One
Constantinople, March 1861
Constantinople had looked so promising to Lady Emily when they arrived this morning, with the city rising up out of the morning mists, white and shining with turrets and domes and balconies everywhere. The long, narrow boats in the harbor all sported bright sails. It had been so new and strange and exotic.
Now here she was, walking with Lady Julia behind her parents on Wilton carpets. Wilton carpets imported from Salisbury! When even she knew that this part of the world was famous for its carpets.
She heaved a sigh. They had traveled thousands of miles to finally reach Constantinople—the Gateway to Asia, the ancient Byzantium, the capital of the fabulous Ottoman Empire, a city of magic and mystery— and for what?
To be tucked up in the British Embassy, a Palladian building that would have looked perfectly at home around the corner from Penworth House in London.
She understood that it was British and represented the Queen and the Empire and all that, but did it have to be so very English?
The doors at the end of the hall were flung open and a butler, dressed precisely as he would have been in London, announced, “The Most Honorable the Marquess of Penworth. The Most Honorable the Marchioness of Penworth. The Lady Emily Tremaine. The Lady Julia de Vaux.”
They might just as well have never left home.
Emily smiled the insipid smile she reserved for her parents’ political friends—the smile intended to assure everyone that she was sweet and docile—and prepared to be bored. She was very good at pretending to be whatever she was expected to be. Next to her, she could feel Julia straighten her already perfect posture. She reached over to squeeze her friend’s hand.
“Lord Penworth, Lady Penworth, allow me to welcome you to Constantinople.” A ruddy-faced gentleman with thinning gray hair on his head and a thinning gray beard on his chin inclined his head. “And this must be your daughter, Lady Emily?” He looked somewhere between the two young women, as if uncertain which one to address.
Emily took pity on him and curtsied politely.
He looked relieved and turned to Julia. “And Lady Julia?” She performed a similar curtsy.
“My husband and I are delighted to welcome such distinguished visitors to Constantinople,” said the small, gray woman who was standing stiffly beside the ambassador, ignoring the fact that he had been ignoring her.
Emily blinked. She knew marital disharmony when she heard it. She also knew how unpleasant it could make an evening.
“We are delighted to be here, Lady Bulwer,” said Lord Penworth courteously. “This part of the world is new to us, and we have all been looking forward to our visit.” He turned to the ambassador. “I understand that you, Sir Henry, are quite familiar with it.”
“Tolerably well, tolerably well. I’m told you’re here to study the possibility of a railroad along the Tigris River valley. Can’t quite see it myself.” Before the ambassador realized it, Lord Penworth had cut him out of the herd of women and was shepherding him off to the side.
In the sudden quiet, Lady Penworth smiled at her hostess and gestured at the room about them. “I am most impressed by the way you have managed to turn this embassy into a bit of England,” she said. “If I did not know, I would think myself still in London.”
Lady Bulwer looked both pleased and smug. She obviously failed to note any hint of irony in Lady Penworth’s words. Emily recognized the signs. Her parents would out-diplomat the diplomats, smoothing over any bumps of disharmony in the Bulwer household, and conversation would flow placidly through conventional channels. Boring, but unexceptionable. And only too familiar.
Then Julia touched her arm.
Still looking straight ahead, and still with a faint, polite smile on her face, Julia indicated that Emily should look at the left-hand corner of the room. Emily had never understood how it was that Julia couldsend these messages without making a sound or even moving her head, but send them she did.
In this case, it was a message Emily received with interest. Off in the corner were two young men pretending to examine a huge globe while they took sideways glances at the newcomers. This was much more promising than the possibility of trouble between the ambassador and his wife. Refusing to pretend a lack of curiosity—she was growing tired, very tired, of pretending—she looked straight at them.
One was an extraordinarily handsome man, clean-shaven to display a beautifully sculpted mouth and a square jaw. His perfectly tailored black tailcoat outlined a tall, broad-shouldered physique. The blinding whiteness of his shirt and bow tie contrasted with the slight olive cast of his skin. His hair was almost black, and his dark eyes betrayed no awareness of her scrutiny. He stood with all the bored elegance of the quintessential English gentleman. Bored and probably boring.
The other man looked far more interesting. He was not so tall—slim and wiry, rather than powerful looking—and not nearly so handsome. His nose was quite long—assertive might be a polite way to describe it—and his tanned face was long and narrow. Like his companion, he was clean shaven, though his hair, a dark brown, was in need of cutting. While his evening clothes were perfectly proper, they were worn carelessly, and he waved his hands about as he spoke in a way that seemed definitely un-English. He noticed immediately when she held her gaze on him and turned to return her scrutiny. She refused to look away, even when he unashamedly examined her from head to toe. His eyes glinted with amusement, and he gave her an appreciative grin and salute.
