Tasha Alexander - Tears of Pearl

“You’re brilliant, you know,” Margaret said. “We have to find a way to do it.”

“But this sort of thing simply cannot be organized by someone with ties to our government—and my decision to work with Colin has put you firmly in that camp.” I frowned. “I don’t need a diplomatic incident during my first assignment.”

“Which is why we would have to be extremely careful.”

“You’re a terrible influence.”

“The worst. But it would be possible to pull it off—and think of the accomplishment, Emily—to free a woman enslaved to satisfy the base needs of a man who treats her with no honor.”

“The risk is enormous. What if they executed her if she was caught? And what would happen to Colin? And us?”

“I do wish there were a simpler way,” Margaret said. “She’s being stubborn. You could satisfy your obligation to both her and the Crown if you were able to arrange a suitable marriage. It would be easy enough for her to leave that situation on her own—even if all she did was demand a divorce, which I’m told is not unheard of here.”

“I’d merely move her from one master to another,” I said. “Would you have me do the same to you?”

“No, but—”

“But what? Should she suffer for having been born in a different society? And what are we, morally, if we don’t intervene? How can I willingly stand aside when I see someone forced to live with injustice and the fear of mortal sin?”

“Her quality of life is far better than that enjoyed by most of the population of England,” Margaret said. “I know that doesn’t make it right, but—”

“So she doesn’t deserve help? Because her circumstances come with certain measures of comfort? How can I ask to be treated as my husband’s equal, to be valued as fully as a gentleman in our own society, if I let my fellow women be used in a most abominable fashion?”

“Truth is, the harem doesn’t sound half-bad,” Margaret said. “But if Roxelana doesn’t want it, she shouldn’t be forced to stay.”

“No. She shouldn’t.” I rubbed my forehead. “We must find a way, Margaret. To leave her there makes us complicit with her captors. We’re worse than them, in fact, if we do nothing in the face of a situation we know to be wrong.”

Two days later I went to Yıldız, the skeleton of a plot in hand. Roxelana fell to the ground in front of my feet, her head buried in her hands, joyful prayers flowing from her lips, when I told her what Margaret and I were scheming.

“You understand how risky this will be?” I asked, pulling her to an upright position before sitting on the bench in front of a fountain. I silently praised the Ottomans for being so good at placing running water everywhere to avert eavesdroppers. Before this trip, I had never considered how useful this could be and wondered now if perhaps I should adopt the practice in our country estate.

“There’s no fate that could be worse to me than staying here and risking my immortal soul,” she said. “ ‘Three things are necessary for the salvation of man: to know what he ought to believe; to know what he ought to desire; and to know what he ought to do.’ ”

“This isn’t romantic nonsense. We don’t sit back after the curtain falls and have a good cry before going home to a snug bed.”

“I know perfectly well what is at stake. No punishment on earth could compete with what I might suff er for all eternity.” Her religious fervor was certainly focused.

“Assisting you is not a decision I make lightly,” I said. “I don’t trust you entirely, Roxelana. I don’t believe for a second that you’ve been candid with me.”

“I have told you everything I can.”

“I’m not convinced. But I shall help you regardless because on principle I don’t believe that it’s right to enslave anyone. It’s barbaric.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I cannot begin to express my gratitude. You’ve no idea what it is like for me in here. I have to hide even my prayers.”

“I’m so sorry. Sorry that you’ve been subjected to any of it.” I met her eyes. “I do hope, though, that if there is anything else you can tell me about Ceyden’s death, you will not hesitate. I’m working to get you your freedom. Don’t deny the same to an innocent man.”

“There’s still no evidence against the guard? No one’s come forward as a witness?”

“No.”

“Then he’ll be released. Even if there’s a trial.”

“Not necessarily,” I said. “Please, do the right thing. If there’s something you know, you must tell me.”

“There’s nothing more. I wish there were.”

“As do I.” I didn’t believe her, but knew no way to force the truth from her. She was scared and weak and deserving of my help despite her imperfections. “How difficult is it for you to arrange an outing in town?”

“It’s not the slightest trouble.”

“How often do such excursions take place?” I asked.

“Every week or so.”

“When the time comes, don’t plan one yourself. Go at someone else’s suggestion, and alert me to the details as early as possible. I’ll arrange everything from there.”

