Daughter of the God-King by Anne Cleeland Page B

afraid.”
    “And this latest—the unknown daughter, lying in state in a place reserved only for pharaohs. An amazing mystery.”
    “Indeed.” And then, because Berry was listening, she managed to dredge up yet another fact so as to sound semi-informed. “A mystery which hopefully will be solved—I believe there is cautious optimism that the hieroglyphic language on the tomb can be translated, now that the key has been discovered.”
    “The Rosetta Stone,” agreed the captain with a nod. “Napoleon had his uses, I suppose.”
    Fearing that they were going to stray into yet another tedious conversation about the deposed Emperor and his place in history, Hattie hastily noted, “I should check on Bing—she is unwell, I’m afraid.”
    The captain doffed his hat with good humor. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Blackhouse; I hope you will join me for dinner this evening.”
    Hattie smiled her acceptance. “Thank you—on behalf of myself and Miss Bing.” If the captain thought she’d dine with him unchaperoned she would disabuse him of this notion. With a nod to Berry, the other man strode away with a well-pleased air, and Hattie knew a moment’s qualm that she would be simultaneously fending off flirtations from the captain whilst trying to encourage them from Berry, which would make for a trip as complicated as Berry’s resolve to be more honest with her.
    Berry sketched a bow. “ Au revoir , mademoiselle.”
    “ Au revoir , monsieur.” While she regretted the captain’s interruption of their conversation, she consoled herself with the fact there would be plenty of opportunities to speak with Berry—hopefully at length—during the course of the journey. With this happy thought in mind, she made her way to their cabin to find Bing asleep in the upper berth. Moving quietly so as not to wake her, Hattie settled in on the edge of her narrow berth and took a moment to review the conversation on deck. Berry had resolved to be honest with her—it seemed that their passionate argument had resulted in a shift in their relationship; an understanding of sorts. Nevertheless, she vowed that she would never again appear to be inviting his advances—she had learned a very humiliating lesson.
    Bing stirred in her sickbed. “Do you remain well, Hathor?”
    Standing to address her suffering companion, Hattie took a thin hand in her own. “I’m afraid I do. I am almost ashamed.”
    “Nonsense. Once I am over the initial discomfort I shall recover, never fear.”
    “Is there anything you need? Or do you long for me to leave you alone?” It had occurred to Hattie that a sickening chaperone was not necessarily an unadulterated evil.
    “I am only concerned that I fail in my duties to you—there are rough seamen aboard and your presence may evoke a reaction.”
    “Now it is my turn to say ‘nonsense’ to you, Bing; I had a pleasant conversation with the captain up on deck and am perfectly comfortable.” Best not to mention that the captain had the look of a man embarking on a flirtation. “He would like us to join him for dinner.”
    “Excellent,” Bing intoned weakly.
    Eyeing her doubtfully, Hattie offered, “If you’d rather, Bing, I will cry off and tell him we will accept his invitation tomorrow.”
    “I shall be recovered,” her companion insisted. “It is merely mind over matter.”
    “The spirit may be willing, but the flesh is green around the gills,” Hattie pointed out gently. “I’ll not contribute to your demise; the tiresome god-king’s daughter has already inspired an alarming mortality rate.”
    From her prone position, Bing sighed, one hand resting on her forehead. “Even if we do not discover your parents’ fate, we shall see their affairs settled—there is that.”
    “Yes. And speaking of which, I will now astonish you and inform you that Monsieur Berry is aboard.”
    “Is he?” Bing contemplated the cabin’s ceiling for a moment. “That is indeed astonishing.”
    “Not a