Tears of Pearl (12 page)

“I can’t imagine anything more dreadful. To be unable to soothe his own child at such a moment.”

“He’d come tonight hoping to contact his family and didn’t realize the room would be dark.”

“Such awful pain,” I said. “Poor man. How does one come to terms with such torment?”

“I don’t know that it’s possible. It . . . forgive me, Emily, if I sound harsh. But it suggests a weakness of the mind. A degree of instability.”

“He’s suffered an incalculable tragedy.”

“And now must deal with the rest of his life. The dead are gone.” We sat in silence as the carriage rattled towards the docks. Eventually, he took my hand. “I have a confession. I’m glad the séance did not go on.”

“Why?” I asked. “I knew something was bothering you. You were looking at me in a way I haven’t seen you do in years.”

His head was lowered, but his eyes lifted up to mine. “I thought you might want to try to speak to Philip.”

“Oh, Colin.” I pulled his head onto my lap, combed through his hair with my fingers. “Whatever would make you—”

“I know you must still think of him.”

“Yes, but not like that.”

“I know,” he said. “It’s foolish.”

I bent over and kissed his head. “Not at all,” I said. “We’ve reconciled with each other’s pasts, but can’t expect that they won’t occasionally creep up on us. But you must remember, all that matters now is they served to bring us together.”

_______

We slept far later than we had planned the following morning, scrambling to prepare to leave for the archaeological site to which Benjamin was attached, barely having time for breakfast.

“I do think it’s a pity the site’s not farther away,” I said as we rode, side by side, on horses Colin had arranged for us. “I should have liked for us to spend the night in a tent.”

“If you recall, our original plans for this excursion included you waiting in town until I determined whether the site was safe.”

“Which you did last night. I saw the reply to your wire sitting on the breakfast table.”

“Touché,” he said. “According to the director of the excavations, there’s been no trouble for some time.”

“You’ll make me positively lackadaisical if you insist on protecting me without my even knowing it,” I said.

“But you do know it. You’re clever enough that there’s no need to alert you. You’ll find out on your own.” He pointed to a dot on the horizon. “It’s there. Only about fifteen minutes more. Why don’t you tell me what else you’ve learned from Ceyden’s book of poetry?”

“Reason has no way to say / its love. Only love opens / that secret. / If you want / to be more alive, love / is the truest health.”

He smiled. “I meant her marginalia.”

“I’m making my way through it. Forgive me the occasional distraction.”

He stopped, and I did the same so he could lean over and kiss me. The sun hung high above us, but the air was cool and sweet, the wind bending the fields of wildflowers that surrounded us. Red poppies and vibrant hyacinths and a host of others I did not recognize—yellows and whites and bright oranges. “You know I never doubt you,” he said. “I’m sorry for what I said last night.”

“No more of that,” I said, kissing him back, flooded with a desire to never see anything change between us. “But I do fear we’re losing our focus. Come.” I urged my horse forward, quickly pulling away from him until he raced to catch me. At such a pace, we arrived at the site in short order, my excitement palpable. Although I’d seen innumerable ruins during my time in Greece, I’d not had the opportunity to visit an active dig and speak to the excavators. I hoped that once our business was finished, we would have time for an academic discussion.

Dr. Cartwright greeted us the moment we’d entered the camp, ushered us into chairs set up under a large square of canvas held up by tall poles, and offered us tea.

“We do manage to be civilized, even in the wilderness,” he said.

“Thank you for agreeing to see us,” Colin said. “I’m hoping you can tell us about the troubles Benjamin St. Clare has had here.”

“Sporadically over the last several months he appeared to be the target of snipers—you see the hills around us.” He motioned to the mounds, littered with boulders. “Shots would come from them, seemingly out of nowhere. They were never close enough to put him in harm’s way. More of a threat than anything, I thought.”

“And you’ve no idea why he would be singled out in such a manner?” I asked.

“Not in the least.”

“Has anything been stolen from the site?” Colin asked.

“No. Nothing. We haven’t suffered from that sort of misfortune here—largely because Roman baths are not the sort of sites where one is likely to find trinkets of value. Gold, of course, is what people want.”

