Tasha Alexander - Tears of Pearl

“I think we need a doctor,” he said.

“No,” Sir Richard said. “My health is of no concern.”

“Your health ought to be of concern. Who will take care of your son if you become infirm?” Mr. Sutcliffe’s face was smooth as marble. “No one can do for him the things his father would.”

“You hear what they accuse me of,” Sir Richard said.

“It might be a good idea to see a doctor—” Sir William was not allowed to finish.

“I said no.” Sir Richard’s voice, full of venom, shook as he spoke. “I’m not ill, I’m upset.”

“Of course you are,” I said. “Will someone get him a drink?”

“Do you understand the implications of this?” He leaned forward, speaking low. “That they would suggest, even for a second, that I would threaten the life of my own son?”

“Where is this man now? My husband can speak to him. I’ve no doubt there’s some other explanation.”

“He’s disappeared,” Mr. Sutcliffe said, coming close. “Made his accusations, and when it became clear he would get no money, he left. I doubt we’ll see him again.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, Richard,” the ambassador said. “But you see, don’t you, that I had to ask you questions?”

“I don’t see anything decent in it,” Sir Richard said.

I stepped to my husband’s side and pulled him away from the group. “What do you think of this?” I asked.

“It proves nothing. If Richard had hired the man, he wouldn’t have been so careless about paying him.”

“You think it’s someone else?”

“If it is, we’re unlikely to find the man again. He’s sure to have been paid off for doing this.” He touched my arm. “I should think you’d be relieved at the possibility that Richard isn’t responsible.”

“I’d like to believe that. But he’s so scattered of late, so upset. What if he did forget to pay the man?”

“Then it’s best we forget it all,” Colin said. “The man has enough troubles, and no one was hurt in this scheme.”

“But what if he tries again?”

“Do you think,” Colin asked, “there has ever been a more badly interrupted wedding trip in the history of matrimony than ours?” We were sitting on our terrace after a late breakfast, watching the water turn steel gray as clouds careened across the sky.

“It seems unlikely,” I said, turning my attention to the chessboard in front of my husband. “How many moves to mate?”

“Two,” he said, staring at me instead of his pieces. “I’d wager we’ve the worst luck ever.”

“Try your bishop to b3,” I said. “I’m of the opinion that you should refrain from entering into any more bets at present. You’re already going to be swimming the Bosphorus.”

“Funny you bring that up. I was just speaking to a seamstress yesterday about diaphanous robes for you.”

“What a shame I won’t get to wear them.”

He knocked over black’s king. “At least you’re good at chess.”

“I do appreciate the compliment,” I said. “Anything new on Sir Richard this morning?”

“Nothing good, I’m afraid. He’s being recalled to England.”

“His behavior since we first met him has deteriorated more than I would have thought possible.”

“He’s under no insignificant amount of stress,” Colin said, then shook his head. “We’ve gone over this too many times.”

“I know. I keep hoping there’s some other answer. Do you think he will ever recover?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“And what about Benjamin?” I asked.

“Have you given any thought to the possibility that he was at Yıldız the night of the murder?”

“No. He didn’t kill his sister.”

“You believe his alibi?”

“I think there are many times a person would be hard-pressed to prove where he’d been at a given moment,” I said.

“What do you think happened to Ceyden?”

“Are you inviting me to speculate?”

“I am.” He smiled and set up the chess pieces again.

“I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I don’t want to,” I said. “I’ve no idea where we’re headed at the moment. None of it fits yet.”

“When has that ever stopped you?”

“Never until now.”

“You, my dear, may just turn out to be a first-rate investigator.”

“You mean I’m not one already?” I asked. “I’m crushed.”

“Don’t be. I’ve got something for you.” He handed me a sheath of papers. “I’ve compiled all I have pertaining to the situation at Çırağan. It’s not enormously compelling, but if you put it all to the sultan properly, you might convince him to allow you back into Yıldız. I’ve got our vizier friend to admit that he was corresponding with Bezime, though he insists it was for nothing more than medical advice.”

“If that’s so, why did his messenger commit suicide?” I asked, reading through the papers while listening to him. “I shall confront Bezime at once. I’m not pleased she’s withheld this from me.”

