A Tale of Two Sisters

by Merryn Allingham

  Ismet had given up trying to settle and got to his feet. He strode around the room while his guests sat and watched, waiting for the truth to emerge. ‘She was friendly with Paul Boucher and visited him at his office several times.’

  ‘Friendly or not, the man would surely not have allowed her to search his room,’ she said caustically.

  ‘Lydia was to call on him when she knew he would not be there and search then.’

  ‘How would she find one small file in an office filled with paper? She would need to visit many times to have any chance of success. The plan sounds very unlikely to work.’

  ‘The plan sounds crazy,’ Harry said bluntly.

  ‘Your sister, Miss Alice, was a beautiful woman.’

  She stared at him, trying to gauge his meaning. ‘Do you mean that Lydia deliberately set out to charm this man, to befriend him in order to steal what you needed?’

  ‘I would say – a little.’

  ‘What is “a little”? Did you encourage her to become… close friends… with him?’ She did not know how else to put such a delicate matter and could hardly believe what she was saying. But she had the bit between her teeth and she would not give up now. ‘Well, did you? Encourage her into a relationship that could bring her harm?’

  ‘I saw no harm. Paul Boucher’s nature is mild.’

  ‘But his father’s isn’t – or so I understand.’

  Ismet stopped walking and bent down towards her, his deep brown eyes fixed on her face. ‘Please believe me, Miss Alice. I never meant harm to come to her. I did not force her to do what she didn’t wish. But she wanted to help us,’ he repeated.

  Out of nowhere, Alice was filled with a fury like no other. She burnt with an indescribable rage. This young man had toyed with her sister’s life or so it seemed; at the very least, he had exposed her to danger. But Lydia was as much to blame. Her sister could not content herself with a new life in a new country. She must continue to dabble in politics and politics that were not even hers. The suffragettes had been forgotten and instead she had involved herself in another country’s fight, drawn into this mad conspiracy, Alice suspected, because she could not resist an attractive face. How could Lydia do this – to herself, to her family? Charlie’s death had left them bereft and now her sister’s recklessness was likely to add to their sorrow.

  The trouble that Lydia’s impulsiveness had caused over the years! Running away from school to join a travelling group of actors, bringing back to Pimlico a lice-infected street urchin who was to be her special project, stealing their neighbour’s dog and then losing him for ever while walking on Hampstead Heath. The list went on. From childhood, Alice had been the one to rescue her sister and most often been blamed for her misdemeanours. Charlie had been able to view Lydia’s exploits with detachment, but that was something she had never managed. If only he were here, bringing calm to the situation, saying in his amused voice, It’s just Lydia being Lydia. You won’t change her, Alice. She will learn, but she will always be a restless spirit. Now her sister might never have the chance to learn, and she felt her heart break at the thought.

  Her long silence prompted Ismet to speak again. ‘This man Boucher is evil, Alice. You have no notion – those who cross him are bankrupted or they are physically attacked, or worse. There are unmarked graves in the Eyoub Cemetery and it is Valentin Boucher who is responsible for them. Lydia knew how important it was that we prove corruption against him. If we do this, we take away the power he has to hurt people.’

  ‘But to use a girl as your tool – for that is what Lydia is – a girl so young, and new to the country.’

  ‘It was a bad idea, I agree, but at the time I thought it would work. And even now I cannot see how it could have resulted in Lydia’s disappearance. She did not find the ledger. Wherever it is, the Bouchers are not missing it. So why would they act against her? Which is what you are suggesting.’

  ‘I have no idea.’ Alice got to her feet. ‘All I know is that by involving my sister, you have damaged my family, and very badly.’

  ‘We will find her, I promise.’

  She raised her eyebrows at this. ‘We will find her? Is that likely? You are threatened with arrest and I must leave Turkey in two days.’

  She dusted down her skirt and pushed her hair back into place. ‘Harry, if you are ready, I would like to return to the palace.’ And with a brief nod in Ismet’s direction, she walked through the doorway, down the two flights of stairs and out into the street.

