Lady Davenport lifted the china tea cup to her mouth in the most proper fashion, as Mary, her maid, laid out newspapers and mail on the table beside the tea tray. In a slow, precise voice, of perfect pitch, Lady Anne said,
"Mary, the fireplace needs cleaning, I can see ashes and debris in the grate from here. Send Jazira in to clean it out."
"Yes, my lady." And Mary quietly turned and left the room.
Lady Anne reflected over her tea, that if she used this as an opportunity to observe Jazira, the young woman might give away some clue as to her true nature. There was a submissiveness about the young woman that Lady Davenport was accustomed to in her servants, and she had an eclectic staff from around the world, a collection of people from her travels, but Jazira remained unfathomable. On occasion Lady Davenport had seen a fiery spark, a rebellious flash, a bold defiant ember in Jazira's dark eyes, but it would disappear as quick as summer lightning and her voice never betrayed any emotion other than humble servitude. It was Lady Davenport's increasing occupation, trying to figure out Jazira, and each week it became more vital.
Jazira entered the room asking softly, "Mary said you wanted to see me?"
Lady Anne took another sip of tea and savored it a long moment before making a reply. She glanced over at Jazira for the slightest glimmer of impatience, but found the young woman looking across at the fireplace. Lady Anne finally answered,
"Yes, Jazira, the fireplace has not been cleaned and the weather is warm enough now that we will not be using it any time soon."
Without a word, Jazira went over to the fireplace, chose the tools she needed and went to work. Lady Anne haughtily cocked her head and stared at the girl as she worked. Did she know where her father's book tracing the Muniqiyah bloodline was? Had she hidden it on this very property somewhere? At the thought, Lady Anne gripped the tea cup so tightly that it hurt her slender hand.
When Jazira had shown up on Al-Hattal at the Aden wharf, seeking immediate passage and needing immediate refuge from the Prince and his men who would be hot on her heels once they discovered she had escaped them, Lady Davenport had been in the right place at the right time. News about Sheik Riyadh's poor health had traveled to her ears months ago, and Lady Davenport had been making contacts in Arabia for that very purpose. Her business alliances had assured her that once the Prince married Jazira, as everyone knew her father wished her to, and he inherited Al-Hattal through the marriage, a sporting gamble, a wager, a bet in Lady Davenport's favor would secure the stallion for her. But when Jazira arrived unexpectedly at the docks realizing she did not have enough money to secure passage for the stallion or herself, nor did she have a destination in mind, it was Lady Davenport who swept in and cleared all obstacles for the young, distraught woman. It was Lady Davenport's soothing voice that promised protection from an angry Prince humiliated at the hands of a lowly woman. She offered guidance to someone inexperienced in travel, and provided a destination to a girl whose world was now empty. Of course it all came with a price, Al-Hattal, the prize she had sought after all these years, since her own girlhood in Arabia. She had been gracious enough to offer Jazira a place in her household, after all she had no where else to go. But when Lady Davenport asked Jazira about the breeding book, the famous Al-Khamsa manuscripts Aziz had told her about, Jazira wore an empty expression and feigned ignorance. Numerous times with gentle coaxing, and sweet bribery Lady Anne tried to find out if Jazira really knew the whereabouts of the book. Other occasions she tried subterfuge, force, and degradation, but none of her methods worked. In over a year's time Lady Anne still knew nothing and began to wonder if Jazira truly knew anything herself. Once after a drilling conversation and relentless questions, Jazira meekly explained the role of women in her world, in her father's tent, and that to have the knowledge Lady Davenport asserted she possessed was without precedent in that society. She had talked so long about law and position that Lady Davenport felt it was useless to go on since she was getting no where with the girl. So Lady Anne traveled to Arabia herself and spoke to the Prince with the promise of the first foal Al-Hattal sired if he allowed her to dig up the old sheik's grave in order to see if the book had been buried with him. It had been a useless trip, they had found nothing.
Jazira could see Lady Davenport's hard, transfixed stare as it was reflected in the polished brass shovel she was using. Jazira had no doubts that it was Lady Davenport herself who constantly searched her room. Everything was made to appear as if it were back in place, but Jazira knew, she had even expected it.
Light bouncing off the brass made Lady Davenport aware she had been caught staring at the young woman therefore showing her insecurity. So she decisively put down her tea cup and picked up her mail. As she sorted through the envelopes, she noticed one that had arrived from the United States with an address in New York. In a reflex she picked up her razor sharp letter opener and sliced through the thick paper. As she spread out the letter the words escaped her before she could prevent it,
"He's coming! Thank heavens, he's coming!"
Such an unexpected exclamation caused Jazira to turn around and look at the unusual degree of excitement on Lady Davenport's face. She stood up holding the letter in jubilance and then she remembered Jazira and said,
"Oh, never mind that, go find Mary and tell her to bring my writing desk. Hurry!"
Jazira left the shovel and brush inside the fireplace, stood slowly, and dusted off her hands before leaving. She wondered who could the heavens possibly be sending?
