No Place For A Lady. Gill Paul
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Malta. Once they were at anchor, hawkers paddled out on boats that looked little more than large wicker trays, holding up goods for sale: bales of fabric, live chickens, and unfamiliar fruits. It was too dark to see but still they called out in English: ‘Hello lady, beautiful things, very cheap.’
By daylight, Constantinople was impressive, with houses painted in pretty shades of mustard, terracotta, pale blue and mint green, surrounded by dark green trees and masses of purple flowers. Adelaide explained that the city was sliced in two by the Bosphorus, the wide strait in which they were at anchor. One side was Europe and the other Asia, making the city unique in straddling two continents.
It was a disappointment when they disembarked to find the quay was made of rotting planks on which they had to tread carefully for fear of falling into the foul water below, where a dead dog floated amidst some yellowish foam. The water in Malta had been clear turquoise, but this was murky brown.
For three nights they were to stay in the Selimiye barracks, a fine building from the outside, built of brick around a huge quadrangle with turrets on each corner. But as they entered they were assaulted by a fetid smell of unknown origin that had the ladies covering their noses with handkerchiefs. The rooms they were shown to were filthy, with a thick layer of dust on each surface and stains of an alarming nature on the walls. During the first night, Lucy provided sustenance for a number of insects who seemed to find a way to bite her skin even when she swathed herself from head to toe in her mother’s bedspread. Next morning she had eighteen angry red lumps on her skin, which itched like the devil, including one on her cheek about which she was particularly self-conscious. For some reason they had left Charlie alone.
‘Your blood is so much sweeter than mine,’ he soothed. ‘I’ll find a net to cover the bed before night falls.’
Lucy attracted more bites during the day, and the itch became fiercer if she scratched them. Adelaide advised that she cover her skin with lemon juice to deter the creatures and went to the barracks’ kitchen herself to procure some lemons. It made Lucy feel sticky but she didn’t get any more bites and the itch in existing ones lessened a little.
The ladies were too nervous to venture outside the barracks by themselves, but in the late afternoon when Charlie returned from his duties they went exploring, taking a small boat known as a caïque across the water to the European side of town. They lay back on cushions, barely higher than the water level, while a dark-skinned sailor, in an open white shirt that showed off his chest, steered them around the huge ships traversing this international shipping channel. On arrival they hired a guide who took them by landau to a magnificent mosque, where gilded domes were balanced on top of each other like oranges in a bowl; to the Sultan’s Topkapi Palace set in lush pleasure gardens; and to Lucy’s favourite place of all, the Grand Bazaar, a maze of stalls under a wooden roof selling more goods than she could ever have dreamed of. The guide warned them that it was easy to get lost so they concentrated on keeping their sense of direction, but even so within ten minutes had to admit, giggling, that they were completely disorientated. The stallholders wore flowing robes and a headdress, and many were smoking hookah pipes that gave off aromatic scents. Lucy saw a few women wearing loose-fitting gowns of Eastern colouring, their heads and faces covered in veils; they flitted into doorways and through archways like elegant tropical moths.
On one stall Charlie spotted an intricate ship in a bottle with a painted backdrop of the minarets of Constantinople and he picked it up. ‘How much?’ he asked the stallholder and when he heard the price, he mimed great shock. ‘That’s over a shilling,’ he told Lucy. ‘They must think me a fool.’ He put the trinket back, upon which the stallholder lifted it and pressed it into Lucy’s hands, naming a figure that was about half of the original offer.
‘Lucy, put it down,’ Charlie instructed in a low voice. ‘We’re going to walk away and see what happens.’ She did as he asked. Instantly the stallholder came after them, grabbing Charlie’s arm and indicating in mime that he was a poor man, that he had children to feed. He caught Lucy’s eye, making a sad face and miming the rocking of a cradle and she flushed. Charlie shrugged with open arms; it was none of his concern. The stallholder suggested another price. Charlie shook his head. It was a good-natured game and it seemed to Lucy that Charlie’s gambling skills came in handy: he could keep a straight face and not give away his tactics. Eventually a price was agreed that was about a tenth of the original and Charlie counted out some coins and handed them over, whereupon the stallholder wrapped the ship in a bottle in fine tissue paper.
Lucy and Charlie chuckled as they walked away. When she turned back, the stallholder was watching them with an inscrutable expression. She got the feeling he didn’t approve, whether of her or of both of them she couldn’t tell, and it made her nervous. She knew that Muslim women covered their hair with veils, and wore high-necked, long-sleeved tunics to disguise their figures, yet here she was wearing a short-sleeved gown patterned with rosebuds, her blonde hair visible beneath her bonnet. Did the market stallholders look down on her? She didn’t like all the stares she was attracting, sensing an element of hostility in them.
‘I have some news, darling,’ Charlie told her, ‘and I don’t want you to worry about it. Promise you won’t?’ He made her swear with hand on heart before he would continue. ‘Lord Lucan wants to leave women behind in Constantinople when we sail to Varna.’
Her consternation registered on her face but all she could say was ‘Oh.’ She would be scared in this city without him. She was even nervous by his side. She couldn’t bear to think of them being separated.
‘However, I think he will face a mutiny if he tries to enforce it. Bill and I have discussed it and decided that if you and your lady friends board the ship tomorrow morning, take up residence in your cabins and refuse to leave, I can’t believe he will dare to drag you off, petticoats flying.’
‘Why does Lord Lucan not want us to come?’
‘We’re going to be camping at Varna and I suppose he imagines the conditions will not be suitable for ladies. But I think you have proved on the voyage out here that you are remarkably resilient.’
Lucy hesitated. She had never slept in a tent before and wondered whether it would be safe. Would they have to sleep on the ground? How would she manage her toilette in privacy? She did not want to lower his opinion of her resilience so she simply asked, ‘Will Adelaide be coming?’
‘Bill certainly hopes she will.’
She nodded. ‘Then of course I will. I’ve brought many home comforts to turn our tent into a palace where you can relax after your duties. This is exactly what I came for. I’m not about to turn back now.’
Charlie grabbed her and pulled her to him for a kiss, his arm curled around her waist. She sensed rather than saw the disapproval of the Muslim stallholders who surrounded them. When she looked up, their expressions were blank but they were all watching in a way that definitely didn’t seem friendly.
The quayside at Varna was milling with soldiers of different nationalities – noisy Greeks in olive green, golden-skinned Ottomans in purply-blue tunics with a red fez cap, the French in red trousers with blue jackets, plus others whom Lucy couldn’t identify – and everywhere there were piles of cannonballs and shells. The town itself was small and whitewashed, its pot-holed streets broiling in fierce heat. While Charlie oversaw the disembarkation of the horses, Lucy and Adelaide strolled along the main street purchasing supplies to supplement the army rations they would receive in camp later: a loaf of black bread, a side of ham, a bag of lemons. Lucy hesitated over a bottle of milk because Charlie didn’t like tea without milk, but Adelaide warned her that in this heat it would surely turn before they could pitch camp.
A much-decorated officer scowled at them as he hurried past. He wasn’t wearing a helmet and they could see that the top of his head was quite bald while hair grew profusely down the sides and around his chin in an elongated U-shape.
‘That’s Lord Lucan, commander