With her pale complexion and ash-blonde hair, Victoria was hardly an exceptional beauty, but she was educated and knew how to perform her social duties. In addition, her family owned a large ironworks in Cardiff, which John regarded as part of her dowry. Steel was the building material of the future, particularly in shipping, and he had been badgering his uncle for some time to modernize the company’s fleet with state-of-the-art steamships.
Forty people were seated at the long table. It was festively decorated with flower arrangements and silver candlesticks, sparkling crystal, Royal Worcester porcelain, and the magical creations of Oscar’s French chef. The room was filled with the sound of laughter and quiet conversations. Now and then, one of the gentlemen rose to propose a toast to the newly minted Dr. Hopkins.
“I wish your grandfather could have lived to see this day! He has been gone for a year already, but, oh, how proud he would have been of the first scholar in the Spencer family!” sighed Mary as she fingered the necklace containing a lock of Richard’s hair, the only jewelry she wore with her widow’s attire.
“I too am the first scholar in the Hopkins family,” John gently corrected his stepgrandmother. He thought of his mother and little sister living far away in Mogador.
Mary smiled. “Of course,” she said. “Poor Sibylla has had a difficult time of it, so far away from England, without a husband’s help, and without you two these five years! I’m sure she’s beside herself with joy, knowing that you will be back with her in Mogador for Christmas.”
“Is it not unbelievable how quickly time has flown?” Oscar interjected. “I can still remember as though it were yesterday when you arrived in London—immature young lads, seventeen and eighteen years old. You shall do the company proud, John, when you become my new business partner in Mogador!”
John laughed. “Well, I’ll support Mother initially. I doubt she’ll just hand over management of the company to me right away. She enjoys the work far too much.”
Oscar shook his head. “My sister has always been a little strange in that regard. Benjamin, God rest his soul, was right when he used to say that she was a bluestocking. No doubt there is a suffragette hiding in her.”
“You can’t be serious, Oscar!” Mary exclaimed.
“I most certainly am, Mother. If Sibylla lived in London, she would be in the street agitating for women’s suffrage, just like that horrible Mrs. Bodichon. Ah, here comes our filet de sole. Wonderful!” He nodded approvingly as the servant placed the dish in front of him.
Mary leaned over to John and quietly said, “Is it true that your mother wears trousers like a man?”
John bit his lips so as not to laugh out loud. “Who would say anything like that? She often wears the traditional clothes of Arab women, which includes wide pants. But these pants are made of colorful silk, embroidered with silver and gold threads. Do you know men who wear embroidered silk trousers? I don’t.”
“I suppose I must have misunderstood,” a blushing Mary mumbled.
Thomas took his glass and stood up. “I would like to propose a toast to an extraordinary woman: our mother. It was her determination, her strength as a businesswoman, and, not least, her love that allowed John and me to enjoy a carefree childhood despite our father’s untimely death. To Sibylla Hopkins!”
“And to our little sister, Emily!” John added. “We look forward to being reunited with them soon!”
Once the guests at the table had clinked glasses, Oscar turned to the young Arab sitting opposite Thomas. “Well, Dr. bin Abdul, after having lived here for two years, how do you like our Western cuisine?”
The young man smiled wryly. “If you are asking my opinion of English cuisine, I would prefer to reserve judgment. Your French chef, however, has demonstrated once again that his skills are unsurpassed.”
“What sort of work do you expect to do as a physician in Mogador?” Oscar’s wife inquired.
“Well, the same as here, I imagine,” Sabri replied. “Since it is the community of expatriates that is employing me, I will be tending primarily to their needs. And if there is time, my friend Dr. Thomas Hopkins and I will devote ourselves to the fight against cholera and typhus, which wreak havoc in Mogador just as they do in our slums here.”
It was Sibylla who had convinced the community of foreigners to hire Thomas. He would be Mogador’s first European physician and primarily tend to the medical needs of the expatriate merchants.
“How do you intend to fight these epidemics?” a clergyman in a black suit and stiff white collar wanted to know.
“By sticking to the advice of the goddess Hygeia,” Thomas replied. “I am convinced that many epidemics can be prevented by means of consistent measures such as clean drinking water and adequate ventilation of living spaces. Don’t you agree, bin Abdul?” He looked over at Sabri, who was nodding emphatically.
While the reverend contemplated Thomas’s words with a furrowed brow, the Hopkinses’ nanny entered the room. She was leading fourteen-month-old Charlotte by the hand and carried Charlotte’s twin brother, Selwyn, in her other arm. John and Victoria suddenly became serious. Charlotte was sturdy and lively, but her brother was delicate, almost frail. London’s cold, damp climate and polluted air did not agree with him, and he suffered from asthma. Thomas had been urging John and Victoria to return to Mogador with him for some time. He believed the little boy would improve only in the dry warmth and curative sea air of Morocco.
John leaned down to his daughter. “Well, my little one, have you come to say good night to me?”
Charlotte beamed at him and he gave her a kiss. Then he turned to his son. Victoria had taken him from the nanny. Looking pale and tired, little Selwyn snuggled in his mother’s arms.
The nanny said quietly, “He coughed an awful lot again today. I have had damp cloths hung around his bed, as Dr. Hopkins ordered, to facilitate his breathing.”
Victoria observed Thomas, who was looking at the little boy with great concern. When he had first mentioned that the climate in Mogador would do Selwyn good, she had hoped that John would nonetheless stay in England with her and the children. Morocco was an uncivilized, heathen country, and several weeks’ journey away! But by now, Selwyn’s condition had worsened so much that they had no choice but to move. And John wanted to return to the city he regarded as his true home. Victoria brushed aside her own misgivings and kissed Selwyn’s ash-blond curls. “You’ll feel better in Mogador, darling. You’re going to turn into a strong, healthy boy.”
Mogador, December 1859
There was a smell of leather and tanning agents in the Spencer & Son Shipping Company’s warehouse at the Mogador harbor, and a light draft coming through the windows, keeping the air sufficiently dry and cool. The skins ready for shipment lay on duckboards. The piles of leather had been covered with protective blankets.
Sibylla pulled back the blanket, had her clerk, Aladdin, hand her the oil lamp, and held it directly above the top layer.