Chapter VIII: A Proposal of Marriage

Lady Haigh was gone, and Cecil felt very desolate. Everything seemed so new and strange, and she was so far removed from every familiar face, except the severe and respectable one of Um Yusuf, that she felt almost inclined to sit down and mourn over her isolation, but she had too much to do. With Um Yusuf’s help she set to work to unpack her possessions, and speedily found that the proceeding was an object of interest to the other denizens of the courtyard. Basmeh Kalfa took a seat on the floor uninvited, and made remarks on the things as they were lifted out; and Ayesha, Azim Bey’s nurse, who was also a privileged person, came across from the building opposite, and posted herself in an advantageous position. Hovering on the verandah were several black women, the under-servants of the establishment, who had forsaken their work and come to see the show; and Masûd himself was hard put to it to restrain his curiosity sufficiently to keep his post at the gate. None of the interested watchers offered to help in any way, but all commented audibly on the strange things they saw, and especially on the books and photographs. They were particularly amazed and delighted by the transformation effected in the sitting-room with the help of a hammer and nails, some folding bookshelves, a bracket or two, and some extra pictures, and it began to look quite habitable to Cecil herself. There were still two or three large cases containing the books and school-appliances which had been ordered for Azim Bey to be unpacked, and she went with Um Yusuf, attended by her admiring train, to see whether there was any place for their contents in the room pointed out by Basmeh Kalfa as the Bey’s “study.” Here there was a raised dais, occupying about half the floor, and covered with a rich Kurdish carpet, the lower part of the room being matted. On the dais was the divan, covered with thick silk, and amply furnished with cushions of various sizes. There were two or three little inlaid octagonal tables scattered about, but no other furniture, and the walls were decorated with arabesque designs and inscriptions from the Koran. To desecrate such a room with prosaic blackboards and raised maps could not be thought of, and Cecil decided to wait to unpack them until she could consult her pupil as to their arrangement.

Azim Bey was absent with his father on an expedition to visit his married sister at Hillah, the ancient Babylon, and Cecil did not see him at all that day, so that she and Um Yusuf had tea together in solitary state. She spent the evening in writing home, describing her new abode fully for the benefit of her brothers and sisters, and went to bed early; for although candles were provided, no light was visible in any of the surrounding buildings, and silence reigned over the Palace. It seemed very lonely and unsafe, in a strange house, to sleep in a room with open windows and doors that would not lock; and Um Yusuf dutifully placed her bed against her mistress’s door, so as to be able to repel any attempted invasion, but none came.

The next day Cecil awoke early. It was a fine cool morning, and the sun was shining brightly, tempting her out of doors. As soon as she was dressed she went down into the garden, followed by Um Yusuf, to be greeted by a squeal of delight from her pupil, who rushed to meet her and presented her with a large and formal bouquet. He had evidently been tormenting the gardener with questions as to the why and wherefore of things, for Cecil fancied that she saw an expression of relief on that functionary’s face as he withdrew discreetly and precipitately when he saw the veiled figures. Azim Bey walked solemnly beside his governess for a little way, pointing out the beauties of the garden, then, with a side-glance up at her face, he stole a little brown hand into hers and remarked--

“You are my mademoiselle, and I know I shall like you. I have had no one kind to talk to for a whole year, ever since my sister Naimeh Khanum was married to Said Bey and went to live at Hillah, except my father, and he is always busy. But you are going to stay here, and you will tell me everything I want to know. Denarien Bey has told me that you have many brothers, and you will tell me about them, won’t you? When shall we begin lessons, mademoiselle?”

“As soon as you like,” said Cecil, smiling, for it was refreshing to meet with a boy who looked forward to lessons with pleasure, and then she unfolded her difficulty with respect to the school furniture. To her amusement Azim Bey took her doubts as an insult.

“But yes, mademoiselle, of course I want all the books and maps in my reception-room. It is to be made to look like a schoolroom; I will have it exactly like a schoolroom in England. The things shall be unpacked and put there at once.”