  * * *

  ‘I was very severe with him,’ she said, as they followed Latif back to the market.

  They were negotiating the cobbled hillsides and Harry offered her his arm. ‘Ismet deserved it. It was a stupid thing to have done. He is prone to act first and think later.’

  ‘That makes two of them. No wonder this is such a dreadful mess. More than a mess, I fear.’

  Once they arrived back at the baklava shop, Latif left them, and together they made their way to the palace gates, each deep in their own thoughts. Eventually she said, ‘Ismet was at least right with his question to me. I don’t see how looking for documents Lydia didn’t find could result in her disappearance.’

  ‘I don’t know the answer to that. I wish I did. I am so sorry.’

  She could see his face illumined in the light thrown by lamps that hung from the stalls on either side. His sympathy at this forlorn time was enough for tears to prick her eyes and begin a trickle down one cheek. He stopped walking then and fished in his pocket for another white handkerchief.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ She blew her nose hard. ‘I shall soon have used your entire store of linen. And I am sorry, too, to have brought you on a fool’s errand.’

  Unexpectedly, he put his arm around her and hugged her close. She liked the feeling and had begun to relax into him when he pulled away.

  ‘This evening may not be completely wasted.’ His tone was business-like. ‘We have a small clue now.’ She cherished the ‘we’ but could not see how they were any further forward. ‘If I were to speak to Paul the next time he is in the library…’

  ‘The Bouchers are the only clue, you are right, but you may not see him for days and I cannot wait that long.’ She realised then that an idea had been forming in her mind ever since she had discovered Paul Boucher’s role in her sister’s life. ‘I must go and talk to him myself.’

  ‘You cannot do that!’ He sounded stunned and took a step back from her.

  ‘Why not?’ But then another thought hit her. ‘Not Paul, perhaps, but his wife. From the moment I met her I’ve been convinced she is hiding something, and it will be easier for me to talk to a woman. I will go to her house tomorrow.’

  He grabbed her arm and this time his hold was anything but gentle. ‘Think, Alice. How can you arrive on her doorstep uninvited and then question her about her husband’s relations with your sister? It is unthinkable.’

  ‘What has happened to Lydia is unthinkable and I have very little time left.’

  His hand furrowed through his hair in a despairing gesture. ‘You must not let Ismet drag you into something you will regret. He may already have already harmed your sister, and you can see how he has used her. She no longer matters and he shrugs his shoulders and says he will help if he can. It’s a promise he can’t possibly fulfil. If you choose to follow his loose talk of the Bouchers, you may be walking into danger.’

  ‘Danger? From a courtesy visit to Madame Boucher? I shall say I am leaving the country soon and wish to say goodbye.’

  ‘I beg you, please do not do this.’

  ‘Because you dislike Ismet? Because you resent him?’

  ‘That is ridiculous.’

  ‘Is it? It doesn’t seem so to me. Or is it that you fear for your job?’ She had never spoken in such a frank and angry manner to anyone, and she knew she was being unfair. But her nerves were wound tight and she longed for his support. Instead, there was only disappointment.

  In silence they passed through the palace gates, w
ith only a cursory glance from the soldiers on guard, and reached the inner courtyard. At the harem entrance, they stood facing each other.

  ‘I ask you to reconsider,’ Harry said. ‘And not because I fear for my job, but because I fear for you.’

  ‘Fine words, but it is action that is needed.’ She saw his lips tighten and hated that in a matter of minutes, they had become so badly at odds. But for Lydia’s sake, she knew she must speak to Elise Boucher – it was her last chance.

  When he stayed silent, she said as indifferently as she could, ‘I will bid you goodnight then,’ and turned to walk through the harem door, aware he stood and watched her.

