“Where did you sleep?”

“I had my tent.”

“Did anyone see you? Can anyone vouch for you?”

“Unfortunately as I did not know my sister was being murdered, I had not arranged for a companion to provide an alibi. I needed some time to myself before setting off on the next part of my life. Particularly as it’s one that seems so impossible.”

“What is the impediment?” I asked. “Does your father not approve?”

“He certainly wouldn’t, given the opportunity to pass judgment. But the lack of his blessing would only have been one in a series of stumbling blocks.”

“Her parents?”

“They’re dead.”

“Is she attached to someone else? Married?”

“Not married, no,” he said. “But there is... an understanding.”

“Can she not break it off?” I asked. “Surely there is some way for you to be together, and she’s doing her fiancé no service by staying where she knows she cannot be happy.”

“We both know these situations are never so simple.” He pulled off another piece of bread. “And at any rate, it’s too late now.”

“Too close to the wedding?”

“Too close to everything.”


After finishing with Benjamin, I moved from one bazaar to another, meeting Colin in front of the Grand Bazaar—Kapal?çar?—at a stone entrance reminiscent of a crusader’s fortress. This was infinitely larger than the Spice Bazaar, but I couldn’t see that from the outside. It was only after stepping through the pointed archway and into the labyrinthine maze of covered streets that I was overwhelmed. The number of stalls was astonishing, and the paths through them, some wide, some narrow, seemed endless. In every direction were stacks of cloth, shawls, dried fruits, lanterns—nearly anything imaginable.

“Sir Richard knew nothing of it?” I asked as we made our way through the dense crowd walking along the expansive main street, jewelry shops on either side of us, gold chains and bracelets all but spilling from their windows.

“He was entirely ignorant of his son’s plans to leave the country,” Colin said. “Will you forgive me for changing the subject, just for a moment? I have a gift for you.”

“Of course,” I said, smiling.

He pulled his hand out from behind his back to show me a bottle of port. “Not vintage, but all I could find here on short notice.”

“Port! Oh, I do adore you!” The kiss I wanted to give him would have left no question of my burning affection for him, but the public location forced restraint. I squeezed his hand and smiled at him, leaving him in no doubt as to what would come later. “I had the most divine luncheon today with Benjamin. But don’t let me distract you from either your purpose or your own story. Finish telling me about Sir Richard.”

“Turkish delight?” A man holding a platter stepped in front of us as we turned a corner. “You try?” Colin took two pieces, handed one to me, and thanked the man before continuing on.

“You don’t feel guilty not buying any?” I asked, biting into the powdery softness.

“No, it’s not expected,” he said. “The approach seems aggressive to us, but it’s meant to suggest nothing but warm enthusiasm. And there are no hurt feelings if you don’t buy. Here—let’s go this way. I want to look at carpets.”

“Did you learn anything interesting today?” I asked.

“Fished around at the embassy—as I said, it’s clear Sir Richard had no idea his son was planning to go to France.”

“Today he told me Italy.”

“Italy? Which do you think is the lie?” he asked.

“I’ve no idea—he’s clearly hiding something. You didn’t tell Sir Richard his plans, did you?”

“No, though I hope you encouraged Benjamin to,” he said.

“I’m afraid I didn’t,” I said. “I’m less than pleased with the entire situation, and don’t see that Benjamin, who has suffered his entire life, should be forced to reveal something he’d prefer to keep private.”

“You don’t think his own father has the right to know where he plans to live?”

“No, I don’t. Benjamin’s a grown man—he deserves the freedom to make his own choices.”

“I am well aware of your passion for freedom. But you must admit, Emily, it has to have its limits.”

“I will give you that. Begrudgingly,” I said. “But I can’t agree in this particular incidence. This is a boy who witnessed terrible things as a child and was, for all practical purposes, abandoned by his father thereafter. If he now, as an adult, chooses to cut himself off from that relationship, I don’t see there’s any cause to interfere.”

“What if the relationship could be healed?”

“For that to happen, both parties would have to desire it.”

“Sometimes your lack of sentimentality scares me,” he said. “Where is your maternal instinct?”

His eyes told me he was joking, but the words struck me like a slap. “Perhaps I don’t have any.” I stopped in front of a stall of brass goods—hamam bowls, goblets, candlesticks.

“That’s an awful thing to say.”

“What if it’s true?” I picked up a bowl, pretending to examine it.

“My dear girl, it’s not true. It’s a silly thing to even discuss. You couldn’t avoid maternal instinct if you tried. It’s the most natural thing there is.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Have you already forgotten my own dear mother?”

“She’s fiercely devoted to you in her own way.” He leaned forward, put a hand on my cheek, and took the bowl away from me, setting it down. “You’re sensitive today.”

“Yes, forgive me. I’m tired.”

“I shan’t tax you, then,” he said. “Let’s get to Hasan’s and sit in his shop and find at least ten carpets you can’t resist.” Hasan was the best-known, most respected carpet dealer in the city, and had come highly recommended to us by no fewer than six people at the embassy.

“That sounds lovely,” I said. “Did you learn anything else of use from Sir Richard?”

“He admitted the relationship has been strained for some time, but credits it to Benjamin’s stubborn insistence on deliberately going against every bit of advice he’s received from his father, right down to choosing Cambridge over Oxford.”

“Do you have sympathy for this position?” I asked.

