A Tale of Two Sisters

by Merryn Allingham

  She was the first on her feet and rushed to Harry’s side. He groaned, then rolled himself into a sitting position and struggled to his knees. She saw him clutch his arm. ‘How badly are you hurt?’

  ‘Bruised, pretty badly bruised, but I think I’m in one piece.’ She helped him to his feet and he flexed his right arm back and forth. ‘I am guessing that means nothing is broken. How are you?’

  ‘Winded and very dirty, but unhurt.’ She looked down at her filthy skirt and buckled shoes.

  ‘We must give thanks for that at least. It was the cemetery wall that saved us. The horse was frightened and veered away. It could have been a lot worse.’

  ‘It was meant to be worse, wasn’t it?’

  ‘I reckon so. Monsieur Boucher is back at work, it seems. We evidently worry him.’ Harry brushed his trousers free of dust.

  ‘That will be Yusuf. He will have reported we called on Elise and disappeared with her into the garden.’

  ‘The man would have had to send a message to Boucher after we left. Mind you, his house is only doors away. It would be easy enough for him to order one of his minions to commandeer a carriage and follow us. Whoever was driving must have known why we were here, and he would know we’d find what Boucher wants hidden. Once we had left the cemetery, he had the perfect opportunity to run us down.’

  ‘He only half succeeded.’

  ‘And will be in trouble for it, I would guess. But we need to get to the palace in case he tries again. We should make for the streets where there are people – and pavements – before our friend has time to confess his failure and receive new orders.’

  They were soon in the thick of a jostling crowd. It was Saturday, the day after the Moslem holy day, and a favourite time to shop. Now their immediate danger was over, Alice slowly drowned, lost in a sea of sorrow. Lydia was dead and she was consumed with guilt. That she had not come to Turkey sooner, that she had not done more to save her sister. That so many times she had felt angry and resentful of Lydia’s easy passage through life when hers had seemed so burdensome. How could she have felt so meanly? She could see her now, her darling sister, sparkling eyes and shining curls, laughing at life, loving its every moment. And loving them, too: her mother, her father, her brother. And Alice. The girl’s generous spirit rebuked her. All gone. All vestige of that spirit gone.

  ‘I am so sorry.’ Harry spoke into her ear as they navigated a path through the crowded streets towards the palace.

  ‘I know,’ she whispered back. There seemed nothing more to say.

  But as they walked towards the palace gates, she realised there was something more – the life of the man she loved. ‘I am not safe here, Harry, but neither are you. That carriage, the horse. Boucher wants to be rid of us both.’

  ‘It would seem so.’

  ‘I suppose it could change when I have gone,’ she said hopefully. She had said something similar before, but this time was finding it harder to believe.

  ‘Wishful thinking. I know as much as you and that makes me an enemy. And today we learned what Boucher does to his enemies. I intended to leave very soon in any case, but it will be a little earlier now than expected. I’ll leave tonight.’

  She opened her eyes wide. ‘You are coming with me?’

  ‘I had already decided I would travel with you – before we were mown down. I knew I would come as soon as Elise told us of the child and urged you to take him with you. I couldn’t leave you to cope alone. But I’d thought to return once you were safely back in London. Not any more though.’

  His words were balm to her sore heart. If she had Harry beside her, she could manage anything. But how was it to be done? ‘I have a ticket, but you—’

  ‘We cannot fret over a small piece of paper. I have the money to buy a ticket and enough in my pocket to soften the chief steward’s heart. He knows me well and I’m sure a little douceur will help him find me a spare compartment. At the worst, I can sleep propped up in the drawing room.’

  ‘You will do no such thing. If necessary, you can share with myself and Charlie. Charlie! I cannot believe I will see Lydia’s baby in a few hours.’ She could feel the treacherous tears begin to well.

  ‘We should plan, Alice – before we go through those gates. We must stay put for a few hours; we should still be safe within the palace grounds. I doubt Boucher would jeopardise his position by attacking us there, at least not during daylight hours. It was in the middle of the night that my room was set on fire, remember.’

