Tears of Pearl

Chapter 17

The terse calm of my mother’s letter did nothing to relieve the anxiety that had poured over me after the robbery. If anything, it brought back every fear I’d known since childhood of the subject at hand, and I felt as if I’d been slammed against the steel door of a vault. Inside, of course, unable to unlock it. Colin and I had taken two days of rest—he’d hoped it would calm my nerves. We’d picnicked on the Asian shore, explored the most beautiful mosques in the city, and hired a boat to take us all the way up the Bosphorus to the Black Sea.

My mental condition may have improved, but physically it was becoming more difficult to ignore that something was changing in my body. Dizziness had become my frequent companion, and I’d begun to notice other symptoms as well. All of my maladies might just as easily be explained as the effects of the stress under which I was operating, and I had no evidence that could give me solid confirmation. It was maddening not to be able to know the cause.

“Are you certain you’re ready to get back to it?” Colin asked. He was to call on Sir Richard—whose state of mind had not improved in the least—after walking me to Yıldız. We’d spent the morning wandering the gardens at Topkapı, then gone to the Blue Mosque, and were now making our way across the Hippodrome, where an ancient Egyptian obelisk rose from the site where Romans had raced their chariots. “I don’t want you to push yourself.”

“It’s time,” I said. “Though I shall mourn the loss of my jewelry forever. I’m only glad they didn’t take my ring.” I fingered the band he’d given me when I’d accepted his proposal. Formed in the shape of a reef knot, it was an ancient piece, from the Minoans on Crete, gold inlaid with lapis lazuli. I treasured it more than all the diamonds and precious gems in both our families.

“The only benefit was getting two days of you all to myself. In the previous week I’d spent more time with Margaret than you.”

“Should I be jealous?” I sneaked a sideways glance at him, warming at the sight of his smile.

“Exceedingly. She has proposed that we all run away together and live as nomads. Convinced me that I’d look rather well in the robes of a Bedouin. And, if I recall correctly, you’ve something of a propensity for men in such attire.” It was almost a year ago that an exceedingly charming thief dressed in such an outfit had drugged me. The incident left me embarrassed but unharmed, the recipient of a hazy sort of illicit kiss whose occurrence I’d never admitted to my husband.

“That you would,” I said, feeling an automatic lightness as we began to flirt. “It’s something we ought to make use of after you swim the Bosphorus for me.”

“I’ll swim the Bosphorus, scale the house, climb through your bedroom window, throw you over my shoulder, and take you away to my camp.”

“You’ll need to stow the robes on the terrace. They wouldn’t achieve the proper effect if they were wet.”

“Excellent point.”

“I’m glad you’ve come to terms with the fact that you’re going to lose our bet,” I said. “It speaks highly of your masculine security.”

“Darling girl, I’m humoring you. You’ll be the one in robes—diaphanous, remember?”

“I don’t see why one ought to exclude the other. Can’t you kidnap me regardless of the outcome of our wager?”

“Look how quickly you back down!” he said. “Just a moment ago you were brimming with certainty at the prospect of victory. Now you’re making contingency plans?”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll win. That goes without saying. But now that I’ve got the image of you as a Bedouin in my head, I’ll do whatever I must to ensure the vision becomes reality.”

“I haven’t seen so real a smile on your face in days,” he said. “I’ve missed it.”

“I propose a second wedding trip when we’ve finished here. Three months, at least, somewhere no one will find us and where there’s no possibility of being embroiled in any sort of intrigue beyond that necessary when searching for Bedouin robes in a Western country.”

“Where would you like to go?”

“Surprise me,” I said, meeting his eyes. “I trust you implicitly.”

It had grown later than I’d expected, so we hired a carriage to take us to the docks. My enterprising husband took advantage of the quiet surroundings, and as the door was closed, he distracted me in a most pleasant fashion, thoroughly improving my state of mind, at least superficially. But on occasion, a superficial boost can carry over into something deeper, and in this case, it gave me the confidence to tackle the remaining tasks at hand. We parted company in Pera, heading for our separate appointments.

Roxelana was waiting for me in a courtyard landscaped in the style of an English garden: Rows of neatly trimmed boxwoods lined gravel paths, bright flowers peeking out at intervals. We sat on a stone bench, side by side, in silence. I’d hoped that by waiting for her to speak, she might be persuaded to divulge some pertinent secret. It might have seemed a reasonable strategy, but it accomplished nothing.

