There was a knock at the door and the housekeeper entered with a pot of steaming tea. She placed it on Sibylla’s nightstand and lit one of the oil lamps. Sibylla and Benjamin were still trying to get used to the fact that, unlike in London, there were no gaslights in Mogador. Benjamin disguised his discomfort and homesickness with a bad mood.
“Good morning,” the housekeeper said in the melodious English that Sibylla so appreciated. Like every day, she was wearing a dress made of brightly colored cotton tightly wound around her ample hips, a turban covering all of her hair, and heavy gold earrings whose sparkle contrasted beautifully with her ebony skin.
“Thank you, Nadira,” said Sibylla, accepting the steaming glass. She had quickly realized how beneficial mint tea was for her morning sickness and made a point to drink it in bed every morning. Benjamin did not like the sweet brew, but he had unearthed some of Mr. Fisher’s finest Indian Darjeeling and reserved it for himself.
Nadira bowed and left to set the breakfast table. Sara Willshire had told Sibylla that Nadira did not know her exact age, but as Sibylla observed the housekeeper’s smooth face and swift movements, she concluded that Nadira could not be much older than she. And Firyal, the other servant, was even younger.
“I must say, I’m surprised that I have also been asked to the first official visit at the palace today,” she said. “After all, Qaid Hash-Hash ignored me quite completely when we arrived, and I cannot imagine that his attitude has changed.”
“Perhaps he wants to make up for his discourtesy.” Benjamin emerged from behind the screen. He was freshly shaved and had donned his best tailcoat and a burgundy cravat.
“You look very elegant.”
“Well, that’s because I know what is proper, as opposed to this Moor, who summons us on a Sunday to discuss business.”
“As you know, Sunday is a business day here and Friday is a holy day instead,” Sibylla calmly replied.
“And Saturday, because that’s when the Jews celebrate their Sabbath. No wonder this country’s economy is such a mess!” And with that, he was gone.
Sibylla watched him leave, concern evident on her face. Ever since their arrival in Mogador, he had made her feel his discontentment as though it were her fault. He also still held a grudge over her keeping her pregnancy secret for so long. They had not been intimate since boarding the Queen Charlotte, and Sibylla longed for some expression of tenderness, even as sparing and clumsy as Benjamin’s. She was stung by his rejection whenever she tried to kiss or touch him.
Their wedding night had been disappointingly unemotional. Benjamin had lain on top of her without so much as a kiss or a caress. He had lifted her nightgown only far enough to penetrate her. The process itself had been hasty and painful and left her feeling that something ineffable and awkward now stood between them. Afterward, Benjamin had pulled up his blanket, turned away from her, and fallen asleep. Sibylla, on the other hand, had long lain awake, asking herself what, if anything, she meant to him.
She had read exciting and enigmatic descriptions of lovemaking in the pages of One Thousand and One Nights. There were virgins with breasts like pomegranates and fluffy rabbit’s fur between their legs. There was mention of tender bites and kisses, of debauched orgies with dozens of male slaves to whom the wives of mighty rulers surrendered as soon as their husbands turned their backs. She had hidden the book under her pillow and read it secretly. And sometimes she caught herself lying in the dark, caressing her round belly and swelling breasts while her husband lay softly snoring in Mr. Fisher’s narrow bed.
Breakfast consisted of warm flatbread with syrup, fresh oranges, dates, and a specialty that Nadira called laban, goat’s milk sprinkled with sugar. Sibylla enjoyed the combination of sweet and acidic flavors. Benjamin had made a face when tasting it for the first time, mumbling something about understanding why Mr. Fisher had died. From then on, he stuck to his imported ham and some flatbread.
“I feel completely isolated from the rest of the world,” he complained as Sibylla entered the breakfast room. “The newspapers from England still have not arrived, the spoken language is a mystery to me—not to mention the written language.”
“We ought to learn Arabic,” suggested Sibylla. “That way we would feel more at home here.”
Benjamin stared at her, then broke into laughter. “Why not Hebrew as well while we’re at it, so that we can speak with the Jews?”
Mr. Fisher had furnished only a few of the many small rooms in the house: a dining room, an office, a salon, and the one bedroom. The walls of the rooms were painted white like the exterior, some adorned with elaborate Arabic calligraphy. The wooden ceilings were decorated with colorfully painted carvings, and sumptuous carpets with red, blue, and green designs covered the floors.
It is obvious that a bachelor lived here, Sibylla thought as she meandered through the rooms.
Nothing matched, everything seemed lifeless, almost abandoned. But she was sure that, once she had turned the house into a cozy home, Benjamin would begin to feel better. Especially once children’s voices filled the now-empty rooms.
Sibylla had chosen a green dress for the visit with the qaid. She had read that green was the Prophet’s favorite color and hoped to please her host with her choice. Yesterday, she had let out the seams in the waist to accommodate her expanding girth.
Because the governor’s palace was no more than a few hundred yards away, they went on foot. The qaid had sent his translator to escort them. In addition, Sibylla asked Nadira to accompany her. She felt more at ease in the company of another woman, particularly one familiar with both foreigners and Arabs. Hamid also came along to carry the gift. Sibylla had realized at the last minute that, while they had a carefully chosen gift for the qaid, they had overlooked his family.
“Take some of the Indian tea, my lady. People here love tea as much as they do in England,” Nadira had suggested.
For the women of the house, Sibylla had plucked some colorful shawls and embroidered handkerchiefs from her chests.
As they walked through the alleyways, passersby and street vendors stared in amazement. Word had gotten out that two new Engliz, as they called them, had arrived. Although Sibylla wore a hat, a few blonde curls peeked out, and in no time, curious onlookers came running. A few very bold, giggling children even came up and tried to touch her before being chased away by Nuri bin Kalil.
Sibylla’s hair caused quite a stir in Mogador. Benjamin too had blond hair, but it was short and sandy, not as golden as Sibylla’s. Nadira had told her that there were some who thought her a djinna, a female demon, while others believed her hair color protected her from evil spirits. She was careful to cover it every time she left the house.