And he hurried her back to the house, summoned sundry servants, and set them to work to open and unpack the cases. Cecil expected that he would offer to help in the work, but he was far too fully conscious of his rank for that, and sat solemnly on the divan beside her, issuing his orders. Nor would he allow her to help either, for when she started up to show the servants by example the proper way of putting up a blackboard, he desired her peremptorily not to incommode herself, but to tell him what was wanted and he would direct the servants. At last, after the expenditure of much breath on the part of Azim Bey, and some fruitless impatience on that of Cecil, the work was done, and the walls of the great room decorated with maps and charts and tables. A large supply of books was neatly arranged on the dais until bookshelves could be procured, and in the lower part of the room were placed a regular school-desk and seat for the pupil, and a high desk and chair for the teacher, together with the blackboard, which Azim Bey regarded with loving eyes. He wanted to set to work at once, but Cecil, seeing old Ayesha looking at her distressfully, suggested mildly that they should breakfast first, since she had only had a cup of tea on rising. Her pupil assented graciously, and breakfast was brought in on trays which were placed on two little tables, one for Cecil and one for Azim Bey, while Um Yusuf, the nurse, and one or two other women-servants sat down in the lower part of the room to await their turn.

After breakfast lessons began, and Cecil found that her pupil knew nothing whatever of English, and must begin that, as well as most other subjects, from the beginning. He could read Arabic and Turkish, however, and his French astonished her. It was so fluent, so idiomatic, so exceedingly up-to-date, so freely sprinkled with Parisian slang, that she wondered where he could have picked it up.

“From M. Karalampi, who was once attached to the French Consulate,” he told her,--“and elsewhere,” he added, with a meaning look which made her wonder.

The first morning was a type of all that followed. Azim Bey’s day began with a visit to his father while he dressed, when he employed his time in asking the impossible questions dear to the heart of small boys all the world over, which the Pasha now generally parried by referring him to Mademoiselle Antaza. A walk in the garden, and breakfast with mademoiselle, followed this, and then came lessons. As a learner, Azim Bey was almost perfect. He was so quick that Cecil felt thankful that he knew so little to begin with, or she would have been afraid of his outstripping her. As it was, she foresaw a time when she would have to study hard to keep ahead of him, and this made her rejoice that she had arranged with Miss Arbuthnot to keep her supplied with the newest works on the principal subjects which she taught.

But the care of her pupil in lesson-time was the least of Cecil’s duties. The lonely little fellow attached himself to his governess in the most marvellous way, and would scarcely allow her out of his sight. When she went to the Residency on Sundays he moped so persistently all day that the Pasha was almost tempted to give permission for him to accompany her there, but refrained, partly for fear of his being made a Christian, but much more for fear of the outcry which would be raised on the subject by the Baghdadi zealots. Wherever the Bey went, Cecil must go. Even if he appeared at any State function in the Pasha’s hall of audience, she must be present as a spectator in the latticed gallery which was appropriated to the ladies of the harem, so that she might be ready afterwards to answer his questions and appreciate his remarks, while he never went out without her except in his father’s company. Her influence over him became generally recognised, until at last even the Um-ul-Pasha, who had taken no notice of her whatever since her unsuccessful call with Lady Haigh, began to consider her a power to be reckoned with. The amiable old lady had been so busy of late in carrying on a secret correspondence with her eldest grandson, the rebellious Hussein Bey, and in keeping him supplied with money, that she had paid slight attention to the little household, which was theoretically in the harem, yet not of it, and it struck her now with considerable force that she had allowed herself to commit a great mistake in tactics.

The first intimation Cecil received of a change of front on the part of the Um-ul-Pasha was a formal invitation to attend the great lady’s reception with her pupil on the day of Bairam. Such an invitation was equivalent to a command, and it was furthermore imperative that Azim Bey should pay his respects to his grandmother at the feast, lest it should be inferred that she had utterly cast off both the Pasha and himself, and Cecil therefore prepared to go. Etiquette required that Um Yusuf, old Ayesha, and Basmeh Kalfa should go too, and they were all escorted by Masûd to the door of the harem, where he delivered them into the charge of the principal aga.

