Tasha Alexander - Tears of Pearl

“How so?”

“I know that a mutual acquaintance of ours brought it to you.”

“Then I don’t see why you’re talking to me,” he said. “Perhaps you should take the matter up with him.”

“Why are you trying to make it look as if Mr. St. Clare committed this crime?”

“Trying?” He tossed his head back. “Ridiculous. I saw what I saw. There’s no lie in it.”

“But what about the cross?”

“Sometimes, Lady Emily, justice needs a little help. That doesn’t mean the truth isn’t being served.”

“How can you be so confident you are right?” I asked.

“It is my job,” he said. “This conversation is finished.”

Finished with Jemal—or rather, him finished with us—we made our way to Topkapı. I wanted to search Bezime’s quarters to see if we’d overlooked anything the night of her death. Margaret was quiet as the boat reached the dock below Seraglio Point. “I must admit I’m not filled with joy at returning here,” she said

I linked my arm through hers as we stepped onto the shore. “Understandable. It needs to be done, though. For Bezime. Take what slim comfort you can from the fact that we’ve come in daylight this time.”

“I’ve not before been tempted to offer to pop back and check on Medusa, but I came close when you told me where we were going.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” I said. “I need you here.”

“I’m useful, you know. Just so long as you keep me away from corpses. I don’t know how on earth you survived finding your anarchist dead in Vienna.”

While embroiled in an investigation the previous winter in Vienna, I’d discovered the body of a man who’d been at once my nemesis and my ally and doubted I would ever erase from my mind the image of dark, pooled blood and the jagged slash across his neck. “It was hideous and changed me in ways I do not embrace.”

“I never thought I’d say this, but in the end, I’m going to leave the adventure to you and retire to a quiet, academic life.”

“You and Ivy can live on neighboring estates,” I said.

“And have fourteen children apiece. God willing.” She looked at me. “I’m sorry.”

“She’s going to be fine,” I said, knowing my words did as little to convince her as they did me. The further along Ivy went in her confinement, the more danger she would face.

We’d reached the gate and in short order were standing in Bezime’s rooms. Once again, I relished the distraction of work.

“Forty rooms,” I said, stepping into a dining chamber. “Where do we even begin?”

“I wouldn’t even bother, Lady Emily.” Perestu stood in a doorway at the opposite end of the room, leading to what had been Bezime’s bedroom. “You’re on a dangerous path.”

“Why would you choose those words?” I asked.

“Isn’t that what the witch told you? I know all about it, of course. Nothing that goes on here escapes my notice. Yıldız is my domain, but I must keep abreast of any threats that might come from here. The eunuchs are a marvelous resource. So knowledgeable about the palace. Know every nook and cranny, every secret passage.”

“Why are you here?” My spine felt like rubber. Something in her eyes—a fierce determination—frightened me.

“I have private business.”

“Regarding Bezime?” I asked.

“She was my rival,” she said. “And Abdül Hamit could have elevated her at any time. No one’s position in the harem is ever secure. I spied on her, she spied on me.”

“What did you learn?”

Perestu lowered herself elegantly onto a divan, placing her trim arms on the top of the backrest. “Bezime did not like losing her power, her influence. So she opened avenues of communication that should have stayed closed.”

“Do you refer to Murat’s vizier?” I asked.

“The sultan has already taken care of him, so it is no longer relevant. My son is indebted to your husband for discovering the unrest.”

I cringed at the thought of what must have been done to the man, traitorous or not. “That is not what brings you here,” I said. “What is your business?”

“It is none of your concern.”

I went through the catalog of conversations I’d had with her, searching for a time when she’d been less than candid. As I did this, I realized she’d been, in general, direct with me with one exception. “Why were you so upset at finding your ring amongst Ceyden’s stash of jewels?” I asked.

“Because I had given it, years ago, to someone I thought would forever treasure it.”

“But there’s no reason to think that person gave it away to Ceyden. Much though I hate to speak ill of the dead, it’s clear that Ceyden stole it all.”

“Ceyden could not have stolen my ring. It was no longer in the harem.”

“Who had it?”

“I thought perhaps Bezime managed to get it, and I can’t think of anything that would pain me more.”

