“Do you remember any such event?” I asked, sitting across from her as she passed her pipe to Margaret.

“Who could forget?” She stretched her elegant arms in front of her, golden bangles clinking together. “It led to a pretty scandal.”

“Don’t make me beg you to tell,” I said.

“You are quick to forget your anger at me.”

“I have not forgotten,” I said. “But I’ve chosen to overlook it at the moment. This is too important.”

“Denial and avoidance will not change your fate.”

“I do wish you wouldn’t provoke her,” Margaret said. “I rather like it here and don’t want to feel I can’t come back and visit you.”

“You will return, but not when I am here,” Bezime said.

“You’ll be restored to a position of greatness at Yıldız?” Margaret asked.

“No. I will simply be gone.”

Frustration crept up my spine, and it was with great effort that I stopped myself from either making a biting remark or leaving the room. “When did this boat tip, and who was on board?”

“It was more than half a year ago, and I don’t know all the passengers—it was concubines and their guards, on their way to an excursion in Stamboul. They may have been going to the Blue Mosque, I don’t remember.”

“Was Ceyden one of the party?” I asked.

“She was.”

“Who rescued them?” Margaret asked.

“Most of the eunuchs panicked, and the captain of the boat proved useless. Two men saved everyone: Jemal, your old friend, and a foreigner who’d witnessed the accident from another boat. I do not know his name.”

“I saw Jemal earlier today,” I said. “He was carrying a bowstring. I watched him show it to Benjamin St. Clare.”

“Ceyden’s brother?”

“Yes.” I studied her carefully, but her face remained like marble. “Do you know anything about this?”

“Jemal is back at Yıldız,” she said. “I wouldn’t have any idea what is being sent to him.”

“But you said he’s spying for you,” I said. “Surely he would report having received such a thing.”

“Perhaps he’s not so loyal as I thought.”

“Could he be the one sending them?” I asked.

She jerked to attention. “No. Never.”

“You’re certain?”

“There are things I know,” she said.

“Could you please elaborate?” I asked.

“Not now.” She looked in my eyes, cocked her head slightly, and touched my hand. “Your friend at home will suffer no harm.”


Much though I hated to admit it—primarily because I felt that believing any one of Bezime’s prophecies required giving credence to all of them—I felt lighter than I had in days when I recounted for Colin, on our way to a reception at the British embassy, my visit to Topkapı. Lights shone from all the windows of the building, and the sounds of a Mozart divertimento filtered through the grounds as we made our way to the entrance.

“You’re confident she’s talking about Ivy?” he asked.

“Of course she is. Who else would it be?”

“Perhaps I’m in terrible danger and don’t even know it.”

“Somehow I find that most unlikely.”

“No hope that you’ll rescue me?” he asked.

“As if you’d ever need it,” I said. We stepped inside, and it was like being back in England—everyone dressed in the latest fashion, familiar accents, routine gossip everywhere I turned.

“I don’t know when I’ve seen you look so tired,” Colin said.

“Hardly a comment that will make me flush with confidence for the rest of the evening.”

“Fatigued or not, you’re still the most breathtaking beauty here—or anywhere—tonight.”

“Is that meant to improve my mood?”

“Of course. But the motive does not detract from the sincerity of the statement.”

“You’re good.” I squeezed his hand.

“And I rather like you tired. Makes it all the easier for us to duck out early and go home.”

“If only we could go now,” I said, the sentiment growing to an emphatic crescendo as he grazed the back of my neck with his hand. It was too late, however. We’d reached the front of the line, made our greetings, and joined the crush in the reception room. Before long, waiters in smart white dinner jackets had pressed into our hands tall flutes of champagne, and we were pleasantly engaged in exchanging stories of Constantinople with fellow travelers.

“You’ve seen so very little!” exclaimed the wife of a career diplomat as I sipped my wine. “But I suppose that’s the sign of a happy honeymoon. You’re spending all your time reading poetry to each other while gazing at the Bosphorus.”

Would that our tourist deficiencies could be explained by such a reason. “The Blue Mosque is spectacular,” I said. “And I have every intention of returning to Aya Sofya before the week’s end. I don’t think my previous visit did it justice.”