“So there’s been no disruption of your work aside from the attempted attacks on Benjamin?” I asked.

“None at all. I can’t begin to imagine how stressed the poor boy must be—and now with the terrible news about his sister. So sad.”

“I understand that he was not here when the messenger came,” I said. “How were you able to get in touch with him? It couldn’t have been easy, but I’m sure he very much appreciated the effort.”

“Much though I wish I could take credit, I’m afraid I can’t,” Dr. Cartwright said. “He’d left us the week before to pursue other interests. This life isn’t for everyone.”

“Left permanently?” I asked.

“Oh yes. I don’t think the decision was an easy one, but I had the impression there was a lady involved and that he was planning to get married. Given his family history, I couldn’t fault him for wanting to embark on a more traditional path.”

“Have you heard from him since the murder?” Colin asked.

“No. We’ve all sent condolences to his father. I’m sure he’ll respond when he’s ready.”

“Have you any idea as to the identity of his fiancée?” I asked. “We had no idea he was engaged.”

“I think it was quite secret. Perhaps her family didn’t approve. One never can tell with these situations. But I’m sorry, I’ve no idea who she was.”

“Was he close to any of his colleagues?” Colin shielded his eyes from the sun that was making its way under the edge of the canvas roof.

“We’re a collegial group, as you might expect given the proximity in which we live and work. You’re certainly welcome to chat with any of the boys—I know they’ll offer any assistance they can. If you’ll come with me, I’ll introduce you.”

While the information we gleaned from Benjamin’s compatriots did not complete our picture of the man, it was not without use. He was, evidently, a meticulous excavator with infinite patience who was never daunted by a task.

“I never saw him frustrated,” a young Englishman fresh out of Oxford told us. “His dedication inspired me. He considered nothing impossible. Which is, I suppose, why it didn’t much surprise me that he fell in love with an unattainable woman.”

“Unattainable how?” I asked.

“He never elaborated. Held his private life close, didn’t much talk about it, and when he did, never gave details.”

“Do you think she was married?”

“I assumed, naturally, that she was attached to someone else.”

“But he thought they were going to be together?” I asked.

“I can’t say that with any conviction, Lady Emily,” he said. “All I know—as did the rest of us—was that he’d decided to take a new direction in his life and returned to Constantinople.”

“He told you he would be living in the city?”

“No, I believe it was only to be a stopover. He didn’t intend to stay in Turkey.”

“Did he speak of returning to England?” I asked.

“No. He never made mention of that. Said something about France once—some small village in the south. But I don’t know that he intended to live there. Surely his father could fill you in on the details? I thought they’d patched things up after their latest falling-out.”

“We weren’t aware there had been a problem,” Colin said.

“From what I’ve seen, there had always been problems. He was tense whenever his father visited, and they inevitably descended into argument.”

“Do you know about what?” I asked.

“Benjamin’s choice to work here. Not here specifically. I suppose it would have been the same at any site. Sir Richard would have preferred that his son pursue something more civilized—or simply live the life of a gentleman. He did everything he could to put him off archaeology. I know the attacks worried him, but on some level, I think Sir Richard welcomed them. Benjamin never got hurt, but they went a long way to shattering his nerves. And now he’s moving on.” He shrugged. “So you can well imagine it did not surprise me to see them getting along better after Benjamin had decided to leave.”

“So his father knew of this plan?”

“I thought so. Sir Richard’s last visit ended more cordially than usual. I drew what I thought to be the obvious conclusion.”

After thanking him for his help, I turned to my husband. “What now?”

“You spend the rest of the day perusing the ruins,” he said. “You’ve earned a little amusement. I’m going to the village. There’s no doubt I’ll find our sniper there.”

He returned hours later, his face tanned, eyes flashing. I’d persuaded Dr. Cartwright to put me to work after he’d given me a thorough tour of the site and was bent over a pile of dirt, sifting it through a strainer. I stood to wave to Colin as he rode towards me.

“I don’t think archaeology is for me,” I said, placing the strainer on the ground. “I’m afraid I haven’t the patience for it. Did you have any luck?”

