April and May

by Beth Elliot

‘But what was so bad?’ asked Rose, genuinely puzzled. ‘In Cairo we were able to visit the markets and the baths without it being a problem.’

  ‘Ah, but you are Ferengi – Europeans. You have so much more freedom than we Moslem women.’

  ‘I am not so sure,’ murmured Rose, thinking back to her marriage. What choice had she been given in that? And who had bothered about her happiness until dear Aunt Emily had offered her a home at Rivercourt? But Latife needed reassurance. It must be terrible for such a proud lady to be treated like a child.

  ‘I am very sorry that your brother is displeased with you,’ Rose said awkwardly, ‘when you were doing your best to show us some of the sights of your beautiful city.’

  ‘For pity’s sake, do not mention any of the other things we did.’ Latife’s eyes were wide with alarm. ‘My brother’s role is so difficult that he fears we may also become targets. Perhaps I was to blame.’ She shook her head and gave Rose a sad little smile, ‘it is not often that we have the chance to go out into the city.’

  ‘Helena and I enjoyed ourselves very much,’ Rose ventured to take Latife’s hand and squeeze it. ‘And it perhaps masked the fact that we saw a military parade.’

  Latife put a finger to her lips. Rose bit her lip, remembering that anyone could be listening behind the heavy draped curtains. Almost as if he had been there, Kerim Pasha appeared once more. She gave a guilty start. But he now looked more like his usual self. He had a book in his hand.

  ‘Can you spare me a few minutes, Mrs Charteris?’ He indicated the garden. He ignored his sister and strode outside. Latife made a slight gesture to Rose to follow him. In the kiosk he sat down opposite her, the book on his knees. For a few minutes he sat and looked at her considerately. He ran a hand through his sleek black hair then tilted his head backwards. Rose sensed the tension flowing out of him.

  She sat, hands folded in her lap, calmly watching him. Little by little, she watched the fierce light fade from his eyes to be replaced by a twinkle.

  ‘You were able to observe the soldiers and their uniforms yesterday?’ he asked without preamble.

  ‘I suppose you sent us there especially,’ said Rose. ‘It all happened very smoothly. We had an excellent view of the whole procession. I remember the different uniforms very well. Foot and horse soldiers.’

  ‘Very good,’ he exclaimed. Now he was smiling.

  ‘Well, my husband was an officer – in the Navy,’ she explained.

  His brows drew down. ‘Was..?’

  ‘I am a widow, sir.’ Was it her imagination or did she hear a sharp intake of breath at that news. His eyes narrowed and he gazed at her thoughtfully, shaking his head slightly. ‘I am sorry,’ he said at last.

  Rose nodded. She could not say that she preferred her current freedom. It was not something any man would understand, whether here or in England. As the silence stretched out, she began to wonder if he had forgotten what he wanted to tell her. She looked out at the flowers, which day by day increased in number, filling the garden with colour and scent.

  Finally, Kerim Pasha picked up the book and turned to a certain page. ‘These are pictures painted for our Sultan a few years ago,’ he said, handing the open book to her. ‘I think it will help you to have a good picture of how our soldiers dress. But we need Mr Hawkesleigh’s help to decide just how to replace all these old style garments.’ He raised his hands in an apologetic gesture. ‘We do not need chainmail any more.’

  His embarrassment was tangible. Rose nodded and studied the pictures in silence. She knew that he was studying her meanwhile. Her face grew hot as she realised that she was not displeased at this interest. In fact, she enjoyed his company – in spite of his imperious temper. Why not? He was strikingly handsome, and his sheer masculinity would make him stand out in any group of men.

  What was she thinking of? Rose caught herself just in time. They belonged to such different worlds. Had she not seen how he treated his sister just now? And no doubt he could be much fiercer than that. He had absolute power over his family. She did not even know if he had a wife – or perhaps more than one. Latife had said no more about the family and she did not seem willing to take them into the harem part of the house.

  ‘Mrs Charteris,’ there was a note of amusement in his deep voice, ‘is anything wrong? I have asked you three times if you need any other materials?’

  Rose came back to earth. She looked down at the book then up at his amused face.

