appreciate it, and it makes me think that you are trustworthy. I have two problems and wonder if you can assist me with them.”
“I’m of course happy to try,” I said.
“The first is something that I’ve debated taking to the sultan, but if it’s possible to eliminate the threat without aggravating him, the outcome would be preferable for everyone involved.”
“What is it?”
“There are rumors that someone is trying to flee the harem.”
My breath caught in my throat, and I willed myself to freeze, wishing I could channel Perestu’s grace. “How could such a thing be possible?”
“It isn’t,” she said. “It will be stopped, and the offenders will be punished in the most severe ways.”
“How severe?”
“That is for the sultan to decide. But I can assure you he would show little mercy.”
“Have you any idea who is forming the plot?”
“Not the slightest,” she said. “You’ve spoken with some of the girls and have become closer to a familiar figure here than any foreigner has in the past. I do not ask you to betray a confidence, only that you let it be known that you’ve heard the rumors and have reason to think what’s being planned is a bad idea—that might be enough to stop the ingrate organizing this offense.”
The emotions pummeling me at this moment were as thoroughly unpleasant as any I knew: guilt, embarrassment, anxiety, fear. Not a litany of favorites. I considered what to say, what to do: Should I warn Roxelana and cancel our plans? Force her to continue to live in a circumstance so abhorrent to a woman of her faith?
I realized I’d been quiet too long. “I shall do what I can,” I said, confused and conflicted. “What is the other matter?”
“I want to know how my friend came to lose my ring.” Her voice was soft, quivering.
“Whom did you give it to?” I asked.
“Mr. Theodore Sutcliffe,” she said. “He’s compassionate, full of sympathy. A man whose soul has been so deeply touched with grief that he’s capable of emotions that terrify most of us.”
“I know him,” I said.
“I assumed as much. Do you think you could find out what happened to my ring?”
“Of course,” I said. “That’s no trouble at all.”
“Thank you, Lady Emily. You are more capable than I first thought. I admire your strength.”
Chapter 23
I could not stop the tears as I read Ivy’s letter and was consumed with panic at the thought of what she still had to face. How desperately I needed Colin’s support. I wished there were some way I could contact him, prayed that he would return soon. Loneliness filled every corner of our
My throat burned from sobbing, and when I’d cried so much that no more tears would come, I forced myself up and rang for Meg. There was nothing more I could do for Ivy from here. The best course of action was to focus on my work, finish it as efficiently as possible, and return to England. I only hoped that Colin would be back soon.
Meg fawned over me, pressed a cool cloth to my swollen eyes, refusing to let me dress until I approached something she considered presentable. She went about her work in a fashion much gentler than her usual manner, insulting my scalp with not a single hairpin.
Once dressed, I set off for Pera. The Bosphorus, as if sensing my dire condition, played sweet as well, its waters as placid as I’d seen them since arriving in Turkey. Upon docking, I took a carriage to the embassy, too tired and heartsick to walk, and shortly was admitted to Mr. Sutcliffe’s office.
“What a surprise to see you, Lady Emily. What can I do for you?”
“I’ve come on a strange errand,” I said. “Perestu asked me to do it on her behalf.”
“The valide sultan?” He tugged at his shirtsleeves, adjusting his cufflinks.
“I understand that you shared a close friendship. She speaks very highly of you.”
“She is an excellent woman.”
“I do not doubt it,” I said. “She told me that, years ago, she gave to you a ring as a token of her friendship. Strangely enough, that same ring has turned up in the harem—in the possession of Sir Richard’s daughter.”
“Impossible,” he said. “I keep it under lock and key in my house.”
“You can imagine how upset she was to see it—at first she feared that you might have given it away—”
“I would never,” he said.
“Of course not. But I’m sure you can imagine she was devastated to see the ring back in the harem.”
“I—I—” He stammered but formed no coherent words. “The ring is in my house,” he said, tugging again at his sleeves, this time so hard that I feared for his cufflinks. “Follow me there now. I will show you.”
It took us fewer than ten minutes to reach his residence, and he marched into his study with me tailing behind, barely able to keep up with him. He pulled down a wooden box from a high shelf on a bookcase and placed it on his desk. “It’s in here,” he said, pulling out a set of keys from his jacket, fumbling until he found the right one. He placed one hand on the side of the box and was about to push the key into the lock when the top sprang open.
“I don’t understand,” he said. “I know it was locked. I can’t bear to even look. Please. Will you?”
Inside, resting on a blue velvet lining, were an engraved silver christening mug, a piece of faded ribbon that looked as if it might have once been pink, and an ivory comb. I held out the container to him. “There’s no ring.”
“This cannot be,” he said. “Who would do such a thing?”
“Do you have any ideas? Who knew you had it?”
