Tears of Pearl lem-4

by Tasha Alexander

  “It’s good to see you,” Margaret said the instant the door closed behind him. “I hope I haven’t completely overstepped my bounds by showing up unannounced. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

  “No overstepping at all. You know you’re always welcome.”

  “I’d so hoped we could take a trip like this together. Can you imagine the fun we’d have? I admit—with great reluctance—that your honeymoon must take precedence. But I couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing Turkey with you. Have you been to Ephesus yet?”

  “No. Our plans have been more than a little derailed.” It did not take long to update her on the situation, and she responded exactly as I expected.

  “For once I’m around in time for the action,” she said, choosing a cigar from the box Colin had brought with us. “What can I do to help?”

  “There is something I’ve been avoiding because I didn’t want to face it alone. Could you stand for a bit of sightseeing? It will require waiting to smoke, but not for long.”

  A little more than an hour later, Margaret stood, gasping, as we entered what had been an imperial reception room in the harem at Topkapı. The enormous chamber in the sixteenth-century building was styled in rococo, with gilded scrollwork and Venetian mirrors. Not an inch of space was left undecorated.

  “Amazing,” Margaret said, her eyes drawn to the high ceiling and heavy crystal chandelier. The bottom twenty feet or so of the walls were covered with tiles made in Delft—no doubt a gift to some earlier sultan—set in patterns of tall rectangles a yard wide, narrow strips of dark red wall highlighted with delicate gilding between them. A wider strip of this same red and gilt ran above and below the ceramic, and on top of that was another band of tiles, these decidedly Ottoman, covered in Arabic script. The rest of the wall to the domed ceiling was plaster, painted with scrolls and intricate designs reminiscent of those found on the most stunning Turkish carpets, done in pale blue, pink, and two shades of sage green, all with accents of gold. Against one wall a long divan for the sultan sat empty beneath a gilt canopy supported by marble columns. Next to this was a fountain—necessary in any room where one wanted to frustrate eavesdroppers.

  Margaret sighed. “It’s the most wonderfully exotic thing I’ve ever seen. Everything you’d want a sultan’s palace to be. I’m awestruck.”

  Bezime was seated, smoking, on a couch tucked under the large balcony that ran the length of the wall perpendicular to the canopied sofa for the sultan. She motioned for us to join her, and I introduced my friend. “The space above you was where the women of the harem would stand to watch the sultan. I am sitting in the valide sultan’s spot, where favorite concubines were also allowed.”

  Ornate arches supporting the gallery above separated the area from the rest of the room, and it was raised a step higher than everything except the sultan’s settee. Leaded-glass windows lined the wall behind the sofas, and a brazier stood in the center of the stone floor in front of them, bringing the section a surprisingly cozy feel given the enormity of its surroundings.

  “Why would anyone abandon such a place?” Margaret asked.

  “The empire needs to earn the appreciation of the West,” Bezime said. “And this place is not the sort of luxury expected by Europeans.”

  “Then they’re fools,” my friend said.

  “I’ve never had much fondness for them.”

  “Yet you are kind to us,” Margaret said.

  “You’re fortunate. My temper regarding the subject was put in check many years ago when the empress Eugénie was brought to me. I was valide then and greeted her with a slap. I did not want foreigners in the seraglio.”

  “I’m relieved not to have received such a welcome myself,” I said.

  “You, Emily, are different. You do not understand our world, but neither do you fit well in your own.”

  Margaret shot me a glance, and I knew she could read the flash of anger in my eyes. “Is it true the sultan wears shoes with silver soles?”

  Bezime laughed. “Not anymore. In the old days, yes, so the concubines would hear him coming. They were not allowed to face him without permission.”

  “And the poor girls up in the gallery?” Margaret motioned above us.

  “Most of them would never have got any closer than that to him.” She looked at Margaret, studying her. “You like to smoke.”

  “Yes,” Margaret said. “How did you know?”