It was now May, and the ladies were occupying the summer harem, a pleasant English-looking building, standing in a flower-garden, and furnished partly in European style. It was too early in the day as yet for any but family visitors, but the Pasha had already paid his respects to his mother and departed. The Um-ul-Pasha sat in the seat of honour, the corner of the divan, in the great reception-room, with the Pasha’s two wives beside her. One of these ladies was an invalid, the other gentle and easy-going, and both were entirely under the dominion of their mother-in-law, an imperious little tyrant with a withered face and bright black eyes. It was easy to imagine what a flutter Azim Bey’s impetuous, high-spirited Arab mother must have caused in the dove-cotes here, and with what feelings the other wives must have regarded their supplanter, and the Um-ul-Pasha the rebel against her authority. Nothing of this was allowed to appear now, however. Azim Bey kissed the hands of the ladies, who each made some carefully uncomplimentary remark, either on his appearance or dress--remarks which would have wounded Cecil’s feelings if she had not known that they were made with the view of averting the evil eye. The three servants kissed the hems of the ladies’ robes, and passed on to join the throng of their intimates in the lower part of the room, and Cecil, after a deep reverence to each of the exalted personages, was graciously requested to sit down. She was used to sitting on cushions on the floor by this time, and obeyed at once, while the Um-ul-Pasha prepared to talk to her through the medium of Mademoiselle Katrina, a plump Levantine lady in a red and green silk dress, who lived in the harem, and acted as secretary, interpreter, and messenger to the great lady. The customary compliments and a few unimportant remarks were first exchanged, and then the Um-ul-Pasha came to business.

“You are English, are you not?” she asked through Mdlle. Katrina.

Cecil answered in the affirmative.

“Is it true that it is the custom in your country for young people to settle about their marriage for themselves, without their parents arranging the matter?” was the next question, to which also Cecil returned an unsuspecting reply, all unprepared for what was to follow.

“Then why are you not married?” asked the Um-ul-Pasha, bending her black brows on her visitor, much as Um Yusuf had done in asking the same question. The query was certainly an embarrassing one, and Cecil answered blushingly that in England it was customary for the gentleman to take the initiative in matters of the kind, and, well----. But it was unnecessary for her to say any more, the inference was obvious, and the expression on the Um-ul-Pasha’s face, faithfully copied on the countenances of the other ladies, and respectfully reflected on that of Mdlle. Katrina, said, “And no wonder!” It was an uncomfortable moment, and to make the situation still more awkward, some mischievous sprite prompted Azim Bey to put in a remark on his own account.

“When I am grown up, _I_ shall marry mademoiselle,” he said, in his shrill little voice, and then sat and hugged himself in happy consciousness of the bombshell he had thrown into the group. Cecil would have felt a keen pleasure at the moment in shaking him, and his grandmother’s fingers twitched as though she longed to have him by the throat. Mdlle. Katrina seemed actually to grow pale and shrunken with horror, and the other two ladies subsided into limp heaps on their cushions, murmuring breathless exclamations of terror and dismay. It was the Um-ul-Pasha who recovered herself first, and she hailed the opportunity of administering a snub to her grandson and his governess at the same time.

“You speak foolishly, Bey,” she said, in her haughtiest tones, “and I am surprised that Mdlle. Antaza has not taught you better. She knows very well that if I had not full confidence in her integrity, I should advise my son, your father, to send her back to her own country at once on account of that foolish speech of yours. As it is, such nonsense as this makes me doubtful of the wisdom of keeping her here.”

Cecil flushed hotly, and would have risen and taken her departure, but her pupil answered without the slightest trace of confusion.

“But you always hated her coming, madame, and when my father refused to listen to you, you would not eat anything for a whole day. It is my father who has brought mademoiselle here, and he will not send her away.”

“Bey, don’t be rude to your grandmother,” said Cecil, reprovingly, and the entrance of coffee and cakes here relieved the tension of the situation. The Um-ul-Pasha became markedly gracious once more, and insisted upon taking a sip from Cecil’s cup, and breaking a piece from her cake, to show her good faith, but the only effect which this exaggerated affability produced upon those chiefly concerned was expressed by Azim Bey’s remark to his governess as they departed--

“Mademoiselle, the Um-ul-Pasha is intending something. It is not poison this time; I wonder when we shall know what it is! Did you hear my grandmother say to Mdlle. Katrina as we came away, ‘When the wife of the Balio Bey comes, see that she is admitted when no other visitors are present’? So you will hear all about it from the Mother of Teeth.”

“You know that I have told you not to speak of Lady Haigh by that name, Bey,” said Cecil, severely. “The wife of the Balio Bey should always be mentioned with respect.”

