The Orphan Pearl

by Erin Satie

  “Wait here, will you?” Clive stood. “I’m going to take this directly to Palmerston. I want you to come with me, to explain.”

  By the time Clive was ready to leave—freshly shaven, fashionably dressed, smelling faintly of eau de cologne—and his carriage pulled around, the sun had risen and hung low in the sky, dull and yellow.

  A modest former residential building on Downing Street housed the Foreign Office. Despite efforts to renovate the building, it remained crowded and a little shabby. Clive escorted John one flight up the main staircase and into the Private Secretary’s office. In the time it took for a clerk to tell Lord Palmerston that they’d arrived, they were admitted.

  The Foreign Secretary rose to meet them, a dignified man with fine, wispy gray hair that whorled atop his head and bushed out from a luxuriant muttonchop beard. His small, sensitive eyes seemed to hide, mole-like, in their surrounding bags and pouches, but only a fool would miss their keenness.

  He offered John his hand, and they shook for the first time since he’d been dismissed.

  “Clive says you’ve been doing extraordinary work,” said Palmerston. “Of course, this comes as no surprise to me.”

  “Thank you, sir,” said John.

  “He’s gotten to the bottom of this orphan mystery,” said Clive. “I wanted him to explain it to you directly.”

  “Has he?” Palmerston’s bushy eyebrows twitched and he gestured to a set of carved wooden chairs upholstered in thick striped silk, grouped around a low table. “Take a seat. Tell me everything.”

  Coffee arrived, and John drained two cups while he explained everything.

  “Extraordinary,” said Palmerston. “How did Lady Lily obtain this jewel?”

  “I wish I knew,” John answered. “It’s been lost for more than six hundred years.”

  “Six hundred…?” Clive whistled.

  “Since the Mongols toppled the Abbasids. If it’s real—I haven’t seen it; it may not be—but if it’s real, it’s an artifact from a golden age. Truly priceless.”

  “Mehmet Ali cannot be allowed to lay his hands on this treasure.” Palmerston looked to Clive. “I tell you, this news makes me even more suspicious of his bid for peace. I had been reluctant to allow Mehmet Ali to dictate terms at all. This new information clarifies his ambitions and paints his collusion with the French in a more sinister light.”

  “What do you propose to do?” Clive asked Palmerston. “Steal the pearl from Hastings House?”

  “Is there some way to convince the girl to bring it to us?” Palmerston asked. “Mr. Ware—you’ve cultivated a relationship with Lady Lily.”

  “She will not cooperate with me,” John answered. “But she might respond to an overture from someone else.”

  “Might.” Palmerston shook his head. “No. That’s not good enough. Time is of the essence. Holland has gained a foothold—and Hastings supports him, of course—they’ve convinced nearly everyone to sign all of southern Syria over to Mehmet Ali. But if we can give the other powers proof of France’s ambitions—”

  “We should talk about where to post Ware,” Clive interrupted.

  “That’s right.” Palmerston snapped his fingers. “In fact, we can do better. Where would you like to go?”

  John was too stunned to respond immediately.

  “Don’t be so surprised,” Palmerston said. “We’ve had to learn your value the hard way. And you’ve certainly come through in a crisis for us today. Name your destination.”

  “Buenos Aires?” John suggested.

  “Done,” said Palmerston. “It will take a month or two to arrange, but I’m sure you’ll need the time to prepare. Welcome back, Consul-General.”

  “A triumph,” murmured Clive as they left Downing Street, before parting ways, and John had to admit to himself that Clive was right.

  If he could have traveled through time, back to the day he’d been dismissed, and promised himself that he would be reinstated, promoted even, his past self would have rejoiced. The sting of rejection would not have bitten so deep. He would have greeted the two years that followed with patience and good humor.

  But the moment had come, and he felt nothing at all. He’d been vindicated, but it brought him no satisfaction. He’d earned praise from a man who had once sneered at him, but he felt no pride.

