Dreams did not crash after all, it seemed, and she was filled with such joy she wanted to sing her happiness aloud or shout it across the sea they walked beside. ‘You need not ask. What else would I say but yes? And it’s not so long to Easter.’ She sounded wistful.
‘I’ll be sure to write to you every day. Or nearly every day,’ he corrected. ‘The mail can’t always be trusted.’
‘And once I’m in England, you’ll be under less suspicion. I’m afraid I have brought you ill fortune.’
‘That’s nonsense, and you know it.’
‘I don’t. I’m certain you will sleep more safely once I’m gone. I am sure every minute of my day is watched over. At this very moment, someone will be ready to report my disgraceful walk with you.’
He laughed and stopped walking again. ‘Shall we make it really disgraceful?’ And before she realised what he intended to do, he had scooped her in his arms and kissed her deeply. A passing sherbet seller stared at them in amazement, his tray of little brown clay basins swinging dangerously to one side.
‘Sometimes, Harry Frome, I hardly know you,’ she said, when she had regained her breath. But she was smiling as she said it.
He was intrigued. ‘In what way?
‘When I first met you, you were so stiff, so punctilious. Unbending, I would describe you.’
‘And you were not?’
She considered this for a moment. ‘You are right, I was just as much a prig. I am not quite sure what has happened to me. It’s as though by travelling I have come back to the world, back to life. I have felt so much pain here and yet the flowers are brighter, the sun warmer. It sounds odd to say, but I feel I can smile from the heart now, as well as cry. I’ve become almost a different person.’
‘Or perhaps it’s the one you used to be – the one you should be?’
Harry was wise. The years of being the dependable daughter, of running a household, of managing a budget, of fetching and carrying and organising for others, had taken their toll. The girl who wore the fancy lace petticoat had been smothered beneath the weight of responsibility. But the responsibilities were still there. How had she forgotten?
Her face was downcast when she said, ‘I may have said yes too quickly. I want to marry you, Harry, more than anything. I cannot imagine a happier future, but how would it work? Your life is in Turkey and I cannot leave my parents. And even if I could… I’ve become fearful of Topkapi, though I know it sounds stupid.’
‘Not stupid at all. You have good reason. But I’m not asking you to make your life here. I intend to return to England myself. A new opportunity is what I need. Perhaps by the time we see each other again, I’ll have found one.’
‘You will leave Turkey – for me?’ He nodded. ‘But you love your work in the library.’
‘I love you more. If you did not expect to fall in love, neither did I. I had determined my life would be one of work. Getting on in the world was the only way I could repay my parents. That’s how I thought. I believed I could somehow make up for the disaster of my father’s life. But I’ve come to see how mistaken I was. If you have become a different person, so have I. I was foolish to think my parents’ happiness depended on my worldly success. It doesn’t. My loving you, being happy with you, will bring them far greater joy.’
‘And joy to my family, too. Seeing my happiness won’t bring Lydia back, but it might make her absence more bearable.’
He tucked her arm in his. ‘We could walk for miles, but I think we should turn back now. We have come almost as far as the Dolmabahçe Palace. It’s where the princesses spend their holidays. Look.’ He pointed ahead and she glimpsed grey stone walls rising, it seemed, from the water itself. ‘It’s a pity you cannot see it at night. The façade actually glitters. There are other smaller palaces lining the Bosphorus, some of them no longer used, but every one is illuminated and together they form a ribbon of light which is quite stunning.’
‘It’s the sea I love most. I’ve caught glimpses of it from the harem, but only glimpses. I can see now how wide it flows, from bay to bay, from Europe to Asia – it’s magnificent.’
Her eyes delighted in the shining waters that seemed to stretch for ever. A shallow-bottomed boat skimmed past them, two men at the oars and a veiled woman reclining in the stern. The woman had raised a sunshade, though the sun was not yet hot. Other boats were crossing the strait, too, their owners enjoying a day of good business in ferrying passengers from one side to the other.
