A Tale of Two Sisters

by Merryn Allingham

  But she had a plan to follow. What was it? Her confused mind struggled to remember. She needed him to sleep, that was it. But he was far from sleeping. The plan was not working and she should abandon it before it was too late. She tried to push him away but the push was curiously feeble and she sank deeper into his warmth, feeling the pleasure of his body against hers. She would let him kiss her a little more perhaps – did he not deserve some reward? – and then she would leave.

  * * *

  She woke cold and stiff. Paul was sitting beside her, stroking her hand, kissing her bare arms.

  ‘Lydia, my darling Lydia,’ he whispered.

  She sat bolt upright. What had happened? The empty whisky bottle sat glowering on the brushed earth with two tea glasses tumbled on their side. There had been something about a reward, then letting him sleep. He had slept all right but so had she, and now her one chance of finding the file was gone. She could have wept with frustration.

  He was kissing her again and she pushed him away. ‘Don’t, please don’t. Whatever happened between us last night, it should not have.’ She wasn’t entirely sure what had happened, but she could take a humiliating guess. When she said, ‘You have a wife,’ he looked shamefaced.

  ‘I know,’ he muttered distractedly.

  She looked through the entrance to the garden beyond. The pink of dawn was streaking the sky, painting the leaves of the trees with an unearthly glow.

  ‘We cannot meet again.’ Her voice was strong, determined.

  ‘Lydia, I—’

  ‘No, Paul.’ She must be firm. She must leave him in no doubt, but abandon him as gently as she could. ‘This is a love that cannot be.’ She hoped that sounded right. She thought of the ghazals of yesterday evening and they gave her inspiration. ‘We must be brave in our loss. Brave, and remember how wonderful tonight has been.’

  ‘I will remember. How could I forget? But surely we can see each other?’

  ‘That isn’t possible. Elise must not suspect you have been unfaithful, and if we continue to see each other, she is certain to. And there is your father. Think what he would say.’ She hoped the mention of Valentin would frighten him into agreement, and it did.

  ‘You are right,’ he said dolefully. ‘But you cannot know what this has meant to me, darling Lydia.’

  ‘And to me.’ She was desperate now to get away. ‘We must clear the summerhouse before we go. We cannot leave even a hint we have been here.’

  He folded the blanket and tied it again with her belt. Then picked up the bottle and glasses. ‘I will look after these.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll make certain we leave not a trace.’

  She reached up and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. ‘It is for the best.’

  And then she was gone, weaving her way through the boxwood until she reached the window of her room. She clambered over the sill, the blanket in her arms. Then threw it to the back of her cupboard and lay in a huddle on the divan. The full horror of what she had done fell like a mountain of rock, crushing her with its sheer awfulness. She had lost her virginity. She felt no shame – her body was hers to give where she wished. But she had given it for nothing. Not for love, not even for a cause that was dear to her. She had made a mull of it. More than a mull, a disaster. Now she must tell Ismet there was no chance of obtaining the file he was desperate to find. And once that was done, no chance, she suspected, of ever seeing him again. His lovely face, his beautiful voice, would go from her life for ever.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  ALICE

  Constantinople, March 1907

  Alice finished reading the journal entry and tore the page into shreds, then crushed the shreds into a ball and pushed it under the divan. Her sister’s voice was there in every word, but she would never read it again. She could not even look at it. It was Lydia, but a Lydia she barely recognised – a woman without heart. Her sister was impetuous, at times stupidly reckless, but she had never been heartless. She was the girl who brought tea to Alice’s bedside if ever she was ill, who held their elderly neighbour’s hand through the night after the sudden death of her husband, who played for hours with the children of a fellow guest while their mother took time for herself. That was the Lydia Alice knew, not this coldly driven person. It was not how she wanted to think of her.

  For an hour or so, she sat by the window, her figure rigid, her mind trying to make sense of what she had read but finding she could not. Somewhere a clock struck the hour and she roused herself. What, in fact, was there to make sense of? She was convinced the Bouchers held the key to Lydia’s disappearance, but learning of her sister’s attempt to trap Paul Boucher was as near as she would get to the truth. No member of his family would tell her more, not even Elise, who had good reason to malign her sister. All Alice could do was hold tight to the woman’s parting words, her insistence that Lydia would come back.

