Tasha Alexander - Tears of Pearl

“And Benjamin stopped her,” I said, a terrible weight descending onto me.

“Yes.” Her voice hid her sob. “He was afraid that if we were caught together, I would be executed. He panicked.”

“What happened then?”

“He—he lunged at her throat and strangled her. She fell to the ground, and I told him to run, which he did. Once I thought enough time had passed for him to be well away, I went for the guards. She wasn’t dead then, you know. She spoke to me after he left—” Now her tears could not be stopped.

“What did she say?” I asked.

“That the sultan would never want me again. She must have died when I was on my way to get help.” She held her head up high. “I suppose you won’t help me now.”

“What of your Aquinas?” I asked.

“ ‘Love takes up where knowledge leaves off,’ ” she said.

I met her eyes. “I gave you my word. This is all unspeakably awful, but does not change the fact that I don’t agree with the way you are being forced to live. Our plans will not change.” What I did not say was that I could not abandon her because I feared what might happen should she still be in the harem when the full truth of the situation was revealed.

When we’d returned to the yalı, Margaret went straight for the decanter and filled two glasses with port. Before she’d crossed the room to hand me one, Meg came in with a small envelope.

“A wire for you, madam.”

My stomach clenched, fearing bad news from England, but the words surprised me less than their author would have expected. I looked up, meeting Margaret’s eyes, reading her concern. “No, it’s not Ivy,” I said. “It’s from Colin. He’s found Benjamin at Ephesus.”

“That’s wonderful,” Margaret said. “More or less.”

“He’s made a full confession. He admitted to killing his sister. They’ll be in Constantinople within three days, sooner if he can hire a boat.” I felt ill. “We must go to his father. I don’t want someone from the embassy breaking this news.”

Of all the unpleasant trips I’d taken across the Bosphorus in the past weeks, this was by far the worst. I looked at Seraglio Point, far off in the distance, hazy in the sun, and rehearsed what I would say, knowing there was no magic to it, no particular set of words that would lessen the blow. Margaret took my hand in hers.

“I never thought this trip could have turned out so badly,” she said, a forced brightness in her voice. “Do you think, perhaps, it’s a sign that I’m to marry Mr. Michaels as quickly as possible and settle into an ordinary life?”

“You’re beginning to worry me,” I said. “That’s at least the second time you’ve made such a comment.”

“Do you ever wonder if we’re too set on being independent and fierce?”

“Are you joking? Is this meant to distract me?”

“Well, yes, it’s meant to distract,” she said.

“But not to be a joke?”

“No.” Now her gaze moved in the direction of Seraglio Point. “Forgive me, Emily. Are you happy? I know you adore Colin and don’t doubt for an instant that you have found the man for whom you were designed. But this is your wedding trip... It’s bad enough that I invaded your privacy—and I hope you’ll forgive me for that—”

“Don’t be absurd,” I said. “Honeymoons go on for months and months. Besides, haven’t you read Can You Forgive Her? Didn’t Glencora keep Alice close to her for most of her wedding trip?”

“An entirely different circumstance, my dear.”

“Quite.” I could not help but smile.

“I cannot help but consider things differently now,” Margaret said. “I wouldn’t want my honeymoon interrupted as yours has been—”

“No one wants to contend with murder.”

“Obviously. But you do enjoy it, Em—not the murder part, but the rest. You’ve gotten to cavort about Constantinople with more freedom than anyone since Lady Mary What’s-her-name. Some days I think you thrive on it, but lately it seems to be taking a toll.”

“I’m just worried about Ivy. It’s nothing else. This is how I want my life to be, Margaret. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I want to do this work. It’s important to me.”

“I’m afraid I’m becoming a hopeless romantic,” she said. “It’s rather disgusting.”

“You really do want to hole up at Oxford, don’t you?”

“I think I do,” she said.

“You don’t think it will become claustrophobic?”

“No. Have you any idea how much Ovid I have left to translate? And then there’s Virgil. That is the work I need. This trip has made me realize that I want Mr. Michaels by my side all the time. Gallivanting about isn’t much fun without him.”

“I would hope not,” I said. “Otherwise what would be the point in marrying him? I miss Colin dreadfully every moment I’m not with him.” As we came closer to the European shore, Topkapı looming above us until we’d passed it after turning into the Golden Horn, my nerves took firm hold of me, my heart pounding in my chest. From the dock, it did not take long to reach Sir Richard’s—we took a carriage, wanting to get to him as quickly as possible.

Miss Evans greeted us at the door. “He’s feeling much better today,” she said. “Has been receiving visitors. Even came downstairs.”

“Did he?”

“For a while,” she said. “But he started to get tired and went back up. Still, an improvement.”

“I fear that we’ll only make it worse.” I left Margaret to explain to her and found my way to Sir Richard, propped up in bed on a mountain of pillows, a copy of Jules Verne’s From the Earth to the Moon beside him.

“Lady Emily, it is good to see you, but I’m afraid Miss Evans should not have let you come up. I’m not so well as I was earlier.” His voice slurred and his head bobbed. “Even the coff ee Sutcliffe brought up to me didn’t help. Of course it was as bad as that I get at the embassy. Too bitter. Expect better at home.”

“I’m so sorry to disturb you,” I said. “And wouldn’t have were the matter not of the greatest urgency.”

“What has happened?” He sat up straighter. “Is it my son?”

“I’m afraid so. Colin has found him—don’t worry, he’s safe.”

“Thank heavens. Where was he?”

“Ephesus. They’re on their way back now.”

“This is joyous news,” he said. “I cannot begin—”

“No, please. Wait. He’s admitted to Colin that he was responsible for...” I hesitated.

“Not for Ceyden?”

“Yes. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not possible. My son would never. . .” His voice faltered, then failed altogether. His head nodded forward, then dropped back against the pillows. I thought at first he was stricken with grief, but then his jaw went slack and his mouth hung open.

“Sir Richard?... Sir Richard?”

He did not respond. He was breathing—I could see that—but he was not conscious. I pulled the bell cord, then ran to the hallway, shouting for Margaret. The ensuing chaos should have woken the dead, as Miss Evans came into the room and gave a shriek, horrifying and inhuman.

“Has he gone? Have we lost him? Oh, it’s too, too dreadful!” she said.

Margaret appeared almost at once and, proving she had not lost her ability to keep her wits about her, did the reasonable thing. She sent for the doctor, who arrived in short order.

“It’s more chloral hydrate,” he said, coming to meet us in the corridor outside Sir Richard’s room after examining his patient.

“He couldn’t possibly have taken anything,” Miss Evans said. “I’ve followed your orders to the letter. He’s had no access to it.”

“While I do not doubt your sincerity, madam, I know of what I speak. The man has taken an overdose. Not enough to kill him—but his breathing is dangerously shallow. I will do what I can.”