Tasha Alexander - Tears of Pearl

“Yes,” I said. “I’d heard that. Terrible.”

“Terrible tragedy. His wife—Cate—beautiful girl. And so young. They had two children, a boy and a girl. Must have been six and four years old, if I remember. All gone in the space of twenty-four hours.”

“How dreadful,” Margaret said. “The poor man.”

“It marked him forever, beyond the way you’d expect grief to. To make matters worse, he’d balked at the assignment in the first place—had asked to stay... well, I can’t remember where he’d been before. Didn’t want to take his children because he knew all too well the islands were rife with fever. But there’s no arguing these things. You go where you’re told to go.”

“Is it never possible to request a change?” I asked.

“You can, of course, request anything. But it’s unusual for it to come to fruition. I believe he’d lined up a colleague who had agreed to switch with him, but then there was some change in plans. I don’t recall the details.”

“It’s terribly sad,” I said.

“That it is. But of course it did spur all his charity work—good, that. Although I have heard said that he’s more than a little obsessed with it all. Thinks he knows better than anyone what it means to be a decent father.”

“Understandable, I suppose,” Margaret said. “How did you find the West Indies? I’ve heard it’s beautiful there.”

“Hideously hot,” she said. “Unbearable mosquitoes. I’d say do all in your power to keep as far away as possible.”

“How disappointing,” I said. “I’ve always had such a dreamy vision of the islands.”

“Don’t mistake me,” Mrs. Hooper-Ferris said. “From behind a good mosquito net, it’s a lovely, lovely place.”

By four o’clock, I was certain of two things: It would be too soon if I ever saw another biscuit, and the loss of Mr. Sutcliffe’s family was connected to all that was swirling around Sir Richard.

“We need to find out more about his request to get a different assignment,” I said. “But I’m afraid the ambassador won’t be of any help.”

“Do you know anyone else in the diplomatic service we could contact?” Margaret asked.

“No.”

“What about Jeremy?” she asked. Jeremy Sheffield, Duke of Bain-bridge, was my childhood friend who had declared his love for me last winter in Vienna. “He can be useful when he wants to be.”

“More than useful,” I said. “But I hate to trouble him, given the circumstances.”

“I think he’d adore rescuing you while you’re on your honeymoon.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” I said. “I wonder if my father could help?”

“It’s worth trying,” Margaret said.

“I can send him a wire, but it would be days before he’d be able to learn anything. He’s not in London.” We were winding back through the streets of Pera, stepping carefully over uneven cobbles.

“Could we just confront Mr. Sutcliffe?”

“Of course, but I want some proof—something substantial. If he finds out we’re on to him, he may run,” I said. “I have an unorthodox suggestion.”

“My favorite kind,” Margaret said. “I think I’m beginning to get my nerve back.”

“You’ll need it if you’re to agree to this scheme. I wouldn’t suggest it if I could think of any other option—preferably a more reasonable one—but I can’t seem to do that. How do you feel about calling on the ambassador?”

“You said he won’t help.”

“He’s not going to realize that he is,” I said. “First, though, we have to find a shop. I need to buy candles.”

Two hours later, I was hiding in a broom closet in the British embassy, having slipped away while Margaret and I were ostensibly waiting to speak to Sir William. An earnest clerk led us to a small reception room. We spent a quarter of an hour discussing elephants with a gentleman newly arrived from India, who was hoping this posting would be as exciting as his last, but once he’d been summoned away, we were alone, and I dashed to the first reasonable hiding place I could find.

So far as closets go, this was not an uncomfortable one. It was neither overly crowded nor musty smelling. I had crammed myself into the far back, sunk to the floor, and sat there, wishing I’d had the sense to remove my corset before this endeavor, until all the ambient noise had disappeared from the corridor. Despite my attempts to stretch my legs, both were cramped, and returning to my feet was prickly painful. I managed, then fumbled in the dark to open the door. Once in the hall, I pulled from my reticule one of the candles and matches I’d purchased and soon had enough light to keep me from tripping over any ill-placed furniture.

I made my way to the records room, figuring it as the most likely spot to find employment files. I pulled open drawer after drawer in the cabinets that filled it, eventually reaching the one I sought and flipping through folders until I saw the two names I needed. My heart racing, I took them both, held them to my chest, and started towards a table where I could read them. But before I could spread them on the surface, I heard a terrible crash on the other side of the door.

For a moment I was frozen, forgetting even to breathe. Then sense returned to me, and I blew out my candle, snuffing the glowing ember of wick with my fingers to stop its swirling smoke. Now unable to see, I dropped to the floor and scooted under the table, terrified. Nothing happened. I started counting seconds, to see how much time was passing, but could hardly keep track of the numbers. All I wanted was to get out as quickly as possible. I strained to listen but heard no further sound, and decided to get up. As soon as I had, however, I heard a second noise—not so loud as the first—followed by a hollow thump.

Not being foolish enough to open the door and see what was there, undoubtedly ready to confront me—I was having visions of Mr. Sutcliffe with a sword, not that that would make the slightest bit of sense—I knew it was time to take sudden and decisive action. Not hesitating, I crossed the room as quickly as I could in the dark, unwilling to risk relighting my candle, and pushed open the first window I reached. I had not planned to leave with the files, but at this point, saw no other option. Hiking up my heavy skirts, I sat on the ledge, flung my legs over, and hopped to the ground.

Once there, I stayed close to the building, not wanting the guards to see me skulking around. I knew there’d be no avoiding them eventually but had come up with what I considered a better than average strategy for dealing with them.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” I said, hugging the files close to my chest, my arms wrapped tight around me as I walked down the path to the gate. “The grounds are so beautiful, even in the moonlight, I simply couldn’t tear myself away.”

“You—when—” the younger of the soldiers stuttered incomprehensibly.

“I assume Miss Seward left ages ago. Was she with Sir William, did you see?”

“No, madam, I believe he left alone.”

“Very good, then. I’ll catch up with her now. Thank you, and have a lovely evening.” I breezed past them, a brilliant smile on my face, and looked for the carriage I knew Margaret would have waiting for me at the end of the block. She opened the door as soon as she saw me coming.

“I’ve been beside myself,” she said. “It’s more awful than you can imagine sitting here and having no idea what’s going on.”

“I can assure you it was nothing but invigorating excitement inside.” I handed her the files as I stepped into the coach and told her what had happened.

“Do you think someone’s in there?” she asked.

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” I said. “And wasn’t about to find out. I wish I hadn’t had to remove anything, but I had no choice.”