The Secret of the Mosque E-Book

Barbara Cartland

• Herausgeber: Barbara Cartland Ebooks Ltd
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: The Eternal Collection
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 202

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Beschreibung

International espionage and intrigue. Two great enemies – the Russian and Ottoman Empires conspiring to defeat the British Empire. A father at death's door and mother at her wits' end. And lovely young Rozella Beverly, embroiled by events beyond her control in a perilous spying mission in Constantinople at the heart of the Ottoman Empire. In a desperate bid to save her family, Rozella also strives to save the British Empire and in the process to earn the respect, perhaps even the love, of her haughtily handsome, woman-hating spymaster, Lord Mervyn.

Leseprobe

AUTHOR’S NOTE

IN 1880 the British recognised Abdurrahman Khan as Amir of Kabul and undertook to require the admission of a British Resident anywhere in Afghanistan.

As the British were preparing to leave the country, another British force was annihilated near Kandula by Ayub Khan.

Lord Roberts with 10,000 hand-picked men started out for Kandula and on August 31, 1880, attacked and defeated Ayub Khan.

The British then evacuated Afghanistan, but, when they were gone, Ayub Khan once more seized Kandula only to be defeated by the Amir Abdurrahman. He then fled to Persia.

The successors of the Young Ottomans were the Young Turks, who finally in 1908 after an armed rising caused Sultan Abdul-Hamid to restore the Constitution.

Chapter One ~ 1895

“I am afraid, Mama,” Rozella said, “we shall have to sell the house.”

Her mother gave a cry of horror.

“Oh, no, my darling, we cannot do that.”

“There is nothing else we can do, Mama. I have been thinking and thinking and these bills keep growing larger every day.”

Mrs. Beverly sat down in a chair by the fireplace, clasping her hands together as if she felt that she must control herself in front of her daughter.

“If we do – have to leave,” she asked after a moment, “where could we – possibly go?”

Rozella, sitting at the table with a huge pile of accounts in front of her, made a hopeless gesture with her hands.

“I have no idea, Mama.”

“But your father, we should not move him.”

“How is he?” Rozella asked quickly. “And what did the Doctor say?”

“He said,” Mrs. Beverly replied slowly as if she was carefully choosing her words, “that your father’s heart is almost back to normal, but he will have to take great care of himself and, of course, have the – right food to eat.”

She looked at her daughter helplessly as she spoke and Rozella replied,

“That is what I expected. But, Mama, how can we do it? I know the only thing we can do is to sell this house.”

Mrs. Beverly, who was still a very lovely woman, looked around the small sitting room with an expression of despair on her face.

“We have been so happy here,” she said as if she spoke to herself. “We came here after I had run away with your father and the house always seemed to be full of sunshine.”

“I love it too, Mama,” Rozella said gently, “and I know it would hurt you dreadfully to move, but I feel it is the only thing we can do unless we are all to starve!”

Mrs. Beverly gave a little cry of protest.

“That is one thing your father must not do. The Doctor was insistent that he should have plenty of chickens, milk and anything that would tempt him to eat. You know how fastidious your father is with his likes and dislikes.”

“He has been spoilt by his experiences in travelling all over the world,” Rozella said with a smile, “especially in France and even more so in the Middle East.”

“Nanny has tried, we all have,” Mrs. Beverly said, “to make what he really likes best.”

There was a little pause before Rozella said and she felt that she was being brutal,

“With what?”

There was silence, but the room seemed to vibrate with so many questions that could not be answered.

There was a distant knock on the front door and Rozella stood up from the table.

“I will answer it,” she said, “I know Nanny is doing your bedroom and she will not hear it.”

Nanny was the only servant they could afford. She had been with them since Rozella was born and never worried if her wages, which were pretty small anyway, were forgotten for months on end.

Because she had loved Rozella ever since she came into the world, she had become one of the family.

As Rozella walked towards the front door, she thought that Nanny would mind leaving the little Manor House no less than her mother.