  Chapter Seventeen

  She picked at the breakfast tray Naz had delivered earlier, pushing aside the bread and honey but pouring three small cups of very strong coffee from the silver pot. She sensed she would be needing them for what lay ahead. Harry Frome was no longer her ally, that was clear, and it pained her to know she had antagonised him. The handkerchiefs he had loaned lay on her desktop, a remembrance of his kindness but a constant rebuke, too. She would put them out for the launderess who came daily, though losing them from sight would do nothing to lift her spirits. She had felt him a true friend and each time they had met, she had liked him more. Now he was unlikely to seek her out or even speak to her before she left for London.

  There had been no future in their friendship, it was true. She was too sensible to think otherwise. Long ago, she had stopped believing she would meet a man she could love. Though a flicker to Lydia’s flame, she was not unattractive – the trainee solicitor, after all, had seen something in her other than a future partnership with her father – but she knew herself too retiring to catch the eye of any man she would wish to marry. And really, it was for the best. She could not afford to make a life of her own when her parents had prior claim. Harry’s destiny was here and hers would play itself out in that sad London house. But for a few hours these last few days she had forgotten, forgotten the duty she owed everyone, forgotten even Lydia in the enjoyment of being with him, talking to him, revelling in the admiration she thought she had glimpsed in his eyes. At least, for a while, it had felt like that. Now all it felt was wretched.

  But it would not stop her from what she intended. Harry was the nicest man she had ever met, certainly the most attractive. And he understood the ties of family since he had his own. But he could not know what it felt like to lose so entirely the life you had once known: your brother dead, your parents ailing and infirm, and now your one sister gone. If only she could find Lydia… it would not return life to what it had been, nothing could do that, but it would begin the healing. Why she felt that so strongly, she didn’t know. It was sufficient to feel it.

  The past might be a dark cave and the future no more inviting, but she would do her utmost to change that. How much did Elise Boucher know of Paul’s unconventional friendship? Somehow, she must get the woman to talk. It would be an extraordinarily difficult subject to broach and under normal circumstances she would be as aghast as Harry at the suggestion she speak to a woman about her husband’s friendship with another. But these were not normal circumstances.

  She carried the tray to the door and left it in the passageway. She could not bring herself to speak to Naz today. Somehow the girl’s blank countenance had come to symbolise the dead end she had reached, the brick wall built to frustrate her. And this was the latest brick – how to find Elise Boucher’s house. She could not ask Harry for the address, nor anyone in the haremlik. If she were ever to risk the question, she would be spied on even more thoroughly. So how was she to find her way to this woman?

  Perhaps, after all, she should go straight to the husband. He had an office in the palace and it should not be too difficult to find him. She would have to introduce herself, but if he knew her for Lydia’s sister, she hoped he would be willing to speak to her – at least initially. If she dared, she would ask him directly what had transpired between Lydia and himself. He might be so shocked that he would speak the truth. In some ways, it would be less offensive than speaking to Elise herself. Harry had protested rightly; it was unsavoury to ask a woman to detail her husband’s possible liaison.

  She dressed quickly and set off for the meeting chamber. At this time of the morning, it would be busy, the women engaged in fine embroidery, or practising music or dance or reading to each other. There would be small groups, too, gossiping over the coffee cups. It was the gossip she needed if she were to learn the exact whereabouts of Paul’s office within this maze of a palace. But as soon as she entered the room, she realised that something untoward was afoot. The usual workaday calm had vanished and in its place was movement, noise, disquiet. It was as though an electric current ran through the assembled women, bouncing from one to the other, sending their heads nodding, their arms waving, their feet fidgeting.

  She saw Sevda in the midst of one small group and went over to her. ‘What—?’ she began.

  ‘No need to worry, Miss Alice. It is all over.’

  ‘What is over?’

  ‘The fire. You have not heard?’

  ‘I have only just left my room. Where was the fire?’

  ‘Not near the haremlik. There is nothing to worry you.’

  The girl seemed intent on soothing, when what Alice wanted was information. ‘But where was it exactly?’

  ‘You will not know the place. It was in the dormitories that men use. They are at the far end of the third courtyard. But only one room was damaged and the fire is finished.’

