‘I am Rahîme Perestû.’ The voice was clear and direct, used to command.
Lydia said nothing. There was something about this woman that rendered one tongue-tied. And not just her obvious wealth. It was her entire bearing. Here was a person who plainly would brook no dissent.
‘I fear my son is not here to meet you,’ the Valide Sultan said. ‘He is a little indisposed.’
‘I hope it is not a serious illness,’ she murmured.
‘No, no.’ His mother appeared unimpressed with the Sultan’s sufferings. ‘You will meet him later.’
She seemed very definite, Lydia thought, but then the woman exuded certainty, radiating a forcefulness that was not to be challenged.
‘Please…’ The Valide Sultan waved her hand at a nearby chair. ‘Sit with me a while.’
Lydia took a seat opposite the imperial throne, feeling decidedly uncomfortable. The clinking of glasses and the buzz of chatter had declined noticeably and she became aware of eyes fixed on her, at least a dozen people in the crowd showing an intense interest in this encounter. Was it that Sultan Rahîme did not normally concern herself with a new governess or was it that Lydia herself had become an object of scrutiny? An object of danger? If her visit to Ismet and his comrades were common knowledge – and it was more than possible since she had a shrewd idea how swiftly gossip must carry in the palace – someone in this crowd could be marking her out as suspicious, a person to be watched and, if necessary, dealt with. She tried to subdue the thought.
The Valide Sultan inclined her head towards her and she was jerked back to attention. ‘You seem to have settled into our Turkish way of life, Miss Verinder.’ The black eyes looked pointedly at Lydia’s dress.
‘These clothes are not mine, unfortunately. I have the loan of them for this evening. They are beautiful, are they not?’
The older woman did not answer but shifted a little irritably in her seat. ‘I believe you enjoy shopping. Perhaps you should do a little more. But tell me, how are my granddaughters progressing?’
That at least she could talk about honestly. ‘The princesses are doing very well. They are beginning to read English for themselves – sometimes quite difficult words – and they are most imaginative. They have composed several small stories of their own.’
Sultan Rahîme gave a gracious nod. ‘Not too imaginative, I hope. But it does not surprise me they are doing well. Selim is their father. He is a clever man, but too retiring to be of use.’ Another son had been dismissed. There was a pause while the woman looked at her consideringly. ‘And how else, Miss Verinder, have you been filling your time?’
Lydia felt a brush of fear. The woman’s earlier reference to shopping might be innocent, but she suspected not. She knows, Lydia thought, and not only that I have been to the market. She knows I have met Ismet and wants to discover just what my connection with him might be.
‘I spend a good deal of time planning lessons. We are studying a simple history of Turkey at the moment.’ She was thinking on her feet and was pleased with her riposte. ‘And then I read and walk in the garden. And, of course, I talk – with the women in the harem. I have found them excellent companions. The whole life of the palace interests me greatly.’
‘I am glad you are happy with us. It has concerned me that you might feel a trifle enclosed. You are very young and I know how Englishwomen live.’
‘There are different kinds of enclosure, are there not? In many ways, women are no freer in England than they are here.’
The Valide Sultan folded her hands in her lap, her expression calm, but she had not yet relinquished her interrogation. ‘So, you do not miss the world beyond the palace gates?’
‘A little perhaps. But I have been to the market several times.’ Lydia grasped the nettle with both hands. ‘And will be going again very soon – to buy presents for my family. I would like to send each of them a small gift. And perhaps I shall buy clothes, as you suggest.’
There was a pursing of lips, then the woman actually smiled. The black eyes lightened. It was as though she had admitted defeat. For the moment.
‘I will wish you luck in your purchases,’ she said. Then flicked her hand very slightly.
The crimson-robed official, who all this time had been hovering to one side, stepped forward and offered his arm, leading Lydia back into the throng. A few seconds later, they had regained the centre of the crowd and stopped beside a portly middle-aged man. At the sight of a palace uniform, the man’s companion melted away and Lydia found herself introduced to Herr Meyer.