It seemed impossible that they should have to do so after she had lived there all her life, but she had a feeling that because it was so attractive, it should fetch quite a large price. That would enable them to take a small cottage and, for a time at any rate, to buy the food that was so necessary for her father’s health.

She opened the front door and to her surprise she saw Ted Cobb, the postman outside.

“Hello, Ted,” she exclaimed. “Why have you come back here again?”

“You may well ask, Miss Rozella,” Ted Cobb replied in his broad Sussex accent. “For the second time this mornin’ I’ve tramped down your drive and me rheumatism’s been real bad for the last few days.”

“I am so sorry, Ted,” Rozella said. “What is it this time?”

The postman took a long envelope from his bag that had an unusual amount of stamps on it.

“Special Delivery, miss. A new idea from London and not one I likes whatever anyone else may feel about it.”

“I wonder what it can be,” Rozella said. “I only hope it is not another bill.”

“Whoever sent it spent enough money postin’ it to you.” Ted smiled. “Well, I must be gettin’ back and I hopes I don’t have to bring you anythin’ else till tomorrow mornin’.”

“Thank you very much, Ted,” Rozella smiled.

As she spoke, she closed the door, staring at the letter, which she saw was addressed to her father in a strong upright hand.

She thought, as she took it back to the sitting room, that she must save the stamps for Farmer Jackson’s little boy, who was starting to collect them.

“What is it, darling,” her mother asked as she re-entered the sitting room.

“A rather important-looking letter for Papa,” Rozella replied. “It comes from London so I am sure it is not another bill.”

“We must not worry your father with it,” Mrs. Beverly said quickly. “At least not until we know what it contains.”

“Then shall I open it, Mama?”

“Yes, you open it,” Mrs. Beverly nodded, “and I will just sit praying that by a miracle it is good news.”

It flashed through both their minds that perhaps the Professor’s publishers had sent them a royalty on one of his books.

But Rozella knew that this was highly unlikely.

Her father’s books, which were rather heavy treatises on different nationalities and their languages, although respected and admired by scholars, were no interest whatsoever to the general public.

When she thought about it, she remembered the few pounds that they had received for last year’s sales had come in three months ago.

She slit the envelope open neatly and drew out the contents.

It was a letter written on two pages of heavy expensive writing paper and mounted with a crest engraved over an address that she did not recognise.

She knew that her mother was waiting for her and she read in her soft well-modulated voice,

“Dear Beverly,

As soon as you receive this, I wish you to proceed immediately to Dover and take the train overland to Constantinople where I will be waiting for you. I am leaving today on a very important mission and it is absolutely essential that you should be with me to help me as you have done before with the language of the very strange people who we shall be meeting.

I expect you are aware of the many tensions in the Muslim world and the danger of Revolutionary movements inside the Ottoman Empire.

The Foreign Secretary is also deeply concerned by wild rumours of crises within the British Empire that are circulating around Europe. One is that the Suez Canal has been seized by the Turks and leased to the Russians, while the Mullah claims that the Faithful can never be hurt by British bullets.

All this needs refuting, but the Foreign Secretary needs more information than has reached him from Diplomatic sources and you and I know how that can best be obtained.

I shall look forward to seeing you in Constantinople as soon as you can get there and so I hearby enclose a First Class ticket for the Cross-Channel Steamer and for the train or rather trains, which will enable you to reach me as quickly as possible.

I also enclose fifty pounds in banknotes for all your expenses and a cheque for five hundred pounds as the first half of your usual fee.

Kindly leave home as soon as you receive this and if there are any difficulties you can, of course, contact my secretary at the above address.

In these circumstances I expect you, and it is urgent, to join me by the end of next week,

Mervyn.”

Rozella was almost breathless by the time she had finished reading the letter and then, as she looked at the enclosures which it contained, she raised her head to say in an awe-struck voice,

“Five hundred pounds, Mama!”

Mrs. Beverly, who had listened attentively to what her daughter had read out to her, said,

“Lord Mervyn was always very generous and, when Papa went off on the last expedition with him, it must have been at least five years ago, he paid him one thousand pounds.