“You will find suitable clothing for me?”

“Yes, and as for the timing of all this, I think it’s best if we—”

“Lady Emily Hargreaves?” The voice, full of force, came from the entrance to the courtyard. “The sultan has summoned you. You will come at once.”

Roxelana shot me a look full of panic and gripped my hand so hard, I feared it would be crushed. “It’s the k?zlar aas?,” she said. “The chief black eunuch. Nothing good can be happening. I should have already run.”

“Don’t panic. He can’t possibly know what we’re discussing.”

“How did he know we were here?”

“There are only so many places to look, dear,” I said. “Hold your head up and try to look bored. I’ll go to him. You’ve no need to be involved.”

“And you, Roxelana. Perestu wants you immediately.”

Stricken, she stood, holding my hand as we followed the k?zlar aas?, as imposing a figure as a eunuch could be—tall, with elegant bearing and proud features—towards the palace, splitting off when we reached the entrance to the harem. The sultan, apparently, was waiting for me in a public section of Yıldız. We made our way through long, narrow corridors, made claustrophobic by their ornate decoration: enormous porcelain urns on one side, rows of giant crystal candelabras on the other, stretching from the floor almost to the ceiling, their heavy bases reaching almost to the edge of the runner in the center of the hall. After passing through a pair of inlaid doors, we reached a reception room that might have been found in any aristocratic residence in Western Europe. Heavy curtains hung from tall windows, silk covered the walls, and the furniture was perfectly ordinary. Velvet-covered settees stood along side chairs with gilded arms, and in the center of the chamber was a round sofa, in the center of which was another huge candelabra. It was on this sofa that Abdül Hamit was sitting.

“I bear no good news,” he said. “But felt you should be informed at once. Ceyden’s murderer has been identified. I’ve ordered his arrest and expect him to be taken into custody within the hour.”

“Who is it? How—”

“An Englishman. Benjamin St. Clare, the son of a man I have entertained here—a man you know.”

“Yes, Sir Richard.” I could hardly speak. “I’m more than stunned. What led you to this conclusion?”

“One of the eunuchs came forward. He saw Mr. St. Clare fleeing from the direction of the courtyard and followed, but was not able to catch him. When he heard Roxelana’s screams, he gave up the pursuit, fearing that she had been violated by the intruder.”

“And he’s certain it was Ben—Mr. St. Clare?”

“He recognized him from a previous encounter.”

“He’d been to the harem? How is that possible?”

“No, nothing of the sort. That would not be possible. There was a mishap on a boating excursion. Mr. St. Clare assisted with the rescue and spoke at some length to Jemal after the matter was settled.”

“Why did he wait so long to come forward?”

“He was afraid St. Clare would come after him. I don’t understand how any of this came to pass. I can only imagine that there was some sort of connection formed between this young man and Ceyden—she was one of those he rescued.”

“It’s understandable.”

“It’s unacceptable. But it does prove him to be of weak character.”

“Jemal did not actually see him in the courtyard,” I said. “You said he saw him running near it. How can any of us be certain Mr. St. Clare killed her?”

“He found this near her body.”

I knew before he handed it to me what I would see: the cross Mr. Sutcliffe had given me. Benjamin’s cross. The sight of it sent my head spinning. Of course. It had been taken when my jewelry was stolen. I’d been so upset, I’d not considered it as more than one more casualty along with the rest. There hadn’t seemed to be any connection between the theft and Ceyden’s death.

As I considered what I believed the couple had intended to do the night of the murder, images of the jewelry sewn into Ceyden’s gown returned to me. If she had planned to flee, she would surely have been wearing it. But if she’d changed her mind, telling Benjamin only when he arrived to spirit her off, she wouldn’t have worn it. His reaction to her news might have been violent. And much though I did not want to believe him capable of murder, I knew all too well that when desperate, people turn to terrible things.

“I—I don’t know what to say,” I said, stalling. “I find it impossible to believe.”

“As do I, Lady Emily. I must find out how this criminal gained access to my harem. I begin to wonder if this palace provides any measure of safety.” He creased his forehead. “And I feel I owe you some sort of apology. Had I not stopped you from pursuing your investigation, albeit temporarily, we might have learned this earlier.”