“I’m glad to see you,” I said.

“Have I any hope of being freed from this purgatory?”

“Can we talk candidly?” I asked. I’d hoped to discuss Ceyden before turning to this topic, but there was some merit to be had in addressing her concerns first.

“I hope so. ‘Reason in man is rather like God in the world.’ ”

“Aquinas, I assume?” I asked; she nodded. “You may not like what I have to say. I’ve given this no inconsiderable amount of thought, and your options for leaving are limited. If you’re unwilling to consider marrying someone the sultan deems suitable—”

“I will not consider it,” she said.

“I respect your position. But it leaves us only with incredibly risky alternatives.”

“I want to escape.” She was leaning so close to me, I could feel her breath on my cheek.

“If you’re caught—”

“I know perfectly well what will happen if I’m caught. You think I have not considered this? All earthly punishment pales in the face of damnation.”

“Yes, of course,” I said. “But you must not think of this lightly. And before we can discuss it further, we must address another topic. I understand that someone from the harem was meeting with an Englishman in the palace gardens. Do you know anything about this?”

“An Englishman wouldn’t be allowed to speak to anyone from the harem,” she said, her ivory skin losing its creamy warmth.

“I suspect that Jemal was instrumental in arranging the meetings.”

“He would never allow a man in.”

“You’re wrong, Roxelana,” I said. “He did. I’ve the letters to prove it. I can see you know something. Whom are you trying to protect?”

“No one.” She looked at me. “There is no one in the harem I would care to protect.”

“This is serious,” I said. “Two people are dead. What if the murderer acts again?”

“Surely you don’t think the same person killed Bezime and Ceyden?”

“I think it’s extremely likely,” I said.

“It’s impossible. No one has access to both harems.”

“Jemal does.”

“Jemal is not a killer,” she said.

“You’re certain of that?”

“He’s as corrupt as anyone, but he’d never harm any of us.”

“Corrupt how?”

“Oh, nothing serious. He’s always willing to help us if we ask—bring books, sweets, organize entertainments.”

“Is any of that forbidden?”

“No, but he has ways of expediting things. If, that is, you make it worth his while.”

“He takes bribes?”

She shrugged. “Why not? It’s tedious here. Ennui has a funny effect on people. We learn to make our own intrigues so as not to go mad from boredom.”

“What sorts of intrigues?” I asked.

“Nothing pertinent in the ways you’d like. It’s all trivial. Trivial, but diverting. I’m not going to detail it for you—that would be nothing more than idle gossip.”

The way she set her jaw suggested it wasn’t all trivial. I changed the direction of my questions. “Tell me again about the night you found Ceyden’s body. I want to know every detail.”

“You already know. I had gone outside for a walk—it was a beautiful evening. The courtyard in which she was murdered has always been a favorite of mine. I say the rosary there every night I can. I’d gone straight there and nearly tripped over her. It was horrible.”

“Did you hear anything on your approach?”

“Nothing at all.”

“No one talking? No sound of footsteps or someone running?”

“I remember vividly being struck by how quiet it was.”

“Did you touch her body?”

“Of course not!”

“Not even to make sure she wasn’t alive?”

“No. Should I have? I was scared out of my mind and ran for help without even thinking.”

I thought back to the scene as it was when Colin and I arrived. Ceyden’s body was facedown, and given the atmosphere in which we found it—alerted by Roxelana’s screams—I admit that I assumed she was dead. But had I come upon her in quiet peace, I would have thought she’d fainted or fallen ill and would have turned her over to see.

Roxelana shifted her jaw. “At any rate, that hideous bruise on her neck was wholly unnatural. I knew something was wrong at once.”

And now I knew she was lying. Misremembering, perhaps, but I did not believe that. No one could have seen the bruises without first turning her over, and Perestu had taken Roxelana away before Sir Richard touched the body. Ceyden’s long hair was covering her neck until her father swept it out of the way, and even then, there were no visible marks there. The bulk of the bruises were on the front and sides.

“Have you heard what Perestu and I found in Ceyden’s room?” I asked.

“You were in her room?” Now she came alive. Her shoulders pushed back, hands clenched into fists, pupils constricted.