“I did. I talked to a man whose son had been hired by an elderly Englishman to shoot at a man at Cartwright’s dig but never hit him. He was emphatic about it, apparently—said if Benjamin was hurt, there’d be no pay.”

“Did he give you any further description?”

“Only that he was tall.”

“Like Sir Richard,” I said with a sigh. “This is not moving in the direction I hoped it would.”

12

The next morning, my husband set off for the embassy and I for the St. Clares’ house in Pera, where I planned to speak with Benjamin. I knew all too well the pressures that could be exerted by parents with strong opinions and hoped that I might be able to get him to open up to me. Colin and I crossed the Bosphorus together, sitting side by side in our small boat, the European shore opening up in front of us.

“You’re turning green,” he said. “I’d no idea you were so prone to seasickness.”

“It comes as a complete surprise to me as well.”

“I wonder—” He stopped.

“What?”

“No, it’s silly.”

“I don’t know that I like you stopping and starting with me,” I said. “We’ve always spoken freely to each other, have we not?”

“Forgive me. Yes, of course we have. But there are some subjects best left alone by . . .” He laughed, shook his head. “I’m a man, after all, and that guarantees there will be certain topics with which I will never be entirely comfortable.”

I knew, of course, with absolute precision to what he was referring, and I cursed my nausea, feeling ambivalent about the entire situation. I stared into his eyes, debating confessing to him my fears, my suspicions. Something dark tugged inside me, reminding me of what I stood to lose by telling him too soon. Not only my independence and his support of my work, but I would also risk disappointing him. Regardless of Bezime’s ridiculous insistence of her certainty on the matter, I did not know if I was with child. Part of me longed to share with him my thoughts, but while he would be excited—that was clear by the way he was looking at me, eyes bright as he shot me a crooked smile—my own reaction would not be so simple. And that was bound to disappoint him.

“Heavens! I shall do all I can to avoid the topic for as long as possible,” I said, removing my gaze from his and focusing on the horizon. “Did you ever think I would so easily fall prey to something as diabolically simple as seasickness?”

“I confess I didn’t.”

“Nor did I. I’ve decided it’s a punishment for past hubris. I’ve been too confident in my abilities, physical and otherwise.”

“So you’re quite sure it’s seasickness?”

I gave him my brightest smile, my heart breaking just a little at the deception. “Unless the cook has been poisoning my food,” I said. “How are you feeling? Dizzy? Hint of queasiness hitting you?”

“I’ve never been better.” He was watching me with an intensity that all but made me squirm.

“The food must be safe, then. And you are the picture of health, as always,” I said. “Since you’re so smug and superior, why don’t you take a practice swim right now? We’re halfway to the European shore. It would be good training for your inevitable fate.”

He smiled. “You’re glowing beneath the green, do you know that?”

Benjamin greeted me with warmth, and when I’d explained what I wished to discuss with him, he begged to leave the house, not trusting his father’s servants to resist the temptation of eavesdropping on the prodigal son. Delighted at the prospect of seeing another part of the city, I agreed at once, asking only that we go on foot—the day was a glorious one, the air full of the green, floral scent of spring but not having lost entirely the final hint of winter’s crispness. We made our way to the Golden Horn, crossed the Galata Bridge, and proceeded to the Spice Bazaar.

Fashioned from long, tan bricks and with three moderate-size domes on the roof, the bazaar was located across the street from the bridge, next to a mosque. The plaza in front of the holy building was so full of pigeons, I thought for a moment I was back in London at St. Paul’s, at least until I began to listen to the voices around me. I’d been in the city long enough to distinguish Turkish from Arabic and heard two women speaking French as they passed me. What was most amazing, however, was the number of languages I could not recognize, and I wanted them to be all things exotic: Berber dialects, Farsi, or some ancient, nearly dead tongue.

We’d entered the bazaar through the front, central arch and then, ducking between stalls brimming with brightly colored spices—scarlet peppers, purple sumac, golden curry—Benjamin guided me through mazes of covered streets until we’d come out a side exit, climbed a stone staircase, and reached a small restaurant, where the owner stepped forward at once to greet us.

