“It seems Madame Hopkins prefers Moors,” the woman’s daughter remarked caustically.
“She speaks Arabic?” The Prussian merchant’s wife was astonished.
“Bien s?r, and fluently. There are those who say that her years in Mogador have turned Madame Hopkins into a Moor herself, but I don’t see it that way,” the Frenchwoman replied.
“How do you see it, then?” Sara inquired with a sour expression.
“Well, that she is more respected among the Moors than any other foreigner here. They have not forgotten how much she helped the city after the unfortunate affrontement with my country.”
“My husband says that she just did it to make people forget her own disgrace,” the Portuguese woman added while staring straight at Victoria.
Victoria looked at her in shock and remained silent.
“What good are these old stories? It is nothing more than stupid gossip,” the Italian lady objected.
“I would hardly describe it as gossip,” Sara said snidely.
Victoria could no longer hold back. “What stories?”
“Oh, there is a very interesting secret your mother-in-law is keeping,” Sara said. “Of course, no one speaks about it openly, but anyone who can use his eyes and do arithmetic . . .”
“What do you mean?” the young Prussian woman now wanted to know.
Sara leaned forward in her chair. “My dear, have you never noticed that Emily looks nothing like the rest of the family?”
“She probably resembles her father,” Victoria ventured.
“Exactly, she resembles her father. Benjamin Hopkins, however, was blond. But Emily’s hair . . .”
“. . . is black,” Victoria completed in a toneless voice.
Sara smiled with extreme satisfaction. “By the way, Victoria, have you met Monsieur Rouston? The Frenchman who sells his saffron to your mother-in-law?”
Both Victoria and Emily were quiet and withdrawn over dinner. Emily poked at her food unhappily and wished that she and Sabri could run away to a place where no one knew them and no one could tell them whom to love.
Victoria’s mind was racing too. Should she give any credence to the outrageous claims made by Mrs. Willshire and the other ladies? Was her mother-in-law really carrying on a scandalous affair with André Rouston? She had met Rouston just once at the souk with Sibylla. He was a charming, good-looking man. But she had not noticed her mother-in-law affected by his charm. Quite the contrary, her demeanor had been cool and distant.
She looked at Emily surreptitiously. Like the Frenchman, she had dark hair and a brownish complexion. Her slightly curved nose was also reminiscent of his. The longer Victoria thought about it, the more likely it seemed that André Rouston, and not Benjamin Hopkins, was Emily’s father.
She flinched when John touched her hand. “A penny for your thoughts, Victoria. I think you weren’t listening. Mother is planning to transfer sole responsibility for the business here to me when she goes to London with Emily in the fall. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Victoria feigned enthusiasm, but her thoughts quickly returned to Sara Willshire’s revelations. She pursed her lips in disgust. What kind of family had she married into?
At the end of September, Sibylla and Emily had packed their trunks for their journey to England and the whole family gathered for a farewell dinner. After Sibylla had risen from the table, Thomas and John withdrew to John’s office to smoke a cigar, a stylish new habit they had acquired in London.
Sibylla, Victoria, and Emily went to the drawing room, where Firyal served tea, candied almonds, and lemon peel dipped in rose syrup. Aromatic smoke wafted from the scented quartz in the coal pans. But the atmosphere in the room was uncomfortable. Sibylla looked furtively at her daughter. Emily had taken one of the embroidered cushions from the sofa and was hugging it. She seemed distant, as she had so often in recent days. She did not even seem to enjoy drawing anymore. Perhaps she was nervous about the upcoming trip to faraway London. Or did some secret sadness gnaw at her? Whenever Sibylla asked, Emily claimed nothing was wrong.
Victoria was sitting on another sofa, staring into space. Like Emily, she seemed unhappy and withdrawn. Sibylla so wished to have a warmer relationship with her son’s wife, but no matter how she tried, Victoria was unresponsive. Nor did she seek out the company of Emily, who should have been her friend. Sibylla stifled a sigh. Instead of laughter, her home was filled with sadness and ill humor.
The conversation dragged terribly, Emily and Victoria speaking only when Sibylla addressed them and, even then, their answers were monosyllabic. So when Thomas and John at last came back from smoking their cigars, Sibylla smiled with relief.
John, her hands-on younger son, was always full of drive, and immediately launched into his favorite subject: the advantages of steamboats over tall ships.
Sibylla was of a different opinion. Her chief concern was the horrendous cost involved in the development and construction of coal-powered steel ships, and in no time, mother and son were absorbed in a lively debate.
Thomas stood by the fireplace, sipped his steaming tea, and looked over at Emily. Ever since he had told her that Sabri’s parents had long ago chosen a bride for their son, she had not been the same, and he often asked himself if it might have been better to keep the information to himself. Her little infatuation with Sabri would likely have ended anyway once she left for London. He sat down on the sofa and gave her a friendly nudge. “I thought you were looking forward to London, but you are as gloomy as can be.”
Emily merely shrugged. She’d been thinking about how she had nearly collided with Sabri outside the hamam today. When he asked why she no longer visited him at the office, she had run away like a silly child.
John’s impatient voice rang through the drawing room. “Believe me, Mother, if we invest now, we will be light-years ahead of all our competitors. Trust me! Why did you have me educated in London for all those years if I am not allowed to implement my knowledge now?”
“Why don’t you write to Father and ask him for support?” Victoria asked. “My family’s steelworks will surely help keep the costs tolerable.”
But John impatiently waved her off. “You don’t understand these things, Victoria. I have already written to your father and asked him for advice. Incidentally, Mother, he feels that the steamboat business is going to be very profitable. We would be faster than the competition with steamships made of steel, we would have more cargo space, and would make more money than other shipping companies.”
Sibylla poured herself a fresh cup of tea. “Even if you’re right, the harbor here in Mogador is too small for steamships.”
“That’s why I’m so keen for the qaid to expand the harbor,” replied her son.
“John.” Victoria’s voice sounded brittle, on the verge of breaking. “Please do not dismiss me so.”