“That surprises you?”

“I hadn’t given it any thought.” She closed her eyes, mashed her lips together. “Was there anything of interest there?”

“As a matter of fact, there was. Do you mean to tell me there’s been no gossip about this in the harem?”

“Everyone had already been through her room—no sense letting her clothes go to waste.”

“There was a lot of clothing still there.” I studied her face. “I think you’d like me to believe you’re callous about her death. But the truth is, it’s frightened you. Why is that?”

“What did you find?”

“Notes. Trinkets.”

“What kinds of notes?” she asked.

“I’m sure you could tell me.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because you look worried,” I said. “Did she know you wanted to leave the harem?”

“No one knows that.”

“Even Jemal?”

This gave her pause. “Of course not.”

“You’re certain?”

“Absolutely,” she said. “What else was in Ceyden’s room? You said trinkets?”

“Yes. Some lovely jewelry that apparently did not belong to her.”

All the color drained from her face; her lips were almost blue. “Whose was it?”

“That’s what I’m trying to determine.”

“I—I—I cannot discuss this any longer.” She stood, walked a few paces, turned back to face me. “Some secrets are too dangerous to play with.”

Following this conversation, I sought out Jemal. Much to my relief, he was back at Yıldız, so I would not have to make my way across town yet again. We sat in another courtyard—this one on the opposite side of the grounds to the one in which I’d met Roxelana—full of roses not yet in bloom and lilacs whose scent filled the air with sugar.

“We cannot be overheard here,” Jemal said, standing close to me, directly in front of the tall fountain at the center of the garden.

“Water, yes,” I said. “It reminds me of Topkapı.”

“I am to talk to you. So says the sultan.” He pursed his full lips. “I do not like it.”

“Why not?”

“You do not understand our way of life.”

“I understand very well that two women have been murdered on palace grounds and am confident that no one’s way of life views such events as acceptable. I’m most interested in your relationship with Roxelana—”

“Relationship?” I could see a mask fall over his eyes. “An odd choice of word.”

“I can’t say I agree,” I said. “I think you’re closely connected to her in ways that might cause trouble for you with the sultan.”

He drew in a deep breath, held it, then turned away from me. “I’m afraid there is nothing I can help you with today, Lady Emily. I will inform the sultan that I am, of course, full of regret not to have been of more use.”

“Don’t do this.”

“You know nothing.”

“What about Bezime? Do you want no justice for her? Isn’t she the one who arranged for you to come back here? Wasn’t she your champion?” I didn’t want him to walk away and hoped that any or all of my hurried questions would cause him to stop. I was not so lucky, however. He stared at me before going, shaking his head.

“No good will come of the path you are on.”

His words stung me, so well mimicking Bezime’s. I walked past the sultan’s workshop as I made my way out of the palace grounds. He was inside—I could hear the sound of his plane through the window—but I did not pause to speak to him, instead continuing on and contemplating his position. When not angry, Abdül Hamit was gracious, exceedingly polite, cultured, Western, and enlightened when it came to education, particularly for women. He loved music, wrote poetry, and had even penned an opera of his own. How did one reconcile all that with his multiple wives and concubines and slaves and mutilated guards?

There was a certain amount of wisdom in what Jemal had said. I did not understand this sort of life. And although I did not doubt my ability to solve the murders, I wondered what my ignorance and naïveté led me to overlook. It was essential that I recognize the limitations I carried with me. With this in mind, once back at the yalı I sat down again with the letters I’d found on Bezime’s body, imagining that I was the concubine who had received them. That I was a woman in love with a man forbidden to me, someone who by loving me put himself in danger—who could neither address nor sign his declarations. Reading them this way made them far less romantic than they’d appeared at first glance. The tenderness was heartbreaking, the yearning hurt my soul.

When I’d finished, I carefully folded them and put them in a small compartment in one of my trunks. To leave thoughts so intimate out in the open was wrong, and I already knew all I needed to about them. Someone, most likely Benjamin, had written them to Ceyden. Whoever in the harem discovered their dalliance—too flighty a word for the depth of emotion it was clear they shared—put a stop to it by silencing the disobedient concubine. And at the moment, one person struck me as the most likely candidate: a eunuch with too much information and a grand sense of importance.