‘I am very pleased to meet you, Miss Verinder.’ He pumped her hand several times. She was completely at sea, not understanding why she should be speaking to this man. He had small beads of perspiration on his upper lip, she noticed, although the room was not unduly warm.
‘I am the principal of the Stamboul Academy.’ She looked at him blankly. ‘It is in the city,’ he explained, ‘in one of the poorest areas. We take children who are not as fortunate as those you teach.’
Now she saw the connection. They were to talk education and her heart sank. Would she be asked for the qualifications she did not possess? But Herr Meyer was not interested in qualifications, or in Lydia. He was interested in his academy.
‘The Foundation built the school five years ago,’ he went on. ‘It has been the most brilliant project. The Sultan himself provided the funds, but it was only through Monsieur Boucher that it truly came to fruition. He is a wonderful person.’
She felt more confused than ever. Did this little round man not know the truth about Boucher? Or was it that Ismet was prejudiced and had come to believe falsehoods? Might it be that the elder Boucher really was a wonderful person?
Herr Meyer talked on and with every enthusiastic sentence, he seemed to widen another inch, so that Lydia felt quite dwarfed by his expanse. ‘This year we have enrolled one hundred and fifty pupils, you know.’ She raised her eyebrows, hoping this would show an interest she was far from feeling. ‘The school was much needed,’ he droned on. ‘Christians in the empire have traditionally been better educated and in recent years have pulled far ahead of the Muslim majority. It has led to much resentment, as you can imagine. But the Stamboul Academy provides free schooling for Muslim children. They have their religious education, of course, but they also learn important subjects – English, for example. English is the key to succeeding in the modern world, I believe. If they do well, it will allow them to make a good living for themselves and to play an important role in the country’s economy.’ A smile of satisfaction filled his plump face.
‘And do you teach Muslim girls as well as boys, Herr Meyer?’
He blinked in surprise. ‘That is not possible, Miss Verinder. Girls are educated always at home.’
‘Educated in English, too? Otherwise how are they to play a part in the economy?’ She was being deliberately provoking, but the man had begun to grate on her.
‘Naturally, what goes on within the home is unknown to me. I suspect not. Your young pupils are blessed in that respect. How do you find teaching them?’
She was about to answer when she felt the crowd shift to one side and a voice she recognised sounded in her ear. ‘Miss Verinder, Lydia. How good to see you here. And looking every bit a Turkish lady!’
Herr Meyer acknowledged the newcomer with a neat Germanic bow and promptly disappeared. Paul Boucher stood smiling a few feet away. He wore a well-cut dark suit, his hair newly barbered and his shoes highly polished. He had dressed for the occasion, she thought.
‘I see that you were honoured.’ His tone was light, but she sensed there was concern, too.
‘I was?’
‘Not everyone is invited to speak to the Valide Sultan, and if they are, it is often not for some years. You have managed it in weeks.’
That tickled her and she gave a soft laugh. ‘I think she was worried I might be teaching her grandchildren all the wrong things.’
‘Such as?’
‘Fairy tales and
fantasies. Sultan Rahîme seems to prefer hard facts.’
‘She would. But fairy tales have their place.’
‘I think so, too.’
‘Is that why you have adopted Turkish dress? Allow me to say that it suits you admirably.’
‘I could say the same of you – French tailoring suits you admirably.’
She was flirting and did not like herself for it, but since her encounter with the Valide Sultan, Ismet’s plea had been gaining strength. She was sure the woman had been threatening her, albeit very subtly, and a new resolve was beginning to form in Lydia’s heart.
‘I do my best,’ Paul said, entering happily into the flirtation. ‘But you have no drink.’
He took her by the arm and steered her towards a slave burdened by two massive silver trays of food and drink. ‘This is one of the few occasions alcohol is permitted. We should make the most of it.’
She sipped at the glass of champagne he handed her. ‘Are you still very busy?’ she asked innocently. ‘Or have you found time to walk out of your office door?’
‘I have been very busy since I saw you last. But you didn’t come to visit me, as you promised.’
