Greek Wedding Page 9

  ‘It’s all been spent long since.’ Phyllida did not think Alex much liked the question. ‘Even a pallikar—a Greek soldier must eat, milord.’

  ‘And wear silver-mounted pistols?’

  ‘It’s true.’ Alex flushed angrily. ‘That first English loan was misspent. We Greeks are children still when it comes to government. It was madness to hand over the money without making any conditions about its use. If only Lord Byron had lived…’

  ‘He’d have washed his hands of the whole affair long since. From all I’ve heard he was getting impatient enough already with the bungling and cadging at Missolonghi. Maybe it was a stroke of luck for your cause that he died when he did and provided you with a famous martyr.’

  ‘Milord!’ Suddenly Alexandros’ hand was on his own silver-mounted pistol. ‘You go too far.’

  ‘Do I?’ The quiet words fell heavily.

  ‘Missolonghi!’ Phyllida broke in. ‘Alex! Tell me if you’ve had any more news from there. Please?’ The plea was tacitly addressed to them both. But Alex’s hand was still on his pistol. She touched it lightly, pleadingly. ‘Say you’ve another crumb of comfort for me?’

  ‘In fact, yes.’ She could feel the tension drain out of him. ‘There is news today that a group of soldiers from Missolonghi did manage to join Karaiskakis in the mountains. That at least was not mere rumour. As to the rest of it—I don’t want to raise false hopes—’

  ‘Please?’

  ‘You could persuade a man to anything, kyria. Well, you shall have it then, your crumb. There is talk that one of them is a Frank—a Philhellene. Well, why not? Petros is young and strong. And he was not cumbered with womenfolk as were so many of the men who escaped. If they could have brought themselves to leave their wives behind, it might have been a different story.’

  ‘Just the same, I’m glad they didn’t,’ said Aunt Cassandra. ‘The women who stayed behind weren’t spared, were they?’

  ‘There was no hope for them,’ he said. ‘Knowing this, it was arranged that when the Turks were well into the town, the tower they were in should be blown up. They went to heaven, kyria, and sent a good number of Turks to hell at the same time.’

  Phyllida shivered. ‘It’s barbarous.’ But at least the moment of danger between him and Brett had passed.

  Brett thanked Phyllida later. ‘If you hadn’t intervened, I really believe that mad young Greek and I would have come to blows this afternoon.’

  ‘Not blows,’ said Phyllida. ‘Pistols for two.’

  ‘Yes. The last thing we want. Quite apart from the debt of gratitude I owe him, I don’t at all wish to get in bad odour with the Greeks by killing him.

  ‘You’re so sure you would?’ She found his confidence irritating.

  ‘My dear Miss Vannick, have you seen that silver-plated blunderbuss he uses for a pistol? It might just as well have come out of the ark. I doubt if he could hit a barn door at ten paces, still less a man. They’re all the same, those Greeks. The only weapon of theirs that’s any good is their musket—and it’s so heavy they have to lean it on a rock to fire. That’s why they’re no use in hand-to-hand combat. Give me a regiment of English infantry, with the bayonet, and I guarantee to defeat any army the Greeks can field.’

  ‘So long as you get near enough.’

  He laughed. ‘I hope I never do. But, Miss Vannick—’

  ‘I thought you were to call me Phyllida.’ His tone was more serious than she liked.

  ‘Phyllida, then—’ He moved closer as if to take her hand, then, to her relief, turned suddenly on his heel. ‘What am I thinking of? Forgive me; I must make sure that Barlow’s set a good watch. I don’t trust those Greeks for an instant. They’d steal the hair off your head, and say it was in the cause of the revolution. I’ll be glad when we’ve’ got the Helena safe to Zante.’

  ‘So shall I,’ said Phyllida.

  Chapter 8

  On the surface, Brett and Alex were as good friends as ever after their quarrel, but just the same Phyllida was relieved that Alex would escort them to Zante on his own ship, the Philip. To see the two of them together, now, was to see tinderbox and gunpowder.

  ‘I shall keep always within hailing distance.’ Alex was saying goodbye. ‘Even with your new sails, you’ve no chance of outdistancing the Philip. Set your own pace, and rely on me to keep close. You’ll be in no danger rounding Cape Matapan with me behind you.’

  ‘The piracy’s so bad?’ Brett had not much liked the implied criticism of the Helena.