“Mr. St. Clare,” he said, pulling out a seat for me at a tiny table tucked into the corner of his room. “You have been away too long.”

Benjamin murmured something in reply, speaking Turkish and drawing a sigh from the other man, who shook his head and replied in kind before disappearing into the kitchen.

“Ali is an old friend upon whose sympathetic ear I have relied too many times,” Benjamin said. “He did not know about Ceyden.”

“I’m sorry. I know well how grief creeps up everywhere when you’ve lost someone you love.”

“My father tells me you were widowed.”

“Yes, only a few months after my first marriage.”

“I offer all my condolences,” he said. “Though they’re far too belated to be either meaningful or welcome. I must confess that losing Ceyden again has torn me up in ways I wouldn’t have dreamed possible.”

“Were you close as children?”

“All we had was each other. We traveled so much, we never had time to make other friends, but didn’t feel the need for them. We were perfectly suited playmates. Of course, as young as she was, she’d go along with nearly any game I invented.”

“What happened after the attack?”

“I was shipped back to England, where I stayed with a less than congenial aunt. My father had lost his own parents years before, and there wasn’t anyone else to care for me. I understand why he did it—it was crucial that he try to find Ceyden, and he insisted I be packed off to somewhere safe. But even after five years, when it was clear there was no hope, he didn’t come for me. I went to school, and then to Cambridge, and by the time I was done found I had little use for him.”

“Did he ever go to England?”

“He visited me twice. Sent letters once a week and always gave me a generous allowance. We never had any arguments up to that point, but then we didn’t have any real conversation, either.”

“And he continued in diplomatic service?”

“Yes. I’ve tried to never fault him for any of this. He lost my mother in the most brutal way possible and failed to stop Ceyden’s kidnappers. I can sympathize with his desire to keep me away from harm. But what little boy wouldn’t prefer that his father provide the protection himself?”

“He loves you very much.”

“Yes, I suppose he does in his way.” He rolled his eyes and stared at the ceiling, pain etched in the clenched muscles of his jaw.

“Do you think he could have stopped the kidnappers?”

“Yes, I do. If he’d let me run for cover by myself—which I could easily have done—he would have been able to catch up to them.”

“They might have killed him,” I said.

“Or he might have been able to pull her out of her abductor’s arms.”

“Do you blame him?”

“Sometimes. It’s not reasonable, I know. But then, neither is standing over one’s mother’s brutalized body.”

“Useless words, but I’m so very sorry,” I said.

“Thank you.”

We sat in awkward silence until Ali appeared carrying a great, puffed circle of bread and three dishes, one of hummus, one of something that resembled eggplant, and one brimming with tiny chopped vegetables. “For you to start. I will bring you all the best things,” he said. Two steps behind was a boy with tall glasses filled with red liquid.

“I feel as if we shouldn’t eat given the conversation we’ve been having,” I said.

“Not at all,” he said. “These things happened so long ago, there’s no freshness to the wounds. I’ve gone over it in my head countless times and blathered on about it to anyone who would listen for far too long. I’ve made my way to the position of accepting all of it.”

“That’s no small feat.”

“I thank you.” He poked at the dishes in front of us. “Now eat.”

I spooned some from each platter onto my plate, ripped off a piece from the bread, and dipped it into the vegetable mixture. Sweet tomato and onions burst into my mouth, unable to compete with the surprising combination of mint and hot pepper. I sighed, delighted.

“You like it?” Benjamin asked.

“If you want to understate my undying love for this dish, yes,” I said, taking another bite.

“Try the aubergine. It’s spectacular.”

I scooped a bit of the eggplant concoction from my plate. “Delicious,” I said. “Not a hint of bitter.”

“Ali’s got the best food in Constantinople.”

“I don’t doubt you. Forgive me, but I must return to our previous topic.”

“I understand.”

“What was your father’s reaction when you took up the pursuit of archaeology?”

“He was angry. In that quiet and infuriating way of his. No storming about or yelling from him. Just silent disapproval, all the while making it clear he would do anything he could to convince me to stop.”

“You must have been horribly frustrated.”