  ‘So, what is the plan?’

  ‘I must go to the library first. Hopefully the new divan will be installed and the workmen gone. I want to leave the place in good order, and I’ve papers of my own to collect. I’ve been working on something for The Studio – you won’t know it, but it’s a prestigious art magazine. My article explores taswir, Ottoman miniature painting.’ He brightened for a moment, but then remembering the present danger, hurried on. ‘Other than that, I have nothing to bring with me. I’ll eat early and be by the palace gates soon after dark.’

  ‘I will do the same – after the meal I can pretend I need a short walk. That will be the easy bit. Do you really think we can make it through the gates? Boucher might have primed the guards to stop us.’

  ‘Somehow we’ll make it. And we’ll make it to Sirkeci, and Charlie with us. There will be an hour or so before the train leaves so we’ll need to find a place to stay out of sight. Even if Boucher doesn’t tamper with the palace guards, his spy system is too efficient and I’m afraid there are pitfalls to Elise’s idea. Her bodyguard may be entranced by the beautiful Melek, but a man other than Yusuf could have been ordered to watch her as well.’

  ‘I find it terrifying.’

  ‘Terrifying,’ he agreed. But then he smiled and hugged her. ‘We will make it. Together. All three of us.’

  Chapter Thirty Three

  It was still early when she joined the women in their meeting room, but a line of slaves carrying huge silver trays was already queuing at the door. Sevda jumped up to greet her.

  ‘This meal in your honour, Miss Alice,’ she said, ‘to say goodbye.’ She pointed to the enormous spread being laid out on every available table, and then patted a large cushion on the raised divan.

  Alice sank gratefully down. Her legs felt as flimsy as cotton and her head a confusion of sorrow. She could see and feel nothing but Lydia: Lydia as a five-year-old on the beach at Southwold, dancing joyously in the waves; on her sixteenth birthday when for the first time she had worn a low-cut gown and Alice had put up her hair; and the morning her sister had left for Constantinople, her farewells a little sad but her face behind the hansom window vivid with expectation. A jumble of images to cling to. But she must put them aside for the moment, she knew; the next few hours would be crucial, and she forced herself back to the present and to the girl sitting patiently beside her.

  ‘You are very kind, Sevda. All of you. When I am in London again, I shall remember everyone with happiness.’ Well, almost everyone, she thought silently, but the women had been kind. Discovering their silence had been out of love for Lydia and not hostility had made all the difference. She had felt them allies in the battle she fought.

  Sevda translated her words and the women nodded and smiled. One after another they came forward to pile her plate with a spoonful of this, a spoonful of that. She hoped they would not be offended if she ate only half of what they had served her – dolmas, köfte, manti, fried eggplant and tzatziki. There were lots of smiles, some laughter, then caresses to her arms, her hands, her hair. But when she noticed long shadows appearing in the gardens that ran along one side of the chamber, she knew it was time to go.

  ‘I think I will take a walk,’ she announced. Sevda looked startled at this eccentricity. ‘The carriage comes at nine o’clock, Miss Alice,’ she reminded her.

  ‘Don’t worry, I will be ready. I should have said a stroll, not a walk. I will be in the courtyard looking at the stars. I’ll not be long.’

  She mad
e her way back to her room, to Lydia’s room, her stomach so tight she could hardly breathe. She took her sister’s letters, the book, the baby’s bonnet, and a very few undergarments from her suitcase and stuffed them into her large handbag. The sturdy leather strap slashed by Boucher’s ruffian had been mended by a palace servant and the bag was now as good as new. Her case was left on the divan, open for anyone to take what they wished. Naz would take most of it, she was sure. Over her shoulders she flung the dark cloak she had found bundled at the top of the cupboard. It had been a good find. The cloak was woollen and she would be glad of its warmth – glad, too, that it hid her handbag from view. She walked through the door and into the corridor without a backwards glance. Now she knew what had happened in that room, it had lost any appeal.