The cheek of him! She laughed out loud, making Julia hiss and drawing the attention of her mother and Lady Bulwer. Sir Henry must have noticed something as well, for he waved the young men over to be introduced to Papa.
They both stopped a proper distance away, and the handsome one waited with an almost military stiffness. Sir Henry introduced him first. “This is David Oliphant, Lord Penworth. He’s with the Foreign Office and will be your aide and guide on the journey. He knows the territory and can speak the lingo. All the lingoes, in fact—Turkish, Kurdish, Arabic, whatever you run into along the way.”
Oliphant bowed. “Honored, my lord.”
Lord Penworth smiled. “My pleasure.”
“And this young man is Lucien Chambertin. He’s on his way back to Mosul where he’s been working with Carnac, digging up stone beasts or some such.”
“The remains of Nineveh, Sir Henry.” Chambertin then turned to Lord Penworth with a brief, graceful bow and a smile. “I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord, for I am hoping you will allow me to impose on you and join your caravan for the journey to Mosul.”
He spoke excellent English, with just a hint of a French accent. Just the perfect hint, Emily decided. Sir Henry was not including the ladies in his introductions, to her annoyance, so she had been obliged to position herself close enough to hear what they were saying. This was one of the rare occasions when she was grateful for her crinolines. They made it impossible for the ladies to stand too close to one another, so she placed herself to the rear of her mother. From that position, she could listen to the gentlemen’s conversation while appearing to attend to the ladies’. What’s more, from her angle she could watch them from the corner of her eye without being obvious.
“I cannot imagine why you should not join us,” Lord Penworth told the Frenchman. “I understand that, in Mesopotamia, it is always best to travel in a large group. You are one of these new scholars—what do they call them, archaeologists?”
Chambertin gave one of those Gallic shrugs. “Ah no, nothing so grand. I am just a passing traveler, but I cannot resist the opportunity to see the ruins of Nineveh when the opportunity offers itself. And then when Monsieur Carnac says he has need of assistance, I agree to stay for a while.”
“Well, my wife will certainly find the ruins interesting. She has developed quite a fascination with the ancient world.”
Oliphant looked startled. “Your wife? But surely Lady Penworth does not intend to accompany us.”
“Of course.” Lord Penworth in turn looked startled at the question. “I could hardly deny her the opportunity to see the ancient cradle of civilization. Not when I am looking forward to it myself.”
“I’m sorry. I was told you were traveling to view the possible site of a railway.”
“I am.” Penworth smiled. “That is my excuse for this trip. General Chesney has been urging our government to build a railway from Basra to Constantinople. His argument is that it would provide much quicker and safer communication with India. Palmerston wanted me to take a look and see if there would be any other use for it.”
The ambassador snorted. “Not much. There’s nothing of any use or interest in that part of the world except for those huge carvings that fellows like Carnac haul out of the ground.”
The handsome Mr. Oliphant looked worried. Before he could say anything, dinner was announced, the remaining introductions were finally made, and Emily found herself walking in to dinner on the arm of M. Chambertin. He had behaved quite correctly when they were introduced and held out his arm in perfectly proper fashion. He said nothing that would have been out of place in the most rigidly proper setting imaginable. Nonetheless, she suspected that he had been well aware of her eavesdropping. There was a decidedly improper light dancing in his eyes.
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.
- 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.”
- 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 tones. “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.
- 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.”
Lord Penworth, wrapped in his comfortable old brown dressing gown and seated in the comfortable armchair in the chamber he and his wife had been given, watched Lady Penworth brush out her hair. He had enjoyed this ritual for more than thirty years, and it had yet to pall. His wife’s hair was still thick and lustrous. The few gray hairs only highlighted its inky darkness. She was still the most beautiful woman he had ever known. And the least docile.
“Anne, my dear...”
“Yes?” She met his eyes in the mirror.
“Now that we have come too far to turn back easily, are you going to tell me why we are all here?”
“Now, Phillip, you know that Lord Palmerston asked for your opinion on this railway proposal.”
He noticed with amusement that her eyes evaded his just as that answer evaded the question. His Anne disliked telling fibs. “Yes, I know that, and I could have told him it was a foolish idea without leaving my own fireside.”
She drew the brush rhythmically through her hair. “Well, I have been worried about Emily lately. She’s been bored.”