  ‘This is war, milord.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that.’ As so often, Phyllida felt it best to intervene. ‘Ought you to be wasting your time escorting us?’

  ‘Time is never wasted in the service of beauty. Besides’—on a more practical note—‘I am charged with messages from our government to Sir Frederick Adam, the British High Commissioner for the Ionian Islands.’

  ‘Then we must delay you as little as possible.’ Brett sounded equally businesslike.

  ‘No indeed. Only—’ Phyllida held out her hand to Alex:

  ‘There’s no more news?’

  ‘Of Petros? None. I’m sorry. But my friends are still making enquiries. Don’t despair, kyria. When I have seen you safe to Zante, and taken my dispatches to Sir Frederick on Corfu, I propose to treat myself to a run up the gulf of Missolonghi. Who knows what information I may not be able to pick up there?’

  ‘But is it safe? Now that the Turks hold the place?’

  He raised her unresisting hand to kiss it. ‘Your concern would make any danger worth while, but, frankly, there’s none. What do the Turks hold? A few blackened ruins, full of the bones of gallant Greeks. They don’t hold the countryside; they never do. That’s why, in the end, they will lose this war. Have no fear for me. I shall find a way of getting in touch with friends on shore. Perhaps, at last, I shall have real news for you.’

  ‘A very clever young man.’ Miss Knight joined Phyllida at the rail where she was watching Alex row himself vigorously back to the Philip.

  ‘You don’t like him?’

  ‘I find him charming. But I don’t quite trust him, Phyl.’ She regretted it as soon as it was spoken and did her best to turn it off with a laugh. ‘What was that phrase you and Peter used to use? “Timeo Danaos…”’

  ‘“I fear the Greeks…”’ She sighed, and her aunt wondered, anxiously, whether it was for her brother. ‘But why in the world should we fear Alex, Aunt? Just think what he’s done for us.’

  ‘Yes indeed.’ Wisely, Cassandra let it rest there.

  With fine weather and a following wind they made good time round Cape Malea to Cape Matapan. Past Matapan, they lost sight of the Philip for the first time but saw a pair of mystics ahead.

  ‘They must have a lookout up there,’ Brett pointed to a fortress on the headland.

  ‘In that case he’ll have seen the Philip,’ said Phyllida.

  ‘But not necessarily recognised her. Here they come.’

  ‘They really are pirates?’

  ‘It looks very much like it. I never thought I’d be so eager to see the Philip. Ah, there she is and signalling nineteen to the dozen. I wish I knew what it meant.’

  ‘Yes.’ Barlow joined them at the rail. ‘I’d give a good deal to understand their code. But it seems to work. Look!’ As he spoke the two strange mystics had changed course and headed back towards the deep bay from which they had come.

  ‘Interesting that they understand each other so well,’ said Brett.

  ‘What are you hinting at?’ Phyllida’s voice was angry.

  ‘Oh, nothing, nothing at all.’ He thought himself a coward as he spoke.

  Sailing up the western shore of Messenia they got their first sight of the devastation wreaked by the Turks. Between Modon and Navarino smoke-blackened walls showed where villages had stood; the ravaged trunks of olive trees stood bitter as gallows against the deep blue sky. The fields were neglected, and they saw few signs of life until they drew almost level with Pyrgo
s. There, a black cloud of smoke hung over the land.

  ‘Ibrahim Pasha must be back from Missolonghi,’ said Brett.

  Phyllida shuddered. ‘Those poor Greeks. Do you think Alex will feel he must stop and try to help them?’

  ‘I doubt it.’ And then, sensing her reaction. ‘He’s the bearer of dispatches, remember.’

  It was an extraordinary relief to turn away from the ravaged mainland, with its black pall of smoke, and see Zante’s green and peaceful hills lying ahead. Since they entered the harbour there under sail alone, they did not cause the furore they had at Nauplia, but slid quietly to their anchorage to await the inevitable inspection and quarantine. Brett and Miss Knight both felt, and concealed, a deep relief that Alex had gone straight on to Corfu. Phyllida was equally careful not to show how much she missed him.

