Tasha Alexander - Tears of Pearl

“What a marvelous childhood,” I said.

“I thought it would be.” He squared his jaw. “Until bandits attacked our camp near the dig at Ephesus. This was twenty-odd years ago, soon after John Turtle Wood started excavating. He was plagued with problems—warned us not to come—but I would have none of it. I was a young fool.”

“Redundant,” Colin said, drawing a hard laugh from our visitor.

“Quite. We were in two tents. Ceyden, my daughter, had been sick, so Assia was sleeping next to her. I didn’t know what was happening until I heard my wife screaming as they cut her throat. She’d struggled too much.”

“I’m so sorry.” I could not help reaching out to take his hand, but he pulled it from the table.

“I had to protect Benjamin. Helped him hide before I grabbed my rifle and went on the offensive, but at the first gunshot, the cowards started to retreat. They took Ceyden with them. She was a beauty, even at three years old. That striking red gold hair, blue eyes. Looked like her mother.”

“You must have been frantic,” I said. I considered the poor girl, terrified, torn from her family, and my heart ached at the thought of her carrying so much pain and such horrific images.

“I spent years and a fortune searching for her, but never uncovered a trace. All my efforts were futile. I’ve always assumed that she must have been sold into slavery. So you see, adventurous travel isn’t all romance. You’d be better off, Hargreaves, keeping your wife safely in sight.” He drained his wine, slammed the glass down with a thump, and laid his hands flat on the table.

“I of course appreciate the advice and shall heed it,” Colin said. I resisted the urge to kick him under the table, restraining myself only out of respect for the tragedies suffered by Sir Richard.

“I’m afraid I’ve—I’ve quite ruined the mood of the evening. Apologies.” His words sounded almost slurred as he reached for the half-empty bottle of wine in front of him, filled his glass, and took a long drink, sweat beading on his forehead. “I’m sure that between Topkapı Palace and... ah... yes, the Blue Mosque and the Grand Bazaar, you’ll find yourselves quite well diverted. I’ll see what I can do about arranging invitations to any parties in the diplomatic community as well as—”

His eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped over in his chair, still only for an instant before his body convulsed, sending him crashing to the floor.

The speed with which the ensuing chaos was calmed is a testament to the efficiency of the staff of La Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits. Within a quarter of an hour, Colin and I were crowded into the corridor outside the sleeping compartment, where a doctor, who had been traveling in the next car, was examining Sir Richard. The physician ducked out and took a short step towards Colin.

“May I talk to you privately?” He shot a glance at me. “I don’t think it’s appropriate—”

“You may speak freely in front of my wife,” Colin said, his dark eyes serious.

The doctor clenched his jaw and scrunched his eyebrows together. “Sir Richard took an extremely high dose of chloral hydrate. A not uncommon occurrence among those dependent on the medication—it’s given as a sleeping aid. I believe he’d mixed it in with his wine at dinner. He’s lucky to be alive.”

“Will he be all right?” I asked.

“There’s not much to do but wait, and I’ll sit with him as long as necessary. You need not stay.”

Colin scribbled the number of our compartment on a piece of paper and handed it to the doctor. “Please alert us if the situation changes.”

“Of course.” He went back to Sir Richard, leaving us alone.

“I don’t feel hungry anymore,” I said as Colin and I started down the corridor.

“I’ve not the slightest interest in the dining car.” He stopped walking and pressed me against the wall, kissing me.

“That’s not what I meant. You’re a beast to kiss me at a time like this,” I said, twining my fingers through his. “Perhaps we should be doing more for him.”

“A man who can’t properly dose his own medicine has no right to interrupt our honeymoon.”

“Could we contact his son?” I asked. “I don’t feel right leaving him so alone.”

“When we get to Constantinople. We’re on a train, Emily.”

“I had noticed that,” I said.

“Perceptive girl.” He kissed my forehead. “I do adore your compassion for Sir Richard. But right now, forgive me, I think you should direct it to me, your husband, who by unfortunate coincidence of seating arrangements has been forced to deal with doctors and train stewards all evening instead of being left to his violently elegant and relentlessly charming wife.”

“Sounds delicious,” I said. “I should have married you ages ago.”

The two remaining days of our trip passed without further incident. We saw Sir Richard the following evening in the dining car. He was in fine health, full of apologies, and all easy charm for the rest of the trip—no more criticism of our itinerary or of my yearning for adventure. More important, no more signs that he was using too heavy a hand when dosing his medicine.

“Perhaps he’s a changed man after his near brush with death,” Colin said, gathering the few remaining books strewn about our compartment as the train pulled into the station at Constantinople.

“I don’t believe in sudden transformations,” I said.

“That’s because you’re so very cynical. It’s one of your best qualities. You know...” He looked around. “I’m almost sorry to leave the train. It’s effortless to lock this door and shut out the world. No house full of servants bothering us.”

“Just overzealous stewards.”

“Who were quick to learn that we wanted our privacy.” He ran a hand through the thick, dark waves of his hair. “I think that’s everything. Ready to have the Ottoman Empire at your feet?”

Excitement surged through me as we stepped onto the platform, and I looked around, eager to take in a culture so very foreign to me. Despite the fact that my guidebook told me it had been designed by a Prussian architect, the Müir Ahmet Paa Station, with its elaborately decorated façade, looked satisfyingly Oriental to me. Bright reddish pink bricks were arranged in rectangular patterns between wide stone borders along the lower portion of the building, the rest of the walls painted pink. Stained glass curved over the doors and long windows, above which there were more, these large and round, fashioned from leaded glass. The center of the structure was low, its sides anchored by taller sections, one with a flat roof edged with stone decoration, the other domed.

