A Tale of Two Sisters

by Merryn Allingham

  Chapter Eight

  ALICE

  Constantinople, February 1907

  Alice slept surprisingly well and was amazed when she woke to find that the hands on her silver travelling clock pointed to eight o’clock. She had slept almost twelve hours. Last evening, she had followed Sevda to the huge chamber with the fountain at its centre. The women of the harem ate in this room as well as using it as a place to meet, and for the female slaves it was a place to sleep, too, their bedding stored in the large cupboards that made up a fourth wall. There had been several musical entertainments after the meal and a trio of young women had given a display of folk dancing, but in the main it had been chatter that filled the air.

  The younger girls had seemed fascinated with their visitor, uncovering her shoes, marvelling at the hair that she’d swirled into pin rolls, stroking her crêpe de chine dress. Its pinched waist and heavily frilled bodice drew prolonged giggles from them. Surely, though, they would have seen a similar dress on Lydia? The sense that her sister had somehow been blanked from the life of the palace overwhelmed her and she had to swallow hard. But perhaps, she comforted herself, Lydia had adopted the baggy trousers and loose-fitting overdress that these girls wore. It would make sense when the weather was hot, as it would have been when her sister first arrived.

  Alice had found herself besieged with enquiries about life in England from those women who spoke English, and her life in particular. The questions came thick and fast: are you married? have you children? who is your father? where do you live? But as soon as she mentioned Lydia’s name to them, there was again that strange silence she had experienced yesterday in the courtyard with Sevda. Either her sister had offended badly by leaving so suddenly, or there was something else to it – and that was more worrying.

  She had withstood the women’s attentions for an hour and then apologised profusely, explaining to Sevda, who sat close by, that she was very tired and needed to rest. The women had immediately clustered around her, taking her hand, nodding their heads in perfect understanding. She’d had the impression of sincere good nature and been reassured, thinking she must have misread their silence. But this morning, looking back, she still found it odd that no one had mentioned Lydia, though the girl had lived and worked in the haremlik for over a year.

  There was a gentle knock on the door, just as she had roused herself sufficiently to swing her legs from the bed. It was Naz, bearing breakfast. A basket of bread with butter and honey sat on one side of the tray, a plate of cheese and a bowl of tomatoes on the other. A tiny vase containing a single winter aconite stood next to the coffee pot.

  Alice struggled to her feet. ‘Thank you. It looks delicious.’

  Naz merely bowed and slipped out of the door. The bright yellow flower was a lovely touch and Alice thought that maybe she had misjudged the girl. She must try to be more generous in the future.

  She surprised herself again by eating her way through most of the food and drinking two cups of very hot, strong coffee. But really she shouldn’t have been surprised. She had barely eaten on the journey, and last night she had been too fatigued to do more than pick at the meze that had been served. She laid aside the tray and then thought to keep the flower. The aconite would make a bright room even brighter. She would find a place for it on one of the shelves above the carved wooden desk that faced the window.

  A couple of small bowls were already there, pretty trinkets made from crystal, and she moved them to one side to make space. But when she tried to position the vase, it refused to sit straight. She wriggled it around, first to the left, then to the right, but it continued to tilt to one side. The shelf seemed to be uneven and she squinted at the wood. Yes, there was a definite bump. A rough square had been cut and the wood replaced, leaving the surface very slightly raised. No wonder the vase had wobbled. She went to replace the bowls – they appeared unaffected by the bump – but then it suddenly became important to arrange the flower where they had been. She would push the offending piece of wood back into place, or at least try, but when she pressed hard, the small cut section came away in her hand, leaving behind a shallow dip. And there was something in the dip. Her fingers wrapped themselves around a small oval object and drew it out. Something blue, deep blue. Sapphire. A pendant. Lydia’s pendant!

  The shock sent her tottering backwards, the necklace still in her hand. She almost crawled to the nearest chair and then sat for a very long time, staring out of the window at the greenery beyond but seeing nothing. Gradually, she felt her breathing return to normal and gave herself a good scolding. She was behaving like the kind of woman for whom she had no time, a woman who put on die-away airs at the very smallest upset. But this wasn’t small, and seeing her sister’s pendant had almost robbed her of breath.

  She opened her hand and cradled the jewel in her palm. It was beautiful, as beautiful as Lydia herself. But what was it doing hidden in a shelf in the harem of the Topkapi Palace? Had Lydia hidden it, and if so, why? The roughness of the cut wood testified to it being an amateur attempt, the carving done by a kitchen knife, say, rather than any proper tool. It had to have been Lydia. Her sister had secretly hidden the pendant and then walked away.

  She would not have left it, Alice was absolutely sure. At least, not willingly. The pendant had been Charlie’s last present to her and her sister would never have abandoned it. Unless she had been made to. Alice jumped to her feet and began an agitated walk back and forth across the room. A thought never far from the surface rose now and hit her full strength. The pendant was still in its hiding place because Lydia had had no opportunity to retrieve it before she had been forced to leave – suddenly. And since she had not reappeared either in Turkey or England, or anywhere else as far as Alice knew, what could have happened to her? What could have happened to a girl who had disappeared without a trace? She bit down hard on her lip and drew blood. The appalling prospect she had resolutely pushed from her mind had become more certain: her sister had been kidnapped.

