A Tale of Two Sisters

by Merryn Allingham

  Your friend and your sister’s friend, Ismet.

  Who were the commissaires? Police, in all probability. It was as Harry Frome had predicted and Ismet was being forced from hiding place to hiding place. She hoped he was right when he promised it was safe to visit. Safe for him as well as for her, and for Harry, too. She must go to Harry as soon as possible, but Naz was on the watch and she would need a good reason to visit. Reading material, more of it, was all she could think of, and where else would she go but to a library? Once more she forced herself to wait; Naz must make no connection between the noise she’d heard and Alice’s departure.

  A tedious half an hour elapsed before she felt it safe to leave. Even so, Naz was loitering in the passage as she expected. She had her excuse ready.

  ‘I have read everything I brought from England and must find something else for my last few days.’ The pretence was incredibly weak, but she offered it as casually as she could, not knowing how much English the girl really understood.

  ‘The new library has magazines, I think?’

  Naz said nothing. Perhaps she had not understood after all, and Alice could only hope the smile she offered would dispel suspicion. ‘I will see you later, Naz. If you wish, you may clean the room while I am gone.’

  The slave maintained a blank face and she slipped past to wind her way through tiled corridors to the meeting room. Several very young girls were chasing each other, splashing water from the fountain and shrieking with laughter as they did. The clamour was unusual since in general an air of discipline and industry pervaded the harem. The girls were trained in etiquette, Alice had been told, taught to sew and embroider or trained to sing or play or dance. A kind of royal finishing school. She saw Sevda seated on a corner divan, sewing demurely. Alice waved to her but did not stop. In a matter of minutes, she had reached the courtyard, and in another was through the marbled archway and climbing the library steps.

  Harry must have seen her coming and met her at the door. His gaze swept the courtyard below, then he looked back into the library making sure, it seemed, there was no one in earshot.

  ‘You have received a message?’

  ‘It came an hour ago.’

  ‘Come into the office.’

  She followed him across the library, this morning hardly noticing the beauty of the room. As soon as the office door was closed, she said, ‘Ismet has sent an address. Will you still come with me?’ Harry straightened his shoulders as if to say, I promised, so I will. ‘If you are willing, we must go tonight.’

  He nodded and took the paper from her hand. ‘This is the address we must find?’

  ‘We are not to go there directly. A boy – his name is Latif – will meet us at a shop called Tugra. It’s in the local market. He will take us to Ismet. I think we have the address in case we should miss Latif.’

  ‘We shouldn’t. It sounds simple enough.’ He got up and strode around the small room, coming to a halt in front of her. ‘Are you really sure you wish to do this, Alice?’

  ‘I have to do it. But I will be happy to go alone if you prefer not to be involved.’ She wasn’t happy, but she would not force him into something from which he evidently recoiled.

  He gave a brief nod. ‘Then I think it best if we are both seen in the palace this evening. I will eat my supper as usual, but then slip away. It won’t be remarked on – I most often return to my room after the meal. Are you able to do the same? If so, we will meet outside the palace gates.’

  ‘It won’t be quite as easy – I am sure I’m being watched. But after the evening meal, I can say I’m in need of fresh air and wish to walk in the courtyard. The slaves eat after us and I must hope that Naz takes a long time over her supper.’

  ‘Naz?’

  ‘She is a slave – my slave, apparently, and Lydia’s before me. But she is also a spy.’

  Harry made no comment, but she thought the creases in his forehead spoke loudly. What had he got himself into? those furrows said.

  * * *

  She was late meeting him. Sevda had stopped her to talk, wanting to know her opinion of Hagia Sophia, wanting to know where else Alice might be intending to visit in the few days she had left. The Valide Sultan was eager, Sevda said, that her guest should see as much of Constantinople as possible. Alice was forced to promise she would visit the Grand Bazaar tomorrow, hoping this would satisfy the woman, but since she had no intention of submitting herself to the ferment of the bazaar, she would have to pretend. In the morning, she must broadcast her intention to sightsee as widely as possible, and then find a hiding place in the garden.

  Tugra turned out to be a baklava shop and, though it had closed its doors an hour before, the sweet aroma of honey-soaked filo still lingered. They stood together beneath its awning while a stream of shoppers passed and repassed, but apart from an initial greeting, they did not speak. Alice was nervous, beginning to wish she had not agreed to this clandestine visit, and she imagined that Harry, too, was thinking it a monumental mistake. She was finding him difficult to read: days ago he had offered voluntarily to accompany her to this meeting, and only yesterday on their visit to the mosque, he had seemed sincere in his wish to help. Yet beneath the surface she sensed the touchiness she had first encountered.

  She was the first to break the silence. ‘I want to thank you for coming. Really thank you, Harry. It worries me you could get into trouble.’

  ‘It worries me, too.’ He turned to look at her. ‘Just a little.’

  ‘If it were discovered you had visited a wanted man, could you lose your job?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he said carefully. ‘Though one never knows.’

  He was making her feel more guilty than ever. It was plain that work was his entire world, since he spent little time with others and even less, it seemed, making friends. She wondered whether they would have spoken again if she had not asked for his help.