‘I am so sorry. I did mean to, but the time has flown by. It has taken a while for me to settle the girls into a routine.’ She was remembering Ismet’s words.
‘Of course, but now you are a little freer, I hope?’
A gaggle of people making for the nearest drinks tray bumped into them. Paul put a protective arm around her and she allowed herself to sink against him. Even before the champagne, the last of her caution had seeped away, its disappearance fuelled by anger that she was being spied on and probably lied to. The urge to fight, to strike out, stirred in her once more.
Her deep blue eyes fixed Paul Boucher with a teasing glance. ‘I have a few hours every day that remain unfilled.’
‘Then you must let me fill them. I would love to show you the palace beyond the harem.’
‘I doubt there is much I am allowed to see.’ She hoped her dimples were doing their job.
‘If you are with me, that won’t be so.’ He stood gazing at her, then seemed to give himself a shake and said, ‘Come to my office as soon as you can. I promise to drop everything and take you on a magical tour.’
‘Thank you—’ she began to say.
‘There you are!’ A large man, a bear of a man, had walked up to them and clapped his hand on Paul’s shoulder, ignoring her presence.
‘This is my father, Miss Verinder,’ Paul said awkwardly, trying to free himself of the hand.
‘Verinder? The governess? Yes, I have heard your name.’
Lydia felt her breath catch in her throat. How had Valentin Boucher heard of her? As part of the news that trickled daily through the palace? Or from the Valide Sultan, who suspected her? Or from Naz, the girl who spied on her?
He thrust his hand forward and beamed. ‘I am delighted to meet you, Miss Verinder.’ His tone was oddly courteous and she blinked in surprise. The man had seemed uncouth, but it appeared he could charm when he needed to. ‘How are you finding Topkapi, my dear? Quite a change for you, I imagine.’
‘Yes, Monsieur Boucher. Quite a change, but one I am enjoying immensely.’
‘So I see.’ He wagged a finger towards her embroidered tunic. ‘You are Turkish tonight.’
‘For this evening only, though I find these clothes a good deal more comfortable than those I brought with me.’
For a minute, he seemed at a loss, but then said in a hearty voice, ‘You look most taking, doesn’t she, Elise?’ This to the woman who had silently joined them.
‘Yes, indeed.’ Elise Boucher gave her father-in-law a small, anxious glance.
‘Taking or not,’ he said, ‘it is better not to go completely Turkish. What do you say, Paul?’
His son looked uncertain. ‘Miss Verinder has perfect taste. I am sure she will judge well. Allow me to fetch another glass. And one for you, too, Elise.’
Elise shook her head and her father-in-law glanced down at her, his eyes disturbingly intent. ‘Elise will drink fruit juice,’ he said. ‘But you two ladies, you have met already, I believe.’
Yes, indeed,’ Elise repeated.
She is frightened of him, Lydia thought, and remembered the way the woman had half shut her eyes at the mention of his name over the dinner table. She was as closed now as she had been on the train; what little friendship she had shown then had vanished entirely.
Lydia refused the offer of a drink and made her excuses. She was tired, she said, and she had an early start in the morning. The princesses kept her on her toes and she needed to be fully awake to be a good teacher. Murmuring her goodbyes, she made her way to the door, hoping not to be accosted by any other guest. She had arrived less than an hour ago, but the evening had been a distinct strain, testing her ability to pretend, to present an untroubled façade to a suspicious world. She thought of herself as a strong woman, but there were times when her courage failed and the vulnerability she hated showed its face. At this moment, she needed solitude.
The servant who had escorted her to the Audience Chamber was waiting patiently at the door and in silence they walked together to the haremlik.
