Tears of Pearl

Chapter 8

Standing in front of Aya Sofya, the former Byzantine church—now a mosque—I found it difficult to watch for my husband without being blinded by the sun. I adjusted my parasol, murmuring to myself the words of approval my mother would have spoken were she with me, and looked across the wide street, through a park filled with palm trees and green grass, in the direction of the Blue Mosque. Vendors pushed carts up and down the paths, selling cherry juice and sweets, calling with the hope of enticing passersby to sample their wares. It struck me to see the number of women on the street. Veils covered their faces, and the mystery drew me to them, the sparkle of kohl-rimmed dark eyes having a far greater effect than society women’s diamonds and low-cut gowns. Sporadically, I would catch a glimpse of a hennaed hand peeking out from wide, long sleeves, and the sound of their frequent laughter seemed at odds with their restrictive clothing.

I had not expected to see women moving about the city with such freedom but had found almost as soon as we’d arrived that this was just another Western misconception. And as I watched them walk, crossing the street to greet friends or investigate the goods for sale piled on a cart, I contemplated the delicious possibility of going about without anyone recognizing who you were.

“Mrs. Hargreaves?” Mr. Sutcliffe bowed in front of me. “How delightful to see you.”

“And you as well,” I said, smiling. “You look full of purpose today.” His eyes were focused and clear, his head high.

“That I am, although it’s a difficult one.” He shifted a bundle of packages in his arms. “I’m bringing clothes to a family in dire need. Their son, only eight years old, died from a fever last night. They’re terrified it’s contagious and are burning everything they own. I can give them new things, but such a deed pales when compared with their loss.”

“How terrible. Is there anything I can do?”

“I should never turn down a donation, but would take nothing else. You do not need to put yourself in circumstances that might cause you harm. I can’t have you falling ill—your husband would never forgive me. I must beg your leave, but hope to see you soon.”

“Of course,” I said. “And you may depend upon Mr. Hargreaves sending you a check.”

“I am indebted to you both.” With a nod, he stepped away. A gust of wind tugged at my parasol, spring reminding summer it was not yet ready to relinquish its crown, and I held the handle more tightly, squinting in the face of the bright sun.

“That’s quite a scowl,” Colin said, swooping in to kiss me. “Something wrong?”

“No, just the sun.” I looped my arm through his and recounted my conversation with Mr. Sutcliffe.

“He’s a dedicated man. Many in his position would be consumed with anger instead of compassion.”

“I admire his ability to turn tragedy into an opportunity to lessen the pain of others,” I said, adjusting my scarf to cover my head suitably for a mosque as we approached Aya Sofya. We walked a few paces before pausing to remove our shoes—a requirement before entering a Muslim holy building.

“Tell me about your morning,” Colin said.

“I went to the hamam and then searched Ceyden’s room. You won’t believe what—”

“You went to the hamam? The baths? In the harem?”

“Yes, it was lovely.” I adored the look in his eyes but was not going to be distracted. I tugged on his arm, pulling him inside, across a wide corridor, and into the domed center. The floors, built from marble in the Byzantine days, were now covered with thick carpets that muffled the sound of murmured prayers whispered by the faithful, their heads pressed to the ground. The old Christian mosaics had been hidden by painted plaster, but the space was beautiful, caught between two religions, a testament to the battles fought between them. Little light made its way through the windows, and the candles of the low-hanging chandeliers served only to cast flickering shadows, eerie in their elegance. “Ceyden was hiding a collection of—”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “The baths?”

I could not help but grin. “This is precisely why I didn’t tell you what I was doing at Yıldız before I left this morning. We’ll discuss everything later. At the moment, we can’t be distracted.”

“Yes, we can. In fact, I’m fairly certain I’m already hopelessly distracted.”

Now it was his turn to lead me, up a steep cobbled path that stood in lieu of a stairway, its stones so uneven and slick that I clung to him to keep from slipping. The dark passage went to an upper gallery, turn after turn at hard right angles leading to the top, but Colin stopped before we reached it, pushed me against the wall, and gave me a kiss that tempted me beyond all reason. As soon as I began to pull away, he lifted his hand to the back of my neck and began tracing circles with a single finger, sending the most delicious darts down my spine.

“You’re terrible,” I said. “You can’t kiss me here.”

“This is supposed to be our honeymoon,” he said, kissing me again. “I’ll kiss you wherever I desire. Now tell me about the baths.”

“Not a chance.” With no inconsiderable effort, I stepped aside and smoothed my skirts. “I don’t think I could have married you if you weren’t so wholly distracting. But I shall resist you right now.”