“I have heard, Lady Emily, that you’ve been in the harem. Is it true?”

“It is,” I said.

“Bad business, this murder. It’s deplorable that you should be forced to embroil yourself in the investigation. I suppose there’s no one else, and the poor girl—bless her half English soul—deserves justice. But what a burden for you!”

“I do what I must.” I had no desire to embark on a philosophical discussion of my work.

My companion made no move to stay on the subject. She dropped her voice. “And have you been to the hamam?”

“I have.”

She nodded. “I am most impressed.”

“Have you visited one in your time here?”

“Never. But I have read Lady Mary Wortley Montagu’s Turkish Embassy Letters. Fascinating!”

“I read it on the train. She’s absolutely right about the baths.”

“Hundreds of women?”

“Not nearly so many when I was there, but all, as she said, ‘as exactly proportioned as ever any goddess was drawn.’ ”

“I quite liked the bit when she said the women thought her husband had locked her into her stays.”

“Yes, that was amusing,” I said. “You should go see for yourself. It’s an extraordinary experience, and I’m told the Caalou Hamam is the finest public bath in the city. It’s not far from the Blue Mosque—I’d be happy to accompany you if you’d like.”

“To be honest, Lady Emily, I think I’d be more comfortable were I safely anonymous. Don’t think I could begin to relax if anyone I knew might see me.”

“I understand completely. I must say it astonishes me that Ottoman society, which in so many ways is more oppressive than our own, is dotted with pockets of enlightenment.”

“The Ottoman culture is more liberated than ours in many ways,” she said.

“But the women are veiled.”

“That they are. Yet I’ve never seen an instrument of oppression that gives such freedom—it hides their identities and enables them to move about the city visiting whomever they wish—if you understand my meaning.” She glanced to both sides before continuing. “They can meet their lovers wherever they like.”

“Is that so?” My face was hot with embarrassment. I was not yet quite so enlightened as I longed to be.

“I was at least as horrified as you when I first heard the stories. But now I’m rather used to it.” She leaned in, close. “Makes me feel almost French. The Ottoman women keep control of their money after they’re married, you know. And should they find themselves divorced, the husbands must continue to support them.”

“Not at all what I would have expected,” I said. I was about to inquire whether she’d befriended many Ottoman women during her time in the city when we were interrupted by the sound of an ugly altercation at the entrance to the room.

“I will not be accused!” Sir Richard, his hair wild, pushed his way towards the ambassador.

Sir William stepped forward. “No one is making charges. I merely wanted to know—”

“I will not have it!” He lunged as if to shove the other man but lost his footing and tripped. Colin, who had been standing several feet away from me, conversing with a group of gentlemen, reached him in a few swift strides and stopped his fall.

“What’s going on here?” he asked as the partygoers all stood, silence spilling through the room.

“I think it would be best to take this conversation somewhere more private,” Sir William said as Mr. Sutcliffe stepped from the onlookers and made his way to Sir Richard.

“Surely public mortification is unnecessary,” he said. “I will not see my friend humiliated.”

Colin and Sir William stepped aside, speaking quietly before turning back to Sir Richard. “Come with me... ,” Sir William began, but Sir Richard shoved him away and stormed through the crowd, his eyes bulging.

“This is unconscionable,” he said. Mr. Sutcliffe, a beat behind, called after him. With a quick look at the ambassador, Colin caught up, took Sir Richard by the arms, and steered him to an antechamber off the hall. I excused myself to my companion and followed at once.

“What is going on?” I asked.

“We’ve had a rather strange incident,” Mr. Sutcliffe said. “A young man from the hinterlands appeared here this morning asking to see Richard and demanding money.”

“It’s outrageous!” Sir Richard looked on the verge of apoplexy, veins pulsing, sweat building, his color darkening. “I’ve never seen that person before in my life.”

“He claimed he was the one causing trouble at the archaeological site where Benjamin was employed,” the ambassador said. “Wanted us to believe Richard had hired him to scare his son off the job.”

I paused a moment too long before I spoke. “But—”

“I’ve lost even your confidence,” Sir Richard said, looking at me through glazed eyes. Colin put a hand on the older man’s shoulder, steadying him, and led him to a chair.