It brings to mind opium houses and the like. I understand your desire to find someone other than Sir Richard to blame for these problems. It is admirable that you revolt at the thought of an English gentleman destroying himself, but in this case, it’s precisely what is happening.”
“There’s more,” I said. “I’ve discovered a connection between Benjamin and someone else in the harem—not Ceyden. I think we’re mistaken altogether about what—”
He held up his hand. “Please, Lady Emily. I understand how upsetting all this must be to a person of such delicate sensibilities. But the truth is now known. There’s nothing further to be said.”
“But who killed Jemal?” I asked. “If Benjamin’s in Ephesus, he couldn’t have done it.”
“He could have gone there immediately afterwards.”
“He wouldn’t have had time. Please, Sir William, let me look into this further. Will you at least tell me more about Mr. Sutcliffe?”
“I’m sorry, Lady Emily, there’s nothing more to be done. If, as you say, Benjamin was not involved in Jemal’s murder, then the entire matter’s of no concern to the embassy.”
“Of no concern?” I asked. “How can you say that?”
“We became involved in Ceyden’s case because she was the daughter of an Englishman. Jemal’s death will be investigated by the Ottomans, as it should be.”
“I think, though, that Mr. Sutcliffe—”
“No, Lady Emily. You’re wrong. There’s nothing further to be done. I thank you for the services you provided your country—I’ve no doubt you did thorough and excellent work. The sultan himself has spoken highly of you. But now the business is done.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but he had already stood and opened the door. Margaret rose to her feet and waited for me, urgency in her eyes. Feeling defeated, I followed her out of the room and then the building.
“This is a disaster,” I said.
“What can we do?” Margaret asked. “Do you believe that Mr. Sutcliffe is on his way to Rome?”
“Not for a second.”
“But, Emily, you know that Benjamin is guilty.”
“Probably,” I said. “But I’m slightly less convinced of that fact than I was an hour ago. I want to get into his house. I suspect we may find the chloral hydrate there.”
Mr. Sutcliffe’s butler, a sullen man with no sense of humor, assured us that his master had left on holiday, with plans to go to Rome.
“I’m so sorry to have missed him,” I said. “Could I leave a note?”
“Of course, madam.” He held out his hand.
“Oh,” I said, frowning. “I’ll need paper.”
“Follow me.” With no enthusiasm, he took us into a small, bright sitting room at the front of the house. “You’ll find paper on the table.”
I pulled out the chair in front of a delicate ladies’ desk, picked up a piece of paper, flipped open the inkwell, and dipped the pen, flashing Margaret a look I hoped she would interpret correctly. She sighed heavily and lowered herself onto the nearest chair.
“Would it be possible for us to have something to drink? The walk here completely exhausted me,” she said. And just like that, we had the room to ourselves.
“I want to get into his study,” I said. “It’s the most likely place for him to have hidden something.”
“Where is it?” Margaret asked.
“Two doors farther down the hall. It’s where he showed me the box that was supposed to house the ring.”
“Do you want me to go?”
“No, I will. You pretend to be ill. If I’m caught, I’ll say I was looking for help.”
I ducked into the hall after satisfying myself that there was no one in the corridor, walking on the balls of my feet so that my heels would not click on the hard floor. I laid one palm flat on the door and slowly turned the knob with the other, opening it just a crack, then looking behind me, making sure I was still alone. As confident as I could be with trembling legs, I pushed further, until I could see into the room.
Mr. Sutcliffe was sitting at his desk.
“Lady Emily!” He leapt to his feet.
“Oh, I’m—I’m so sorry,” I said. “I was leaving a note for you and Margaret fainted. We’ve been walking too much today. I was looking for someone to—”
“How dreadful. Did you ring for help?”
“I—I wasn’t even thinking. Just ran out, hoping to—I’m not even making sense.” I met his eyes and for the first time saw depths of coldness in them. “Will you please help me?”
He stood there, staring for long enough to terrify me. With no time to evaluate options, I did the only thing that sprang to mind: I forced myself to cry. The effort was not entirely successful, but a well-placed handkerchief can hide many things, the absence of tears only one of them.
“She wanted to take a carriage, and I insisted... I love to walk, you know—it’s all my fault—”
“There, now, she’ll be fine.”
He put a hand on my back and guided me to the sitting room, where, to her credit, Margaret was sprawled out, half on her chair, half on the floor. To anyone with experience, it was clear her pose was far too elegant to be authentic, but there are moments in which artistry cannot be resisted. Mr. Sutcliffe pulled a bell cord, and the butler appeared almost at once. As soon as he saw Margaret, he stepped out again and returned with a bottle of smelling salts that he handed to his master. She flinched admirably when he placed them beneath her nose—although that would not have required much acting—opened her eyes, and looked at our host.
“Mr. Sutcliffe,” she said. “You are like a vision of an angel.”
“I... well, yes. Thank you, Miss Seward.”
“I’m so sorry for disturbing you,” I said. “I know you’re off to Rome and in the midst of the last-minute rush. We picked a terrible time to call. For all practical purposes, you’re already gone.” I almost felt sorry for him. It was embarrassing to have been caught claiming not to be home, although everyone does it to avoid unwelcome callers. My sympathy was more than limited, however, as first, I strongly suspected Mr. Sutcliffe of murder, and second, I did not like to include myself in any list of unwanted visitors.
“Yes. Apologies. Had I known I would have two charming ladies calling, I should not have said I wasn’t at home,” he said.
“Especially if you knew one was about to faint,” Margaret said, picking herself up off the floor.
“The subject we came to discuss is not urgent. It can wait until you return from your trip,” I said.
“Will you be in Constantinople that long?”
“I wouldn’t dream of leaving without seeing you again,” I said. I had moved close to the door and then realized I was about to make an exit that lacked even a shred of grace. “Will you dine with us your first night back? I’d so love to hear about your trip.”
“It would be my pleasure. And I must insist that you allow me to call my carriage for you. We can’t have Miss Seward walking any further today.”
Margaret, theatrically serious, looked at him with wide eyes. “I cannot thank you enough. You have rescued me today without making me feel even the slightest tinge of embarrassment. How ever will I make it up to you?”
“I would be distressed if you felt even the slightest need to try,” he said.
And with that, we left, both of us silent until we’d exited the carriage at the docks.
Chapter 25
“That was a debacle,” I said, stretching out across the foot of Margaret’s bed. Instead of returning to the