‘So much activity,’ she said, ‘and we are playing truant!’
‘One day’s truancy hardly matters. And to be honest, I am relieved to be out of the library. I’m finding it difficult these days.’
‘Difficult? I thought it would be hard for you to leave the place.’
‘I have loved working there, but I won’t be sorry to go. I suppose I’ve become disenchanted with Topkapi. This business with your sister has depressed me a good deal. I know no more than you what has happened to her, and I’m prepared to believe that others are similarly ignorant. But it’s the wall of secrecy you’ve encountered I find so upsetting. And then there is Ismet’s part in whatever has happened to Lydia. I knew what kind of man he was, but I didn’t intervene.’
‘He has not behaved well,’ she agreed. ‘But what could you have done?’
They were almost back to their starting point when she said, ‘I don’t suppose you have seen him again?’
‘No, but I haven’t expected to. He is a hunted man. Ibrahim tells me there are posters everywhere in the old city offering a reward for his capture. I cannot think it will end well for him.’
‘If you do see him, tell him I am no longer angry. To be truthful, whatever trouble there’s been, it must be Lydia’s fault as much as his.’
‘I’ll pass on your message if ever I meet him again.’
They made their way slowly back along the small pathways they had walked earlier and reached the street that led to the market. ‘Would you like to take a carriage from here? I can see one just ahead.’
‘It might be a good idea. I still have packing to do and I suppose I’ll have to find a way of thanking the Valide Sultan for her hospitality, though the words will stick in my throat. I can’t stop feeling she is this dark presence – that we are puppets whose strings she pulls at will.’
He grinned. ‘Be brave. Only a few more hours before you are on your way home. What time do you leave this evening?’
‘A carriage has been ordered for nine o’clock, plenty of time to get to Sirkeci. The train doesn’t leave until way past ten.’
‘I’ll come to the station with you. The driver can wait and bring me back to the palace. That way, there will be no problem with the guards. At that time in the evening they challenge anyone who attempts to pass through the gates.’
‘Are you sure? It will mean a late return for you.’
‘I doubt I’ll sleep much anyway.’
‘Nor me,’ she agreed, realising anew how very much she would miss him.
* * *
She had barely reached her room when Naz appeared on the threshold, a suitcase in her hands. The girl’s eyes still refused to meet hers and she was glad when the slave left her alone. Very soon she would never have to see Naz again. She dragged her dresses from the carved wood cupboard and threw them onto the divan, folding them as tidily as she could to a shape that would fit the case, then with some difficulty arranged their long skirts, one on top of another. She was careful to smooth each length of fabric, hoping her frocks would survive the long journey without a crease. It was a journey she was not looking forward to. Three long days alone, without Lydia and missing Harry.
But she was returning to her family, she must remember. Cissie was sure to be at Victoria station; Cissie, who had held things together all this time, not knowing what predicament her niece might be facing. There would be questions, explanations, apologies. She must confess her pretence over Lydia’s letters and explain how anxiety had led her into further pret
ence, journeying not to Venice but to Constantinople. She had not wanted to worry them, she would say, had wanted to bring them news of Lydia, even bring their daughter back with her. But she had failed – and this would be the most pitiable moment of her confession. She would have to admit that despite the distress she had caused, she was no further forward in tracing her sister. All any of them could do now, she would tell them, was to wait and hope. Hope that Lydia would give up her wandering soon and return home. It would be a bitter message to accept.
She looked across the room to where her sister’s book lay on the desk. She had so little of Lydia to take back with her, she would pack that, too, despite its weight. The baby’s cap was already secreted away. She doubted she would ever tell her parents the full truth – that would have to wait until Lydia herself returned home. The bonnet would remain her secret, and she would keep it close until her sister was once more with her. She walked over to the desk to gather up this last possession and the Turkish slippers she wore, bought in the market a few days earlier, caught the edge of the rug and nearly tumbled her to the ground. She would be best to leave them behind; they would be too dangerous once she was home again and every day up and down the Pimlico stairs.
