by Lara Blunte
It was Catherine, he knew, who was making it possible for him to dwell on the memories he had of them without pain. He realized that she was slowly helping him heal with her own happiness, with a softness that she sought to conceal sometimes because she was proud, with her almost pagan belief that life would be good to them.
He had begun to love the girl whose thoughts could be so sharp one moment and so dreamy the next; the girl who looked at him in bed, but who closed her eyes and smiled as she danced, who sent him childishly comic looks across a room to make him laugh when he shouldn't, who ran in the fields dirty and disheveled like a child. He had fiercely wanted to protect that freedom in her, he had wanted her to flourish instead of being bent and folded into submission by a society that was very efficient at suppressing what was different.
The closer he felt to her, the more he thought about Edmund. Though he wanted to believe that his cousin was dead, it became imperative to be sure that he was not out there, waiting to torture him again, waiting to snatch someone as precious as Catherine.
They could not make their union public in any way, until he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Edmund was truly gone. And it turned out that Edmund had just given himself a reprieve before he started his endless game again.
When Adrian had left for Constantinople, he had not been able to tell Catherine why he needed to go, because she wouldn't have understood, she wouldn't have believed him, she was headstrong and she would have done something to put herself in danger. No one would believe his story, especially not Catherine, who was not highly impressionable.
He remembered how she had escaped from him in her red dress, how he had followed her over the snow at Lytton Hall and then seen her running in the long corridor, her skirt billowing behind her. He had known he was breaking her heart but what she hadn't known is that he was also breaking his own. He had so wished to tell her that he wanted to come back to her, much more than he had wanted anything for an eternity.
Yet he had said nothing, because she needed to stay behind and not think of him, she needed to even hate him. He must keep Edmund away from her because he alone knew how imaginative his cousin could be in the pursuit of gratuitous evil.
And now Catherine knew.
He reflected about the many times when she had wanted to know what he had been through during his eight year absence. He had kept all information from her because he knew it was impossible for anyone to understand those years of grief and loneliness, or to share the dangers that he had already passed. She would have lost her innocence when she found out what people were capable of doing, and he would not have gained anything.
She was now doing the same thing. There was nothing he could do about what had already happened to her: if she told him it would only increase his wrath and cloud his judgment.
What he did know, in any case, was enough: that she had given birth alone among enemies, that she had never even held their child, that she had been drugged and beaten, and that Edmund, who had perceived the gift of her sensuality and the strength of her spirit, had set out to corrupt the one and destroy the other.
He had to keep close guard over himself not to seize her by the arms and beg her to tell him more, to tell him about every second she had been away: What did they do to you? A hundred times a day he wanted to ask and keep asking until she told him everything, every horrible detail of the torment she had undergone.
It was worse not to know ─ or was it?
It didn't matter, because she would never speak of it. Yet her suffering, borne with such grace and resilience, had demolished all the obstacles and detours that he had created between himself and others, and he knew that he loved her as he hadn't thought it possible to love anyone. He also knew that this love brought intolerable pain with it, but that there was no help for it now.
However, she was beyond caring or even noticing. He knew that he loved her, but it was too late.
V. Five. Anything and Its Opposite
Nedim Kartal, Solicitor, had not thought it possible to be more frightened than when a couple of grim looking Arabs had quietly invaded his home in Constantinople that morning, holding him at knife point as he breakfasted with his wife and child.
However, now that the man whom he knew to be the Earl of Halford stood barely a yard away from him in a closed room he reached the next stage of terror. He thought of his wife and his little boy, who had been taken to another room.
"What are you doing to them?" Kartal asked Adrian in English.
He spoke the language well, because he had studied in London. He was a civilized person in a civilized city and this shouldn't be happening: or so he was about to tell the Earl.
But Halford spoke first, "I need you to understand that your concern for your wife and son is not greater than mine for Lady Catherine and for my child. In fact, I would hazard the guess that I am the more determined man at this moment."
Kartal's eyes flicked from him to the two Arabs at the door. He tried to think what to do next, but he was interrupted as Halford sat down across from him.
Catherine had clung to the memory of papers that Edmund had made her sign, and now Adrian bluffed: "I will tell you what I know and I think you'll see that it's enough. You represent Mr. Richmond. Your name appears in recent transactions of his. You have also been providing him with forged documents. There is a birth and two death certificates. And a marriage license."
Kartal's eyes betrayed him and Halford went on, "You could go to jail for the rest of your life just for that. I could employ considerable influence to make sure you did ─ if I don't kill you today."
"You wouldn't─"
"I would, because I have had trouble with my temper lately, you see. It has become quite ungovernable." Adrian had unsheathed a knife, which he used to point at Kartal, who cowered in his chair, his body collapsing like a rag doll. "I start out with a knife in my hand, like this one, and suddenly, I don't know how, there's a man with his throat cut on the floor. So I beg you to listen carefully: you are afraid of Richmond, when you ought to be more frightened of me. I am in the same room with you dying to kill you; Richmond is not. Think of your odds."