  “I know many things.” She passed her pipe to my friend and then looked at me, her face revealing no emotion. “Emily is upset with me because I tell her hard truths.”

  “We’re not here to discuss that,” I said. I’d not told Margaret of my earlier conversation with Bezime and had no interest in revisiting it at the moment. “I’m curious about Jemal. Why was he sent back to Yıldız?”

  “I arranged it,” she said. “It suits my needs.”

  “Is he spying for you?”

  She laughed. “Perhaps.”

  “You have the power to send him on such an errand?”

  “I am not so far out of favor with the sultan.”

  “Jemal was sent here to get him away from Ceyden. As that’s no longer a concern, why wouldn’t the sultan summon him back?” I asked.

  “If Jemal had caused the sultan concern, he would have removed him from his position altogether. You doubt that I have any remaining power?”

  I pushed a hand against my forehead. I wanted to trust Bezime; I’d liked her from the moment I met her. It was unfair of me to change my assessment simply because she’d made wild and certainly inaccurate predictions about my personal situation. Inaccurate. They had to be inaccurate, but the burning sensation overwhelming all my nerves suggested an appalling lack of faith in my silent protests.

  “You question me because you do not like other things I’ve told you,” she said.

  “I don’t want to discuss that now. I—”

  “You wish to avoid the subject because you have not told your friend. A foolish decision, as she will offer you much comfort in the dark hours. But we both know you are not here to speak about a eunuch guard.”

  “What are you talking about?” Margaret asked.

  “Please. Another time,” I said. “Right now I want to know about Jemal. Does this reassignment have something to do with the bowstring? Is he trying to figure out who is threatening you?”

  “Strange things are happening at Yıldız. I need to know if my interests are being protected.”

  “Ceyden was one of your interests, was she not?” I asked. Bezime nodded. “And she was killed. What is going on? You know more than you’re telling me.”

  “My intentions with Ceyden went no further than attempting to help her catch the sultan’s eye. Not the sort of thing people are murdered over in ordinary times. Something else is going on.”

  “A power struggle in the harem?”

  “Not precisely. A struggle that goes further than that. Do not forget the sultan’s brother, Murat, is still alive. It is entirely possible that he would like to return to the throne he was forced to abandon.”

  “And have only a low-level concubine help him?”

  “She would not be noticed by anyone; no one would give her a second look or thought. She might have been spying, she might have been sent to do something far worse.”

  “Assassinate the sultan?” Margaret asked.

  Bezime shrugged. “It is possible.”

  “Possible, perhaps,” I said. “But have you any proof she was involved in such a scheme?”

  “Suffice it to say, I know there are some at Çırağan who think the harem is the way to power.”

  “No, Bezime, that does not suffice. Besides, Murat would have to be crazy not to find someone in a better position.”

  “My dear child, Murat is crazy. Why do you think he was forced from the throne?”

  “So a crazy man sends an incompetent girl to assassinate a sultan? If this is harem intrigue, I’m painfully disappointed,” I said.

  “Make no m
istake. She was not incompetent. Remember that I helped raise her. She was skilled in many arts, deception one of them.”

  “So what is Jemal doing at Yıldız?” I asked again.

  “Watching, listening. Deciding whether I am in danger. The bowstring was a strong message. If Ceyden was involved with Murat—and I don’t know that she was—her connection to me could prove problematic. The easiest way to deal with problems is to eliminate them.”

  “You’re so very confident about my own future. Can you not see yours?” I asked.

  “I cannot.” Bezime met my eyes. “And it is why I have befriended you, Emily. I know that you, too, have the gift of prophecy.”

  Chapter 11

  “She is absolutely marvelous,” Margaret said, pacing in front of Colin, puffing on a cigar, glee filling every bit of her voice. “I’ve never seen anything so wonderful in my life. Is everyone in the harem like this? I’m nearly ready to sell myself to the sultan.”

