Chapter 8

While Phileas suffered in the grips of a fit of temper, Melody and Rebecca were walking along Bond Street, holding several boxes each. These were the smaller part of their purchases. The rest would be delivered to the house when they were ready.

Rebecca considered herself an accomplished judge of fashion. She had sized up her cousin's wife and made several preliminary designs in her head before setting off this morning. She took Melody to the one dressmaker she herself used when she didn't have the time to do the sewing herself.

Madame Rosenburg had seen Melody's potential right away. Together, the two women decked Melody out with a complete winter wardrobe, including four or five evening gowns for the various balls she would attend when word of their marriage was posted.

To date, Phileas had refused to do that, but he couldn't keep that attitude much longer. Whatever danger Melody had been in, nothing had happened since. If she were under official protection, that would have been lifted by now. Rebecca approved of his new attitude toward her, openly courting her affections anew. Not that he had ever lost them. Once again, Rebecca bit her tongue against making comments on the way her cousin was overseeing his marriage. It wasn't for her to say anything.

The two will be besieged once the announcement is made. Phileas is right about the announcement bringing attention to them. Phileas was a man of property and wealth, with connections to the royal family, friends in the ranks of the nobility, and all over the civil government. Oh yes, they are going to be mobbed once word gets out.

Against Phileas's wishes, Rebecca had told the news to a few people she could trust to keep it quiet. Sir Jonathan knew, of course, and so did Lady Eleanor Weatherby. Rebecca had told the countess because she had been a close friend of the family for over fifty years, who would be the best person to arrange them a reception. The news would end the dear lady's matchmaking efforts on Phileas's behalf, too. Ever since her unsuccessful attempt to marry him off to her grandniece, Lady Weatherby had made it her mission in life to see the Fogg heir settled with an heir of his own.

"Rebecca," Melody said, getting her companion's attention. "Have we anywhere else to go?"

"No," Rebecca said, "nowhere but lunch, I think. I'm famished."

"Where will we go?"

"There is a lovely tea house near here," Rebecca said. "The food is wonderful, and the dining room is decorated like a formal garden."

"It sounds beautiful! How soon can we get there?"

"It is four blocks away. We should hire a carriage to take us."

There were hackneys and other vehicles within sight. A coach for hire appeared behind them, pulling around a corner. Rebecca signaled for the vehicle. The driver nodded to her, moving his horse to her side of the street.

"We will be there in no time," Rebecca said.

The coachman stopped his vehicle beside the two women. He jumped down to open the door for them. In doing, he swung his arm out, catching Rebecca off guard. She was swept off her feet and onto the pavement in seconds.

From the ground, Rebecca saw Melody turn to her aid. A man wearing a turban leaned half out of the coach and grabbed her around the waist. She heard Melody's scream and its sudden halt. He lifted her off the pavement and into the coach like a child's plaything.

Rebecca had been halfway off the ground coming to her aid as the door shut. The coachman turned and backhanded Rebecca back to the cobblestones before climbing back up and driving off. It all took less than a minute. Dazed from being struck hard, Rebecca could only watch from the ground as the coach drove away.

Several people came forward, surrounding her in a sea of concerned faces, gathering their scattered boxes, asking if she was injured, yelling for a constable. The coach turned right on the next street and disappeared.

Chapter 17

Melody didn't think she had ever been so frightened since her wedding day. When she had been put to reciting her vows, she had become nervous, but when she was asked to sign her name to the papers by the minister, she had suddenly known that it had been no pretend wedding. It was real, and she was truly married to the handsome, charming stranger.

But now Melody was screaming inside. The pair of arms that had encircled her from behind and hauled her into the coach were owned by a huge man in a turban. She couldn't think, couldn't move, held close against him. She screamed and screamed and fought with all her strength. Might as well have been fighting an oak tree. The arms around her waist and mouth were like steel bands. The only sound Melody could make now were muffled squeaks. An angry mouse could have made more of an impression as the coach passed by.

Her struggles stopped when the hand over Melody's mouth covered her nose. With little air coming in, she faltered, nearly fainted. When she stopped struggling, her captor relaxed his hold and moved her off his lap and into the seat beside him. There, he propped her up in the corner.

"Keep silent."

The harsh order spoken in English, but heavily accented with Arabic.

Melody stayed still and quiet. She looked out the window. They were moving south, but that was all she knew for certain. She knew almost nothing about the way London streets were laid out.