  He’d be lying if he pretended that he didn’t understand why this victory rang so hollow. He had cheated. He had done something terrible, and he’d been rewarded for it. It seemed that everywhere he turned, the people who ought to have demanded more from him, made him a better man, asked that he degrade himself instead.

  To be fair, he had been willing enough. He could not pretend to be selfless. He hadn’t refused the prize that Palmerston offered, hadn’t even considered it. Like everyone else, he wanted what he wanted. And, as history proved with distressing regularity, almost anything could be justified in hindsight.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lily sat on her bed, dressed to go out: a day dress of stiff black taffeta, an Indian shawl puddled in her lap. Shoes laced, hair styled with modest simplicity. She’d pulled al-Yatima out from its cubby underneath the floor and held it now, warm and smooth, between her palms. The sunlight streaming through the window made it blaze like a little sun.

  When would Ware report to the Foreign Office about the pearl? This morning? This afternoon? She had no doubt that he would tell all. He had tried to persuade her, he had failed. His next step was obvious.

  How long before the information made its way to her father? A few days? A week? The secret wouldn’t keep for long. She needed to end her dependence on her father before he could use it against her.

  A knock sounded at the door and Lily called out, “Come in,” burying the pearl in her shawl. She expected her maid with an update about the afternoon’s excursion to the Court of Chancery. If all went according to plan, in a few hours she would reclaim her name in the eyes of the law, and, with it, rights to her inheritance.

  Instead of her maid, her father stood at the door.

  “Shall we go?” Lily asked, with an optimistic smile.

  “That depends.” His gold eyes glittered. “It’s come to my attention that you have something of value in your possession. A pearl?”

  The smile froze on Lily’s face. How could he have learned about al-Yatima so quickly? Not even a whole day had passed since Ware had confronted her in the theater.

  “I see.” He ground his cane into the rug. “You will give it to me.”

  “It’s not yours.”

  “Nevertheless, you will give it to me,” he said.

  Lily curled her hands into fists in her lap. “No, I won’t.”

  “You misunderstand, Lily. I’m not making a request. You do not have the option of refusing.”

  “And yet that’s what I’ve done.”

  He nodded slowly. “Then let me tell you how we will proceed. I need that pearl. I need it now. And that means that you will not leave this room until I have it—that you will not eat until I have it—that you will have no visitors, write no letters, read no books. You’re a survivor, Lily. You’ve proven that much, at least. I think you’ll give me the pearl before you starve.”

  Lily swallowed. “You would do that? To your own daughter?”

  “And more.” His lips thinned. “You should not have kept this from me.”

  “But, Papa, you’ve just proven that I had to.”

  “You’ll be watched to prevent escape,” he continued, responding to the spirit of her reply, if not the actual words. “Do you think I haven’t learned from your past exploits? You won’t get another chance—”

  “You can have the pearl,” Lily interrupted. She flipped her skirt aside, revealing al-Yatima. “Here. It’s yours.”

  He was still and speechless for so long that Lily’s muscles, locked up tight with dread, began to ache.

  “Bring it here.”

  Lily slid off the bed, draped her shawl over her shoulders, and carried the pearl
to her father. She kept her head down, a submissive posture that hid the defiance he would have seen in her eyes.

  “Astonishing,” he marveled. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “It’s one of a kind.”

  He held out his hand, palm up. “Give it to me.”

  “You’re so used to getting what you want.”

  “Because I don’t make idle threats,” he said sharply, shaking his outstretched hand.

  “And so resistance just melts away.” Lily held the pearl just out of reach. “You’ve gotten so used to watching your opponents retreat that you’ve forgotten something important.”

  “I’m not playing, Lily. Now.”

  “A threat can frighten people into doing what you wish,” Lily continued. “But there’s a risk, too. When you tell people what you want, what you plan, you give them something they can use.”

  “Oh? And what’s that?”

  “A warning.”

  And then, without hesitation, she hiked up her skirt and kicked the knee of his bad leg.