She bent to flick the upturned rug back into place and stared. There was a mark staining the otherwise pristine floor. It was a curious shape and she got down on her knees to look more closely. The stain was large and irregular, a cluster of mushroomed clouds, for the most part a dirty pink, but in the very centre a deep red, edged with brown. The stain was old and must have lain here for months but the rug had hidden it from her view, from everyone’s view.
There was a familiarity about the shape of the image and she tried to think where she had seen something similar. Then it came to her – Beeton’s Book of Household Management. Dora’s bible. The maidservant was a devotee of Mrs Beeton and had gone straight to the book the morning the postman had caught his hand in the letter box and dripped blood over the polished wood of the hall. Beeton had given sage advice, but it was a nasty stain that had taken Dora many hours of labour to remove. A blood stain. This was blood!
Chapter Thirty One
But whose? Her mind had leapt to an inevitable conclusion, but she tried to suppress the thought. The blood could belong to anyone. Yet deep within she knew it was Lydia’s. A stain this large meant a considerable injury, certainly something that needed medical attention, but there had been no mention of Lydia seeking a doctor or going to a hospital for help. Which meant that she had been right all along – her sister had not made the decision to leave as everyone assumed; she had been abducted. The blood had been spilled and Lydia forcibly taken. But how could it have happened without anyone knowing or seeing? If it were just one assailant… another thought skittered through her mind. Perhaps this wasn’t her sister’s blood, but her attacker’s? Lydia could be a hellcat in a fight, she knew that well. She had beaten even Charlie in their childhood battles, and she would have put up the most tremendous struggle defending herself and her baby. But Alice had only to think of the physical power of a man like Yusuf to know that Lydia would have stood little chance against such an enemy.
She looked down at her hands, her knuckles bloodless from clutching the desk in a fierce attempt to stay upright. But she was allowing her imagination to rule, she chided herself, relaxing her hands as best she could. There could be other explanations. The stain was old and it was possible the room had housed others before Lydia, and it was a former resident who had met with serious injury. That was probably the answer and she must forget the instinct telling her otherwise. She steadied herself and walked over to the carpet, flicking it back into place. She would say nothing of what she had found.
A knock on the door and Sevda glided into the room. ‘How are you, Miss Alice?’ Her cheerfulness forced Alice to a welcoming smile. ‘I am here to help you pack. Ah, no.’ She had caught sight of the suitcase lying open on the bed. ‘You are nearly ready.’
‘I think so, but thank you for your offer. In truth, I’ve hardly anything to pack. I brought little with me and I’ve only a few souvenirs to add.’
‘I have brought you another, but it is small. I hope you will like it. It is a farewell gift from Sultan Rahîme.’
She could not prevent her surprise showing. ‘This is most kind.’ She took the parcel from Sevda, turning it in her hands. ‘And you are right, it is small enough to fit easily into my suitcase.’
Its size belied its value. She gave a small intake of breath when she opened the package. A beautiful filigree bracelet set with emeralds, flawless and shining, lay couched in velvet cloth. ‘I cannot take this. It is far too expensive a gift.’
Sevda spread her hands. ‘Rahîme Perestû is a generous woman and she wishes you to take good memories with you.’
‘I will go to her immediately. I must thank her – and I can say my goodbyes at the same time.’
‘That is not necessary,’ Sevda was quick to say. ‘The Valide Sultan is a busy woman and she is happy for me to wish you goodbye on her behalf.’
The distant farewell was unsurprising. The woman had remained shrouded from sight for the entirety of Alice’s stay, but why this expensive present? Her suspicions broke out anew. Was the bracelet a memento of good memories, or a way of ensuring her silence if she were ever tempted to throw doubt on the palace?
‘Who has lived in this room?’ she asked suddenly. ‘Apart from myself and Lydia?’