Rozella put the cheque down on the table and smiled. Even to look at such a large sum of money made her feel excited.

Then she said wistfully,

“I suppose, Mama, it would not be possible for Papa to do this.”

Mrs. Beverly gave a cry of horror.

“No, of course not! It would kill him! The Doctor said he might easily have another heart attack unless we were very careful.”

She paused and then added,

“You must send the letter back with, of course, the cheque and the tickets and explain to him how ill Papa is.”

“But Lord Mervyn will already have left by now, Mama. He says so in the letter.”

“Then I suppose that, when he reaches Constantinople, his secretary will be able to get in touch with him and tell him that he must do whatever he has to do alone.”

“What does Lord Mervyn do?” Rozella asked. “I have heard Papa talking about him, but I suppose I was not really listening.”

“Your father would not talk about it very much for the simple reason that it was all so secret. Then I do not know exactly what Lord Mervyn and Papa did together. Last time they went into Algeria and I believe it was a very dangerous mission, although your father did not tell me that until afterwards. It was very successful, however, and they obtained a great deal of information that the Foreign Office could not have obtained from any other source.”

Rozella sat down opposite her mother and said incredulously,

“Are you telling me, Mama, that Papa was spying for the British Government?”

Mrs. Beverly laughed.

“I suppose that was exactly what it amounted to. Lord Mervyn was sent to find out the truth of certain rumours that had been reported in England and, of course, he needed Papa, who could not only speak Arabic fluently, but also many of the different dialects in which he alone is proficient. He could communicate at first hand with all the different tribes and find out exactly what was happening.”

“Then that is what he is asking Papa to do again,” Rozella said reflectively.

Then, lowering her chin a little, she continued,

“Lord Mervyn must be a very strange man to expect Papa to go at a moment’s notice, however inconvenient it may be, just because he wants his help.”

“I am afraid that Lord Mervyn thinks there is no one more important than himself,” Mrs. Beverly said with a smile.

“Well, I think it is insulting!” Rozella insisted. “He has given orders to Papa just as if he was one of his servants, to come here, do this, leave at once. How does he know if it may be convenient for Papa to do such a thing?”

“Lord Mervyn believes that what he is concerned with takes precedence over everything else,” Mrs. Beverly said.

“Well, this time his Lordship is going to be disappointed!” Rozella said. “I wish I could see his face when he learns in Constantinople that there is going to be no one to help him. He will have to do everything by himself!”

“I am sure he will be very upset,” Mrs. Beverly said. “I believe he considered your father absolutely indispensable, but I shall never forget how worried and anxious I was during the last three months that he was away and I am so thankful that he cannot go this time.”

“I suppose, Mama,” Rozella replied slowly, “we could not keep the cheque he has sent Papa. It is everything we have prayed for.”

“No, of course not,” Mrs. Beverly asserted. “How could you think of such a thing?”

“I was only teasing,” Rozella said. “I will send it back, but it would have saved us from leaving the house and would provide Papa with delicious dishes and nourishing meals.”

She rose to walk back to the table. Then, as she stood looking down at the cheque for five hundred pounds signed with Lord Mervyn’s strong and distinctive hand, she gave an exclamation.

“What is it?” her mother asked.

“I have just thought, Mama. Why should we send this cheque back when I can go instead of Papa! You know I can speak all the languages that Lord Mervyn requires almost as well as Papa can.”

“Once again you are teasing me,” Mrs. Beverly claimed. “Can you just imagine what a commotion it would cause if you turned up instead of your father?”

“I should be extremely useful,” Rozella replied. “In the last book Papa wrote, there was quite a long passage in Turkish and so he made me repeat every word that he used until I pronounced it perfectly. The same is true of any dialect that is spoken in Constantinople. I have been able to speak them all since I was in the nursery. Papa was certain of that.”

Mrs. Beverly knew that this was indeed true because her husband was one of the greatest experts in Turkish and Arabic and their many dialects.