  He teetered—silently, shock warring with fury in his expression—throwing his weight forward to catch his balance on his cane. Lily ducked and swept her arm at the glittering gold stick, knocking it away and sending her father toppling.

  He landed with a thud and she screamed. It was so wrong, to see her unshakable father sprawled out on the floor and yelling for help. She wanted to lend him her arm and raise him up. But heavy footsteps thudded on the staircase, servants on the way to offer all the help he needed, and she didn’t have time to gawk.

  “I’m sorry, Papa,” she said. “I love you, but I won’t let you take it from me.”

  She ran. Down the stairs, past footmen dashing up to answer her father’s call for help, out the door that Rundle held open for one of the hall boys already running to fetch a doctor. She gained the square but didn’t pause, bundling the pearl into her shawl as she scampered around the nearest corner, and then the next, zigzagging away from Hastings House.

  She caught the attention of the driver of an empty hansom cab, took a seat inside his vehicle, and breathed a sigh of relief. Fifteen minutes later, she knocked at the back door of Adam’s theater. When the page boy answered, she pushed past him and took the stairs two at a time, pounding on the door to her brother’s flat.

  A woman in a maid’s uniform answered this time, but Lily ducked under her arm and trotted down the hallway, shouting, “Adam!” as she went. “Adam, are you here?”

  He burst into the spacious salon at the same moment she did. They mirrored one another for a moment, separated by a sea of potted plants, under the fixed eyes of a dozen painted figures, until Lily clutched her shawl to her chest and said, “I need help.”

  “Of course. Always. Have a seat.” He signaled to the maid. “We’ll get you some tea, and you can tell me what happened.”

  “It’s Papa.” Lily collapsed onto the sofa. Either she was exhausted—too spent to stand or explain—or jittery with pent-up energy. It seemed to be one or the other, but she wasn’t sure which. “I think I need to leave the country.”

  “Everything’s going to be fine, Lily.” Adam sat, knees widespread, and propped his elbows on his thighs. “Talk to me. Start at the beginning.”

  “That’s too long ago.” Lily pulled apart the knot she’d made in her shawl, to hold al-Yatima, and pushed the fabric away from the jewel. “This is all you need to know. He found out I have it—he wants it—he won’t stop until he’s taken it from me.”

  “And we’ll prevent that from happening,” said Adam, steel in his voice.

  Lily tapped the tip of her slipper against the floor. Why wouldn’t he understand? “He threatened to lock me in my room without food until I gave it to him, Adam. If he’d starve me, what do you think he’d do to you?”

  “Starve you,” Adam repeated.

  Lily nodded. She didn’t need to swear or insist. If their father had said it, he would follow through. It was one of his bedrock principles, and both his children had ended by imitating it.

  Just then, Caro swanned in with a loaded tea tray in her arms. “You’re always welcome here, Lily.” She dropped to one knee and set the tray on the table, back perfectly straight, without even glancing down. Her arm swung out in a graceful arc and her fingers seemed to alight, as if by chance, on the sugar tongs. “Now, how do you take—oh!” Her dark eyes went wide. “Oh, my.”

  Adam followed his wife’s gaze. “What is that?”

  Lily moved the shawl to the table, next to the tray, and placed al-Yatima atop it. “It’s a pearl. A very famous pearl.”

  “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” breathed Caro.

  Adam snorted. “It looks like something an opium-eater would dream up.”

  “And that’s the least of it,” said Lily. “Papa plans to use the pearl to move forward his political goals. But it’s not just him. I was followed all the way across Turkey by men who hoped to steal it from me. I thought I’d be safe here, but if I’m not… I need to get as far away as possible.”

  “And then what?” Adam asked. “You can’t keep running every time something goes wrong, Lily.”

  “I think America would be best,” Lily continued. “New York, to start. If you book my passage and give me—oh, a few hundred pounds, perhaps? Whatever you can spare. I promise I won’t make any further attempts to claim my inheritance. It’ll all be yours, when Papa dies—”

  “You’re not leaving the country,” snapped Adam.

  “You won’t get a better rate of return anywhere,” Lily finished.