  Passing by the meeting room a few minutes later, she gave a small wave of her hand to the women still gathered there. A few had already left for their night prayers, but most had stayed to talk. It would be the last time she would see them and she felt genuinely sad. She pulled the cloak tightly around her and slid from the harem entrance into the dark shadow of the wall, gliding along its length until she reached the archway that led into the first courtyard. For a few seconds she would have to forsake the shade and pass through the arch in full view of the moon’s bright stare. She took a deep breath and scurried through. Not a sound or sight of anyone, and she could let her breath go. She was back in the shadows again, creeping along the side of yet more buildings, this time with a line of trees to provide cover. It was growing darker with every minute, but as she drew near to the gates, she made out the shape of a figure standing to one side. Harry, with a battered briefcase in his hand.

  ‘You had better give me that,’ she whispered. ‘I can hide it beneath the cloak.’

  ‘What a useful garment!’ he whispered back and kissed her on the cheek. ‘I’ll try to get the soldier talking, the one on our right. The other guard patrols the wall on his side. When he is halfway along the wall and I’ve distracted his companion, slip through if you can.’

  ‘If I can.’ Her voice sounded hollow.

  ‘We’ll do it.’ He gripped her hand for a moment. ‘Good luck.’

  Then he was through the gates and talking, making sure his form blocked the soldier’s side vision.

  She tiptoed forward and looked to the left. The soldier on that side had reached the midpoint of the wall. She needed to go before he turned. Clutching handbag and briefcase beneath the cloak, she walked through the gates as quietly as she could, making sure she kept as far away as possible from Harry and his reluctant conversationalist. And she kept on walking, expecting all the time to hear a shout behind her, but there was nothing but the low murmur of Harry’s voice – the soldier himself seemed disinclined to talk. A road ran beside the palace and she made for one of the houses fronting it, one that had a roof overhanging almost to street level. It would provide good shelter.

  Through the gloom she saw the first soldier return to his post while the other abandoned Harry and began a march along his side of the wall. In a moment, Harry had joined her. ‘I must be losing my charm,’ he said softly. ‘My new friend had little to say and was obviously wishing me away. I told him I would be back in a matter of minutes and he was happy to agree.’

  ‘You did it. I did it,’ she said excitedly.

  ‘We still have to reach the meeting place without being seen,’ he warned.

  ‘But soldiers don’t guard the far wall, do they?’

  ‘There are no gates there, so hopefully not. I’ve never noticed soldiers patrolling. If we keep close to the houses, we should be out of sight for most of the time.’

  Once Harry’s sentry began his march back to the gates, he was facing them, and they were forced to move very slowly from house to house. It took an unnervingly long while to arrive opposite the point where the great stone wall made a right angle. But then the soldier was back in his niche, and they could cross to the far wall of the palace and find the mosque Elise had spoken of.

  She was already there, silvered by moonlight, and holding tight to a bundle. Alice rushed towards her and very gently peeled back the blankets Elise held, to see a small, perfect face. A baby’s face. Charlie’s face. She reached out for him and took him in her arms. Holding him for the first time, feeling him nestle against her, something close to a miracle happened. The knot that had twisted itself taut within loosened and uncurled. The rawness of Lydia’s death was eviscerating – when would it not be? But alongside the rawness, there was another emotion. One of hope, one of new love for this tiny creature her sister had cared for more than life itself. Lydia had always been courageous; she had died protecting her child. Now it was Alice’s turn. She would fight for the baby that was all she had left of her sister. She would love him as fiercely as ever Lydia had.

  ‘He has her eyes,’ she whispered. ‘And he is quite beautiful – as beautiful as she.’

  Oblivious to the world around her – the dark, lonely street, the companions who waited – she tightened her grip on the small bundle, speaking softly to the baby and rocking him gently. A rat scuttled past them and ran up the stone wall of the mosque. She hardly noticed but Elise jumped at the movement.

