Tasha Alexander - Tears of Pearl

“That takes no small measure of strength,” I said.

“Not nearly as much as it should have,” she said. “I’d been pulling away for months without him even knowing. Otherwise I couldn’t have done it.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It must have been terribly painful. I would never broach such a subject if I didn’t think it of critical importance. What did Bezime write about Mr. Sutcliffe?”

“She knew of his anger, that was clear, and it concerned her. He wasn’t sleeping well—nightmares. He had suffered from them for years. She gave him something to help him, but didn’t think he was taking it, as he never seemed to her more rested.” Tears choked her voice. “I wish I could have given him something solid like that—something that might actually have helped.”

I felt as if I were standing on the edge of a very tall cliff, about to plummet to an unthinkable and inane ending if I did not choose my words with absolute precision. I walked over and stood in front of her, placing my hands on her shoulders. “The sort of friendship you gave him was far more substantial than some sort of medicine it sounds like he never even took.”

“Yes, but she gave him more every time he called. She must have had reason to think it was important.”

I tried to sound as casual as possible. “Do you remember what it was?”

“Some sleeping aid... chlor... chloral...”

“Chloral hydrate?”

“Yes,” she said. “That was it.”

“Not the best choice, I’d say. Highly addictive and can have dreadful side effects.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Far better that he have a friend who understands him,” I said.

“Thank you,” she said. “It brings some measure of comfort.”

“He doesn’t have to be lost to you altogether, does he?” I asked.

“Yes. There’s no other way. I will not let myself fall in love again, especially in such impossible circumstances.”

I could not argue with the wisdom of that.

I rushed from the palace to meet Margaret, who had taken care of arranging the final details for Roxelana’s rescue. The time had come at last to pull off our plan. Excitement and fear surged through me, my nerves thin, and I prayed we were doing the right thing in the right way. I could not let myself think of the fallout that would come should our plans be exposed. We’d been careful, and I was confident her escape would be successful. Hubris is a dangerous companion.

“You’ll find this amusing,” Margaret said as we raced to the Nuruosmaniye Mosque. “A friend called on Medusa yesterday, all full of ex-pat gossip. Apparently, the night of your adventure in the embassy one of the stray cats that lurk about the city got in through an open window and knocked over a vase.”

“That was the crash that terrified me?” I laughed.

“Yes. The poor creature was still inside in the morning, and the staff have adopted it.”

“Well, it does make for a good story. I must tell you what happened at Yıldız this morning.” We were walking quickly, and I struggled to breathe evenly as I recounted my conversation with Perestu.

“What a shame that she burned the journals,” said Margaret. “Do you think she would testify?”

“I could not say. When faced with the truth of what he’s done—”

“Are we even sure what that is?” she asked.

“Yes, we are. He poisoned Sir Richard, sabotaged his career, possibly made threats of violence against his son—”

“We can’t prove that last.”

“That will undoubtedly be the most simple part of all this. Colin can go back to the village and pay enough to get the full truth.”

“Fair enough,” Margaret said, walking faster. I could not match her pace—I was feeling more winded than I should, and it was all I could do to keep from letting her gain too much distance ahead of me.

“He must have been following Benjamin—I’m convinced Jemal alerted him to the planned escape.”

“He might have even witnessed the murder.”

“And then taken the evidence to give to the proper person when the proper moment arose,” I said. “He wanted to be sure Benjamin was held accountable.” I stopped, dead in the center of the street. Margaret had to pull me out of the way of a delivery cart.

“Emily! Pay attention.”

“I didn’t see it before,” I said. “But now I do. Remember, she spoke—”

“They’re already inside,” Margaret interrupted, looking at the line of carriages in front of the building. “Hurry.”

She hurried towards her station while I turned into the Grand Bazaar, taking a table at the café we had chosen and ordering tea and baklava. Ideas blazed through my head, but I kept settling on a single one: Benjamin hadn’t killed Ceyden. Sutcliffe had. The scenario played out easily enough. He’d followed Benjamin, watched Roxelana flee screaming. Ceyden may have heard him, called out for help, seen him—and he’d killed her to keep her silent. Not only to ensure no one knew he’d been in the harem, but because he knew he could frame his nemesis’s son for the murder.

I admitted to myself, as I crunched another bite of baklava, that the story was as yet incomplete. But another few days of work and I’d have uncovered the rest. Bezime was a threat because she knew about the chloral hydrate. She could have asked Sutcliffe about it. And Jemal—he’d been both dispensable and dangerous. I thought it very likely he’d witnessed Ceyden’s murder.

A slim glint of satisfaction passed through me, which led me to be filled immediately with concern. This was always the most dangerous stage—the part when you begin to map out the solution but don’t know enough to see the holes that leave you vulnerable. I checked the watch on my lapel—newly purchased to replace the one stolen from the yalı —and tore a piece of paper from the small notebook I carried in my reticule. On it, I wrote everything I knew, suspected, or felt was reasonable conjecture pertaining to the case. Then, moving on to a second sheet, I put down the unreasonable conjectures of which I was fond as well as a full detailing of our plans for Roxelana, cringing at the thought of my husband reading this.

I asked my waiter if it was possible to get an envelope and within a few moments had in my hands a set of smooth linen stationery. After sealing my missive, I addressed it to Colin in care of the embassy, and my enterprising server found a boy to deliver it almost before I’d asked. Having taken this precaution, I felt better protected. Not in the classic sense. I had no desire to see Colin swoop in and fix any of this; I wanted to do that myself. But it was as if I’d bought insurance against needing him—he’d know where to find me, what to do if something went wrong. Undoubtedly, I’d require his assistance only if it was impossible for him to offer it.

Satisfied, I finished my tea and looked again at my watch. My stomach churned; too much time had passed. Roxelana should have been here by now. I looked around, growing more nervous with each passing second, wondering if she could somehow have been confused by the maze of the bazaar’s streets. I wanted to search for her but knew better than to leave my post. What would she do if she arrived and I was gone?

But after another half hour, I saw little choice. I paid my bill, deciding to go to the mosque, where I would find Margaret. I hoped more than anything that Roxelana had not been caught—that she hadn’t come because it was too risky, because she wasn’t able to get the privacy required for her escape. As I walked, I began repeating, barely under my breath, a simple prayer.

“Lady Emily Hargreaves?” The small voice came from behind me, and I turned to see a boy, no more than nine years old. “Are you Lady Emily Hargreaves?”