  “Yıldız is a different world from Topkapı,” I said. “If you’re going to be a concubine, you want it to be the height of the empire, when you’ve risen to power over thousands of others and are the political ally and most trusted confidante of the sultan—”

  “Who never wears his silver-soled shoes when he thinks he might see you, because he doesn’t want to scare you off.”

  “Stop.” Colin, amusement in his eyes, his cheeks tight with repressed laughter, clipped the end of a cigar. “You’re both diverting in ways I could never have imagined, but we must maintain some sense of focus here. Bezime essentially lives in exile. She’s got no power. The sultan did not give her a position in his harem, remember? She does not get to decide which eunuchs are sent to his palace.”

  “She’s very clever,” I said. “I agree she’s without direct power, but she may have orchestrated the situation.”

  “How? Abdül Hamit was very clear with me on this point: Bezime has no contact with anyone who, for lack of a better word, matters in his court. She may seem an impressive figure—and I’ve no doubt she once was one. But that day has long since passed.”

  “So she’s scorned,” I said. “And hell hath no—”

  “Yes, yes, fury, I know my Shakespeare. But you cannot plan assassinations, train spies, or have them assigned if you’ve no power.”

  “You can, however, take advantage of circumstances. Not having been responsible for getting Jemal to Yıldız doesn’t preclude her from using him as a spy.”

  “True enough,” Colin said.

  “What do you make of her claims about Murat?” Margaret asked.

  “I’ve spent loads of time combing through everything at Çırağan,” he said. “There’s an unquestionable mood of discontent in the palace, but it does not come from him or his harem. There are a handful of men who, if Murat were still sultan, would undoubtedly be his aides—his former vizier, for one. They’re not happy.”

  “Would they enlist the aid of one of the sultan’s concubines?” I asked.

  “In theory, they might,” he said, lighting a cigar and handing it to me.

  “But do you think Ceyden?” The tobacco tasted rich, all nuts and moss and spice and oak.

  “It would surprise me,” he said.

  Margaret paced. “Why would he choose Ceyden? How would anyone at Çırağan know of her existence?”

  “They wouldn’t,” I said. “Someone with status would have had to refer her.”

  “Bezime could have done that,” Colin said. “Still, I’m not sure. I’m afraid she’s trying to manipulate you.”

  “I would think that she, more than anyone we’ve spoken to in either palace, would want to know the truth about Ceyden’s death,” I said. “She’s the only person who seems to have felt anything approaching real affection for her.”

  “Is there a solution to the crime that would harm her?” Colin asked. “Is she protecting someone?”

  I swirled the whiskey in my glass. “I don’t know. But your idea that she’s manipulating us is striking. What if it’s for the most simple of reasons?” I asked. “What if it’s nothing more than her trying to seem once again important?”

  “An excellent hypothesis, my dear,” Colin said. “Keep it near you as you continue your work. You’ll find that people are often not complicated in the least.”

  Every inch of my body hummed; never had I known such delight. To be sitting with the man I loved, engaged in a lively discussion of our work—work in which he considered me an equal—my dear friend at my side. There are moments when all in life seems right and good.

  Meg stepped into the room and announced Sir Richard, who followed close behind her. He looked a mess, fatigue darkening the already deep circles under his eyes. Margaret leapt up and poured him a whiskey after Colin had introduced her and she’d offered him her condolences for Ceyden.

  “I have heard so much about you,” she said, handing him the glass. “Your life fascinates me. What stories of adventure you must have.”

  “Adventures that didn’t turn out well in the end,” he said.

  “I understand, and I’m terribly sorry about that,” Margaret said. “But do you ever consider the good parts now that the bad can’t be changed?”

  Sir Richard froze, looking at her, and I all but cringed for him, wishing there were something I could do to change the subject, reverse her words, anything. But my angst was unnecessary. He smiled.

  “A wise question, young lady,” he said, his words almost slurred. I wondered if he’d been drinking before he came to us. “And I’m afraid my answer is no, although it shouldn’t be. I thank you for pointing out this shortcoming.”