  A horrible premonition gripped hold and before Sevda could tell her again not to worry, she asked, ‘Whose room was it?’

  The girl looked surprised at her interest. ‘It was the room that Mr Frome – he is the librarian—’

  ‘I know,’ she interrupted frantically. ‘But Mr Frome – what has happened to him?’

  ‘He is well. He escaped. You see, no need to worry.’

  She turned away then, her head aching as much as her hand. Harry’s room, she imagined, was one among many. Why his then? Another accident? In three days, her fingers slashed and Harry’s room burnt around him. She had thought the attack outside the mosque a clear case of theft, with Lydia’s pendant the prize. But what if it had been a warning, too? The man could easily have grabbed the bag without using a knife. But he had cut at it, cut at her hand, and by doing so ensured she held even faster to the bag. Not an efficient way to rob, but an efficient way to frighten.

  They had been spied upon – at the mosque, and as they returned together from the meeting with Ismet. The knife attack had been a warning to her, the fire a warning to Harry. What kind of people did such things? Dangerous people. Had Lydia perhaps discovered more than Ismet knew and been unable to pass on the information before she was abducted? If that were so, her sister would have been locked away to ensure her silence, a prisoner, perhaps even bound and gagged – Alice tried unsuccessfully to quell her imagination. Or taken to a different country and left there, wandering alone without money and without the means of getting help. Wherever Lydia was, she was in danger, so how could Alice not go on? First, though, she must find Harry. No matter what their differences, she had to see him.

  * * *

  He was at his desk, working busily, as though nothing untoward had happened. But then she looked more closely and saw the smart suit was creased, the shoes no longer polished but white with ash and when he turned, his face was lined with tiredness. He rose when he saw her in the office doorway and the small speech she had prepared vanished. Instead, she rushed forward and clasped his hands as best she could.

  ‘I am so sorry, Harry. This is my fault. I have brought you nothing but trouble.’

  He returned the pressure of her hands and said softly, ‘Don’t distress yourself. I am safe.’

  ‘But such an ordeal!’

  ‘It was a little concerning.’ It was the kind of understatement he was so good at.

  ‘What happened?’

  Still holding her h
ands, he led her to a chair opposite his desk. ‘Simple really. I woke in the middle of the night and smelt smoke. Then I saw flames around the door – by then the wood was an oblong of fire. I started to choke and that’s when I realised I had to get out of there.’

  ‘How dreadful. You could have been killed.’

  ‘It was fortunate I was sleeping badly, otherwise the smoke might have poisoned me before I could wake.’

  She thought she might know why he’d slept poorly, since after their quarrel she had spent a wakeful night herself. ‘And no other room was affected?’

  ‘Only mine, thank goodness. I yelled for help once I was in the courtyard and the men were up and out with buckets of water in a matter of minutes, though it took some time to get the fire under control.’

  ‘And your belongings? What happened to those?’ She looked again at the creased suit and the battered shoes.

  ‘Gone.’

  ‘All of them?’

  ‘Everything – except the clothes I threw on. These.’ And he pointed to his shabby outfit.

  ‘This is my fault,’ she repeated. ‘It’s clear the fire was started deliberately. One room out of hundreds? You were targeted because of me. Because you came with me to meet Ismet.’

  He smiled a little crookedly. ‘I don’t recall you beating me with a stick.’

  ‘But to be punished so—’

  ‘We don’t know that for sure. But if it is a punishment, it means we were watched, and the authorities will know now where to find Ismet. His punishment is likely to be far more severe.’

  She had given no heed to Ismet’s plight. Her thoughts had been for Harry alone, but now she said, ‘Perhaps he will have moved on before they get to him.’

  ‘For his sake, let’s hope he has.’

  They sat for a while, saying nothing and she wondered if she dared again raise the subject of Elise Boucher. In the end, she had to. ‘Harry, you begged me last night not to contact Elise. Was that because you feared something like this might happen?’