Sir Dugald Haigh was the Balio Bey, the word being a corruption of _bailo_, the title of the Venetian Ambassador to the Porte in the middle ages, and the name spoke volumes to every inhabitant of Baghdad, so that Azim Bey submitted to the correction meekly. As he had prophesied, Cecil heard from Lady Haigh a full account of her interview with the Um-ul-Pasha when they next met, on the occasion of Queen Victoria’s birthday, which fell close after Bairam that year, and on which all the English in the region kept holiday. Cecil spent the day at the Residency, as it had been carefully specified in her agreement with the Pasha that she should do, and she did not feel at all averse from a short return to civilised dress and English society. Lady Haigh told her the story in the evening, when they had a few minutes to spare before the arrival of the guests for the dinner-party which was _de rigueur_ on the occasion.

“I have simply laughed over it ever since, my dear,” said Lady Haigh; “but I must tell it you quickly, or these people will be coming. Put in plain language, the Um-ul-Pasha is willing to give you a handsome outfit and dowry if you marry at once, just as if you were one of her own favourite attendants.”

“And was any particular gentleman indicated?” asked Cecil.

“Certainly; it is Ovannes Effendi, the Pasha’s secretary. Nazleh Khanum put the case very plainly from her own point of view. She said that you had evidently failed to get married in your own country, or you would not have come out here, and that you were wretchedly thin, and had no idea of improving either your eyes or your complexion. As for Ovannes Effendi, she said that he was in a good position, and would make a kind husband. He was also a Christian--she laid great stress upon that point of suitability--and could be trusted to marry thankfully any lady the Um-ul-Pasha might be pleased to recommend to him.”

“And what did you say?” asked Cecil, laughing.

“Well, my dear, I said that I was much obliged to Nazleh Khanum for her kind intentions, but that I intended to make your settlement in life my concern. I said that I had no doubt whatever of being able to find you a husband as soon as ever you wanted one. In fact, I repaid the Um-ul-Pasha with interest for the slight she put upon us when you first came. I had to put it in oriental style, you see, or she wouldn’t have understood it, but it makes me laugh whenever I think of it. Imagine the luckless Ovannes Effendi suddenly saddled with a London B.A. for a wife! Oh, there are those people! Let us go into the drawing-room.”

The dinner-party over, a number of other people came in who had been invited to a garden-_fête_, a style of entertainment to which the grounds of the Residency were peculiarly adapted. Carpets and cushions were strewn upon the terraces, the buildings were all illuminated, and to crown all, there were two bands of music, European and native, playing against each other, so as to satisfy every taste. The evening was to close with a grand display of fireworks, and Cecil, looking for a spot whence she might obtain a good view, found Charlie Egerton by her side.

“There’s a capital place here,” he said, “and just room for two. I haven’t spoken to you all day, and I’ve scarcely seen you all the evening.”

“But you ought to be helping Sir Dugald to entertain the guests,” said Cecil.

“But you are a guest,” he retorted, quickly, “and the rest have the fireworks to entertain them. Besides, have you no compassion for the sorrows of a poor wretch who has been trying in vain to entertain two wholly unsympathetic ladies at the same time during the whole evening, and could only approach success by making Mrs Hagopidan laugh at Madame Denarien, and Madame Denarien feel shocked at Mrs Hagopidan?”

“What a very edifying conversation!” laughed Cecil. “But I saw you talking to Madame Petroffsky part of the time.”

“Only for a moment, and the merest politenesses, I assure you. I can’t bear emancipated women, they are all so dreadfully alike. Now don’t take up the cudgels for them, please, Miss Anstruther. I have no doubt that Anna Ivanovna is an excellent person, but she is not my ideal. Besides, we quarrelled the last time we had an argument, and I hear that she speaks of me now as _ce lourdaud de médecin anglais_. Could a self-respecting man be expected to put up with that?”

“But the other two are not like her,” said Cecil.

“No, indeed,” said Charlie. “Her worst enemy could not call Madame Denarien an emancipated woman. By the way, what a comment it is on Denarien’s modern culture and occidental tastes! He marries a girl brought up in a Syrian convent, whose teachers have been French nuns of medieval views. She can repeat a few Latin prayers, work embroidery, and make sweetmeats, and has pronounced ideas on the possibility of enhancing her beauty by dyeing her hair and using white and red paint liberally. But she is absolutely uneducated and can’t talk a bit. She can sit and smile sweetly, and that is all. A doll could do as much.”