“To a certain degree. A man wants his son to respect him, of course. But only a fool gives advice expecting it to be taken. I know I caused my own father more sleepless nights than he perhaps deserved. But that’s part of hammering out one’s independence.”

“Exactly,” I said.

“Here—this way.” He steered me through a passage into an older section of the bazaar. Here the ceilings were lower, supported by curved arches and pillars, and the smell of spicy lamb and onions drew crowds to a kebab stand.

“My day was somewhat more productive than yours sounds,” I said. “In addition to having a spectacular meal, I did confirm that Benjamin is in love. He would not admit to planning an elopement, but there is a lady. An unavailable lady.”

“Married?”

“No.”

“Engaged?”

“What other option would there be?” I drew in a quick breath, shocked by the thought that had stolen into my head. “I have a theory.”

“I am all eagerness to hear it,” Colin said.

“He was in love with a concubine.” We passed a shop full of glistening lamps, their shades—some round, some teardrop shaped—formed by mosaics of colored glass, sending candlelight dancing from them.

“When would he have had opportunity to even see one, let alone speak to her and fall in love with her?”

“They take excursions from the palace,” I said.

“Carefully guarded excursions.” He followed my eyes. “Do you want one of those lamps?”

“No, I’m just looking. It’s possible, you know—he could have met a concubine.”

“You’re letting your love of the dramatic color your judgment. I like Abduction from the Seraglio as much as the next chap, but that’s not what’s going on here.”

“What if Ceyden was killed because she was trying to escape? Her hoard of jewels could have financed quite an expedition.”

“Are you suggesting that Benjamin had inadvertently fallen in love with his sister?”

“It’s beyond terrible, I know. But consider it: She was a beautiful girl and reminded him not only of his childhood playmate, but also his mother. He saw her out, somewhere in town, and was instantly captivated.”

“Do continue,” Colin said. “You know how I enjoy your forays into fiction.”

“He could have bribed someone—one of the guards—to tell him her name. And then to deliver messages. What more revered way is there to fall in love than by being seduced by beautifully written letters?”

“I’ve always been a great supporter of intelligent conversation, but far be it from me to question the value of a well-written missive.”

“And then they began to plot their escape.” I breathed in the most delicious scents—bergamot, ginger, vanilla—as we walked in front of a display of olive oil soaps. “An escape that would never happen because it was discovered, and Ceyden, rather than being allowed to stay alive and shame the sultan with her deviant thoughts, was silenced, to be forever forgotten. Benjamin’s Byzantine cross, which he’d given her as a token of his affection, was torn from her neck as she struggled against her executioners.”

“Deviant is a bit strong, don’t you think?” he asked.

“But you agree that, in theory, it’s possible?”

“We’re not in a position to dismiss any reasonable hypothesis,” he said.

“So you admit it’s reasonable?”

“I may not be ready to own it as reasonable, but will admit to possible. It would explain the strange reaction we’ve had from both the sultan and the government. On the one hand, they want to cooperate with the British, but on the other, they’d very much prefer that this all go away.”

“So they let us into the harem, assuming we’ll find nothing.”

“But you stumble upon the jewelry—”

I cleared my throat. “I did not stumble, my dear. I analyzed the situation and determined the best course of action.”

“Mais oui,” he said.

“En français?”

“There are times, Emily, when you so capture my imagination that I can only speak in French.”

I reached for his hand, brought it to my lips, and kissed his thumb. “Once Perestu saw that I was close to discovering too much, she notified the sultan and we were summarily denied all further access to the harem.”

“This is the part, my dear, where things begin to fall apart. Perestu’s countenance changed when she realized a piece of her own jewelry was in Ceyden’s cache. If your speculations are correct, shouldn’t that reaction have come the instant you found anything sewn into the gown?”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “There must be something about that particular piece. Perhaps it’s a clue of even more significance than we’d previously thought.”

“How so?”

“It may be the object that links Perestu directly to the murder.”

“Or to Murat’s discontented vizier,” he said. “Perhaps she’s the link between his discontented associates and the harem.”

“So you believe there is a link?” I asked.

“I cannot deny it. Where did Benjamin tell you he was the night of the murder?” I recounted for him our conversation, and Colin shook his head. “I’d hoped he’d have a firm alibi.”

“Do you think he needs it?”

“Let’s hope not.”

A distinguished-looking man stepped out of the shop in front of us. He bowed.

“Mr. Hargreaves, the ambassador told me to expect you. I am Hasan. Welcome. Please, come in. You will have tea?”

Six hours later, we emerged. Colin was wrong about my finding ten carpets. I was not able to narrow my selections below thirteen.


11 April 1892

Darnley House, Kent

My darling Emily,


I must confess that your letter left me full of melancholy. I do so wish you and Colin might have had at least a few weeks to yourself without any work. I know how you adore it, but I’ve found myself looking back on my own wedding trip with such fond memories of perfect bliss that I want you to have it as well, my dear. Things change so much as a marriage progresses, and although I’ve more happiness than I deserve, I still can’t help wishing, sometimes, to go back to those early days.

These sentiments are no doubt brought on by my current condition. The doctor has confined me to my bed—I’m told it’s a mere precaution because of some pains I’ve suffered in the past week and that I ought not be alarmed. It is not as if I’d been accustomed to gallivanting about—your mother would never allow that. But even under her strict regimens I was able to sit outside every day, and I find I miss the fresh air keenly.