“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.

To be quite honest, I’m terrified. The doctor says almost nothing to me, but I can hear the whispers in the hall. Your mother is more worried than I’ve ever seen her, and I feel as if everyone knows some dreadful secret about my condition but won’t tell me. Darling Robert is on his way here, news that at once delights and distresses me. I can think of nothing better than having him beside me, but he can only be coming because he is aware of how serious things have become. Do you think he will warn me of the horrors I’m to face? If I’m truly ill, I’d rather know than be left in ignorance.

They’re all being so kind and indulgent, it’s as if they hope to make my last days pleasant ones. I’m not supposed to know, but I overheard talk of own dear parents being sent for. Can you fathom the gravity of the situation if they’re being summoned from India?

Do please send me more letters—reassure me, Emily. Because although everyone tells me not to worry, I know you of all my friends can best understand the fear I’m hiding. I miss you very much and wish desperately you weren’t so far away.