“I still believe Murat is blameless, so do not let the sultan believe otherwise.”

“You don’t want to take this to him yourself? It’s your work.”

“I trust you to handle it.”

I leaned across the table and kissed him, then pulled away. “Thank you. I shall ask for an audience with him immediately,” I said. “I would never have thought it possible to adore someone as much as I do you. Are you real?”

“I certainly hope so,” he said. “If not, I’ll have a terrible time appreciating you in your diaphanous robes.”

Colin and I left the yalı together, later than we’d planned, neither of us willing to pass up what turned out to be an inspired interlude of not working. The mere thought of diaphanous robes has an extraordinary effect on gentlemen, but I think we may be forgiven the distraction. It was, after all, our honeymoon, and we weren’t too dreadfully late. My husband was off to the embassy, and I to Topkapı to confront Bezime about her correspondent from Murat’s camp. I was eager to see her reaction to Colin’s evidence. We parted company when the boat dropped me at the palace dock, and I waved to him as he pulled away towards Pera, across the Golden Horn. When I arrived in Bezime’s quarters, I was caught in a whirlwind of chaos. The sultan was coming to Topkapı, and the former valide was preparing to meet him.

“There’s a matter of no small importance that we must discuss,” I said, watching as a maid draped her in a gold satin dress woven with silver thread. A second servant came forward to fasten a heavy necklace of emeralds.

“This is not the time,” she said.

“It concerns the sultan.” I told her what Colin had learned at Çırağan, expecting her to show some measure of concern. Instead, she threw back her head and laughed.

“This is insignificant. Yes, this former vizier or whatever he was wanted my assistance, but I never offered him anything beyond a salve to treat an eye infection.”

“Do you have his letters?”

“I burned them.”

“Can you prove you never encouraged him?”

“I don’t need to. He’s accomplished nothing, and regardless, the sultan would never doubt me.”

“Do you think, perhaps, you’re overconfident?” I asked.

“Never. Come with me. You shall see.”

“You should be careful about this, Bezime. The sultan is paranoid, by all accounts, and if he suspects, even for a moment, that you’ve been in contact with someone connected to Murat who—”

“I’ve done nothing wrong and hence have no need for fear.”

“Did you tell him the former vizier is trying to hatch a plot?”

“He does not need to know everything when I know it.”

I was not as sure of this as she appeared to be, and I struggled to follow her through the halls of the palace—she was walking so fast, I could barely keep up—passing through the harem gates and into a broad courtyard in which stood Arz Odas?, the Audience Hall, where Abdül Hamit was to meet with a group of foreign diplomats. The building had been restored after a fire nearly forty years ago, but now its white walls gleamed. More than twenty columns supported the flat roof that stretched over a splendid porch on three sides. We climbed to the entrance, passed a fountain next to the door, and stepped inside.

The walls were simple, white and without ornamentation, but the ceiling was painted in gold and green. Most magnificent, however, was the enormous gold canopy over a throne that did not resemble a chair—it was more like an enormous couch, large enough and deep enough to be a bed. Hundreds of years earlier, those who entered this room hoped their words would please the sultan. If they didn’t, his guards might execute them on the spot. Although this was no longer a concern, nerves twinged through me.

The sultan was standing in a corner of the room, talking to an adviser, his back to us. Bezime hardly paused before gliding over to him and prostrating herself before him.

“Stand up,” he said, a half-smile on his face.

“My son,” she said, standing, stretching her arms to embrace him. “You know I will always consider you that.”

A terse nod sent the adviser scurrying away. “What are you scheming now?”

“When have you known me to scheme?”

“Is there a time when you’re not scheming?”

Her laughter echoed through the chamber. “You are too hard on me. I’ve brought you a friend whom you have been persuaded to treat with disdain.”

His eyes passed over me with no hint of interest. “Lady Emily is treated precisely as she deserves.”

“I understand your feelings, Your Majesty,” I said. “And I did not come here expecting to see you. I’d planned to set an appointment at Yıldız.”

“But instead you interrupt my time with Bezime.”