  If that was so, who could she tell? Sevda? The other women? But they would not speak of Lydia. Was that why? Her heart did an unpleasant jump. They knew what had happened to her sister but had been sworn to silence. Or they themselves were complicit in her abduction. She could not bear to think it. Who else could she go to? The Valide Sultan, who had refused to meet her? Hardly. If anyone had ordered the kidnap, it would have come from on high and who higher in the harem than Sultan Rahîme. But why would her sister have suffered such a fate? It made no sense.

  Then she remembered Ismet Kaya and Lydia’s friendship with him. Was that the answer? Her heart did several more jumps. It was what she had feared since meeting him yesterday. Please don’t let it be, she pleaded silently. She had to find out, and there was only one person she knew to whom she could talk. She would go to Harry Frome. It was unlikely he could tell her anything substantial, but she had to try. He must know Ismet well since he had worked with him until quite recently. She would go to the library on the pretext of wanting to view the beautiful building of which he had talked, and try as subtly as possible to discover what he knew of his former colleague’s political activities and what rumours, if any, he had heard concerning Lydia’s support for them.

  * * *

  She found the library easily, remembering the directions Sevda had given her, and was soon walking through its green and blue magnificence – or swimming, rather, she thought – it was like being immersed in the waters of an ocean. There was an open door in one of the far arches of the room and she made for it immediately. It was lucky for her that Harry was alone in the little cubicle of an office, head bent and writing industriously.

  ‘Mr Frome?’

  He sprung up and tried not to look surprised. ‘Miss Verinder, Alice. How good to see you! I hope you are recovered from your journey.’

  ‘Thank you, yes. I slept well.’

  ‘I am told the haremlik is a most peaceful place. It has a remarkable quality of silence. But on your first full day in the cit
y, you have come to the library! I am honoured – and very happy to welcome you.’

  ‘I can see the building is as wonderful as you described.’ She could be honest about that at least.

  He looked genuinely pleased. ‘Do feel free to wander. And then perhaps I might show you some of our most precious volumes?’

  ‘I would find that interesting and I will certainly come again, but for the moment I wonder if I might talk to you on another matter?’

  He looked disappointed but pulled out a chair for her and sat down opposite, waiting for her to begin. With some hesitation, she told him how she had come to find the pendant. It was still difficult for her to believe she held in her hand a jewel that a short while ago Lydia had held herself.

  ‘May I see what you have found?’ he said, as she ended her recital.

  She opened her hand and showed him the sapphire. ‘It is certainly very beautiful. And valuable, I imagine. Your sister must have hidden it because she feared theft, though she should not have done. Theft is brutally punished, as I’m sure you are aware.’

  ‘That may have been her reason,’ Alice agreed, unwilling to discount his theory immediately. ‘But why would she leave the pendant behind?’

  ‘Could she have forgotten it, in the rush to be off?’

  Alice shook her head. ‘No matter how rushed she was, she would not have left it. It was a present from our brother.’ She paused for a second. ‘The necklace was quite possibly the most precious thing she owned.’

  ‘We can sometimes forget even precious things in the heat of the moment,’ he remarked mildly.

  ‘Or if we have no choice.’

  His brow wrinkled. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘If she were forced to leave, she would not have had the chance to retrieve it.’

  ‘Forced? How can that be?’

  ‘I don’t know, but… I’m coming to believe that she did not go willingly… that she was abducted.’ The words exploded into the air between them like small bullets and he leant back sharply, as though pinned to his chair by a physical force.

  ‘Abducted?’ He stared at her as though she were a madwoman. She probably was, Alice reflected. But she knew her sister and her sister’s love for Charlie.

  ‘Lydia would not have abandoned this pendant, unless she were under duress.’ Her voice rang with certainty.

  ‘You know your sister, naturally. But still…’ A crisis had appeared on his horizon out of the blue and he was struggling.

  ‘I do know her, and our brother, too. Charlie was the nicest man you could ever meet. He was deeply loved and the pendant was all she had left of him.’

  ‘He has passed away? I am sorry.’

  ‘He fell to his death in a stupid accident. From an Oxford tower. Balliol.’

  Her companion grimaced. ‘I know the tower. How high it is and how dangerous. In my salad days—’

  ‘But you survived whatever pranks you engaged in,’ she interrupted. ‘You are alive and you are here, so please aid me.’

  ‘How can I?’ He sounded bewildered.

  ‘Lydia met a man here called Ismet Kaya. I believe he worked with you. How well did you know him?’

  He was cautious in his reply. ‘I was at Oxford at the same time as Ismet, though we were not close acquaintances. Then he worked here in the library with me for a year or so.’

  ‘So, you must know him reasonably well?’

  He nodded, but then said in a tight voice, ‘It would be best if you forgot Ismet and best that you don’t mention his name in the palace.’

  ‘Your warning comes too late. I have already met him.’ Harry frowned. ‘Yesterday, when Sevda was showing me the layout of the courtyard, he bumped into us. He said he had been to see a friend who is imprisoned here.’