  ‘No,’ she stammered, her cheeks burning, ‘I just need to discuss the new style with Mr Hawkesleigh.’

  Kerim Pasha’s face darkened. ‘Ah, Mr Hawkesleigh. But today he cannot be found.’ He raised both hands in an exasperated gesture. ‘I am getting tired of people disappearing.’

  ‘Do you think he is in danger?’

  Kerim Pasha’s eyes narrowed again as he caught the note of alarm. ‘Of course.’ He watched her face intently, ‘but no more than you, if anyone had kidnapped you yesterday.’

  She shook her head disbelievingly but he insisted. ‘You are valuable just because of your fair skin and hair.’ He let that idea sink in. ‘That is another reason why we need to keep you safe.’ He stood up, and this time his voice was sharp as he added, ‘I do not suppose you would care for life in the harem.’

  Chapter Ten

  Tom became aware of daylight but his eyelids were too heavy to open. He shifted his head slightly and groaned at the wave of nausea. He tried to swallow. His tongue felt too big for his mouth. He was plagued by a raging thirst. The pounding in his head made it too hard to think. For a while he just lay and waited for memory to return.

  The air smelled foul and dank. Cautiously, Tom put out a hand and touched a wall. It felt slimy. His hand explored the hard surface on which he was lying. It was stone. His groping fingers reached the edge and slipped downwards. He must be on a ledge about a foot above the floor. He tried again to swallow but his tongue seemed to be welded to the roof of his mouth.

  There was no noise except for a handcart rumbling across cobblestones. The sound came from above the level of his head. Then he heard a cough. It was very close by. At that, Tom did open one eye. He was in a small room with stone walls. A faint light came from a tiny window high up. There was another man nearby, squatting in the corner with his head on his arms. Tom resolutely opened his other eye and pushed himself into a sitting position.

  Something dragged at his legs. He blinked and focused slowly. There were chains on his ankles. ‘What the devil-?’ He raised a hand to his throbbing skull.

  ‘Ah, Ingiliz, you woke up at last. So long you sleep, like dead.’ The other man lifted his head, showing a thin, dark face, shadowed by several days’ growth of beard.

  Tom felt his own chin. His fingers rasped over stubble. He must have been unconscious for many hours. ‘Where am I?’ he croaked.

  The other man stared at him for a while. ‘Can you not tell, Ingiliz?’ He spat. ‘This prison.’

  Tom planted his feet firmly on the floor. He rested his elbows on his knees and dropped his head in his hands. He must recall what had happened to him. The last clear memory was of following Laval from the French Embassy to the baths and seeing him talk to a Turkish man as they were both scrubbed and rinsed. Tom was certain the Turk was reporting to Laval. No doubt he was the man who had sneaked into Tom’s room and gone through his papers.

  Hoping to get away before they noticed him, Tom had hurried to get dressed again. Then he had hidden in a coffee house by the entrance to the baths. If the two men left together, he planned to follow them. The cup of Turkish coffee had tasted quite normal. But after that, he could not remember any more… They must have other agents, who were watching him.

  Tom raised his head. ‘Which prison is this?’

  The Turk shrugged. ‘Does it matter? We all get punishment.’

  ‘But what have I done?’

  ‘Ingiliz, you have angered someone.’

  Tom put his throbbing head back in his hands and shut his eyes. It w
as not the first time he had been thrown into jail. As his cellmate said, for that to happen, one had only to offend someone – ‘offend’ meaning get in the way of their plans. Sooner or later, a guard would come in and then he could bribe the fellow to send a message to the Embassy.

  From the steadily growing noise outside, he judged that the day was advancing. He could hear the shouts of market traders and the clatter of carts.

  He rocked from side to side, tormented by thirst. At last he raised his head again and peered round for a jug of water. In vain! The other man watched, his eyes narrowed in grim amusement.

  It seemed an age later when the cell door opened. A massive figure came through the narrow doorway. One eye glared at Tom, the other looked evilly away at the wall. The fellow had a barrel chest and meaty bare arms. He unlocked the shackles and gestured to Tom to follow him.