It had amused him to make his only child, from the earliest possible age, speak to him not only in the high classical manner that appertained to each country, but also in the dialects peculiar to the many different tribes in which he himself was a master.

“If you were a boy,” Mrs. Beverly said now, “it would be easy. In fact, because I am the one who sits at home, I know how much you would enjoy the expedition, but, unfortunately, darling, you are a girl and a very attractive one at that.”

Rozella sat down opposite her mother again.

“Let us think this out, Mama,” she said. “Nothing is impossible in this world, as we both know and we are very aware that five hundred pounds has come into our hands as a direct answer to our prayers.”

“What are you saying? What are you talking about?” Mrs. Beverly asked.

“I am just thinking out how I could go in Papa’s place while you can stay here and spend five hundred pounds on getting him well.”

“That is nonsense and you know it,” Mrs. Beverly retorted. “How could you possibly travel alone to Constantinople and after that anywhere with Lord Mervyn?”

“If Papa can do it, so can I,” Rozella insisted.

“Looking like you do?” Mrs. Beverly asked. “Don’t be ridiculous! You are just far too lovely, my darling, to travel anywhere alone, even from here to London.”

“What you are saying,” Rozella said slowly, “is that if I was middle-aged, plain and wore glasses, no one would bother me.”

“You would still be a lady,” Mrs. Beverly said, “and ladies do not travel unattended.”

“They can also lie unattended in a coffin from starvation,” she hit back.

Mrs. Beverly looked away from her daughter as if she was suddenly aware of how thin she was and how prominent the line of her chin and the bones of her wrists.

As if she was now genuinely afraid of what Rozella was thinking, she said,

“Very well, we will sell the house. I am sure we can find somewhere smaller where we can be quite comfortable.”

“No, Mama,” Rozella said firmly. “We are not going to do that. We are going to be brave and, even if it is slightly unconventional, you will have to tell yourself that nothing is perfect in this very difficult world!”

“If you are talking about Constantinople,” Mrs. Beverly said quickly, “I will not have it! Do you understand, Rozella? It is something that you cannot possibly do.”

“Wait a minute, Mama. I have something to show you,” Rozella replied.

She then rose to her feet and ran out of the room, leaving her mother looking after her retreating figure with an expression of anxiety and perplexity.

Then, when she was alone, Mrs. Beverly rose to go to the table and looked down, as her daughter had, at the cheque for five hundred pounds.

She knew only too well what a difference it could make to their financial problems and the despair that she felt was increasing day by day and night by night.

Upstairs, lying listless in the bed that they had shared ever since they were married with so much happiness, was her husband.

When she had run away with him, she had been only eighteen.

As a young Oxford Don, the youngest one in the whole University, he had come to her father’s house to coach her brother.

Elizabeth had known from the moment she had met him that nothing in her comfortable aristocratic home was more important than her love for Edward Beverly.

Apart from the fact that he was the best-looking man she had ever seen, he was much more than that.

It was a meeting of two people who were meant for each other since the beginning of time and Edward Beverly believed they had already been together in a thousand previous incarnations only to be united again in this one.

They were wildly happy despite the fact that they were so very poor.

Edward Beverly had already made his mark in the academic world with his extraordinary knowledge of the languages of the Middle East.

He had also travelled a great deal and, at the age of thirty-two, had been appointed to a Professorship at Oxford University while he was already known to the Foreign Office for the information that he had brought back to them from his extensive travels.

He had a small income from his father and not much later he inherited the capital. It was not a great deal and the needs of his family resulted in his overspending year by year.

It did not worry him particularly except that he longed to give his wife everything she wanted in the world while the only thing she ever asked him for was his love.

Edward Beverly had been first introduced to Lord Mervyn by the Foreign Secretary of the time when he had just supplied him with information regarding a strange man who was suspected of being in league with Russia.

Lord Mervyn was extremely impressed by what he had learnt and had persuaded Edward Beverly to accompany him on an expedition he was making to the North of Africa, hoping for a chance to enter Algeria in disguise.