“Really? She seems busy enough.”
“Yes, but she has been busy with social events that do not truly interest her. Boredom can be dangerous. She needs a challenge, something new before she decides to do something drastic.”
He looked unconvinced. “If you had simply wanted to take the girls traveling, we could have gone to Paris or even Vienna. We’ve never been to Vienna.”
She put down the brush and turned around, a look of resignation on her face. “That would not have done. It would have looked as if we were running away.”
Now he was confused. “Why would anyone think Emily was running away?”
“All right. It would have looked as if Julia were running away.”
He waited.
Lady Penworth sighed. “There has been talk about Julia’s mother.”
“Lady Doncaster? The Dowager Lady Doncaster, I should say.” He smiled. “It did rather put her nose out of joint when she discovered that our Elinor had married Harry and is now the Countess of Doncaster. At any rate, I thought she was now living quietly, or at least distantly, in Naples.”
“That creature could enter a nunnery and there would still be rumors about her. But it isn’t so much what she’s doing now.” Lady Penworth wrinkled her nose in distaste. “It seems that Robby Sinclair has taken it upon himself to remind people—or at least any young men who seem inclined to pay court to Julia—of Lady Doncaster’s past indiscretions and to suggest that Julia is likely to follow in her mother’s footsteps.”
Lord Penworth remained motionless for some moments. He finally broke the silence. “I take it that Doncaster was told nothing of this either?”
“Of course not.”
“I believe I know something of the reason for this. I don’t know the details, but there was a story going around last year that young Sinclair had done something less than honorable and Doncaster called him on it. There was no open scandal, but these days there’s always a slight hesitation when Sinclair’s name comes up.”
“He was trying to get back at Harry through his sister? What a vile little wretch.”
“No doubt. But this won’t do, Anne. He can’t be allowed to get away with that.”
“Well...” Lady Penworth hesitated and a slight smile hovered.
Lord Penworth sighed. He knew his wife. “What did you do?”
“You know that Sinclair has been looking for a wealthy bride?”
He nodded. “I had heard that the Sinclair finances are not all that they should be.”
“I was speaking with Mrs. Heath-Robinson. Sinclair frequently partnered her daughter. She commented that he was such a charming young man, just like his father. I reminded her that his father had been so charming that he gave his wife the disease that killed her and that left him a drooling idiot before he died himself, and, from all reports, it appears young Sinclair is indeed following in his father’s charming footsteps.”
He drew in a swift breath. “And is all of this true?”
“Oh yes. It’s hardly the sort of thing I would make up. It’s just that Sinclair’s parents dropped out of society so long ago that people have begun to forget.”
“But now they will remember.”
“Assuredly,” she said. “Sinclair is no longer invited to the Heath-Robinson house, and Mrs. Heath-Robinson is sure to tell everyone why.”
He shook his head slowly. “Skewered with his own weapon.”
“After all, if we had told you or Harry, you would have felt obliged to thrash him or do something equally violent. There would have been a scandal and that would only have made matters worse. Now we are all on this voyage because you could not leave me behind, and I could not leave Emily and Julia unchaperoned for the season. By next season, all anyone will talk about, if they say anything, is how brave and adventurous the girls are.”
“Have I ever told you, my dear, how grateful I am to have you for my wife and not my enemy?”
“Don’t be silly, Phillip. You would never do anything dishonorable to make an enemy of me. That’s why I love you. Or at least, that is one of the many reasons.”
Nuran, the maid who had been assigned to Emily and Julia, had nearly finished. After helping them remove their gowns and corsets, she had folded the garments and put them into the huge wardrobe. Next she poured warm water over their hands for washing, took down their hair and brushed it thoroughly before plaiting it for the night, and finally laid out their night robes while glancing at the girls frequently to see if she was doing everything correctly. She seemed to speak very little English, if any, so they had rewarded her with smiles and nods of assurance.
When she finally left, Emily looked around the room and sighed. The brass bed looked almost identi
cal to the one she shared with her younger sister. The dark walnut wardrobe with a looking glass between the two doors and the marble-topped washstand could be found in a thousand London houses. “How very familiar everything is. We’ve come all this distance, and the only exotic note is the head scarf Nuran wears.”
Julia laughed softly. “Did you hear Lady Bulwer complaining? She managed to insist that all the servants wear Western clothes, but they were adamant about the head scarves. If she wanted female servants, they could work only in the women’s rooms and they had to wear the head scarves.”
“The scarf does look bizarre with crinolines, doesn’t it? Why does Lady Bulwer bother, do you suppose?”