  ‘You are fortunate, Ingiliz,’ said his cellmate softly. Not softly enough however. The jailor swung round and swiped hard at the man’s head with his club. The man flung up his arm to protect himself. There was a sickening thud and he fell back with a stifled groan. Tom grimaced and followed the brute out into a larger room and fresher air.

  Sebastian was there, his eyes wide with apprehension. ‘I have paid your fine,’ he announced.

  ‘Just get me some water,’ croaked Tom. ‘And then I need to go back to the baths.’

  *

  Later, as he consumed a large meal in his usual restaurant near the Embassy, he asked Sebastian how he had found out where to find him. His assistant shook his head.

  ‘We received a message. We have no idea who brought it. It told us which guardhouse you were in and stated that you had been arrested for improper conduct in the bazaar. The police thought you were drunk when they found you.’

  ‘They thought no such thing!’ snapped Tom. ‘I was being put out of the way while that damned Hippolyte Laval and his helper go through my rooms again.’ His lips curved into a harsh smile. ‘Well, they can search all they like. They will not find anything.’ He exchanged his empty plate for a dish of rice pilaf and set to work again.

  Sebastian looked anxious. ‘This business is getting more dangerous by the day. Perhaps it is as well those English ladies are in Kerim Pasha’s yali. That is well protected.’

  Tom glanced up quickly, opened his mouth then closed it again. Sebastian could not know anything about the sketches. He chewed his rice then thought of another matter.

  ‘I want you to go back to that guardhouse,’ he said. ‘Pray go right away. I should have thought of this earlier. You must pay the fine for my cellmate. Whatever he did to get put in prison, he did not deserve the treatment he got.’

  It took a little arguing to persuade Sebastian but at length he gave in and set off down the hill once more. Tom leaned back against the cushion and called for coffee to help complete his recovery. He still felt lethargic. Whatever drug they had put in his drink, it had completely knocked him out.

  After several refills, he finally set his cup down with a sigh of repletion. He examined the other occupants of the café, wondering which ones were spying on him. His rooms had been searched again while he was in the prison. It was obvious Laval knew he was the person to watch, so he must be extra careful about his contacts.

  Thank heavens Rose and her relatives were safe in Kerim Pasha’s home. He would continue his morning visits and hope she could complete the sketches quickly. Tom devoutly hoped a British frigate would arrive that could take these ladies back to England before anyone could connect her to the military reform scheme.

  He was growing impatient when Sebastian reappeared. The younger man sank down on the bench and pulled out a handkerchief to mop his face.

  Tom’s thick brows drew together. ‘Where is he?’

  Sebastian beckoned the servant to bring him coffee. ‘He would not come here. He will speak to you in a more discreet place. Those were his words.’

  ‘Something odd about him,’ rumbled Tom. ‘Not many Turks speak English.’

  ‘I did think of that,’ said Sebastian with dignity. ‘All he would tell me is that his name is Ali. Now, is there anything else? If not, perhaps I should go and report to the Ambassador. He’ll be wondering what has happened to us.’

  ‘I’ll come with you. Time to see what has been going on there.’ Tom did not add that he needed to check whether anyone had disturbed his office. In spite of all precautions, he was sure that Laval’s spies could find their way into most places. Perhaps Kerim Pasha had enough guards to keep intruders away. But Tom knew he would not feel easy until he had spoken to the man himself.

  Chapter Eleven

  Two days later Tom set off for his visit to Kerim Pasha’s yali rather earlier than usual. He was impatient to see Rose’s pictures. That was the excuse he offered himself but as he strode along, the drawings, indeed the whole military plan, British prestige, all faded to nothing. He was simply desperate to spend another half hour with Rose.

  Now, more than ever, he was furious that he had been forced to give her up when they had first met and fallen so deeply in love. Tom had arrived home from that fateful ball to find that Rose’s dismal brother had already complained to his father. Tom was treated as a scoundrel, his plan to ask Rose to become betrothed to him shouted down as ridiculous. In the heated argument that followed, Tom’s father had a seizure. The whole family united in blaming Tom for that. He was ordered away within the hour, never to show his face again.