It was on his return from this venture that was entirely successful, that Edward Beverly was asked to tutor a young man whose father was eager for him to get a Degree before he left Oxford.

He went to stay at Sir Robert Whitehead’s magnificent house in Oxfordshire and he knew as soon as he set eyes on his daughter, Elizabeth, that his wandering days were over.

At the same time he could not be idle and he settled down to write books on the different cultures he had encountered on his travels and to write up his notes on matters that had never been recorded before.

Lord Mervyn, however, refused to accept that Edward Beverly’s domestic life should interfere with his plans and after his marriage from time to time he enticed him away from domestic bliss to wild and dangerous missions that might easily have cost him his life.

It was not to say that he did not enjoy them, but because he knew it upset his wife, he decided after a second exploration into Algeria, where there had been a strong chance of no return, to say to his wife,

“I will never leave you again, my darling.”

And she wept with joy at his safe return.

He had said the same to his fifteen-year-old daughter and meant it.

Now Mrs. Beverly thought bitterly that Lord Mervyn was back again to disturb her peace and happiness and then make her afraid, even though she told herself not to take seriously Rozella’s ridiculous suggestion of going in her father’s place.

“How can she contemplate anything so absurd?” she said aloud.

At that moment Rozella came back into the sitting room. She had left it wearing a pretty gown in a shade of green which matched her eyes, but when she returned she was wearing a hideous Mackintosh garment that Mrs. Beverly recognised as being part of the equipment her husband had used on his travels into the unknown.

It was not merely the clothing she wore on her body that transformed her, but the fact that her face now looked so completely different from that of the beautiful girl, the sight of whom made every man look and look again.

Over her eyes, which were her most outstanding feature, were tinted spectacles that were used to prevent explorers getting snow-blindness.

Her lovely hair, with its strange touches of red that gleamed in the sunshine, was shoved away under a hideous Mackintosh hat pulled low over her forehead.

She looked, Mrs. Beverly had to admit, so nondescript and ordinary, that no one seeing her would give her a second glance.

“Now look at me, Mama,” Rozella said. “If I travel like this to Constantinople, do you really think any man would speak to me let alone offer to carry my luggage?”

“You are not going to Constantinople!” Mrs. Beverly persisted with a little tremor in her voice. “And it is no use your trying to persuade me otherwise.”

“I intend to go looking like this,” Rozella said, “simply because you know as well as I do it will save Papa’s life. Are you really prepared to let him die from lack of food and worse still as a result of moving him out of this house?”

Her mother did not reply and, after a moment, she went on,

“It would make you and me miserable, but it would upset Papa even more, because he would be thinking of us rather than of himself. How could we possibly let that happen at this moment? Supposing he dies, what are we going to do then?”

“Oh, Rozella, do not say such things!” Mrs. Beverly pleaded with her.

“We have to face facts, Mama. We have no money while just like a gift from God five hundred pounds is sitting over there on the table. When that is spent, you will have another five hundred pounds, which will carry us on very comfortably until Papa is well again.”

“I cannot allow you to go into danger,” Mrs. Beverly asserted.

“I have the feeling that Lord Mervyn looks after himself quite well. He is not going to lose his life if he can help it and, as he has managed to stay alive so far whatever he has been doing, I can see no reason why at Constantinople he should be unsuccessful this time.”

“Supposing he does fail?”

“You have to choose, Mama, whether you will risk my going to Constantinople or let Papa lose his life simply through neglect.”

“You cannot say such things! You cannot even think them!” Mrs. Beverly protested.

“We have to face the unpalatable truth,” Rozella said firmly. “I am not a child any longer. As you know, I am twenty years old and I have always been looked after and cosseted by Papa, you and Nanny.”

Rozella paused for a moment to reflect and then continued,

“However, I really do have a mind of my own and I cannot believe I am so stupid that I cannot find my way to Constantinople. After that Lord Mervyn can look after me.”

“And if he refuses?” Mrs. Beverly asked.