Tasha Alexander - Tears of Pearl

“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.”

“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.”

Colin had sent a message to the consul’s wife—she replied at once, saying she was delighted we could join her. Instead of dinner and dancing, she’d decided to stage a séance. And so, after a light supper (during which Colin expertly gathered as much information as possible about the trouble at the embassy), we retired to her sitting room, where a medium called Madame Skorlosky, a Russian, sat at a special table she’d brought for the occasion. She called us to join her, and we each took a seat, mine between Mr. Sutcliffe and Sir William.