Chance Encounters, page 10
Unsure of whether the pangs she felt were of hunger or just the burning from the spicy food she had snacked on earlier, she nonetheless went downstairs to the dining room which already had a number of guests scattered throughout. She sat and ordered in Italian what she hoped was lamb with rice. The food came quickly, smelling of strange spices. Lady Bethune ate, not sure whether the food was good or bad, her palate not yet educated. She ordered tea without sweeteners. She sat there, satiated and feeling very clean and pleased with herself. No doubt on board they were still struggling with the water supply.
She was about to rise from the table when a lady emerged into her view.
“Excuse me, I heard you speaking Italian and wondered if you were as fluent in Spanish. I have not spoken it for many months, and my mouth gets tired of shaping foreign sounds.”
“Please sit,” Emily invited in Spanish.
“Ah, you do speak it. You don’t know how refreshing it is to hear my mother tongue... and to speak it.” They went on to exchange brief histories. She was Agustina Carmelita Moreno Valdez, daughter of a former functionary to the Spanish Crown. The family had been exiled from all Spanish dominions for undisclosed reasons; treason was rumored but never validated. For the past eight years, the family had found shelter in Tunis. There was a sadness about Agustina that surrounded her like a veil. Her dark eyes were haunted, perhaps by the memory of her childhood in her homeland.
“What’s Tunis like for Europeans?”
“Not bad. For the most part the authorities leave us alone, though they never take their eyes off us. They are suspicious of the French, of course, or anyone with French connections.”
“Do they allow you to practice Christianity openly?”
“More privately. There is a small Catholic church that we attend. There are about six families in Tunis and about two dozen unattached men, merchants and businessmen hoping to strike it rich in trade.”
The two women drank tea and talked, each curious about the other.
“The thing that I regret the most is losing contact with my friends and extended family. Spanish ships won’t take my letters and others here have learned not to either, fearing some sort of reprisal.” She shook her head, dejected, her eyes swimming in tears. “You don’t know how hard it is suddenly not to have any friends. Here the other European women are married and one doesn’t see Moslem women, who, for the most part, stay at home.” Emily felt terrible for her table companion.
“I haven’t had a letter all the time we’ve been here. And I don’t expect I ever shall.” Then Agustina made a great effort to gather herself. “I envy you English women. Allowed to go where you want, travel by yourselves, enjoy liberties the rest of us dream of.”
“Not quite...”
“But you’re free. I’m buried here. To keep from going crazy I write letters that never get sent and will never be read.” The tears started up again, and Agustina daubed at them with a lace handkerchief. It was gut-wrenching to see the young woman suffer.
“Maybe I can help. We’re going on to Egypt; from there I could mail your letter by British post.”
“Could you? Really?” Hope dawned in Agustina’s pain-ravaged face and her eyes brightened.
“Sure. Easy enough. One thing we British are good at, is writing and sending letters.” Emily held out her hand in a symbolic gesture. “Just give them to me.”
“Oh that would be heaven sent.” Agustina rose and hurried out.
Lady Bethune had another cup of tea, trying to imagine what it would be like to suffer years of exile away from her home and country. In less than half an hour, Agustina returned and slipped Emily a packet of letters. “These are the best I’ve written. Don’t show them around or someone might try to stop you sending them.” Emily nodded, thinking privately that the young woman had learned too many fears. Shortly after, Lady Bethune retired to her room and went to bed, grateful to be clean and that the world didn’t move restlessly around her.
Chapter 13
The slanting rays of the morning sun poured through the ornamental grill covering the windows. The smell of charcoal fires wafted through the room. Lady Bethune got up, stretched and washed in the basinful already waiting for her. She got dressed and drank lukewarm tea.
Midmorning the steward presented himself and requested Milady to join him in returning to the ship as Captain Harris hoped to be on the way with favorable tides. Lady Bethune collected her purchases, the steward pleased to carry them for her. Downstairs she paid her bill and they left.
Hardly had they stepped onto the street when they were surrounded by a group of men.
“Excuse me,” Lady Bethune said in Italian, trying to step around them.
“Not so fast,” one of the men ordered in passable English. “You’re requested to surrender your possessions for inspection.” Already the steward was stripped of his burden and another of the men was going through it. Suddenly he held up a packet of letters. “Aha!” the hatchet faced leader pounced. “I’m afraid you must now come with me.” The rest closed around them in a tight formation.
“Why, for heaven’s sake?”
“It’s now a matter of state...” the man shrugged his shoulders and motioned for the rest to follow.
“Milady...?” the steward called out, much alarmed.
“Silence!” the leader barked out, and from nowhere a wicked curved knife appeared to threaten the frightened man. As the close formation proceeded along the street, people scrambled out of their way. Lady Bethune was seething but could do nothing against the seizure. In about a half mile, the procession turned into a building with solid doors. With a curt command, the steward was pushed into a room and Lady Bethune into another. The door closed, leaving her alone. There was nothing in the room, just a barred window high up in the opposite wall.