  ‘I feel very bad about asking you to come tonight,’ she said, and meant it. ‘I know how important your job is to you.’

  ‘It has to be,’ he said simply.

  There was silence while they watched a group of labourers in salvars pass by, their baggy trousers soiled from the day’s work.

  ‘And I’m sorry for what I said on the train.’ She had an impulse to make things right between them, to clear whatever misunderstanding there might be. He looked surprised, and she added quickly, ‘For suggesting you gained your job through family connections. I know I offended you, though it was not my intention.’

  His smile was genuine. ‘There’s no need to apologise. I was being foolish. Sometimes, I’m afraid, I allow the fact that my family is poor to matter too much. It’s a failing I’m trying to overcome.’

  ‘I haven’t been conscious of it mattering – except for that one time.’

  ‘You haven’t made me conscious of it. It wasn’t always like that – at Oxford things were very different. I always felt a world apart from most other students. In the main, they were like Ismet, from well-to-do families, families who automatically expected their sons to attend the very best seats of learning. The boys were there to enjoy themselves, to acquire a little polish, oh, and do a little learning if they felt the need.’

  ‘Ismet is from a wealthy family?’

  ‘He is. He has never had to work too hard. He spent his time at Oxford smoking in his room or at parties or punting on the Cherwell, doing just enough to gain the degree his family would find acceptable. For me, it was different – to achieve a First and have any chance of a decent job, I studied day and night.’

  ‘You sound angry,’ she dared to say.

  ‘I was, once. I could be quite antagonistic, which was stupid. I suppose I needed to prove to everyone that brains were every bit as good as money. But that’s all history now.’

  She wasn’t so sure. His attitude to Ismet seemed complicated.

  ‘I was never angry with you,’ he said. ‘You were innocent. In my heart I knew you meant no disrespect.’

 
‘How could I? A first-class degree from Oxford? The most I could manage was a gold star for my knitting. Though I would be lucky to gain even that now.’ She looked down at her bandaged fingers.

  ‘Women do not have the same chances in life,’ he said gallantly. ‘I am sure you would have made a success of Oxford if you’d been given the opportunity.’

  She allowed that to pass with a wry smile. ‘You have certainly used your opportunity well. Your parents must be very proud of you. I know mine would be – if Charlie had done the same.’ Her voice faded.

  ‘They are proud, though sometimes I find it burdensome, living up to what I think they expect of me. They made great sacrifices so that I could go to Oxford, and I determined very early that I would pay them back in the only way I can. Which is succeeding at the job I do.’

  ‘How did you hear of the post? I don’t think you ever told me.’

  ‘My tutor at Oxford drew my attention to the advertisement, though it was more a personal plea than an advertisement. I studied Classics, but the office next to my tutor’s was occupied by a specialist in Oriental languages. It was he who had been sent the notice by a Turkish colleague in the university here, hoping this chap could come up with someone suitable.’

  ‘And he did. Did you speak any Turkish at the time?’

  ‘Not a word,’ he said cheerfully. ‘But I learned. At least enough to convince them at Topkapi that I could manage a conversation with the locals. And most of the books I deal with are in Latin and Ancient Greek.’

  ‘But Ismet helped with the Turkish when he worked with you?’

  ‘Yes, and he was good.’ His face shadowed. ‘I tried to warn him not to set himself against the Sultan.’

  ‘He evidently didn’t listen.’

  ‘Ismet is transformed. He wants to change the world now. People who want to do that rarely listen.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  They had been talking for a long time and Alice had almost forgotten the reason they had met this evening. But then, seemingly out of nowhere, a young man arrived at their feet. His was the invisible hand that had delivered the message through her window, but she saw now that he was no more than a boy. Breaking through the mingle of people, he beckoned them to follow.

  They were soon in a spider’s web of narrow streets, pink and ochre washed buildings on either side, with washing that flapped from wires strung above their heads, and on nearly every corner a handsome old stone mosque. It was hard walking, often steeply uphill and on dusty cobbles, but they continued to follow the boy, keeping Latif just in sight and trusting him to reach their destination safely. At length he turned into a courtyard, hidden from the alley by a dense climbing vine, and came to a halt outside a respectable looking dwelling with several balconies showing lit rooms beyond. Latif led them to the entrance and pushed at the wooden door. It opened noiselessly and he beckoned them on, up the dark stairway to the first floor where the muted sound of family life penetrated the landing. But then on to the second floor and here all was quiet except for the creak of the oak stairway. A door at the end of the corridor was open and Ismet’s figure stood illuminated in the entrance.

  ‘Welcome, Miss Alice.’ His voice was subdued. ‘And Harry! My goodness, have I converted you to the cause?’

  ‘No, you haven’t,’ Harry answered shortly. ‘I am here to escort Miss Verinder.’

  ‘Quite right, too.’ Ismet laughed and his eyes laughed with him. If Lydia had been friends with this man, Alice could imagine how easily her sister had fallen under his spell.

  ‘Here, I have brewed tea for you.’ He pointed to the double-decker teapot sitting on a table which had seen better days. ‘Latif, you must stay by the door.’