  Harry’s expression was grim. ‘That will be one of his comrades, no doubt. Ismet is suspected of belonging to a group that is banned. That’s why he had to leave his work here. A great nuisance to me – his skill at translating ancient manuscripts was invaluable.’

  She looked at him hard and he had the grace to apologise.

  ‘I’m sorry, that’s neither here nor there. But the group is dangerous and anyone suspected of associating with them is a danger, too.’

  ‘Lydia seems to have known him well,’ she insisted. ‘They were friends and Ismet wants to speak to me. I believe he may know something of what happened to her. He says not, but it is possible he holds a clue without realising it.’

  Harry reached out and took her hand in a strong grip. The surprisingly intimate gesture seemed to testify to the depth of his concern and she softened towards him. ‘You should not speak to him, Alice. Anyone who works against the Sultan is in danger and it is best not to know them. It has always been so, but now it is a good deal worse.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘There has been dissent of some kind or other in the empire for centuries. There always will be when one country imposes its authority on another, but the political system here has always managed revolution and kept the country stable. That’s no longer so. The Ottoman dynasty might have lasted seven centuries, but it’s facing its gravest danger.’

  ‘Why have things changed so dramatically?’

  ‘Discord has become more widespread since the Crimean War and far more vocal. The war was sixty years ago, but there was much anger at the time and it is still remembered – the Turkish troops were badly led and many died of disease. The last sultan was worried enough to move from Dolmabahçe palace to Yıldız because Dolmabahçe is located on the shore of the Bosphorus and he feared an attack from the sea. Sultans have always been ready for likely treason, but Abdülhamid is even more ready than his ancestors.’

  ‘I imagine he might have good reason.’

  ‘The situation has become more volatile of late, certainly. There is a group calling themselves the Young Turks. They are Ottoman exiles – students, civil servants, army officers – who wish to replace an absolute monarchy with constitutional government. The group is based in Paris, but there must be small cells all over Turkey, and in Constantinople in particular. Ismet is thought to belong to such a cell. That is why he is dangerous to know.’

  His words brought with them nothing but dismay. Lydia was a political creature, a rebel too, and if she had not just known Ismet Kaya but involved herself directly in his activities, the motive for her disappearance was all too obvious.

  ‘Ismet may be dangerous to know, but I must talk to him,’ she insisted. ‘He is my only chance of discovering Lydia’s fate. If he sends me word, I will go to him.’

  He leant forward again and recovered her hands. ‘I beg you not to. Ismet cannot know any more than we do and by meeting him, you put yourself under suspicion.’ He lowered his voice. ‘There will be people watching, people who will report your actions to the Valide Sultan and she to the Sultan.’

  ‘And if they know I have met Ismet, what can they do to me?’ She had grown a whole tree of courage but had no idea when it had taken root. ‘They can expel me from the palace and that would be sad, but they cannot expel me from Turkey.’

  ‘Don’t be too sure. You could find yourself shipped out of the country on an early morning train bound for wherever, without any say in the matter.’

  ‘Then so be it. I have to try. I have to talk to him.’

  Harry sat back in his chair, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded, the slightest sigh escaping his lips. ‘If you must, then I will go with you. You cannot go alone.’

  Chapter Nine

  Once more back in her room, she sank onto the bed with a small whoosh of gladness. She had not persuaded Harry Frome that her sister had been kidnapped, but she had persuaded him to accompany her to meet Ismet. He was playing the gentleman, of course. He thought her mission foolhardy, but he would not let her go alone. He was probably right. By all accounts, Ismet Kaya was engaged in a perilous game and she had already seen enough of the palace to know that Harry’s contention she would be watched was likely to be t
rue. But he would be watched, too, if he came with her, and she felt an immediate misgiving.

  Had Harry considered what his offer would mean? His promise had been made when he saw how deeply upset she was, but when he’d had time to think, he might change his mind. By accompanying her to the meeting, he could endanger his job, endanger the work of which he was rightly proud. Her shoulders slumped against the pillow. If he chose to forget his promise, to avoid her, she could hardly blame him, but she would be left then to meet the young man alone at whatever location he chose. And how on earth would she find her way, with not a word of Turkish and no understanding of the city? She gave herself a small shake. She had to believe Harry Frome would help. If he were interrogated, he could plead courtesy to a guest of the palace – Miss Verinder had insisted on the meeting, he could say, and he had merely volunteered to see her safely there and back.

  Her earlier joy had disappeared and tension taken its place. Was she courting danger unnecessarily, as Harry claimed? Perhaps, but she had to believe that Ismet could tell her something, even the smallest clue, that would help her find Lydia. Her sister had been kidnapped, she was certain, and while friction could sometimes rub the two of them sore, she knew the fierceness of Lydia’s loyalty. Her sister would not have left her family in distress, would not have abandoned a loved necklace, unless taken away by force. Lydia possessed courage and passion, qualities she admired – she was so lacking in them herself – but no matter how strong her courage and passion, her sister would have floundered against the power that resided within these stone walls. Alice had felt it from the moment she had passed through the immense gates. The feeling that she was encircled, that she had been made small and helpless.