  There was a soft knock and Sevda put her head around the door. ‘I can come in, Miss Alice?’ She had with her an armful of clothes. ‘I have dresses for you.’

  ‘Yes, do come in. And thank you. The laundry is just in time – I must start to pack shortly.’

  Sevda laid the dresses lengthwise on the divan, but when she turned to speak to Alice again, she was frowning. ‘Forgive me, Miss Alice, but are you well? You did not stay to eat with us.’

  ‘I felt a little faint and decided to rest, that’s all.’ She excused herself the small lie. ‘And I’m fine now. How did you like the catalogue Madame Boucher gave you – the one for the house of Paquet?’

  ‘The clothes were most beautiful, but I would not wear them.’

  ‘I think you might like to.’ Alice was guessing.

  The girl blushed a pretty pink. ‘They would be too – daring.’ She delved into the large pocket of her tunic. ‘See, I have brought you something that will make you feel better.’ She thrust a small velvet object into Alice’s hand. ‘It is the purse I spoke of. Miss Lydia has finished her sewing – and my name looks most splendid. It arrived yesterday at the palace gates, so you see your sister is safe and well or she would not have sent it. You need not worry.’

  Alice turned the purse in her hands. If indeed it had come from Lydia then she must be safe as Sevda claimed. It validated Elise Boucher’s words that Lydia would return. But why then was she staying away? Would she not have heard Alice was looking for her? Not, she supposed, if her sister were at a distance.

  ‘Where did the package come from?’ she asked.

  Sevda looked blank. ‘I do not know.’

  ‘But did it come in the mail?’

  The girl spread her hands. ‘Everything is delivered to the guard house by the main gates, then passed around the palace.

  ‘Could you find out?’

  ‘Perhaps I could.’

  Sevda was looking forlorn. The wonderful surprise she’d thought would cheer was turning into another problem, and Alice felt bad for her. Why was she harassing people like this? Could she not accept that her sister, for whatever reason, had disappeared voluntarily and at this moment had no wish to reappear. Everywhere she had met with the same story and she must believe it. And yet – she looked down at the purse. It had been finished well, the sewing strong and even, only one small loop out of place. That would be Lydia’s inexperience showing. Or a clever ploy by some unknown needlewoman – Alice could not stop herself from thinking – tasked with pretending she was a novice.

  ‘Can I help you hang your frocks?’ Sevda asked quietly.

  ‘No, but thank you. I will do it later.’ She must make an effort to free herself of these bad thoughts. ‘The harem’s launderess is excellent,’ she remarked. ‘She irons with such precision.’

  ‘Your blouses are a puzzle to her.’ Sevda was trying to lighten the atmosphere.

  ‘How is that?’

  ‘These.’ And she pointed to the pin tucks.

  ‘Ah yes.’ Alice held the garment up and shook it out. ‘I can see why. But blouse
s such as these are fashionable in England – if they have enough pin tucks! Now this one—’ and she turned to pick up a heavy cotton dress with a tucked bodice, then stopped. ‘There’s a camisole here, but I don’t think it’s mine.’

  A slip of silk lay between two of the dresses and she looked at it hard. Not hers – but her sister’s. She had sewn it for Lydia herself. Her sister must have sent it for laundering the day she disappeared, but why it had taken so long to find its way back to the room was strange since each item was labelled with the owner’s name. The garment must have circulated the wardrobes of every woman in the harem until the Verinder initials had brought it back with her own clothes. She stroked the lace trimmed garment, wanting to feel its softness, to feel the true Lydia. To blot out the harsh words she had just read. She had begun to raise it to her cheek when a small white cap fell from its folds to the floor.

  Alice picked it up. ‘It’s a baby’s lace bonnet.’ She looked puzzled. ‘It’s very small. By the look of it, it would fit only a newborn. Whose is it and what is it doing in my laundry?’