“Dreadful girl.”

“It will be all the better later.” Our eyes locked on each other. “Isn’t that what you always say?”

“And you’ll tell me about the baths?”

“Perhaps.” I bit my now swollen lips. “If you’re able to persuade me.”

“I can’t wait to win our bet.”

“I can’t wait for you to lose,” I said. We sat, continuing to stare at each other for at least two minutes longer than any decent person would tolerate. He ran a hand through his hair, shook his head, and continued up the passage.

“Tell me about Ceyden,” he said. I described for him what I’d learned about Ceyden, Jemal, and Roxelana and what I’d found, pulling out the notebook in which I’d cataloged each of the pieces of jewelry.

“Perestu all but chucked me out of the harem after she identified her ring.”

“What will you do next?”

We stood near the stone rail that ran the circumference of the gallery all the way around the building. I looked across the gilded screens shielding the ladies’ area. The painted designs beneath them mimicked the pattern on the window arches and ceiling, bursts of geometric flowers in blue against a burnt gold background. The beauty was breathtaking, but it troubled me to think that the women were all confined to the space, isolated from everything going on around them. Another beautiful cage. As I thought about it, however, I considered my own society. We women might be allowed to sit wherever we wanted in church, but we had no more clout than our Ottoman counterparts. Our segregation was merely less visible.

“There are any number of ways Ceyden could have got those objects. What if she was blackmailing their owners?”

“That would explain Perestu’s actions. Have you any proof?”

I grinned. “Not a shred, my dear boy. If blackmail is the explanation, she must have known something horrifying enough to induce her cohorts to part with their treasures.”

“I don’t think I like the theory, Emily,” he said, turning away from the rail and leaning his back against it. “What purpose would getting jewelry serve? She had access to whatever she wanted and didn’t need money.”

“Unless she was planning to escape.”

“Escape? When she was doing everything she could to gain the sultan’s favor?”

“I admit freely there are holes in the hypothesis. However...” I stepped towards him and rested my hand on the cool marble post that held a tall candelabra above the rail. “What if she knew something about the sultan himself? Suppose she was blackmailing him, and suppose he was tired of it and had someone kill her?”

“He’s the sultan—she’s essentially his slave,” he said. “She’d have nothing on him worthy of blackmail.”

“Had I even an inkling of the deficits in your imagination, I would never have married you. I feel entirely misled.”

“My deepest apologies. How awful for you.”

“I shan’t ever recover,” I said.

“I would hope not.” His eyes danced. “I expect you to be despondent for at least six months.”

“If you weren’t such a beast, you’d have the decency to make a vain attempt at consolation,” I said.

He lifted my chin and kissed me, one hand around my waist, the other on my face.

“We are in a church!” I said.

“A mosque. Was my effort not enough? Are you not consoled?”

I studied his face and suppressed a smile. “It was admirable, I suppose.”

“Admirable?”

I shrugged. “I was trying to be generous. Given our surroundings, I can only assume you are operating with great restraint.”

“You’re kindness itself.” He stepped back, warmth radiating from his smile. “So, blackmailing the sultan?”

“I convinced Perestu to let me take the book of poetry from Ceyden’s desk and am hoping the marginalia turns out to be more than an analysis of the poems.”

“Blackmail records? Unlikely that she’d leave something so sensitive out in the open.”

“They may have been coded somehow. At any rate, they appeared to be written in Greek.” I watched a group of men, bent over in prayer, kneel on the floor below us.

He smiled at me. “Anything else to report?”

“At the moment, I find myself suddenly more interested in telling you about the hamam.”

“Perhaps you made me wait too long,” he said. “I might have other plans.”

“Unlikely in the extreme,” I said, meeting his eyes and pulling him towards me. “And at any rate, I’m confident I can convince you there’s nowhere you’d rather be.”

“I can be awfully stubborn.”

“Not as stubborn as I am,” I said.

He tipped his head back and laughter spilled out of him. “Truer words I have never heard.”

I am pleased to report that when we did at last return home, he did not prove stubborn in the least.

The next morning, I headed across the Bosphorus to Stamboul—the old section of the city, a peninsula jutting into the Golden Horn and the Bosphorus—hoping to see Bezime at Topkapı. Meg had sliced a piece of gingerroot for me, expressing veiled concern at having seen me return home ill day after day and telling me that chewing it would prevent seasickness. Lovely though the gesture was, it had little effect on the overwhelming nausea that hit the moment I stepped into the boat and felt the waves churning beneath me. By the time the crossing was over, I was sweating and cold at the same time, my stomach lurching every time I drew breath.

