Chapter 7

They were now two blocks from the house. Phileas concentrated on their surroundings and the reason for his insistence on caution. More of his memories had come back to him, the details of his altercation in Tripoli, for one.

Their ship made several extended stops along the way to England. They had spent three days in Tripoli awaiting the loading of a shipment of goods. To pass the time, several of the passengers had made an excursion to the local marketplace. Phileas had been asked by Mr. Stiles to come along.

"If my Sara heads west looking for silks and Miss Melody east after jewelry, I will be in an awful fix. Do come with us?" the older man begged. "The markets are crowded and two men watching over two excited ladies will be better than one."

The market had indeed been crowded, but all had gone well for over two hours. While he and Mr. Stiles had been looking over a stall of brass goods, a loud argument had started between Miss Anderson and a vender of silk. As she didn't speak Aramaic, it had been completely one sided. She had tried to get the man to speak French, but he had shouted over her pleas.

Phileas had just stepped up to extract her when the vender had backed her into a large Arab who grabbed her about the waist, attempting to drag her away. His instincts deduced a set up. He just didn't know why the two Arabs had been willing to chance a kidnapping in broad daylight.

The fight had ensued as he defended Miss Anderson from her attackers. Phileas had nothing but his cane against a long, curved dagger. He caught up whatever was handy to defend himself. A small group of the Queen's naval officers had rounded the corner. Seeing a fellow Englishman in trouble, they came running. The Arab, outnumbered, fled, but not before hammering Phileas in the head with the hilt of his weapon. The next coherent memory Phileas could recall had been waking up in his cabin with a steward and the minister tending to him.

With the Stiles's cooperation, they kept near Miss Anderson. Phileas, who understood Aramaic, had heard what the large brute had said as he had tried to carry Miss Anderson away. "This infidel has stolen my master's property!" He shouted. "No one interfere!" Before bashing Fogg in the head, he said, "until next time."

The night the ship was boarded; the same large Arab had snuck over the side. Phileas had been sipping brandy and stargazing. The night had been clear and quiet. Quiet enough to hear the boat draw near and an Arabic voice call out, admonishing others to be ready to leave once he had the girl.

Phileas continued to wonder just what this woman or her father might have or have done that would cause her so much trouble? Phileas questioned her about what she may have that they wanted. Melody had been clueless.

"My baggage has all our household goods and father's things. I saw nothing out of the ordinary or new as the ladies and I packed. For the last two years, father had a quiet posting. He had charge of storehouses of supplies. Not an adventurous duty. We have some things of value, but nothing of great value."

"Nothing old or unusual you might have picked up in a bazaar before leaving Egypt?" Phileas said, grasping at possibilities.

"No," Melody said. "Father never let me go out into the city alone, and rarely with an escort. He said it would be too dangerous. Truly, I lived like a cloister."

There was that word again.

So, what might the major have been doing that would keep his daughter cloistered in a city that was reputably one of the safer locales of the Middle East? Army officers, Phileas knew, had a tradition of lining their pockets with whatever they could pull out of the local area. Major Anderson could have become involved in selling army supplies, or some form of local graft, smuggling. Phileas had seen plenty of that when he had served in the Army and more when a crown agent later.

A search of her father's effects might shed some light. Perhaps some discreet questions to could be asked of the right people at the home office. Peter… Peter Kent works there still. A letter to Peter wouldn't be amiss. All her baggage had been delivered and stored in the carriage house. He would bring it up to Melody after I've rested from this walk.