  Quarantine over, there was plenty to distract her. Algernon Biddock was their first visitor, a long, lean Scotsman, with a prominent Adam’s apple and an anxious expression. He had come to see Brett, and they were closeted together for a long time in the saloon while Phyllida and Cassandra sat under the awning on deck and tried to decide whether their first sightseeing visit should be to the Venetian fortress on the hill or the Church of St. Dionysus near the harbour. The idle talk concealed Phyllida’s gnawing anxiety. When Mr. Biddock had finished his business with Brett, she must speak to him about her own affairs. He had been her father’s agent in this part of the Mediterranean for years, but how was she to convince him that she was her father’s daughter? It was galling, it was humiliating, it was intolerable to be penniless, dependent on Brett Renshaw for everything. Tomorrow they would be free to go ashore. She looked down at her Turkish costume, shabby by now, faded with sun and salt. She had always thought herself above caring about dress, and was irritated to realise how much she longed to go ashore and order herself a whole new wardrobe.

  ‘Some new caps!’ Cassandra must have been thinking along the same lines. ‘Do you think they will have caps in Zante, Phyl?’

  ‘If they do, you shall have six, Aunt.’ Even if she had to humiliate herself and borrow the money from Brett Renshaw.

  On the thought, he appeared, shepherding Mr. Biddock. ‘Miss Vannick would also like a word with you, sir.’ As he made the introductions, Phyllida was aware that he was holding him self on the tightest possible rein. Something was very wrong indeed. He was concealing it gallantly, but she knew him too well by now to be deceived. ‘I’ve told Mr. Biddock the outlines of your story,’ he said. ‘I thought I could spare you that.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She accepted the man of business’s condolences mechanically, trying to fathom the thoughts that lay behind them.

  ‘More shocked than I can say,’ he was ending. ‘I knew that Mr. Vannick was sadly overdue, of course, but I’d heard nothing…’

  ‘Nothing?’ This was bad news.

  ‘Just so. There’s no use beating about the bush, Miss Vannick. You see, I call you that. I believe your story. Of course I do. But I’d not be worthy of the trust your father placed in me, if I were to act on such verbal evidence alone. You’ve no documents whatever, Mr. Renshaw says?’

  ‘None, I’m afraid. I’ll remember to save them, next time I’m kidnapped!’

  ‘Quite so. Precisely so. I can see you’re your father’s daughter, Miss Vannick. But how do we set about proving it? That brother of yours is off fighting in Greece somewhere, I understand?’

  ‘I hope so.’

  ‘Yes. Not much chance of getting hold of him. It really looks, I’m afraid as if we will have to send to New York for somebody to identify you.’

  Phyllida’s heart sank. ‘But that will take months.’

  ‘What about me?’ asked Miss Knight.

  The lawyer turned to her with heavy politeness. ‘My dear madam, I hope you will not take it amiss, but you must see that if (which I do not for a moment believe) but if Miss Vannick here were an impostor—’

  ‘I would be one too.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So that if, on the other hand, I am genuine—’

  ‘Then so is she.’

  ‘That’s settled then,’ said Cassandra.

  ‘You can prove it?’

  ‘You can,’ she said composedly. ‘I’m surprised at you, Algy Biddock. I never thought you’d have forgotten a lady you once asked to marry you.’

  ‘I?’

  Now she smiled. ‘It was some time ago, I confess, and you were not very old. But don’t you remember being brought south one Christmas and visiting a family at Steventon? And my cousin Jane reading aloud a book she’d just finished, called Love and Friendship, and how we all laughed ourselves into stitches, and you told her she couldn’t spell, and went on to ask each of us to marry you in turn?’

  ‘Good gracious,’ he said. ‘You’re never Miss Cassandra Knight?’

  ‘I am indeed. I can tell you a few things you did on that visit, if you like.’

  ‘No, no, I thank you, ma’am. I’m satisfied.’

  ‘Good. In that case, allow me to present you to my niece, Miss Vannick.’

  He took both Phyllida’s hands in his own moist ones. ‘I’m more happy than I can say, Miss Phyllida, that all our problems are so easily solved. You will let me be your banker, of course, until your father’s will is proved. It will be a long enough business, I’m afraid. You’ll be returning to New York, no doubt, to set about it?’

  ‘No,’ said Phyllida. ‘We came, my father and I, to find Peter. I shan’t go back until I know for certain what has happened to him.’