  She smiled across at Sevda and saw the girl had lost her colour; indeed, was staring in horrified fascination at the bonnet.

  ‘Whatever is the matter?’ Alice was seriously concerned for the young woman. She had never seen Sevda look so sickly.

  ‘Nothing. It is nothing, Miss Alice.’ She swooped on the bonnet, tucking it tightly into one hand. ‘It is a mistake. Forgive.’

  ‘There is nothing to forgive but…’ She could not understand Sevda’s violent agitation. Another mystery, it seemed. ‘It’s a very pretty cap, but where is the baby? I imagine there must be babies in the harem.’

  ‘Yes, yes. They live elsewhere in the building,’ Sevda answered in a voice that seemed not quite her own.

  Babies in the harem were likely. After all, she had seen and heard plenty of children. They mixed freely with the adults and took part in many of their mothers’ daily activities. Esma and Rabia, Lydia’s pupils, were among them and she had hoped to meet the girls, but a message from the Valide Sultan had decreed it would be too upsetting for her grandchildren. They were still lamenting the loss of their governess, the great woman had said, and meeting Lydia’s sister would revive their unhappiness.

  ‘I would love to see the babies,’ Alice said on impulse. She was feeling desperately low and to spend time with the very young would be heartening. ‘Would it be possible?’

  ‘Not possible,’ the girl responded firmly. ‘I must go now, Miss Alice. There are things I must do.’

  She began to back out of the room as swiftly as she could, but Alice was too quick and caught her by the hand. ‘Stay a minute, Sevda. And let me look.’ It was suddenly important to hold the bonnet in her hands.

  Reluctantly, Sevda relinquished the child’s cap and Alice stood staring at it, then thought that she must look quite mad and went to give it back. But as she did, she noticed ink marks on its tiny rolled hem. She brought the bonnet close to her eyes and could just make out two small initials, the kind the laundry used to link a garment to its owner. LV, she read.

  ‘LV,’ she said aloud, feeling her breath stutter. LV? Lydia Verinder?

  ‘The bonnet belongs to a concubine of the Sultan.’ Sevda’s mouth adopted an uncompromising line.

  ‘Does it? Or are you lying? Whose are these initials really?’ She felt brutal and faced the girl furiously. ‘From the moment I arrived here, you have pretended. Pretended you have no knowledge of my sister’s whereabouts, evaded every one of my questions. But this one, Sevda, you will answer.’

  All of a sudden, the girl’s face crumbled. ‘Oh, Miss Alice, do not ask me please.’

  ‘I am not asking. I am demanding. You must tell me the truth.’ She steered Sevda towards the divan and stood over her. ‘Does LV stand for Lydia Verinder?’

  The girl nodded dumbly.

  ‘So why would she have a baby’s bonnet in her laundry?’ In her heart, Alice knew why. Every impulse was shrieking that here was the truth at last.

  ‘It is a mistake. The bonnet must have gone missing. Now it is returned.’

  ‘I can see a mistake has happened, but you haven’t answered my question. Was my sister, was Lydia, looking after a baby?’ She could not bring herself to say more.

  Again, Sevda nodded.

  ‘Hers?’ Alice croaked.

  ‘Yes.’ It was barely a whisper.

  She sunk back onto the divan next to Sevda, still holding the white cap in her hand. ‘Tell me everything. Tell me now,’ she said harshly.

  ‘Your sister, she become with child,’ the girl said simply. ‘I know no more.’

  But I do, Alice thought grimly. The diary page was beginning to have a deeper meaning. But why had her sister not written home, not confessed the trouble she was in? And how had she managed, where had she lived, when was the baby born? So many questions.

  ‘Miss Lydia stay here when baby grows big,’ Sevda offered, her English beginning to fracture under the strain. Her hands sketched the round shape of a stomach.

  ‘How is that possible? Surely there was talk in the palace?’

  ‘It was not so difficult. The clothes she wore…’ For a moment, Sevda seemed lost for words.

  ‘I think I understand. Loose clothes, you mean.’