“My dear Lady Emily, please let me assist you!” Mr. Sutcliffe called to me from the far end of the palace dock. He reached the boat in a few short strides and gripped my arm, steadying me as I rose to my feet. “Are you quite all right?”

I doubled over and was sick all over the wooden planks, then sank to my knees, tears stinging my eyes as mortification burned my cheeks.

“Do you need a doctor?”

“No, I’m—it’s just seasickness. I can’t believe it’s affecting me so severely.”

He passed me a handkerchief. “Come. Let’s get you inside.”

“I did not expect to see you here,” I said, accepting his arm to help me up.

“I was calling on an old friend.” We’d reached the gates of the palace, where Mr. Sutcliffe explained to the guard that I was ill and expected by Bezime. The sentry admitted us at once, shouting to a colleague to alert the former valide sultan before taking us to a place I could rest.

We crossed the marble pavement of a terrace surrounding a large rectangular pool, in whose center stood a square fountain, its tiered stone sides cut in a lacy pattern. In front of us was open space with sweeping views of the Golden Horn, broken only by a small pavilion with a golden peaked roof, a single bench under it, perpendicular to the Baghdad Pavilion, which Mr. Sutcliffe informed me had, in the past, served as a library. After passing under a series of tall arches, decorated with blue and burgundy paint that complemented the colored stone, we entered the Revan Kiosk, a small and utterly charming building. Blue floral tiles lined the walls to the ceiling at least twenty feet above, light streaming through stained-glass windows at the halfway point as well as from openings in the domed roof. I dropped onto the usual low red divan tucked under windows, these shuttered with wood panels inlaid with mother-of-pearl and tortoiseshell.

“Shall I send for your husband?” Mr. Sutcliffe asked.

“No, thank you, I’ll be fine. I’m already better just from being on steady ground.” A servant appeared with apple tea, but its sweetness made me cringe and I abandoned it on the table in front of me. I inhaled until my lungs hurt, blew the breath out slowly. “I’d no idea how I would suffer for insisting on taking a house across the Bosphorus. I had such romantic visions of crossing the water every day.”

“You’re not the first to have been defeated by its currents.” He sat at the opposite end of the sofa, brushing its bright silk with his hands. “Are you quite sure you don’t want me to send for your husband? I know what a comfort family can be in times of difficulty.”

“You’re very kind, thank you, and right as well,” I said.

“Nothing more important than taking care of those you love. It’s something I’m afraid I was never able to do well enough.”

“I’ve no doubt you did as much as any man could.”

“I could not live with myself if I did not agree.” His eyes glinted as if he might cry, but instead he smiled. “The color’s come back to your face, so it seems the worst is over. We shan’t need to disturb Hargreaves.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I wouldn’t want to alarm him.”

“Very good. You look much better now,” he said. “I’m glad to have run into you. I was planning to call on you later today, and this saves me the trip. I have something I’m afraid may prove to be evidence in Ceyden’s murder.”

“Afraid is a strange choice of word.”

“It points in a most unwelcome direction, which is why I didn’t bring it up earlier. But I kept thinking of what Hargreaves said about physical evidence, and, well...” His voice trailed off, and he looked at the ground. “I don’t like to cause unnecessary trouble.”

“Justice sometimes requires trouble,” I said. “But it’s important to uncover the truth.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a glittering object. “I found this that night after the opera in the courtyard where Ceyden was killed.”

“It’s beautiful.” I fingered the object he’d handed me, a golden Byzantine cross, three inches long, hanging from a broken gold chain.

“It belongs to Benjamin St. Clare. I was with him the day he bought it.”

“Why didn’t you give this to the guards?” I asked.

“I—I suppose I should have, but I was scared.”

“It’s surely not the only cross of its kind in Constantinople, and even if it does belong to Benjamin, it’s entirely possible he lost it weeks before the murder. He could have been invited to the opera on a different night and dropped it then. After all, it’s not as if we’ve a witness who saw him at the palace.”

“Quite right. No witness. Still, take it with you and ask your husband his opinion—I don’t like having it in my possession. There’s something else as well. I had gone to visit him at the dig the day before Ceyden’s death—I’ve always been fond of the boy. Reminds me of my own son, I suppose. It was an unplanned trip, he didn’t know I was coming, and it turned out he was not there. His compatriots said he had business in Constantinople and was visiting his father. Which, of course, he was not.”