The driver had hit Rebecca. Was she well? How soon would she tell Phileas what had happened? Phileas's cautions–after all this time, I thought them groundless. How did they find out where I was? Have they been waiting all this time for this chance?

Melody looked up at her kidnapper with a quick sideways glance. He was easily as tall as Phileas, but bigger in width and bulk. He now took a more relaxed pose, sprawling his long body across the coach, putting one foot up on the seat in front of them, obviously not worried about trouble from me. He's right, I'm not going to do anything that might upset him. But what is this was all about?

How would Rebecca handle this? She's such a fearless soul, something I've never been. Rebecca would never have fallen apart or sat here cringing. She would have simply stared her kidnapper in the eye and demanded a defense of his actions.

Melody didn't feel quite that forward, but sitting in the corner of the coach like a frightened mouse will avail me nothing. She mentally pulled herself together and tried to get some answers.

"W–Why do you want me?" Melody demanded. A poor demand, coming out in a squeak, but she voiced it.

Her Arab captor looked surprised by the question. He turned to look down at her with a slight smile.

"The little sparrow speaks?"

Melody looked up and faced him, deciding that he was not only huge, but had the aristocratic baring of every man declaring himself a royal prince she had ever seen. He had a long face and a long, narrow nose. The mouth was as straight as the nose and his eyes were bottomless black pools.

Melody and her father had lived within but separate from the local English community in Alexandria. Her father had never allowed her to go to any of the balls and dinner parties the command or community held. "Too many foreigners," he complained whenever she asked. "When we are back in England, you will have parties aplenty. I'll make it up to you."

Melody remembered those promises now. He had promised to give her a huge come-out ball and a splendid season. He said he would see her married to the best man to offer for her. Someone who was nothing like himself.

"Who are you? Why have you kidnapped me?" She said with more strength.

"You could not pronounce my family name properly if you tried," the Arab said, laughing. "You may call me Mohammad. Your father took something that belongs to me. It was not found in your father's papers in Alexandria and has not been found in the house you left. I must conclude he hid it somewhere in his home. That was searched as you packed, but somehow it was missed."

Searched? Melody went pale. The only people involved in the packing were the officer's wives the Colonel sent to help me.

"My English partners in Alexandria were not very thorough," Mohammad said. "I was told to consider the matter closed when the papers were not found. They told me you were no threat to us. They lied to me. You are a danger to us as long as my map and your father's papers remain hidden. They also lied about you being a girl."

The Arab reached ran a finger down her cheek, moving a lock of hair out of her face. "Little English sparrows such as you should be kept well protected. Had I been Colonel Patterson, I would have seen to it you had an armed escort back to England. It is no surprise to me Phileas Fogg took you for his own."

When Melody refused to react to him, Mohammad took his hand away. "I am a more thorough man than your colonel. I do not choose to take chances. What has been lost is too precious to lose. If your benefactor, Phileas Fogg, does not find and give it back, you will be killed. And then he will be killed, and all that you have will be searched until I find what is mine."

"Phileas Fogg is my husband," Melody said. "What are you looking for?"

"Don't think that bit of play-acting aboard ship fooled me," Mohammad shot back. "Phileas Fogg staged that to give you protection, nothing more. Phileas Fogg is a known agent of the British Government. Pretending to marry you will not frighten me off. You are his protected woman, a mistress, nothing more."

"What I am looking for," he said, "is a map your father took from me of the Valley of Kings, to use as evidence against us. It was an ancient map of papyrus made by the high priest of Osiris. It showed the locations of over a dozen treasure houses and tombs. There may also be a copy of a report your father wrote, stating where he found it and what its significance is."

In all sincerity, Mohammad said, "Your father was a good, honorable man, but honorable men who fall in with dishonorable men are often swept away by the stronger tide of greed or buried in the sands with their honor intact. Your father died with honor. That will be forever, to his credit. Even so, I want my map back."

"You will be taken to a place of hiding," Mohammad said. "There you will be held in comfort, unharmed. You will write a letter to your pretend husband, telling him to find the map. When I receive it, you will be freed. If I do not receive it, if Phileas Fogg tries to keep it or go to English authorities… I have already addressed that."

"You are making a mistake," Melody said. "You didn't have to kidnap me. I will give you back the map. Just describe it to me and I will go through everything for you."

Mohammad smiled. "I believe you are frightened enough to do just that, but you could change your mind once away from me. Phileas Fogg would not allow it even if you are true to your word. Were he to discover you looking for the map, he would intervene. No, it is better he is forced to understand with whom he is dealing. He will respect my strength and do as I bid."