  “You can’t stay forever mired in sadness,” Margaret said. “At some point, you have to let yourself live again.”

  “It seems I’m not doing a particularly good job of that.”

  “Has something happened?” Colin asked. “Forgive me. You don’t look well.”

  Sir Richard thanked him, shot a questioning look in Margaret’s direction. She stood up at once.

  “Will you excuse me?” she asked. “I’ve been away far too long. Miss Evans will be beside herself with worry, and if I don’t hurry, I won’t have time to dress for dinner. Lovely to meet you, Sir Richard. I do hope that when I see you next, you’ll share a story about your travels.”

  And she was off, winking at me on her way out of the room.

  “There’s been another incident with papers from the embassy,” Sir Richard said, rubbing his forehead. “More missing. Papers that were in my charge.”

  “Sensitive in nature?” Colin asked.

  “More so than those taken on the train, but nothing of vital import.”

  “From where were they stolen?” I asked. “Your home or the embassy itself?”

  “That’s the odd part—I’m convinced beyond all doubt that I had not removed them from my offices in the embassy. But they’re gone, and there’s been no security breach.”

  “Who can access your offices?” Colin asked.

  “The door’s never locked. What’s awkward now is that this, being the second time it’s happened, is placing me in a bit of jeopardy. I was reprimanded rather severely and fear that I may lose my position.”

  “Does the ambassador think you are stealing documents?” Colin asked. “Is he accusing you of espionage?”

  “Nothing so iniquitous. He’s afraid I’ve grown old and forgetful and incompetent. I admit that I have not been entirely myself of late—”

  “Which is completely understandable in your circumstances. You’re dealing with enormous stresses,” I said. His eyes were clouded, his face gray.

  “But Sir William took no disciplinarian action?” Concern crinkled around Colin’s eyes.

  “Not officially. But as ambassador he will not tolerate another mishap.”

  “Who would be doing this to you?” I asked.

  “I very much appreciate, Lady Emily,” he said, “the fact that you do not question my mental stability.”

  “
Of course I don’t.” I didn’t, did I? He’d been through a terrible tragedy; no one could recover from that immediately. “Have you any suspects?”

  “Sadly, no.”

  “Are you quite certain there were no other problems at the embassy? No one else is missing anything?” Colin asked.

  “No. I made loud and outraged demands that everything be gone over—I was all but accused of mania for having reacted so severely. A search was conducted, and nothing was out of place.”

  “To what did the papers pertain?”

  “Employment issues. Notices of staff reassignment, that sort of thing, which often include comments on performance. London had shipped an enormous batch to us some months back, mainly addenda to files, records of things going far back, to be added to what we have. It was a terrible backlog. Should have all been forwarded ages ago. Poor Sutcliffe was swamped organizing it all.”

  “Had anyone received bad reviews?” I asked.

  “Not bad enough to merit stealing the notes. And doing so wouldn’t accomplish anything regardless—it’s not as if it would change the person’s position. The authors of the reports wouldn’t have altered their opinions.”

  “True enough,” Colin said. “Although if they were old, it might be the sort of thing no one would miss if they were to disappear.”

  “I go back to my original thought when you were robbed on the train,” I said. “Someone is deliberately targeting you, and I’m convinced that all of these events—the robberies, the attacks on Benjamin, and Ceyden’s murder—are connected.”

  “We can’t discount the possibility.” Colin stood up and crossed his arms. “There’s a party tonight, given by the wife of the consul. We’d not planned to attend, but I think it would be beneficial to do so. I’d like to talk to your colleagues away from their offices.”

  “I am deeply indebted to you for your assistance,” Sir Richard said, closing his eyes. “I don’t know how I shall ever repay you.”

  “Seeing you through all this to a point where you can, as Margaret said, remember the good will be payment enough,” I said.

  “Just promise me, Lady Emily, that you especially will be careful. I couldn’t live with myself if I brought harm, even indirectly, to another person.”