Julia shrugged. “I expect she is homesick. But Mr. Oliphant said that the sultan has been trying to modernize his empire and wants his subjects to wear Western clothes. Perhaps it’s not what she wants so much as what her husband wants.”
Mr. Oliphant? Had Julia pronounced that name in a tone that hinted at interest? Emily perked up. She was not certain, but she thought there had been slight hesitation that might signify something. She did hope so. Julia had been so sad—more than sad. She had been almost hopeless last fall, showing no interest in anyone or anything. She hid it well, however. A stranger looking at her would never have guessed that she was distressed. One had to know her well to guess that anything was wrong, and even so, Emily did not know precisely what the problem was.
Perhaps Mama had been right to insist on this trip. At least Mr. Oliphant seemed to bring a spark of interest to Julia’s eyes.
“It seems we shall have a pair of young men accompanying us on the way to Mosul. The Frenchman seems quite interesting.” Emily curled up in the middle of the feather bed—made from English feathers, she would wager—and tried to look uninterested in Julia’s response.
“Do you think so?” Julia frowned slightly. “You should be careful there. I suspect he may be an adventurer.”
“Really? That would be exciting.”
Julia frowned more sharply. “I’m sure this trip will be quite exciting enough without looking for additional dangers. Do not forget yourself and do something you will later regret.”
“What I will regret will be returning to see the same dull people having the same dull conversations at the same dull parties and always doing precisely what is expected. Do you not tire of it all? Every young man I meet seems like every other young man I meet. They all do the same things, think the same thoughts, say the same things. They are so boring.”
“Boring? I might not use that word, but yes. There is indeed a sameness in the way they all think.”
Emily looked at her friend sharply. Julia seemed to mean more than she actually said. Emily decided to ignore that for the moment. “M. Chambertin,” she said, “seems quite different. He doesn’t even look English. Well, of course he doesn’t.” She laughed at herself. “He is French. But it is more than that. He may not be terribly good-looking, but he has a lively countenance and a ready smile. A very attractive smile. He seems to find everything amusing. Since he does not seem to be bored himself, he is unlikely to be boring. And I like the way he moves. He is rather catlike, prepared to pounce if necessary.”
“Emily...”
“Now Mr. Oliphant,” said Emily, ignoring Julia’s frown, “is quite handsome. Indeed, he is almost excessively handsome. Do you not think so?”
“His manner is perfectly gentlemanly.” Julia managed to sound slightly repressive, but there was a blush rising on her cheeks.
“Oh, perfectly gentlemanly! You mean he behaves just like a proper English gentleman. How perfectly boring! It would be a pity to come all this way and spend our time with people who are just like the ones we left behind in London.” She eyed Julia cautiously.
Julia’s head snapped up. “No. People here are not at all like those in London. There is one enormous difference. No one knows me here. And no one knows my mother.”
“Oh, Julia, darling Julia!” Emily sat up, stricken. “You cannot be serious. You worry far too much about your mother. No one who knows you at all could possibly think you are anything like her.”
Julia gave her a cynical look. “Robby Sinclair?”
She dismissed him with a wave. “You know he was just trying to retaliate on your brother. No one paid him any heed.”
“People did, of course. As you said before, they all think the same thoughts. But that is not the problem.” Julia’s mouth tightened, and she looked away. “I don’t know who my real father is.”
“Poof. That’s nothing. The same is true of half the members of society.” Emily waved her hand airily. “It’s not as if your father—the late earl, I mean—was a devoted parent whom you loved dearly. As I have heard it, you rarely saw either him or your mother.”
“You don’t understand. I am not complaining about the lack of paternal—or maternal—love. I don’t care a fig about that. I don’t even care that my mother was a notorious whore. Not really. Now that my brother has married your sister and taken over as my guardian, I need never see her again. But because I don’t know who might have fathered me, and because my mother claims that she does not know either, I cannot know who his other children may be.”
Emily realized what the real problem was. Her hands turned icy. How had she failed to consider this? How could she have been so lacking in perception that she never saw Julia’s real fear?
Julia turned to face her and gave a short, angry laugh. “You do see, don’t you? Every time I meet a young man I wonder, ‘Are you someone I could marry, or are you my brother?’ How can I know? Should I ask him if his father knew my mother? That will simply remind him of the scandals. Shall I ask, ‘By the by, do you happen to know where your father was in October 1838?’ I cannot ask, so I can never know.”
“Julia.” Emily held out a hand, and Julia grasped it.
“I will never forgive my mother. Never.”
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