Tears of Pearl

Chapter 10

The speed with which my husband ushered me to the docks was topped only by the effort expended by our boatman, who’d been inspired by an egregious tip. Colin swung me onto our patio when we’d reached the yalı, then swept me into his arms and carried me into the house. But no sooner had he pushed open the door than we were greeted by the sound of a voice, its American accent unmistakable.

“It’s beastly, I know, to have three on a honeymoon, but you’ll simply have to forgive me.”

“Margaret!” I cried as Colin put me down. I rushed over and hugged my friend.

“What a delightful surprise,” he said. His voice was sincere, but I read the disappointment in his eyes. There was no question he adored Margaret, but I knew he’d have been more welcoming had she arrived even two hours later. “I have a suspicion that you wouldn’t object to a glass of whiskey while you explain to us your motives for crashing our honeymoon.”

“Can’t say I would,” Margaret said. “I’ve made a narrow escape from Medusa. She’s napping at the hotel and expects me to be doing the same. Expects.”

“She’d be horrified if she knew you were here,” I said. “I remember all too well how much her former employer dislikes me. Remember when you were staying with Mrs. Taylor and she told her butler not to admit me to her house?” Margaret had spent the previous Season staying with friends of her mother’s. During that time, it had been more than difficult for me to gain admittance to most homes in London because of a series of despicable rumors savaging my reputation. And while most of society had forgot the controversy, Mrs. Taylor was still cutting me dead when last I saw her.

“That’s all forgotten now. You’ve been deemed respectable as a result of your most excellent marriage.” Margaret flopped onto a settee. “I know it’s awful of me to show up like this, but I couldn’t resist. I’m going all the way to Persia and couldn’t imagine being so close to you and not stopping. Tell me about Constantinople. Is the moonlight on the Bosphorus everything I hope it to be?” She grinned at Colin as he handed her a glass of whiskey.

“That is all the signal I need to make a speedy departure,” Colin said. “I’ll leave you two to catch up.” He ducked out of the room, pausing only to give me a quick kiss.

“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 mistake. 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.”