appeared intermittently, transforming the water into a silvery mirror. Alongside the great West Indian ship, a skiff was bobbing in the waves. It was ferrying the last packages to the Queen: wall hangings from Fez, earthenware amphorae, silver teapots, colorful tea glasses, and filigree lamps. These special orders had been brokered by Lalla Jasira, who was happy as always to earn good commissions thanks to the growing enthusiasm of European ladies for all things Oriental.
Captain Comstock took his pipe out of his mouth and stroked his white-gray whiskers. “Yes, Mrs. Hopkins, it’s time for saying goodbye. My faithful old Queen and I are getting scrapped. Speed’s what counts in modern times. ‘Time is money,’ your brother told me when we left London. ‘Can’t afford to be sentimental,’ he said. ‘If we want to keep up, we have to use more modern ships.’” Comstock sighed sadly. “I know full well what he meant: soon, steel beasts will rule the oceans instead of the wind and true sailors.”
“But progress brings benefits for many people,” Sibylla tried to console him despite feeling nostalgic herself. Had it really been more than twenty years since she had arrived in Mogador on this very same ship? Now the Queen Charlotte was going to be decommissioned. Nothing and no one was immune to the passage of time.
Comstock watched another small skiff approach. It was heading for the quay to take him on board. “Well, it’s time to say goodbye to Mogador.”
“I wish you an easy adjustment to life on land.” Sibylla chuckled.
“If I have a hankering, I’ll head down to the Thames and greet the ships from all over the world and remember at least I don’t have to deal with bad winds or lazy sailors anymore!” He studied Sibylla for a moment. “Aren’t you ever homesick for England, Mrs. Hopkins? Don’t you want to go home?”
She shook her head with a smile. “My dear Mr. Comstock, I’ve lived here for so long, Mogador is my home.”
The skiff arrived at the quay wall. As the helmsman threw the mooring rope, the harbormaster approached. “Your ship is ready to leave, Captain. Here are your customs papers.” He handed Comstock a leather portfolio, nodded politely to Sibylla, and left.
The captain of the Queen Charlotte adjusted his bicorne and straightened his shoulders. “All right, Mrs. Hopkins—” He was about to bow, but Sibylla raised her hand.
“Just a moment, Mr. Comstock.” She handed the old mariner a flat box that she had been hiding behind her back. “As a memento of your years at Spencer & Son.”
When he opened the box, a beautiful pocket watch on a gold chain was revealed. Sibylla had had his years of service engraved on the watch’s cover.
“Mrs. Hopkins, this is much too elegant for an old sea dog like me.” His voice failed. He took off his bicorne and pressed it against his chest.
“As one of the most loyal captains this company has ever had, especially after the mutiny on the Queen Charlotte, you have truly earned this. Although,” she added sternly, “at the very end, you did cause me some anguish.”
He looked at her with such embarrassment that he completely missed the playful sparkle in her eyes. “Are you talking about Miss Emily? I only meant well, Mrs. Hopkins, you have to believe me! And, with all due respect, it was a great honor for me to wed your daughter and the Arab gentleman. Life on board is rather hard, no room for feelings, if you understand what I mean. And if a chance comes along unexpectedly to be a part of so much happiness . . .” He cleared his throat. “That is something you never forget.”
“I doubt I’ll forget it soon myself,” Sibylla replied dryly. “Fortunately, everything is turning out well now.”
Emily, Sabri, and Victoria had been back in Mogador for ten days, and Emily was bursting with enthusiasm over her trip.
When the Queen Charlotte had arrived in Lisbon, the rainy winter months had just come to an end, and she had greeted the hilly city on the Tagus wearing a spring dress. Emily was enchanted by the flowers on the balconies of the bourgeois houses, the green parks, and the boulevards with their modern gas lamps. She had admired the splendor of the royal palace and visited churches, monasteries, and cathedrals. Victoria had taken her to exhibitions and elegant shops and, in the evenings, the three of them had attended theater and opera. One weekend, they had made an excursion to the fashionable resort of Estoril and, another time, they had taken a trip by train. During her two-month stay in the Portuguese capital, Emily had experienced countless things for the first time.