  ‘You must leave now,’ she said. ‘Immediately. I have ordered a carriage for you.’

  Alice blinked, coming out of her rapture. There was the sound of hooves, loud in the stillness of the evening, and coming closer. Elise walked into the road and waved down the approaching carriage. ‘He will take you to the station. Now I must leave. I must be at my piano when Yusuf comes from the kitchen.’

  ‘Can we not take you home?’ Alice asked. ‘There is plenty of time before the train leaves.’

  ‘That is not a good idea. You must drive straight to Sirkeci and when you get there, stay hidden. For me, it is better I walk. The rear gate is locked at night, but I have stolen a key and will get to the house through the garden.’

  She gave Alice a swift embrace and there was a handshake for Harry. ‘Stay safe,’ were her parting words and then she was gone, into the shadow of the overhanging trees.

  ‘We should go,’ Harry said. ‘Climb in.’

  Reluctantly, she allowed him to take the baby from her while she mounted the carriage steps. Once she was settled, he placed the small bundle gently into her lap. Charlie opened his eyes and blinked at the strange face looking down at him. He seemed about to cry, but Alice stroked his cheek with a forefinger and the cry was stopped at birth. Perhaps it was the memory of another finger that had once stroked his cheek, but instead of the cry a smile quivered on his lips.

  ‘He is smiling,’ Alice whispered.

  * * *

  The clocks high on the towers either side of the station forecourt showed ten minutes past eight. They walked swiftly past arches and railings towards the heavy, carved entrance. The door stood wide open to welcome early passengers, but when they passed through into the booking hall, they found it almost deserted. A solitary man sat reading a newspaper on one of the hard wood benches but did not raise his head. Alice gazed around her. She’d had no time when she first arrived to admire the station’s glory, but now its patterned windows of orange diamonds and the huge circular spread of glass set high above drew a murmur of appreciation.

  ‘Look at that window, Harry. It’s shaped like a flower with its very own petals.’ She pointed upwards.

  She was talking to herself, she realised. Harry was abstracted and when he spoke, his tone was urgent. ‘We cannot stay here. We need to find shelter.’

  That brought her back to earth. For an instant, she had forgotten the dangers they were facing, forgotten that a safe return to London was still far off. If only things could have been different. She had seen so little of Turkey, but it was a beautiful country, and a country that held her sweet sister close to its heart. She could not forget that for an instant.

  Once through the booking hall, they saw platforms stretching into the distance, their glass roofs faded and yellow. Six pl
atforms, but only one train. The Orient Express stood quietly alongside the furthest, its windows darkened.

  ‘Do you think we can board?’

  He shook his head. ‘The train doors will be locked, unfortunately – it would have helped to have squirrelled ourselves away.’

  She sensed his growing agitation and tried to sound reassuring. ‘The staff must be resting – the train could only have arrived this afternoon – but they will be back on duty very soon. In the meantime, I’m sure we can find somewhere off the main concourse to wait.’

  ‘Stay here and I’ll take a look around.’

  Uneasiness took hold as soon as he disappeared from sight. She felt vulnerable, alone and carrying a small child, but he was gone only a few minutes, arriving back at her side breathless.

  ‘Beyond the platform on our left there’s an area used for stacking baggage. It’s the point at which the platform runs into grass. I think it will do. There’s no one there and not likely to be. The Orient Express is the only train for some hours.’

  It was a short walk to the place Harry had found. ‘What do you think? he asked anxiously.

  ‘You’re right. We should be well out of sight here.’

  He pointed to a baggage trolley, then fished another handkerchief from his pocket and dusted it down. ‘Look, there’s even a seat for you.’

  Except for a few small boxes, the trolley was empty, and she stood looking at it for a while. ‘I wonder if we could fashion a nest for Charlie. I think he would sleep more soundly if I could lay him down. At the moment, he is in and out of slumber and I’m worried he might start crying.’

  ‘What do you say to those sacks? The ones in that pile. They look reasonably clean and Charlie is swaddled in several blankets.’