  ‘Everyone knew Miss Lydia loved Turkish dress. When she began to wear it every day, it did not seem strange.’

  Alice’s composure did not slip, but though some deeply buried instinct had known this from the moment she had caught hold of the baby’s cap, she was struggling to grasp what she was being told. ‘Her work,’ she stammered. ‘Her teaching?’

  ‘There was no problem. To begin, she was unwell, but then she was fine and happy to teach. The princesses are very young. They are not curious.’

  Alice hoped that had been the case. ‘If the princesses did not know, others must have. You, for instance. You knew, and who else?’

  ‘The women.’

  ‘The women of the harem?’

  Sevda nodded.

  ‘All the women?’

  The girl nodded again.

  Things began slowly to slot into place, and the women’s silence to make sense. ‘Is that why they would not speak to me of Lydia?’

  ‘They liked your sister very much and they felt for her trouble. When you came, they did not want you to know. It would hurt you and you would think bad things of Miss Lydia.’

  Alice got to her feet and walked to the window and back. ‘What you are saying is that they did not trust me. You did not trust me.’

  ‘We did not know you, Miss Alice.’

  ‘Is that why, when I arrived, you pretended your English was poor?’

  Sevda jumped up and walked over to her. She took Alice’s hand and stroked it gently. ‘I thought it best. If you ask me, I say I do not understand.’

  ‘But you soon spoke differently. What happened?’

  The stroking continued. ‘I decided you were a good person. You loved your sister and we loved her, too. You see, I did trust you. But I did not want you to be sad. I could not help you find Miss Lydia. None of us could, so it is best to say nothing.’

  ‘I see.’ And she did. The brick wall she had encountered in the harem had a very substantial foundation, one built of friendship and care for a vulnerable young woman. It prompted another question, though, and she wondered if she dared ask it. But this was a time for truth and she must ask.

  ‘Did Sultan Rahîme know?’

  ‘She was told. She had to be told.’

  ‘And she allowed my sister to stay and continue teaching her grandchildren? From what I have seen of the lady, I find that extraordinary.’

  ‘The Valide Sultan is a kind woman. Miss Lydia must be discreet, that was all. She must stay within the walls at all times and speak to no one outside. But when the baby comes, Miss Lydia must go as soon as she can travel.’

  Sultan Rahîme had behaved with unusual generosity. Perhaps after all she was not the dangerous pre
sence Alice had thought. The woman could not have tolerated an unmarried girl living in the harem with a baby whose father was unknown. Within days of arriving, she had seen the strict code of morality within the palace. It was a very different code from the one she knew, but every bit as severe.

  ‘And you say Lydia’s pupils did not realise that anything was amiss?’

  ‘They are very young, you understand. Maybe they teased Miss Lydia with liking Turkish food too much, but this’ – and she pointed to her loose overcoat – ‘this covers much.’

  ‘But the birth?’ She could not imagine how that could have been kept quiet. There would be doctors, bustle, perhaps confusion. Lydia would have been unable to teach for days, and then would have a baby to suckle. The thought made Alice close her eyes in anguish.

  ‘It was lucky – the princesses go to Dolmabahçe Palace for their summer holiday. It is by the sea and Miss Lydia told them she did not like the sea and preferred to stay here. The baby came while the children were away and when they returned, your sister had left. They never saw her again.’

  Alice slumped down once more onto the divan. There was a part of her that saw clearly, but another part that was a jumble of pain and bewilderment. She felt unable to cope with anything more, but there was still one question that clamoured to be answered.

  ‘Was the baby a girl?’

  ‘It was a little boy.’ Sevda’s face broke into a smile. ‘I took him in my arms when he came. He was beautiful.’

  ‘Did he have a name?’

  ‘Miss Lydia called him Charlie. That is how you say it?’

  Alice could hardly speak for the tears that choked her. Then she rallied. She must know everything. ‘When my sister left, how old was the baby?’

  ‘A few weeks only.’

  ‘A few weeks! But surely, then, you must know where she went. A woman still recovering from childbirth and carrying a tiny baby?’