An Evil Eye

76

“ Tell me-” He hesitated. “Was Elif a gozde?”

The aga looked puzzled. “A gozde? Certainly not. Elif was a musician, Yashim. She played in the ladies’ orchestra, and she and Melda were also kalfas. They look after a little girl.”

“And before she came here? Three, four months ago, when Abdulmecid was still a prince?”

Ibou shrugged. “I don’t understand your questions, Yashim.”

“I want to know when Elif met the sultan. Perhaps while he was still crown prince?”

“She didn’t meet him. Not face-to-face, not to be introduced. The only time she’s seen Abdulmecid is at our concerts. We do not have the sultan roaming the corridors, meeting ladies.”

“Ibou,” Yashim said gently. “It seems that Elif was pregnant.”

The silence between them prickled like toasted spice.

“Do you know what you are saying?” Ibou whispered. His face was waxy with-what? Astonishment? Fear?

“Elif died from bleeding,” Yashim said. “What you saw, those marks, were made by her own nails. She was clawing at her own flesh.” He paused. “What you haven’t seen is the sheet under the bed. It’s soaked in blood. If Melda is right, I would guess that Elif miscarried.”

The aga collected himself. “No. Pembe was the sultan’s gozde before he became sultan-with the unfortunate results you know about. Since then, he has taken only two other women. Leyla and Demet, both of them selected by-b-b-by me, and B-Bezmialem. To suggest that the sultan would take another woman into his bed, without protocol, is absurd. He is ruled by the traditions of the house of Osman. And Demet and Leyla would prevent it, anyway.”

“To the death?”

Ibou frowned. “They would only have to speak to me, Yashim. There would be no need to talk of death.”

Yashim sighed. The legitimate gozde would hardly stand idly by while the sultan dallied with another girl.

“This is not a house in the city, Yashim. The sultan never goes alone. Every minute of the day, every hour of the night, he is watched and cared for.”

“Was Elif watched every minute of the day? At night?”

“She is with the others, Yashim. You now how it is.”

“But if Elif was pregnant, and she did not sleep with the sultan

…”

Ibou’s face clouded. “Impossible.”

If what Yashim implied was true, it was not just about one girl, or the lapse of a single aga. This was a taint that would spread like the blood across the quilt, but more fatal, more insidious, than either of them could imagine.

“Could she-have slept with another man?”

The aga slowly turned his head. His lips peeled back. “Is this what the girl Melda says? What to do, Yashim efendi? I cannot let her say such a thing.”

Yashim had known agas who would have strangled a girl with their bare hands without hesitation or remorse; but not Ibou.

“We need to get Melda away,” he said. “Somewhere she can feel safe.”