Scandal's Daughter Read Online Free PDF Page B

Ibrahim.”
    Meekly James preceded the eunuch up the stairs to the luxurious bedchamber where the pasha had once disported himself with his English mistress.
    The bundle contained clothing suitable for a male slave or servant, strips of quilted cloth of various lengths and widths, and a razor with a gleaming blade of Sheffield steel. This last a grim-faced Ibrahim proceeded to strop vigorously on a leather strap.
    “I’ll shave myself,” James said firmly.
    “I am an excellent barber. Even Mehmed Pasha says so. This is his razor.”
    “I prefer to use it on myself.” He started to lather his chin at the wash-basin.
    The eunuch bowed. “As you will, bay .” Handing over the well honed instrument, he waited till James had set the sharp steel to his skin, then continued, “But if you harm a hair of the Bayan’s head, be sure I shall find out and come after you with such a blade, even to England if God permits.”
    With an effort of will, James contrived not to nick his cheek. He could not take the threat seriously, but the fervour with which it was pronounced impressed him. However priggish, Miss Courtenay had won the servant’s devotion. He recalled Aaron telling him of the arrangements she had made for the two maids’ welfare.
    “Your mistress will be safer with me than without me, I expect,” he said soothingly.
    He shaved with extreme thoroughness, and then felt his chin. Not quite satin-smooth, but as he turned his head before the mirror he saw no sign of beard. The trouble was, he must keep it that way for several days.
    “I’ll have to pinch the pasha’s razor,” he mused aloud in English.
    “Bay?”
    “I shall need to take this razor with me,” James said in Turkish.
    “No! The Bayan has given it to me. It is a most superior blade and—inshallah—I am going to set up as a barber.”
    “You’ll be better off without it. Suppose the pasha caught you with it? You’d be taken as a thief.”
    “It is true.” Ibrahim was woefully dismayed. “My thanks, bay. But how shall I find another such?”
    “I’ll give you a letter to my uncle, Aaron the Jeweller. He will help you. Now, let us see about the clothes. They are yours?”
    “Yes, bay. The Bayan will give me money for more.”
    With relief, James doffed his female garments. Ibrahim, quivering with ill-suppressed laughter, helped him pad his lean frame with strips of quilt, stabbing him with pins several times in the process. In no good humour, James climbed into trousers, shirt, and dolman, and tied the sash around his expanded waist.
    The wide trousers, calf-length on the eunuch, reached only to the knee, but many men wore them thus. The too-short sleeves were more of a problem. Otherwise, regarding himself in the glass, he was quite satisfied, until he glanced at his face. Smooth enough, it was far too thin, in startling contrast to his now pudgy figure. He puffed out his cheeks.
    “Bay.” Ibrahim held out a small bowl. “To fill out the face.”
    Dried apricots! James tucked a couple behind his teeth on either side. The vision in the mirror of himself stuffing his cheeks like a squirrel struck him as exquisitely funny. He burst out laughing, only to half-choke on one of the apricots. Coughing and spluttering, he warded off Ibrahim’s efforts to thump him on the back.
    Miss Courtenay’s anxious voice came from below. “What’s the matter?”
    “Nothing.” Speech was not easy, either. “Just a little trouble with apricots. They’ll work very well as long as I speak softly and remember not to laugh.”
    “Our situation will hardly be conducive to laughter. Are you ready?”
    “Just the turban.”
    A few minutes later he waddled down the stairs. At the sight of him, Miss Courtenay was herself surprised into laughter. As he had surmised, she was really quite pretty when she forgot to look disapproving. He grinned.
    Or tried to. “Dash it, I can’t even smile properly—”
    “Your voice is too deep.”
    “...and I’ll never be