Masquerade in Egypt

Masquerade in Egypt By Lucy Monroe DEDICATION For Tom because no matter where my dreams take me, you are always there, cheering me on. You are my soulmate, my best friend, my dearest love. There is a part of you in every hero I write because you are the best man I know. After decades together you still give me joy each day just by being part of my life. Thank you! I love you. Happy Anniversary! NOTE FROM AUTHOR For anyone not familiar with the layout of Egypt: Upper Egypt is in the South and Lower Egypt (including Cairo) is in the North. The upper and lower indications are in regard to topography not direction. MASQUERADE IN EGYPT by Lucy Monroe 1st Printing May 2023 COPYRIGHT © 2023 LUCY MONROE ALL RIGHTS RESERVED No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without express, written permission from the author Lucy Monroe who can be contacted off her website http://lucymonroe.com. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Contents DEDICATION CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 3 CHAPTER 4 CHAPTER 5 CHAPTER 6 CHAPTER 7 CHAPTER 8 CHAPTER 9 CHAPTER 10 CHAPTER 11 CHAPTER 12 CHAPTER 13 CHAPTER 14 CHAPTER 15 CHAPTER 16 CHAPTER 17 CHAPTER 18 CHAPTER 19 CHAPTER 20 CHAPTER 21 CHAPTER 22 CHAPTER 23 CHAPTER 24 CHAPTER 25 A Note from Lucy About Lucy Monroe More Books by Lucy Monroe CHAPTER 1 Los Angeles Early September, 1923 "Let me in, Frankie!" Pound. Pound. Pound. Frances Edwina Somers dropped the book she'd been reading by electric lamp in the front parlor. Rushing into the hall, she could not miss the increasingly loud demands for entrance. What on earth had gotten into her brother? The door shook with the vibration from his fist as she hurried to open it before her twin, Edwin Francis Clarke, discombobulated her lodger with his antics. Good lodgers weren't so easy to come by. "Frankie!" Muffled by the door, Edwin's shout was still loud. Frankie winced. Was her brother corked? He liked his hooch as much as the next fella, but it wasn't like him to imbibe too deeply. She swung the door wide, stepping back fast in case Edwin, in his agitation, was still trying to knock. She'd no interest in getting a facer for her troubles. But Edwin dropped his hand to his side. "Oh, there you are." "Here I am, brother mine. Are you blotto, or something? What is all the ruckus?" "I haven't had a drop! It's Pater. He's gone around the bend." Edwin stepped inside, moving past Frankie only to spin around and face her. "Absolutely crackers." Her brother's posture was tense, and his usually dapper hair a mess from fingers running through it. He wore no hat, despite having traveled from the family home in Beverly Hills, near Billionaires Row. His eyes, the same dark brown as her own, were wild. But Frankie would have known the level of Edwin's upset without seeing him in this state, simply by his use of the term crackers. He was careful not to use anything that might refer to insanity or mental illness around Frankie. After spending six months in a sanitorium against her will, she was admittedly a smidge sensitive on that subject. Frankie reached out and laid her hand on her brother's arm. "Calm down. I'm here for you, whatever you need." "I knew I could rely on you, though honestly…" Edwin let his voice trail off. Then he just drooped, all the manic energy draining away like it had never been. "I don't know if anyone can help." Her brother might enjoy acting, but he wasn't prone to drama in his personal life, and Frankie felt a frisson of worry go through her. She shut the door and then tugged the sleeve of his grey worsted silk suit jacket. Imported from London, it had a looser fit than American suits. The four buttons of the jacket were usually closed, but Edwin's were open, revealing his waistcoat and the chain of his pocket watch. This dishabille, especially outside the house, was so unlike him, Frankie felt another jolt of worry. "Come on. We can talk privately in my study." Showing more restraint than she expected, considering his state, Edwin said nothing as she led him down the hall to the room near the kitchen she'd commandeered as her own private space since she started taking in lodgers. The tiny room was intended as a sewing room for the lady of the house. Frankie gave a mental eyeroll. No thank you. She was a modern woman of the 1920s. Sewing was not how she chose to spend her evenings. She much preferred her studies and attending lectures. Once in a while, she even put her glad rags on and went with her brother to a Speakeasy. Frankie did not sew. And with the readymade clothes available through catalogues, that even a woman in her straightened circumstances could afford, Frankie did not have to. She kept two bedrooms for lodgers in the bungalow she'd inherited from her husband upon his death in The Great War. And the lodgers kept Frankie from having to sell the house, which meant a level of independence she would never relinquish again. Her job as a bookkeeper paid a low wage, but enough to maintain her frugal lifestyle otherwise. Edwin plopped down onto the settee without any of his usual young-man-about-the-town airs. "Would you like something to drink?" she asked. "No noodle juice, but I'll take a tipple." She didn't argue. From his behavior, she agreed he might need stronger fortification than tea. Prohibition might reign, but Frankie was no more willing to teetotal than the next modern woman. She kept a small supply of rather good,