“You gave it to someone you loved?” Margaret asked.

“I have known no love or affection since my husband died,” Perestu said. “But I was fond of a man after that. Someone I saw on rare state occasions. We became friends, in the most appropriate fashion—never acknowledging the weight of our stares. I would never have involved myself with him. We shared much in common; both understood loss all too well. When the friendship became too difficult, too painful, we parted, and I gave him the ring to remember me by.”

“Is this man still in Constantinople?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“You must tell us who he is,” I said.

“No, Lady Emily. There is nothing I must do. Perhaps you do not understand my rank.”

“There must be some connection—”

“It is impossible. The only explanation is that he lost the ring or it was stolen from him and somehow wound up in the hands of that trollop,” she said. “I reacted the way I did when I saw it because it hurt me to know that my friend no longer had it.”

“Don’t you want to speak to him? To find out how he came to lose it?” Margaret asked.

“If he wanted me to know, he would have sought me out and told me. Sent me a letter. As he did not, I can only conclude the subject is as painful for him as it is for me. And I have no desire to further pursue it.”

“But—”

“Was there something in particular you were hoping to find here, Lady Emily? I’ve been through it all and saw nothing that struck my interest. I burned Bezime’s diaries, of course. It would not do to have the sanctity of her most private thoughts violated.”

“You burned them?” The air rushed out of my lungs.

“It is what we do for one another,” she said. “For all that I feared and disliked her, we both lived in the harem, and were, for a period, friends. We come from the same world, and I will not see her dishonored in death.”

There was nothing left for us at Topkapı. I searched every inch of the valide’s apartments to no avail. Not that this was a surprise. Done, Margaret and I trudged to the embassy, where I’d agreed, in Colin’s absence, to make regular reports as to the status of my investigation. The ambassador ushered me into his walnut-paneled office that looked straight out of a London club. I sat in an overstuffed leather chair that was too hard to be comfortable and accepted a cup of tea.

“First Flush Darjeeling,” he said. “Arrived today. Perk of the job. My colleagues keep me well stocked in foreign delights.”

“It’s delicious,” I said, hardly tasting it, the hot liquid burning my throat.

“I am pleased that your husband has gone after young St. Clare. Terrible scandal, this. Don’t know how much of it we’ll be able to bury.”

“I wish I had more to tell you today,” I said. “I spoke with Perestu and searched Bezime’s rooms, but found nothing further of interest.”

“I do appreciate your agreeing to these little meetings. It’s a bit unusual...” He hesitated. “We don’t ordinarily have ladies involved in such things.”

“I understand, Sir William. If there’s nothing further, I think I shall return home.”

“Nothing else here. I shouldn’t worry too much about any of it. Hargreaves will find the boy and this will all be wrapped up soon enough. You might focus on sightseeing. I fear you’ve not seen enough of Constantinople.”

I thanked him and stepped into the hall, where Margaret, who’d been waiting for me, was talking to Mr. Sutcliffe.

“I was just saying to Miss Seward how much I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said. “You’re well?”

“I am, thank you. A spot of trouble with one of the families I’m working with—the mother turned out very unworthy indeed.”

“Unworthy?” I asked.

“Her daughter fell ill with influenza, and she refused to send her son to the country as I suggested to keep him well.”

“Did he get sick?” Margaret asked.

“He did and he died, and it’s his mother’s fault. I can afford no tolerance for such people.” He frowned, shook his head. “Is there anything I can do to help Benjamin?”

“I wish I knew what any of us could do.”

“Is there any chance he’s innocent?” His eyes were so full of eager hope—bright and clear.

“I believe so, but I can’t yet prove it.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to?”

“The truth always comes out in the end.”

“Have you told his father anything encouraging?”

“Not yet,” I said. “I want to wait until I have something of substance to share with him.”

“Is he at home?” Mr. Sutcliffe asked.

“He is,” Margaret said. “We’ve left him in the care of friends.”

“Perhaps I will call on him. He undoubtedly needs the support, and I feel awful I’ve not been around more. Things have been terribly busy here; another belated load of records has come in and overwhelmed me. But that’s no reason to let down a friend in need.”