Once in her room, she undressed slowly, draping the beautiful clothes, item by item, on the chair by the window. The ensemble had turned out to be the talking point of the evening. She was not completely certain of the impression the clothes had made on the Valide Sultan, but on Valentin Boucher she had no doubt. They had allowed him to warn her not to embrace Turkey too closely, and she did not think he’d had only clothes in mind. As for the Sultan’s mother, Lydia imagined the baggy trousers and long tunic said more than the new governess had settled into Turkish life. It had been a similar outfit, plainer but essentially the same, that she had worn to the meeting with Ismet. She was sure now that she had been followed that evening, but somehow her final destination had remained unknown. In hiring a carriage and taking a circuitous route to the meeting place, she had shaken off whoever had been spying on her.
For both Boucher and Sultan Rahîme, the clothes had signalled a threat and in turn they had used them to threaten her back. Lydia did not respond well to threats. Her creeping sense of outrage at their attempts to intimidate her was sufficient to force a decision that had been building throughout the evening. The truth was there to discover and a brave, free-thinking woman could discover it. If finding the documents Ismet had spoken of was the key, she would try. She would contact him tomorrow and he would tell her just what she must look for.
Chapter Fifteen
ALICE
Constantinople, March 1907
Her ticket for the Orient Express lay open on the desk and caught her eye every time she passed. Harry had told her to wait and Ismet’s message would come, but her time in Constantinople had almost expired. She had been gone from home for nearly a fortnight but had sent no word to her family. She must do it this morning: by now Cissie would be anxious and weary of the constant reassurance her sister and brother-in-law must need. There was a British civilian post office at the Sublime Porte, in the Ottoman offices of the Grand Vizier, and Alice knew she must send a telegram to say she was well and would be home soon. It was not a task she welcomed – the telegram was clear evidence she had lied about her destination.
The visit to the post office and a hastily scribbled message took only an hour of her time, and as soon as she returned to the palace she made her way through the small opening beside the Gate of Felicity and into the garden. Lately, the sun had been gaining in warmth and she had begun to spend hours in the green oasis she had come to love. This morning she decided to ignore the summerhouse where she usually sat and take a longer walk. There was much she had yet to explore, and to her delight she discovered that by taking a smaller path to the right of the main walk, she arrived beneath her own bedroom window. She had left it open to catch the early sun and now peered over its sill, interested to see the room from a different angle. She was
on tiptoe when she heard a rustle in the leaves behind her and turned, half fearful of who or what might be there. Then something small and compact sailed by her ear and arrowed its way through the open window, landing on the bedroom floor with a thump.
She turned quickly and caught the stirring of bushes and the flash of a shoe. Something had arrived in her room that was clearly secret. It would have taken too long to retrace her steps through the garden and she was anxious that someone might visit her bedroom meantime and see what was meant only for her, so without a second thought she gathered the long skirt of her dress in one hand and, holding on to the window frame, hauled herself onto the sill. Then she dropped down to the bedroom floor, scooping into her pocket what appeared to be a stone, just as the door opened.
It was Naz. Of course, it had to be Naz. ‘I heard noise, mistress.’
‘I knocked a book to the ground,’ Alice was quick to say.
The slave looked around the room, her sharp eyes searching for the errant volume. ‘Don’t worry, Naz. I have packed it away. I keep all the books I brought with me in my suitcase – they are too precious to risk leaving behind. But thank you for your help.’
She hoped the girl would realise she was dismissed. Naz went, but not at all willingly. It was plain that if she’d understood what Alice had said, she had not believed a word.
Alice thrust her hand into her pocket. She could feel there was paper wrapped around the stone. A message at last! It was burning a hole through the stiff linen of her skirt, but she sat down in the chair by the window and counted off the minutes before she dared look at it – one minute, two. It must be safe now. Naz would not be coming back. She unravelled the sheet of paper from its anchor and threw the stone back into the garden. Then she spread out the crumpled page.
Miss Alice, it began.
Forgive me for the delay. I have had troubles since I saw you. Commissaires called the next day, and from that time I have always to move. I fear they will find me soon and I will be arrested. But tonight I am safe. You will be safe. This is my address – there followed a Turkish street name – Come to the market tonight, to a shop called Tugra, and Latif will guide you to the house I stay in. He is the boy who delivers this message and you can trust him. Come whatever time you can.
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