“My God, this is a prison cell,” she thought with falling heart. Why? For what reason? The letters! Must be those letters. Agustina had warned about that. But why are private letters so important? Because they’re not private―they must contain state secrets. Then they must believe I’m a... a spy! This is unbelievable.
In her agitation Lady Bethune strode up and down the room, each step filling her with more anxiety. She was locked up and helpless. Never in her life... but that wasn’t true. She’d been kidnapped before.
Hours passed and nothing happened. By now, the rectangle of sunlight from the high window reflected off the other side of the room. Lady Bethune was huddling in a corner, finally calm. Use your head, think before you say anything, don’t look... appear guilty.
Suddenly the door opened and a man stuck his head in, motioning for her to follow. Lady Bethune rose and slipped through the door, apprehensive but glad that finally something was happening. Outside two other men were waiting for her. They marched down the corridor, up some stairs and into a large room with a number of men seated on the far end, watching her approach. She was pushed into the centre and left there. Instinctively she faced them and found the one who could speak English.
“I’m a British citizen and I demand to be set free.”
For a minute no one spoke or moved. She remained in the crossfire of all their accusing looks. But accusing her of what?
“Wish we could,” the English-speaking man said as he stepped forward, then walked around her, forcing her to constantly turn her head. “My name is Nadhir and I am the Chief Inquisitor.” Inquisitor? A horrible shiver flashed through her. “You’re suspected of spying for the enemies of Tunis.”
“I’m not a spy. I’m on my way to join my husband in Egypt.”
“Yes, yes. Captain Harris has already told us all that.” Nadhir held up his hand. “What he did not tell us is who you work for.”
“I work for nobody.”
“Yet we caught you with incriminating documents in your possession.”
“I was asked to mail some private letters when I reached Egypt. That is all.”
“Ah, then you admit it.” Nadhir flashed a triumphant look at the rest of the audience.
“I have no reason not to.” She looked around the room, heard murmuring as someone translated the English words to the seated men.
“Be careful of what you say. These judges will find out the truth.” Nadhir continued his circling of her. Like a shark! Looking for an opening to attack. Any momentary lapse of attention could be lethal.
The back and forth continued. Much was made of her traveling alone without the supervision of a male relative. That her maiden name was Dubineau and that her family had extensive business dealings with the French.
Later Captain Harris was allowed into the hearing. He looked ill at ease, facing the officialdom of Tunis.
“Lady Bethune is a British national and entitled to all the rights of a citizen,” he blustered.
“Certainly, in England. In Tunis, she is charged with spying for the French.”
“Queen Victoria will not be pleased to have one of her subjects denied her rights.”
The translated statement produced a murmur. What had an unripe child-queen to do with the serious business of the world?
“Yes, no doubt, your Queen will order the Grand Fleet of the British Empire to attack Tunisia on account of one woman spying for the French,” Nadhir supposed sarcastically; he made a motion and the guards dragged the steward into the room. The poor man’s feet were swollen and he could barely stand and had to be held upright. Terrorized, he eyed the assemblage, looking for a way out.
“We tested his statement with a cane to the soles of his feet. We determined that he knows nothing.” Nadhir then turned fully on the Captain. “You may take him with you. Then it would be advisable to hoist anchor and be on your way, if you don’t want your ship confiscated and crew and passengers put in jail.”
“But Lady Bethune...”
“The lady will stay and face the consequences of her spying.” Nadhir’s voice was harsh and dismissive.
Throwing an apologetic, shamefaced look at her, the Captain collected the steward and the two stumbled from the room. Emily felt a growing despair at being so easily abandoned. This can’t be true. Such things don’t happen to normal, upstanding people...
There followed a long discussion that Lady Bethune couldn’t follow. Finally Nadhir turned on her and said in a cold voice, “We shall continue this tomorrow.” He made a peremptory gesture and two guards grabbed Lady Bethune and dragged her out the room. They took her upstairs to a small room on the third floor. It had a bed and a narrow window that overlooked the lake harbor. She clung to the bars, looking desperately out at the Orion at anchor. The ship was surrounded by tenders, no doubt, still loading water. The scene looked so normal that the pain of it wrenched her heart. What was she supposed to do? Bernice would probably try to cajole and threaten the Captain to do something more energetic. And the Chief Engineer? But what could he do?
Lady Bethune remained at the window and watched as the ship made ready. In the afternoon smoke rose from the smoke stack, thickening. Within an hour, the smoke was a thick rope. Then the side paddles started churning the water and the ship made an awkward turn toward the channel that led to the sea. With mounting panic Lady Bethune watched her last hope disappear around the headland. For a while, she could see a column of smoke that was shredded by the wind. Then she was alone, in hostile hands, accused of spying.
Emily didn’t sleep that night. She couldn’t come to terms that this was happening to her. She was trapped in a foreign jail facing bogus charges all by herself. Her husband Riley couldn’t help her, and her father, Henry Dubineau, rich import-export merchant had no influence or standing in Tunisia. Never had she been more alone... except once.