Kartal was trembling in his silk dressing gown and Adrian went on, "If you need any more encouragement, think that you know far too much about a man who is in the process of creating a new identity."
The solicitor's eyes were as big as plates; he realized that what Halford was saying was true and cursed himself for not understanding it beforehand. Richmond had made it clear that he wanted to break away from anyone who had remotely known him, which would only leave Kartal aware of who he was becoming.
So Kartal took a deep breath and decided to collaborate. Loyalty was, after all, a matter of convenience; sometimes, like now, it was the difference between life and death.
He started to speak, hoping that his very eagerness would convince the Englishman to let him live. "I did...help to forge these documents. They are as you say..."
Adrian's face was inscrutable as he asked, "Where is Richmond?"
"That, I don't know ─ I swear I don't know! He moves all the time and he never lets me have this address, except…"
He stopped. The word had escaped him, when he had meant to try and get away with not talking about that part.
However, Halford was anything but stupid. "You know where he will be."
Kartal slipped further down on his chair, his chin on his chest. His eyes never left the knife. "I-I think I do. If he wasn't lying. If he doesn't change things."
"When and where?"
Adrian did not make the mistake of keeping what he had found out from Catherine.
Instead, he laid the whole of what he believed to be Edmund's plan before her. She sat, composed in her plain dress, her hair more evenly cut by Leila, and looked at him in disbelief, "Even he wouldn't dare to do such a thing!"
He nodded, "He would. It means that the last thing he will do is to harm our child. But I believe there is another
step coming first."
"What?"
"I think he will try the most straightforward path to the money, which is to get it in exchange for our son. I would give the money to him, but he can't know that."
"He told me once that he would believe your word."
"He doesn't believe anything or anyone."
"I thought he was sincere when he said that. I still think so. At first the things he said about you, and the way he said them, made me believe that he couldn't kill you. There was something like admiration in the way he spoke of you, and even...love."
Adrian scoffed, "Love?"
"It was as if he were relieved that you didn't die that day. Everything else was a lie, but I believe that."
"How could he be relieved, when I stood in the way to everything he wanted?"
She shook her head, not knowing for certain. "He would have killed you, I think, had you been in the house. But I believe that he was relieved that you weren't. I don't know why, but I know it to be true."
Adrian was listening, but he said, "We will never guess why he does what he does. What is important now is that I think we are coming to the end of his game. I think our son has given him an advantage that he means to use, but first he will try the least risky way. He will try to get the money out of me."
"There is nothing straightforward about him,” Catherine said.
"I agree. He is capable of anything and its opposite. But if his next move is to meet me, and he doesn't like what he hears, I know what the move after that will be. He will try to kill us both."
V. Six. Cousins
That evening a boy came to the house and delivered a note for Adrian. It contained an address near the Bayezid Mosque and a time on the following day: noon.
The mosque was near an open square. Edmund had chosen prayer time, when the square and the streets would be empty. It would be easy for him to have Adrian watched on his way to the house he had indicated. Adrian knew that he had to go alone.
He showed the note to Catherine.
"You guessed that he would do this," she said after reading it.
"We must prepare for what might come next."
She nodded.
As he mounted his horse outside the gate the next day, Catherine ran after him and grabbed him by the arm. "Be careful!" she asked.
He didn't want to look at her as if he might not see her again, and he didn't try to take her hand. "Be safe," he told her.
Omar had reached them and the two men exchanged looks. "May God protect you," Omar said.
"And you," Adrian replied.
Bayezid Mosque was full, since it was prayer time, and the square and streets were practically empty.
Adrian left his horse behind and found a small, dilapidated mansion, standing alone at the end of the street. No one had lived there for many years. Even the number was hanging askew, as if it might drop from the façade at any moment. An old man who passed by and saw him looking at the house laughed and said, "It's haunted."
Adrian almost replied grimly that he was accustomed to that. He went towards the house and opened the door. The walls were humid and musty, and planks of wood were piled any which way, together with pieces of marble, as if someone had ordered the materials that could still be salvaged from the ruins.
Suddenly there was a patter of small feet coming from the second floor.
He didn't hesitate, but went up the crooked stairs. The noise became clearer: it was coming from the last room on the right. These were not the feet of an adult. What had Edmund devised this time?
He opened the door just as something small dove under a cloth on the floor. Whatever it was, it rolled and moved, making strange sounds. Standing a few steps back from it, Adrian picked up the cloth and pulled it.
He found himself looking at a dwarf. The small man put his head back, let out a loud laugh, and ran past him and out of the room.
The dwarf ran down the corridor and leapt down the broken stairs with surprising agility. Adrian took after the strange messenger, arriving at the door just as he disappeared round the house.