  “You’re in a panic. I understand. But you need to calm down. You’re talking about running, but you haven’t looked for any alternatives. We can fix this.”

  “You won’t be able to stop him,” said Lily.

  Adam glanced at his wife. “We’ve done it once.”

  Caro nodded. “The Duke of Hastings is not invincible.”

  “What if I would rather leave?” A part of her wished she’d gone straight for the docks and hopped aboard the first ship that would take her. Destination anywhere. “What if I’m not running but just—doing what comes naturally? I don’t think I was made to stay in one place.”

  “That’s a conversation we can have later, after we’ve dealt with our father,” said Adam. “This isn’t a decision to make in haste. Listen to yourself, Lily—you’re not thinking clearly.”

  “Perhaps we can make a few inquiries,” countered Caro, with a pointed glance at her husband. “A journey of the kind you’re talking about isn’t planned in a day.”

  “No.” Adam paced to the window. His chest heaved. “You were dead, Lily. You can’t come back, turn everything upside-down, and then disappear again before we have a chance to know you. We deserve better than that.” He paused. “I deserve better than that.”

  “So you won’t help me?”

  “I told you what help I have to offer.”

  “Adam,” said Caro. “I wonder if, perhaps…”

  But the door to the flat opened at just that moment, and Caro trailed off into silence as they all turned toward the noise. Footsteps clapped down the hallway and Alfie rounded the corner into the salon.

  He froze. “Lily.”

  A new set of possibilities unspooled before her. What was the saying? Any port in a storm? Well, the skies had opened up.

  She gave her one-time lover a hesitant smile. “Hello, Alfie.”

  He rocked forward onto his toes, eyes widening.

  “You may as well come in,” she added. Grudgingly, for the sake of verisimilitude.

  “I can’t.” He swayed into the frame of the door, sinuous and loose-limbed. “I’d fall down on my knees and have to crawl. Embarrassing for everyone.”

  “Alfie…” Adam grimaced. “Your sense of timing could use some improvement.”

  “Actually,” said Lily, “I’ve been thinking, and—I’m sorry about how I behaved the last time I was here. I was hasty, and I regret the thi
ngs I said. Maybe, if we talked…”

  Adam frowned. “No.”

  “You won’t impress your sister by being quarrelsome,” said Caro. “How many times have you told me you wish they’d sit down together and have a civil conversation?”

  Adam capitulated. “Alfie—don’t let her out of your sight, do you hear me?”

  “You may rely on it,” said Alfie, in the blandest tone imaginable.

  Adam and Caro left the salon. The second they’d gone, Lily crooked her finger at Alfie. He pushed away from the wall and slunk close, his pale eyes wary.

  “Get me out of here,” she whispered. “Right now.”

  He offered his arm. “Your wish is my command.”

  She snatched up the pearl, bundled it back in her shawl, and took Alfie’s hand in her own. She pulled him along the little hallway and opened the door slowly, careful of any telltale squeaking.

  He eased the door shut and followed close behind, silent as a cat burglar. They hurried down the stairs, passing the page boy sweeping on a landing, but paused when they reached the ground floor.

  “How did you arrive?” Lily asked.

  “On foot,” said Alfie. “Do you really think they’ll give chase?”

  “They might not,” Lily said. “But my father will.”

  “Hastings sent you running?”

  Lily nodded.

  “Then wrap that shawl around your head. Let it drape over your face; I’ll guide your steps.”

  Lily closed Alfie’s hands around al-Yatima.

  “What in God’s name is this—”

  With both hands, she whipped the shawl out to its full length and then wrapped it in loose folds around her head and shoulders. Then she took the pearl back, folding her arms across her chest and tucking it into the crook of her elbow, where she could cover it with her palm.

  Footsteps sounded several flights above. “We have to go.”

  Alfie opened the door and shepherded her out into the narrow alley behind the theater. She kept her head down and let him wrap his arm around her waist, hustling her along the pavement until he hailed a hackney and helped her inside.