Next morning she was given tea and flat bread. She was more composed, finally understanding that there was little she could do in the situation but control her own emotions. She was determined to stand strong, not panic, and to use her head. She soon had opportunity to test her resolve as she was again taken to the audience room to face the collection of accusers.
Standing in the centre of all this attention, Lady Bethune stood straight, waiting for the onslaught. Nadhir started circling. “You had a night to consider your crime. It would go easier on you if you were to confess.”
“I have nothing to confess to,” she replied calmly. “I promised to deliver a packet of letters out of compassion, nothing more. I didn’t look at the letters and don’t know what’s in them.”
“So you claim. It’s more likely that you’re paid to be a courier for a known spy―”
“If Miss Moreno Valdez is a known spy, why hasn’t she been arrested?”
“She is the honey to draw the flies out of hiding.” Nadhir circled her quicker now. “Be aware that we take such matters very seriously, and the penalty for spying is death...”
A guard came up to Nadhir and whispered something in his ear. A prolonged discussion followed and some decision was made. All eyes turned to the door to behold the Chief Engineer enter in his dazzling white uniform and gold braids. Emily blinked, hardly able to believe her eyes; her heart skipped several beats.
With a measured, steady gaze the Chief Engineer swept the room, looking people straight in the eyes. He walked to Lady Bethune, bent and kissed her hand in a gesture of respect. Then he placed himself between the panel and her, calmly waiting the proceeding.
“Mister Engineer, what have you to say in this matter?”
“I’m here to see that a British subject is afforded a fair hearing.”
“This is a trial. All according to the law.”
“Yes. I can see the accuser and the judges. But who speaks for the accused? Must she stand alone?” The question produced an exchange of murmurs. “Since her husband isn’t here to speak for her, I stand in his place.” He stepped into the path of circling Nadhir. “What are the specific charges against her?”
A repetition of the accusations followed. In rapid fire, Nadhir rattled off the points. Finishing, he turned on the Chief Engineer. Deep in thought, Chance started circling Nadhir, making two complete revolutions before answering.
“Seems strange that your culture doesn’t recognize the compassion one woman would have for the plight of another. As if no one here has a mother, a wife or a daughter.” He paused in front of the judges. “As if no mother has shown any caring for a child or someone in distress. Your women must be well trained to repress these impulses.” He repeatedly shook his head.
Nadhir stepped out of the engineer’s circle, visibly irritated. “The question here is about spying, not about feelings. Please address yourself to that.”
“Can’t. You’ve twisted every word she says around to accuse herself...” Chance turned to face Nadhir. “Besides, I had no chance to consult with her and devise a defense.”
A round of consultation followed. Nadhir translated the ruling of the judges. “Though this trial will proceed according to our laws not yours, we will give you an opportunity to present her case tomorrow.”
In short order, Chance and Emily found themselves in the cell. She sat on the bed and he stood by the window, gazing into the distance.
“What’ll happen tomorrow?”
“Something for sure.” He shrugged. “But we can’t win this case. Not by their laws. There’s no justification they would accept.”
“How do you know that?” She was deeply disappointed. His appearance had boosted her confidence; now all that was being shattered.
“I consulted with Professor Howard. He has studied their ways and now serves the Foreign Ministry in all such matters. If I understand him right, we can’t win on a judicial level. But don’t worry, there are other ways.”
“Other ways?”
“We’ll try a little blackmail.” Chance gave her a tightlipped smile. What on earth was he talking about? “But right now we need a little more time.”
She moved over to let him have the other end of the bed to sit on. “Do you not find it strange that they locked us up together?”
“No doubt to see if we will compromise ourselves and use that against us as well.”
“Compromise?” Instead of answering, he gave her a long piercing look until she understood.
The sun swung more in their direction and the room became hot. Chance loosened his collar, then half an hour later, his jacket. Lady Bethune used her hat to fan herself.
She finally found the courage to ask, “Why did you come back for me?”
He didn’t speak for some time, then throwing her a strange look, replied, “It seems to be a habit of mine.” She didn’t know what to make of his answer.
In the evening they were given food and drink. They watched the sun slip below the horizon, wondering what the next day would bring.
Neither slept well; she on the bed and he stretched out on the floor, using his jacket for a pillow. Still with first light, he seemed eager to start the day.
It was, however, not till the afternoon that they were summoned to the continuation of the trial. There were fewer judges in the room. Nadhir jumped right in. “So now you’ve had a chance to consult with the accused and devise a defense. We’ll be pleased to hear it.” There was a genuine spark of interest in his voice, as if he too were curious to see where this East-West confrontation would take them.
“As to the charges, we can offer little defense beyond the accused’ statements that she is innocent and if she did anything wrong, she did so unknowingly. She is not connected with the French in any manner.” Chance took a turn in front of the judges. “It is well known, however, that the English are traditional enemies of France. Only forty some years ago we fought Napoleon Bonaparte and defeated him at Trafalgar and Waterloo. Now, another Napoleon, Bonaparte’s nephew, is at the helm of France. We don’t trust him and should it come to war, England will be at the forefront against them. It seems inadvisable to risk a good relationship with England over such a trivial matter as a woman’s compassion for another.”