  Alice glanced quickly around. The room was shuttered and bare. Boxes were piled high against one wall and what appeared to be a mattress was pushed against another. Ismet had been reduced to sleeping in a store room and she felt a degree of compassion for him. In an attempt at comfort, he arranged three cushions in a half circle and, once they were all seated, poured from the top teapot into small tulip-shaped glasses.

  When they were sipping the black tea, he said, ‘Have you learned any more of your sister since we last met, Miss Alice?’

  ‘I have learned nothing.’ She could not imagine why he would think she had. ‘No one at the palace will speak of Lydia, unless it is to say how valued she was. The women I have talked to appear as mystified as I that she would disappear without a word.’

  ‘Appear mystified?’ He pounced on the word. ‘So, you do not believe them?’

  ‘I would like to, but I cannot rid myself of the sense they are hiding something. I am sure Lydia did not leave the palace willingly.’ She took a breath before she added, ‘Since I found the necklace, I’m convinced she was abducted.’ And briefly she recounted the story of the pendant.

  Ismet nodded in agreement. ‘You may be right, though I cannot understand why she should be kidnapped in this way. And even if your suspicions are correct, how do they advance your search?’

  She looked at him perplexed. ‘I am hoping you will tell me. It is why I am here. You said you wished to talk to me, that you had something to tell me.’

  ‘No, no.’ He looked uncomfortable. ‘What can I tell you that you do not already know? I hoped you would come with news that would help us both to find her. Unfortunately, things have become so bad for me that whatever help I can give now will be limited.’

  ‘You brought me here to tell me you would help find Lydia? Is that it?’

  She felt disappointment overwhelm her. For days she had been counting on this meeting, had waited with nerves twisted and raw, and it had all been in vain. She had put Harry’s job at risk, compromised her own security and probably Ismet’s too, to be told that after all he had nothing to offer. Her heart was crushed, the last remnants of hope flying through the open door where Latif stood guard.

  For a long while there was silence in the room. Then she rallied. She must make something of this meeting. For Lydia’s sake, she must.

  ‘Ismet, there is something you can tell me – what exactly was your connection with my sister? If I knew that, it might help me understand what has happened to her.’

  ‘We were friends, that is all I can tell you. I can think of nothing that would lead to such a dreadful event as a kidnapping.’

  ‘Friends and…? Surely there was more. You said she was interested in the cause you support.’

  ‘That is true. I am a member of the Young Turks and Lydia was interested in the political change to which we are committed, but I cannot see—’

  ‘How interested?’

  A deep and barely acknowledged fear rose to the surface. She had toyed before with the idea that Lydia’s involvement in politics was at the bottom of this mystery and suddenly she knew it was so.

  ‘She wanted to help.’ Ismet shifted his position, crossing his legs, then uncrossing them.

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘We work towards the restoration of a constitution where the Sultan no longer has full control. Towards a country where people enjoy freedom of speech, of assembly, freedom to say and write what they wish. Lydia supported our aims.’

  ‘She would. But how precisely did she help you?’

  Harry looked across at her. So far he had said nothing, but a new stridency in her voice, a new glint of determination in her eyes, had him taking note.

  Ismet was still shuffling on his cushion. ‘She tried to find something, something we need.’

  ‘Tried? Then I assume she did not succeed.’

  ‘No, such a shame. A shame, too, that it may have alerted Boucher to our plans.’ He paused, sunk in thought, but then his spirits seemed to revive. ‘In the end, I suppose it was not entirely a failure. It narrowed the possibilities.’ His voice had taken on a cheerfulness that jarred.

  ‘And what does that mean?’

  ‘It means we have a better idea now of where we should look.’

  ‘Look for what?’ Inste
ad of the clarity she had hoped for, the situation was murkier still.

  ‘I am sorry, but I cannot say.’

  She was baffled. ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘It concerns Valentin Boucher. You have met him? He is the man in our sights, and Harry works for him. It would be dangerous to say anything.’

  Harry must have seen the appeal in her eyes, but when he spoke his voice was cold. ‘Whatever you are seeking, Ismet, you can be assured that I will say nothing – to anyone.’

  ‘But you may be forced to, my friend. And I do not want to put you in that position.’

  Alice was fast losing patience. Her injured hand had begun to throb and she wanted answers. ‘Lydia’s disappearance has something to do with the Bouchers? Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘It is possible, but how can I be sure?’

  ‘My sister’s wellbeing, maybe her life, is at stake, Ismet. What was it she tried to do for you?’

  ‘I asked her to look for a small file,’ he disclosed reluctantly.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In Paul Boucher’s office. At least I imagined it would be there, but she failed to find it. It may be that I was mistaken and the file is elsewhere, though there was a drawer she could not open, so perhaps not.’

  ‘A small file, you say. What was in it?’

  Their host looked hard at Harry and Harry glared back at him. ‘Several sheets of paper, a ledger for a particular month. It contains damning details of transactions that Boucher undertook when he was distributing money for a new school. A school in the Stamboul district that educates poor Moslem boys.’

  ‘So Lydia tried and failed to find this ledger, but how did she get access to Monsieur Boucher’s office? I would think it impossible,’ Alice said.