  ‘Of course. We must set enquiries in train at once. We would need to anyway since your brother is doubtless (if he is alive) your father’s main heir, though equally I am sure that Mr. Vannick will have made ample provision for you.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Phyllida. ‘As you say yourself, Mr. Biddock, there’s not much sense in beating about the bush. Before we left New York my father signed a new will, making me his sole heir.’

  ‘Good God! My dear Miss Vannick! I had no idea. But—there are millions—his steamboats alone—and the property—and the loans he made to Mr. Madison’s government (if they are ever repaid) … But even without them … Miss Vannick, you’re quite sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure. We quarrelled about it all the way across the Atlantic. My aunt knows … Oh, he meant to change it again, of course, once he’d persuaded Peter to come home with him. Poor father. I wish I hadn’t quarrelled with him now. Even the night before he was killed…’ She turned away suddenly, as if to look at blue sky over Mount Skopos.

  ‘And the mills at Needham…’ Mr. Biddock was still mentally taking stock of her estate.

  ‘Yes,’ said Miss Knight, ‘but for the moment we haven’t a penny between us.’

  ‘And we owe Mr. Renshaw a vast sum for bringing us here.’ Her aunt’s intervention had given Phyllida time to dry her eyes. ‘I am going to be a great expense to you, Mr. Biddock.’

  ‘It will be a pleasure. Yes, of course, your expenses … Most proper. We must work out a figure…’

  ‘Nothing of the kind,’ said Brett Renshaw. ‘The two ladies were my guests.’

  ‘But my dear Mr. Renshaw, under your special circumstances—’

  ‘Damn my special circumstances.’ And then. ‘I beg your pardon, Miss Knight, Phyllida … Forgive me.’

  ‘Of course. But Mr. Biddock, Mr. Renshaw and I will discuss my indebtedness to him some other time. For the moment, you will think me horribly vulgar, I’m afraid, but we long, my aunt and I, for some spending money.’ She smiled at him brilliantly.

  ‘A great deal of spending money.’

  ‘At once.’ He was still getting used to the idea of her as an heiress. ‘And the coal mine,’ he muttered to himself, ‘At Pitts-field, was it?’

  ‘Pittsburg,’ she was longing for him to be gone. ‘Father had great hopes of it.’

  ‘But for your own plans, Miss Vannick. We will be most honoured, Mrs. Biddock and I, if you will stay with us while you
are in Zante.’

  ‘Oh?’ This was a new idea. Suddenly the Helena seemed like home. ‘It’s very kind of you,’ she temporised. Before she decided anything, she must find out what was the matter with Brett Renshaw. She looked down at the flowing Turkish trousers the lawyer had stolidly contrived not to see. ‘You must see, Mr. Biddock, that before I can pay or receive visits, I must do some shopping.’

  ‘Yes, yes, of course. Precisely so. I’ll take my leave of you now, Miss Vannick, and give myself the pleasure of calling again this afternoon with funds for you.’

  ‘Thank you. I shall look forward to that.’ She turned away, judging by the look in his eye that he had just remembered her father’s English assets.

  But he was saying goodbye to Brett Renshaw. ‘Mr. Renshaw, I’m more sorry than I can say.’

  ‘Then pray don’t try.’ In a moment, Phyllida knew, Brett’s iron control was going to give way and he would say something they would all regret. She fluttered between them: ‘And, Mr. Biddock, ask your wife to be so good as to send me the directions of the best mantua makers in town?’

  ‘I will indeed.’

  He was gone at last, though Phyllida thought she heard him muttering, as he went, ‘And how many thousand in consols?’

  ‘Aunt Cassandra,’ she said, ‘you look fagged out with all this talk. Shouldn’t you rest a while before luncheon?’

  ‘Just what I was thinking.’ Cassandra took the cue like an angel. ‘I’m sure Mr. Biddock is an admirable man of business, or your father would never have employed him, but I remember finding him somewhat fatiguing even as a boy.’

  Phyllida laughed. ‘That reminds me to thank you, Aunt, for a most timely intervention. But why in the world didn’t you tell me that you knew him?’

  ‘Because I didn’t know it myself. I remembered him, simply, as Algy. I wasn’t even sure at first, but with that red hair, and those freckles—well, it was worth a try.’

  ‘It was indeed.’ An eloquent look urged her aunt to leave her alone with Brett, who had withdrawn to the rail and was leaning on it staring down into dark water.