The man was determined to be comical, for he ran wriggling his legs and looking behind him pretending to be very frightened. If Adrian delayed turning a corner, he found him waiting. As soon as the dwarf saw him, he would throw his hands up in the air, scream, and begin running again.
Adrian knew that the absurd chase had a purpose. Edmund was probably making sure that he hadn't brought anyone with him as the dwarf led him to the real meeting point.
They went through a few streets and the dwarf never tired of his own antics. Adrian could see they were heading towards the Covered Bazaar.
Their progress was quick. Normally the bazaar would be surrounded by people: customers, vendors, suppliers. Now the great door was closed for prayer, but the dwarf disappeared into a smaller side door.
Adrian followed him through it and found himself inside the enormous building that housed hundreds of shops. A guard who sat at the entrance on a stool looked up at him without any interest and then down again at a notebook where he was jotting things down.
A lot of men were praying inside the shops he passed; only a few looked out briefly at Adrian, then turned again to Meccah.
The dwarf was waiting a little ahead and Adrian walked towards him. The little man led him away from the main shops into a side alley. As he turned a corner, Adrian discerned a tall European man standing with his back to him.
Adrian's blood flowed slowly through his veins, cold and sinuous as a serpent; he knew that cocked head, even if the hair had been dyed dark, he knew those shoulders. The head turned a little and Adrian saw a broken nose that was still bruised in profile. The head kept turning slowly backwards until pale blue eyes stared into his, and the man smiled.
For the first time in eleven years Adrian and Edmund looked at each other.
Just then the midday prayer ended, and people seemed to suddenly fill the space between them.
For a second Adrian thought he might reach Edmund and kill him, even before anyone standing by could stop him; but Edmund had, of course, timed everything perfectly and there were too many people between them now. Besides, both of them knew that Adrian would do no such thing, because Edmund had the child.
Adrian walked towards his cousin. When he was quite close, Edmund asked, with a sociable smile, "Your hands must be itching! How are you going to keep yourself from murdering me?"
Looking around, Adrian saw men lolling at the entrance of shops, or staring at merchandise, or sitting with a tea and a pipe. "Don't be tiresome. You'd never meet me alone."
"I can't say I have your physical courage, no... I never did. Even with all these men around, I would be quaking in my boots right now if I did not have your son and heir in my possession." Edmund motioned towards the empty coffee shop behind him, "Shall we?"
Nodding curtly, Adrian followed him into place. Edmund directed the owner to get them some tea. The dwarf was sitting on a high stool, chatting with another man and smoking, like an actor who has finished a particularly satisfactory performance. He bowed and smiled amiably at Adrian.
Edmund removed his hat and hung it neatly on a peg behind the table, then told the Abyssinian, who had come in after them, "Lord Halford and I have much to talk about. Please ensure that we have privacy."
Muammar threw Adrian a disdainful look and moved away in his slow predator gait, ushering everyone out, including the café owner.
"Did you ever think we would be sitting across from each other again?" Edmund mused out loud.
Adrian said steadily, "I am having a lot of trouble not driving something through your skull as you drove a knife through my father's. I might forget myself and my own child just for the pleasure of doing it, so keep to the matter at hand."
Edmund gave a small shudder. "Yes, I think you might. But then what would you tell Lady Catherine?"
The look in Adrian's eyes made Edmund's hand close instinctively
over the small spoons which the owner had set down carelessly on the table, together with two glasses of tea.
"That's a name you should never mention," Adrian said in a low voice.
"All right... All right then, the business at hand: I have your son, and I mean to exchange him for the money that you've hidden."
"You can have the money when the child is safely with us."
"Do you expect me to be so foolish as to let you get into your son's presence? Then my head would be swiftly separated from my shoulders and deservedly so."
"Do you expect me to be so foolish as to give you the money without having the child?"
"I should have brought his rattle or a lock of his hair to entice you,” Edmund drawled. "He's a fair-haired little boy; he must have taken after any of his grandparents except the Earl. There is nothing Italian about him, unless he grows up to be one of those Fra Angelico angels like James."
There was no reaction to this new provocation and Edmund continued, "I would have thought, Adrian, that you would do everything to get your son and heir back ─ your flesh and blood! Your family always had meaning for you, when little else seemed to matter. I wonder, what will you say to Lady Catherine if she can never, ever, ever, ever hold her own child? Will you tell her that you are unwilling to give up …"
He could not go on because Adrian grabbed his throat so suddenly and violently that he spluttered. Several men jumped up outside and started to rush toward them. Edmund took hold of Adrian's hand and tried to pry it off his neck at the same time that he motioned the men to stay away. It took a moment before Adrian let him go. Edmund fell sideways against the cushions, his face dark red. He coughed raucously.
Adrian now sat back and studied his cousin. "Do you know what your officer in India said about you? 'He was unusually fond of dealing and receiving punishment.' "