“Yes, she is a very fair specimen of the beautiful uneducated Eastern woman whom you admired so much a short time ago,” said Cecil, wickedly. “But what can you find to say against Myrta Hagopidan?”

“Do you call each other by your Christian names already?” asked Charlie, in pretended alarm. “I hope I have not said anything much against her, Miss Anstruther. I had no idea that you were on such affectionate terms with our bride.”

“My favourite governess went from the South Central to be principal of the Poonah High School, where Myrta was educated,” said Cecil, “and she lives so close to the Palace that I am often able to go in and see her. You have no idea how delightful it is to have some one with whom one can talk shop again. One’s school-days are really the happiest time in one’s life, you know, at least to look back upon. And then she is so pretty and bright.”

“Yes,” said Charlie, “she is smart, which emancipated women are not, as a rule. But she is out of her element here. She comes to Baghdad fresh from her school, brimful of modern notions, and thinks she can lead society here. It won’t work. The English look askance at her as being ‘a kind of native, don’t you know?’ and the rest do not understand her. And really a woman whose happiness depends upon society and society papers can’t find Baghdad congenial.”

“But her happiness doesn’t depend on them,” said Cecil. “She has a great many interests, and she helps Mr Hagopidan with all his English correspondence.”

“Then I have misjudged her,” said Charlie. “See how much more clearly the feminine mind penetrates into character! I generalised hastily from the fact that Mrs Hagopidan plied me with second-hand Simla gossip and last season’s Belgravian personalities, which I detest.”

“Poor thing!” said Cecil; “she was only trying to suit your tastes. She never talks to me like that.”

“And now,” went on Charlie, meditatively, “she proves to be an excellent wife and a clever and businesslike woman.”

“I never like judging people from casual impressions,” said Cecil, “but sometimes it is very hard not to do it. That tall dark man, for instance, who is talking to Madame Petroffsky--I don’t like him. I have seen him once or twice at the Palace, crossing the outer court with the Pasha, and he always seems to me to be--what shall I say?--slippery.”

“I should say that you had described him exactly,” said Charlie. “He is a peculiar product of centuries of contact between European and Eastern diplomacy, and he is particularly slippery. He is a Levantine Greek, and his name is Karalampi.”

“Oh, I have heard Azim Bey talk of him,” said Cecil. “He told me he taught him French.”

“I think Azim Bey may be very thankful that he has got into other hands,” said Charlie.

“Why?” asked Cecil.

“Well, one hears a good deal about Karalampi which one doesn’t care to repeat, but I can tell you what he is. The Pasha employs him as a spy on the various consulates, and the consulates use him as a spy on the Pasha and on each other. How he contrives to play them all off against one another I don’t know, but I suppose he gives each employer his turn. He used to be attached to the French Consulate, but no doubt his present position is more lucrative. He does people’s dirty work for them. Of course he is not officially employed by any one, but if you could question Sir Dugald you would find out that more than once M. Karalampi had furnished important information in the nick of time and had been suitably rewarded.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Cecil, indignantly. “Who told you?”

“Azevedo, the old Jewish banker, a great crony of mine. Most of my friends are Jews, Turks, infidels, or heretics, somehow.”

“Well, one can never tell what people will pride themselves upon,” said Cecil, looking away. “But such a choice of friends----”

“I never said I was proud of it,” he said, quickly.

“No, your tone said it for you,” said Cecil; “it implied that it was original and uncommon to have such a circle of acquaintances. But if you are so fond of Jews, why don’t you get to know Dr Yehudi?”

“What, the fat old padre down in the town?”

“Yes; you seldom have him here on Sundays, because he knows so many more languages than Mr Schad, and so does more mission-work. He can speak an extraordinary number of modern dialects, and knows Syriac and Chaldee and all the old languages as well.”

“Oh, I have heard them talking of him at Azevedo’s. To mention his name there is like waving a red rag before a particularly furious bull. And so he is one of those expensive people, converted Jews? You know it costs, they say, a thousand pounds to convert one Jew. I should like to see one. I’ll go and look him up.”

“I hope you will,” said Cecil, quietly.

Charlie looked at her a moment to discover whether she was angry with his speech.

“Don’t you mind my saying that about the thousand pounds?” he asked.

“Why should I?” said Cecil. “Can you say that a soul, whether Dr Yehudi’s or any one else’s, is not worth so much? But when you know him, you will be better able to judge for yourself.”