“He told us he came to Constantinople as soon as he’d heard the news. My husband sent a message to him at the dig.”

“And the messenger reported back to the embassy that he was unable to deliver his epistle in person, as the man to whom it was addressed was not in camp.”

“Does Sir Richard know this?” I asked.

“No. It is fortunate that I was the one who spoke to the messenger, and I’ve kept all of this to myself. I saw no reason to alarm him in case I’m misinterpreting what I’ve seen. He’s shouldering so much at present—I’ve no desire to increase his burden.”

“Of course not. But if—”

“He’s always said he would support me, offered me every kindness. I will do anything I can to protect him. This is why I was concerned when I learned there would be a wider investigation. I do hope that if you find—”

He stopped speaking when light spilled into the room as the door opened. “Ah! Emily! You don’t look sick in the least!” Bezime glided into the room and took my hands in hers. “It is quite another thing, I think.”

“Seasickness,” I said. “It breaks my heart that the Bosphorus doesn’t agree with me.”

“Yes, I imagine it would.” She turned to my companion. “I did not expect to see you again so soon, Mr. Sutcliffe.”

He’d leapt to his feet the moment she entered and now bowed to her. “It is a pleasure, m’lady.”

“Of course it is. Why have you returned to me?”

“I saw Lady Emily ill on the dock and brought her—”

“I see. Thank you for your kind services. They are much, much appreciated.”

Mr. Sutcliffe turned red at her abrupt dismissal but otherwise maintained his composure. “I shall leave you to your conversation.”

“I do appreciate it,” she said.

“And I am indebted to you for your assistance, Mr. Sutcliffe,” I said. Another bow, and he exited the pavilion.

“He is a kind man,” Bezime said. “But troubled. He lost his family to disease years ago and is still plagued by nightmares. I worry for him. He does not sleep well.”

“It’s very sad,” I said. “He told me he’d lost a child, but I was unaware of the details.”

“Two children, during some dreadful epidemic. His wife, too, all a very long time ago. This sort of wound, though, does not heal well. I still mourn my own son.”

“The sultan, Abdül Aziz?”

“Yes,” she said. “I will never forget when they took the throne from him. The minister of war came to the palace to drag him away. I fought that dreadful man off—scratched his face, pushed him to the ground—but there was no stopping him. He took my son and imprisoned him.”

“I had no idea your son was deposed.”

“Yes. And he died not long after. Cut his wrists with a scissors I’d given him to trim his beard.”

“I don’t even know what to say. I’m so terribly sorry.”

“It was my fault. I killed him.”

“No, no. Of course not. You couldn’t have—”

She stopped me and placed a cold hand on mine. “Enough of this. I tell you only so you know I am familiar with the pain shared by both Mr. Sutcliffe and Ceyden’s father. There is no grief worse than that from losing a child.”

“I can only imagine,” I said.

“Yes, for now. You, Emily, blame your troubles on the Bosphorus?”

“Seasickness is—”

“You are not seasick. You are with child.”

“I... well... it may be, but I—”

“I am already certain. Your own confirmation will come soon enough. But it is most disturbing to me. Nothing good will come from this situation.”

“Why would you say such a thing?”

“I have read your charts, chanted for you, done all that I can to see your future. You are not on the right path.”

I hardly knew how to react. I was stunned that she would say such a thing, horrified she would address so delicate a subject with someone she knew only slightly, and I was more than a little scared, for she seemed to know definitively the answer to a question I’d been afraid even to pose. “I don’t think you should—”

“No, of course you do not. You are unused to people speaking directly about this topic, and the terror in your eyes would be readable even to a fool. Does your husband know of your condition?”

“I don’t know that I even have a condition,” I said. “There have been some signs, but—”

“There can be no doubt. I have much experience in these matters.”

“I’d prefer not to discuss it. I’m here to talk about Ceyden.”

“I have no interest in that subject today.”

“Then it seems I have wasted a trip.” I rose from the sofa.

“You will go from me now, but when you want to come back, it will be too late,” she said. “Think carefully, Emily, before you cross through those doors. I have looked into the future.”

“I don’t believe in any of this. You can’t possibly know—”

“I know what the future holds at this moment. The choices you make from now on may change your course, but you must walk with trepidation and make no mistakes if you’re to have any chance at escaping your current fate.”

I stood up, stormed across the room, but could not quite bring myself to leave. I turned back towards her. “Why would you tell me something like this?”

“I like you, Emily. You deserve the warning.”