Sevda blinked at the question. ‘No one, Miss Alice.’
‘I’m not talking only of the recent past, but for years back.’
‘No, no one. The room has never been used, not since I am in the palace and that is fifteen years. The women do not like to be so close to the garden, but your sister loved it for that reason. She could have had many rooms, but she chose this one. Why do you ask?’
For a moment she could not reply. Fifteen years and the room never used until Lydia had chosen it. It had to be her sister’s blood. There was a ringing in Alice’s ears she could not dislodge, even when she shook her head violently. Her suitcase swam across her vision and she felt the empty cloak bag at her feet. She could not leave. Not now. When she had thought her sister had gone freely, it had hurt to be abandoning her, but now she was certain Lydia had been hurt, kidnapped as she had suspected almost from the start, she could not go. She had to find her. She had to see Harry.
‘Miss Alice, are you feeling well?’ Sevda had moved towards her, and there was a deep furrow on her beautiful forehead.
Alice forced herself to regain control. ‘Well? Yes, I am very well. But I have had a thought. I need to say goodbye to Mr Frome,’ she improvised. ‘I should have done it earlier, but I thought I might walk over to the library this afternoon. Then one of the ladies mentioned the building is closed today. Where would I find him, do you think?’
‘If he is in the palace, he will be in his room. His new room in the men’s quarters. They are the buildings beyond the library.’
‘Can I go there and look for him?’
Sevda looked slightly shocked. ‘It is not advisable.’
‘I suppose you could not find him for me?’
The girl was now looking scandalised. ‘No, not at all. Perhaps you write a note?’
‘And you can deliver it?’ she said eagerly.
‘I will ask a slave to take it. Male slave.’
Alice was thinking quickly. A note would take time and she had none. ‘Perhaps, after all, writing would be discourteous. I should speak to him directly. Could the messenger ask Mr Frome to meet me at the harem entrance?’
The girl nodded, though it must have seemed an odd request, but she was plainly relieved that Alice no longer intended to storm the men’s accommodation. ‘I will go now and see to it.’
Fifteen minutes later, Alice saw him come into view. He was hurrying from the far courtyard through the Gate of Felicity, a worried expression on his face.
‘What on earth has happened? I thought we were
to meet tonight, but the slave who came to my room insisted we say goodbye now.’
‘It was a lie, a ploy. Harry – I have something terrible to tell you.’ She swayed a little and he caught her by the forearm and steadied her.
‘Let us walk a while. We will not be so noticeable.’ He tucked her hand in his arm and the solid warmth of his body made her feel stronger. They had walked into the first courtyard before he spoke again. ‘Now tell me.’
‘There is blood in my room, a stain on the floor hidden beneath the rug.’ He did not seem overly surprised, but in itself she thought the fact was not alarming. ‘It is an old stain,’ she went on, ‘and a very large one. Someone has suffered serious injury in that room.’
He looked at her enquiringly. ‘Forgive me, Alice, but at the moment I cannot see why this should have thrown you into such distress.’
‘The only people who have slept in the room are myself and Lydia. And I have suffered no injury.’
She saw the dawning comprehension on his face. ‘You think Lydia… Lydia was hurt?’
‘What else can I think? It has to be her blood. She has suffered a very bad injury, but no one knows of it. Why would she willingly go away in such a terrible state? The answer is she would not unless she had been forced. She has been abducted, Harry. I have always known it.’
He passed a hand through his hair, disordering its trim style. ‘Is there no other explanation?’
‘Can you think of another?
‘Not immediately, but someone in the palace must know how that stain came to be there.’
‘Someone does, I am convinced. I have always been convinced of it. But she does not live in the palace.’
‘You mean Elise Boucher?’ He shook his head. ‘I have never agreed with you over Elise and I still do not.’
‘I know I am right,’ she said simply. ‘But I will not drag you further into this morass. All I need from you is an address.’
A Tale of Two Sisters Page 25