“Where shall we go first?” Colin asked.

“Meg is perfectly capable of seeing to it that our trunks get to the house. My plan is to get a spectacular view of the city, unless you’ve a mad desire to go to our quarters first.” Meg, my maid, was traveling with us, despite my husband’s protests that he’d prefer we be alone. I, too, liked very much the idea of privacy, but a lady must deal with hard realities, and there was simply no way my hair could be made presentable on a daily basis without skilled assistance. Furthermore, I’d spent a not inconsiderable effort to show her the merits of places beyond England. Her provincial attitude had begun to thaw in Paris more than a year ago, and I had every intention of continuing her enlightenment.

“If we go to the house first, you’re not likely to see much of the city today.” He pulled me close, his arm around my waist.

“I cannot tolerate that,” I said, a delightful flash of heat shooting from toes to fingertips. I straightened my hat—a jaunty little thing, devoid of the ornamentation favored by many of my peers. So far as I was concerned, stuffed birds had no place in the world of fashion. I was too eager in making the adjustment, and the tip of my hat pin jabbed into my scalp, causing me to jump, knocking into a gentleman walking behind me.

“Oh, Sir Richard, I’m so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t see you.”

“I’m afraid I wasn’t paying attention, either.” A gruff edge cut through his already rough voice.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“Yes, actually. It appears I’ve been robbed. Nothing serious, just unsettling.”

“What happened?” Colin stepped closer to me and began a methodical study of the area around us.

“I’ve no idea. When I was gathering my belongings to leave the train, I realized a sheaf of papers I was bringing from London to the embassy is gone.”

“What sort of papers?” I asked.

Sir Richard narrowed his eyes, seeming to appraise my competence as I asked the question. “Standard diplomatic fare. Nothing of pressing confidentiality. More of a nuisance and embarrassment to lose them than anything else.”

“Do you have any idea when they went missing?” I asked.

“Not at all,” Sir Richard said. “I didn’t need to deal with them during the trip and never pulled them out. It could have happened anytime.”

“Who had access to your compartment?” I asked. “We should question the stewards at once and try to locate the physician who treated you. We know he was there.”

“I assure you, there’s no need, Lady Emily—”

I interrupted him. “Every possibility must be considered.”

“Have you reported this to the local police?” Colin asked.

“No,” Sir Richard said, shielding his eyes from the sun. “It’s entirely unnecessary. This may be nothing more than a prank.”

“I can’t see that making any sense.” I shook my head, harder than I ought to have, sending my already maligned hat off-kilter. “And if that were the case, wouldn’t you have some idea who would do such a thing? Did you have any colleagues on the train? Did anyone even know you had the papers?”

“No. I saw none of my colleagues. But I’m a diplomat. It’s reasonable to assume I’d be carrying papers. Someone—a Turk, perhaps—who’s less than pleased with Britain could have done it to make a point.”

“An awfully oblique point,” I said, frowning. “We’d be happy to assist you—”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” he said. “As I said on the train, I know well your husband’s reputation, but I assure you this is nothing more than an aggravating inconvenience and quite out of the sphere of his interest. I do, however, hope to be in touch soon with an invitation to something I think you’ll both enjoy.”

I watched, dissatisfied, as he walked away from us. “We are going back to the train, aren’t we?” Sir Richard might refuse to investigate, but I could not do the same. My experience, while limited, had given me a taste for detecting.

Colin gave a short laugh. “This is not in the least what I want from a honeymoon, but I know you must be pacified.”

“Yes, I must.” I looped my arm through his and led him to the platform. He flashed some sort of identification, and within a short while we had conducted a quick but thorough interrogation of stewards and lingering passengers. Our efforts, however, were in vain: no suspicious characters, no overlooked clues, and certainly no breathless confession.

“I can’t escape the feeling we’ve missed something,” I said when, finished, we crossed back through the station.

“It’s possible.” Colin took my hand. “But there’s no harm done, Emily. He might have mislaid the papers himself. There was no sign of forced entry into his compartment.”

“He could have forgotten to lock the door.”

“He’s too competent to have done that.”

“Doesn’t it make you wonder about the chloral hydrate?” I asked. “Perhaps someone dosed his wine, knowing the subsequent commotion would provide an opportunity to snatch the papers.”

“I understand the suspicion, my dear, but why would anyone go to so much trouble to take something that, by all accounts, is of no particular value?”

“Perhaps the papers were not the goal,” I continued. “Perhaps harming Sir Richard was, and the theft was meant to set the investigation on the wrong course. We may be dealing with a matter entirely personal, not professional.”

“We, my dear, are not at present dealing with any matter whatsoever other than enjoying our wedding trip.”

“I just—”

“No, Emily. Let this go. Come. The Golden Horn awaits you.”

Constantinople was like an exotic dream full of spice and music and beauty—the scent of cardamom blew through the streets like a fresh wind—but at the same time, it had a distinct and surprising European feel. The cobbled streets, winding at seemingly random angles through the city, teemed with gentlemen, as many wearing top hats as were in dark red fezzes. Stray cats darted in front of us with alarming frequency, slinking confidently in search of their next meal, while brazen shopkeepers called out, inviting us into stores brimming with Eastern treasures. Noise filled every inch of the air: seagulls crying, carts clattering, voices arguing in foreign tongues.