She liked it.
About dinner she was less certain. The oxtail soup had been followed by lobster rissoles, and now a footman placed a slice from the roast sirloin of beef on her plate, where it joined the spoonful of mashed turnips and the boiled onion. The onion had been so thoroughly boiled that it was finding it difficult to hold its shape and had begun to tilt dispiritedly to one side.
“This is really quite a remarkable meal,” Lady Penworth said to their hostess. “Do you find it difficult to obtain English food here?”
“You’ve no idea.” Lady Bulwer sighed sadly. “It has taken me ages to convince the cook that plain boiled vegetables are what we want. You can’t imagine the outlandish spices he wants to use. And the olive oil! It’s a constant struggle.”
“And in that battle, the food lost,” muttered Emily, poking the onion into total collapse.
A snort from M. Chambertin at her side indicated that her words had not gone unheard. After using his napkin, he turned to her. “You do not care for rosbif?” he asked with a grin. “I thought all the English eat nothing else.”
“We are in Constantinople, thousands of miles from home, and we might as well be in Tunbridge Wells.”
He made a sympathetic grimace. “Perhaps while your papa goes to look at the railway route, Sir Henry can find you a guide who will show you and your friend a bit of Constantinople. You should really see the Topkapi—the old palace—and the bazaar.”
“Oh, but we aren’t going to be staying here. Julia and I are going with my parents.”
Mr. Oliphant, who had been speaking quietly with Julia, heard that and looked around in shock. “Lady Emily, you and Lady Julia and Lady Penworth are all planning to go to Mosul? Surely not. I cannot believe your father will allow this.”
Emily sighed. She was accustomed to such reactions. Lady Emily, you cannot possibly mean… Lady Emily, surely you do not intend… All too often, she had restrained herself and done what was expected. She intended this trip to be different. Still, she was curious as well as annoyed. Was Mr. Oliphant about to urge propriety, or was there some other reason for his distress? “Why should we not?” she asked.
Mr. Oliphant took a sip of wine, as if to calm himself. Or fortify himself. It was impossible to be certain. He cleared his throat. “I fear Lord Penworth may not be fully aware of the difficulties—dangers, even—of travel in this part of the world. The caravan route through Aleppo and Damascus and then across the desert is hazardous under the best of circumstances, and these days…” He shook his head.
“My friend does not exaggerate,” added M. Chambertin, looking serious. “Although the recent massacres in the Lebanon seem to be at an end, brigands have become more bold, and even the largest caravans—they are not safe.”
“But we are not planning to take that route.” Emily looked at Julia for confirmation and received it. “We are to sail to Samsun on the Black Sea, travel by caravan over the mountains to Diyarbakir, and then down the river to Mosul. And eventually on to Baghdad and Basra. Papa discussed it all with people back in London when he and Lord Palmerston were planning the route. So you need not worry.” She smiled to reassure the gentlemen.
M. Chambertin and Mr. Oliphant exchanged glances, trying to decide which should speak. It fell to Mr. Oliphant. “I do not question your father’s plan, Lady Emily. These days that is by far the safer route, though no place is entirely safe from attacks by brigands. However, he may have underestimated the physical difficulties of the trip. The mountains—these are not gentle little hills like the ones you find in England. They are barren and rocky, and we will cross them on roads that are little more than footpaths. It is impossible to take a carriage. If they do not go on foot, travelers must go on horseback or on mules. And this early in the year, it will still be bitterly cold, especially at night.”
“You needn’t worry,” Emily assured him. “We are all excellent riders, and I am told that the cold is preferable to the heat of the summer.”
M. Chambertin smiled at her and shook his head. “I do not doubt that you are a horsewoman par excellence, and your mother and Lady Julia as well. However, the journey over the mountains will take weeks. We will encounter few villages, and those we find will be most poor. There will be times when we must sleep in tents or take shelter in stables. Nowhere will there be comfortable inns where ladies can refresh themselves.”
Emily and Julia looked at each other, sharing their irritation. Male condescension was obviously to be found everywhere.
“I believe you misunderstand the situation, gentlemen.” Julia spoke in her iciest, most superior tone. “We are not fragile pieces of porcelain. We are grown women, and English women at that. I do not think you will find us swooning at the sight of a spider. Or, for that matter, at the sight of a lion. Since Lord Penworth has determined that we are capable of undertaking the journey, I see no need for you to question his judgment.”
Mr. Oliphant flushed uncomfortably. “I assure you that no insult was intended either to you or to Lord Penworth. It is simply that ladies do not normally undertake such a journey.”
Julia’s tone grew even icier. “Ladies do not? Are you suggesting that there is something improper about our taking part in this trip?”
His flush deepened. “Not at all. I would not…I assure you…my only concern is your safety.”
“You need not worry about that either,” said Emily, waving a hand casually in the air. “Harry—that’s Lady Julia’s brother, Lord Doncaster. He’s married to my sister Elinor. He has provided each of us with a revolver.”
There was an odd, choking sound from M. Chambertin.
Emily turned to him. “Are you quite well, monsieur?”
“Quite well.” His face, when it reappeared from his napkin, was slightly red. “And the Lord Doncaster, he has no doubt taught you how to shoot these revolvers?”
“Of course.” Emily smiled rather smugly. “In fact, I am becoming quite a good shot. Would you care for a demonstration? Not here in the dining room,” she assured Mr. Oliphant, who was looking more and more distressed.
M. Chambertin, on the other hand, was grinning broadly. “No demonstration will be needed, I assure you. I begin to think that this will be a most interesting voyage. Bien intéressant.”
Author’s Note
Before German unification in 1871, there were dozens of small independent German states—kingdoms and principalities and duchies. Many of them were located in the north, but in the south, between Baden and Württemberg, were two small states, Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen and Hohenzollern-Hechingen. These two were ruled by branches of the same family that ruled Prussia and were actually absorbed by Prussia in 1850.
For the purpose of my story, I have borrowed their location and half of their names, erasing their actual histories and their connection with the Hohenzollerns. Instead, the ruling families of my fictional principalities are descended from the Hohenstaufens, Holy Roman Emperors in the early Middle Ages and rulers of the medieval Duchy of Swabia. Sigmaringen and Hechingen are therefore still independent in 1863 and, like Baden and Württemberg, worried about the ambitions of both Prussia and Austria. This does not greatly depart from the actual course of history. My story only delays by some twenty years the absorption of Sigmaringen and Hechingen into the German Empire, a fate foreseen by many of the characters in the novel.
Needless to say, the characters and the masquerade are all entirely fictitious, though inspired by one of my favorite books, Anthony Hope’s The Prisoner of Zenda.
Acknowledgments
With grateful appreciation to all the artists, editors, copy editors, and proofreaders at Sourcebooks for all the work they do to make this book as good as they can, especially Hilary Doda, for her insightful comments and suggestions.
I would also like to thank Professor Robert K. Bloomer, coordinator of German programs at SUNY Stony Brook, for his help with Schwäbi
sch words and phrases. Any mistakes are my own fault.
About the Author
Lillian Marek was born and raised in New York City. At one time or another she has had most of the interesting but underpaid jobs available to English majors. After a few too many years in journalism, she decided she prefers fiction, where the good guys win and the bad guys get what they deserve. The first book in her Victorian Adventure series, Lady Elinor’s Wicked Adventures, won first prize in both the Launching a Star and the Windy City Four Seasons contests. She now lives on Long Island, next to a pond inhabited by swans and snapping turtles, with occasional visits from cormorants, egrets, and herons.
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A Scandalous Adventure Page 29
