“It’s only worry about Ivy,” I said, reaching for his hand and continuing my transcription. He sat quietly, still not touching his chess pieces, for some time before speaking again.
“Is there anything I can do?”
“Distract me.”
“Finish your work and I promise I’ll drive every bad thought out of your head.”
I returned to Ceyden’s notes and he to his chess, solving no fewer than four problems when at last I found what we needed.
“I think I’ve finally stumbled upon something of use.” I read aloud to him. “ ‘It was he there who saved all of us when the boat turned. Must not forget that, nor what he gave thereafter.’ ” I nearly tipped over my chair hopping out of it and shoved my transcription of the sentences into Colin’s face, taking out half the chess pieces on the board in front of him.
“Your enthusiasm is admirable,” he said. “But I’m at a loss to understand the meaning.”
“Where would she have been in a boat that capsized?” I asked. “The Bosphorus, of course. We have to find out who rescued them.”
“How do you know that she was in the boat? We’ve no idea—”
“Yes, you’re quite right, I’m sure.” I smiled. “Keep thinking that way. And so long as you do, you’d best give serious consideration to improving your swimming skills. I’m aeons ahead of you in figuring all this out.” I gave him a firm kiss on the mouth, then spun around to go inside.
“Dare I ask where you are going?”
“Topkapı. It’s time I get some answers from Bezime.”
I collected Margaret on my way—or rather, out of my way—to Topkapı. I’d told her, as we walked across the Galata Bridge from Pera to the palace, all the things Bezime had predicted and confided in her my fears of childbirth. She’d proven once again a sympathetic friend and did all she could to reassure me that the former valide sultan’s words did not merit serious consideration. She’d very nearly convinced me, even if only temporarily, and I much appreciated the vigor with which she argued against their truth. Bezime received us as soon as we’d arrived, meeting us in one of her pretty sitting rooms.
“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.