  He grimaced as he remembered the dark years of reckless adventure that had followed. Every dangerous mission, every hopeless scheme his commanders hatched, Tom volunteered for all of them. He held his life cheap, yet each time he completed the mission successfully. His reputation for boldness and dare-devil bravery had grown until his commander-in-chief suggested that he could do far more for the war effort by resigning his commission and working as a secret agent for the Foreign Office.

  The adventures that followed were more appealing to him because they were so much more dangerous and success was therefore more satisfying. On each mission he was absolutely on his own. He did not exist officially and if he should fail and end up dead or rotting in some filthy dungeon, nobody would ever know. And all this because he had truly fallen in love with a sweet, beautiful girl who was the only woman he would ever really love.

  The memory of Rose had inspired and tormented him in equal measure through the past four years. But coming face to face with her again – and here in Constantinople of all places – simply added to his torment. Just the sight of her had inflamed all the old longing. He wanted her as much as ever but was condemned by her marriage to remain a stranger! He kicked a large stone out of the path with a muttered curse. Damn her husband, damn him!

  He halted and rubbed a hand over his face. Find your composure! he snarled to himself, and drew in a calming breath. Lifting his hat, he dashed a hand through his hair. At the end of the road Kerim Pasha’s blue clad guards stood outside the main entrance to the mansion. Tom could feel their interested gaze upon him. He settled his hat firmly on his now untidy hair and advanced towards them.

  He made an effort to look calm. He must focus on the task in hand and remain coolly polite to this lady who was out of bounds. Just view her as the artist, he told himself. Remember your job. It is the pictures that are all-important. She had asked a lot of questions on his visit the previous day. It was clear that since she had seen the Turkish soldiers in that procession, she was aware of what needed to be done. Tom knew without asking that she had understood his ideas clearly. He shook his head over the mystery. Strange how their two minds saw things in exactly the same way.

  ‘Welcome, Mr Hawkesleigh. You have recovered from your -er- encounter with Laval and his band of agents?’ Kerim Pasha appeared in the doorway to the salon, at his most urbane.

  Tom eyed him suspiciously. ‘Thank you, sir. But how do you know about that?’

  Kerim Pasha’s lips twitched. ‘I also have agents. Even if they cannot interfere in
what happens to you at the time, they can alert me to help in whatever ways I can.’ He turned back towards the rear of the house and signed to Tom to accompany him. ‘Of course, others are watching me and my agents. It is a wearisome game of chess.’ He turned a keen gaze on Tom and added, ‘but one I cannot afford to lose.’

  Tom’s eyes widened at that stern look. It was another reminder of how important this business was and how urgently Kerim Pasha needed the drawings. Ministers who failed to carry out the Sultan’s policies to his satisfaction would often end up with their severed heads displayed to His Majesty on a platter. He swallowed hard. ‘Then I am most obliged to you for your assistance in getting me released. And I assure you that there was no evidence for any spy to find.’

  That earned him a look of approval. They stepped out into the garden. At once, Kerim Pasha put a hand on Tom’s arm to stop him. ‘Just to tell you that the written report is now translated into Turkish,’ he murmured, very low, ‘I hope the drawings are satisfactory. I will leave you to find out.’ He nodded and turned back into the house.

  Tom walked as far as the kiosk. There was nobody there. He put a hand on the rail and stood, struggling to keep his composure. Soon, very soon, an English boat would arrive and then Rose would vanish from his life once more. At this point he could not decide if he wanted that or feared it.

  A light step was coming along the path. Tom turned to watch her as she came towards him, her harem clothes floating around her. Those soft colours enhanced her delicate beauty. He groaned inwardly and clutched the brim of his hat so hard he nearly cracked it.

  Rose smiled at him and hurried in to take her usual seat. Her face was eager and she had an air of excitement. As soon as Tom sat down, she thrust the sketchbook at him. She watched, her hands tightly clasped, while he slowly turned the pages. He nodded once or twice, sometimes flicking back to a previous page.

  Tom examined each sketch thoroughly. She had done everything just as he had asked. Blue jackets, red trousers, rather full but a much closer fit than the current pantaloons, as well as boots and red caps with a long soft tail that could serve to shield the soldiers from sun or wind. He felt pleased and proud. It was as if Rose had seen into his mind. He looked up at last to see her biting her lip, her big blue eyes fixed anxiously on his face.