“He could not understand that I was doing something different from embarking on a life like the one he’d abandoned. I’m not dragging a family around with me, not recklessly off in search of adventure.”

“You view him as reckless?”

“In hindsight, yes. And he’d be the first to agree. I understand and respect the choices he made for us all. What I can’t forgive is his inability to accept the consequences of his decisions. He knew he was taking risks, but he wasn’t prepared for them. And I’m the one still suffering for it.”

“Dr. Cartwright tells me you’ve resolved to abandon archaeology.”

“You’ve spoken to him?”

“My husband and I visited the site yesterday.”

He shifted in his seat, pushing his hands down on his chair and twisting. “It was an agonizing decision, but I’m not walking away from the work, just the location. I’m going to try to find a position on the continent. Italy, perhaps. Working with Cartwright planted in me the urge to pursue things Roman.”

“Italy? Lovely. Will you be in Rome?”

“I—I don’t have any specific plans yet.”

“What inspired this decision?”

“Nothing in particular. A touch of boredom, I suppose. The desire to travel. A wish to put some distance between myself and my father.”

“Was anyone else planning to go with you?”

“Go with me?” His mouth hung open and he stared at me, then tossed his head and bit a piece of bread slathered with hummus. “Who on earth would go with me?” I could feel him tapping his foot beneath the table.

“I wouldn’t have the slightest idea, of course. Don’t fault me, though. I’m a lady and therefore more than a little prone to leaping without thought to romantic conclusions. I’d half hoped you’d tell me a story of forbidden love and a dramatic escape and a fresh start in a new land.”

“What a ridiculous thing to say.” His voice caught in his throat as he began, but in the end was full of nails. “Why would you think that?”

“I’m a newlywed, Benjamin, and as such bent on seeing those around me as happily matched as I am myself.” I wanted to give him a chance to come clean on his own.

“An astonishing position.”

“Not really,” I said. “Particularly given your colleagues were all under the impression you were getting married.”

He waited before answering, and I could see him summoning calm—blowing out a slow breath, dropping his shoulders, closing his eyes. “I—” He sighed. “I have not had good fortune in love.”

“Does she live here?”

“More or less.”

“Were you with her the night of the murder?”

“Of course not,” he said. “I was at the dig.”

“No, you weren’t.” I stopped for a moment, giving him what I hoped was a piercing look. “I’ve been to the dig, I’ve spoken to your colleagues. You had already left.”

His body was agitated, foot tapping, his hands playing with the tines of his fork. “Yes, I had left. But I hadn’t gone far. I wanted to spend a few days alone in the wilderness.”

“Where did you sleep?”

“I had my tent.”

“Did anyone see you? Can anyone vouch for you?”

“Unfortunately as I did not know my sister was being murdered, I had not arranged for a companion to provide an alibi. I needed some time to myself before setting off on the next part of my life. Particularly as it’s one that seems so impossible.”

“What is the impediment?” I asked. “Does your father not approve?”

“He certainly wouldn’t, given the opportunity to pass judgment. But the lack of his blessing would only have been one in a series of stumbling blocks.”

“Her parents?”

“They’re dead.”

“Is she attached to someone else? Married?”

“Not married, no,” he said. “But there is . . . an understanding.”

“Can she not break it off?” I asked. “Surely there is some way for you to be together, and she’s doing her fiancé no service by staying where she knows she cannot be happy.”

“We both know these situations are never so simple.” He pulled off another piece of bread. “And at any rate, it’s too late now.”

“Too close to the wedding?”

“Too close to everything.”

After finishing with Benjamin, I moved from one bazaar to another, meeting Colin in front of the Grand Bazaar—Kapal?çar
?—at a stone entrance reminiscent of a crusader’s fortress. This was infinitely larger than the Spice Bazaar, but I couldn’t see that from the outside. It was only after stepping through the pointed archway and into the labyrinthine maze of covered streets that I was overwhelmed. The number of stalls was astonishing, and the paths through them, some wide, some narrow, seemed endless. In every direction were stacks of cloth, shawls, dried fruits, lanterns—nearly anything imaginable.