I fain would go, yet beauty calls me back.
To leave her so and not once say farewell
Were to transgress against all laws of love,
But if I use such ceremonious thanks
As parting friends accustom on the shore,
Her silver arms will coil me round about
And tears of pearl cry, "Stay, Aeneas, stay."
Each word she says will then contain a crown,
And every speech be ended with a kiss.
I may not 'dure this female drudgery.
To sea, Aeneas! Find out Italy!
--Christopher Marlowe, Dido, Queen of Carthage
1
It is always a mistake to underestimate the possibilities
of
a train compartment. Some newly married couples might
prefer
luxurious, spacious suites at the Continental in Paris or
rooms overlooking Lake Lucerne, but I shall never be
convinced that one can find bliss more satisfactory than
that to be had in a confined space with the company only
of
each other. Limitations lend themselves to creativity,
and
my spouse wasted no time in proving himself adept beyond
imagination.
After the death of my first husband, a man I’d barely
known,
I hadn’t expected that I, Lady Emily Ashton, would ever
again agree to subject myself to the bonds of matrimony.
I’d
not believed there was a man alive capable of tempting me
to
give up even a shred of what I considered my hard-earned
independence. More surprising than simply finding such an
extraordinary individual was discovering that he was said
late husband’s best friend. Philip, a dedicated hunter,
had
gone on safari immediately following our wedding trip,
leaving me behind in London. He never returned. Everyone
initially accepted his death as natural—it appeared as if
he’d fallen victim to fever—but I soon began to suspect
otherwise and spearheaded the ensuing investigation,
suspecting early on that Colin Hargreaves had murdered
the
man who’d been like a brother to him.
Such are the follies of a novice detective, and in the
end I
was pleased to have been wholly incorrect about Colin’s
character. Far from a nefarious criminal, he instead
turned
out to be a gentleman of the highest morals who spent
much
of his time working for the Crown—investigating
situations
that, as he liked to say, required more than a modicum of
discretion. This description was too modest. In fact, his
services were indispensible to the Empire and he was one
of
Her Majesty’s most trusted agents. I do not blame myself
entirely for having been so wrong in my suspicions—a man
who
works in such mysterious ways ought to expect his actions
to
be, on occasion, misinterpreted.
And so, rather than seeing him off to prison, I fell in
love
with him, and after refusing his proposals twice, at last
was convinced that matrimony was essential to my
happiness.
This decision came after I’d solved two more crimes in a
fashion competent enough to earn Colin’s praise and his
suggestion that I begin to assist him in a more official
capacity. Assuming, of course, his colleagues would agree
to
such an arrangement. A female investigator was not
something
much sought after in the halls of Buckingham Palace.
My decision to pursue such a line of work complemented
nicely my other so-called eccentricities, in particular a
propensity for academic pursuits that at present focused
on
the study of ancient Greek. All of this vexed my mother,
a
staunch traditionalist, greatly and strained our already
tenuous relationship. When at last I agreed to be Colin’s
wife, she rejoiced (although she would have preferred for
me
to catch a duke), but her jovial attitude dissolved the
instant she learned we had eloped on the Greek island of
Santorini. Philip had left me a villa there, and it was
the
place to which I fled whenever I was overwhelmed or in
need
of escape. It also proved the perfect spot for an
extremely
private wedding.
Afterwards, we returned to England, where we passed an
excruciating month with my parents at their estate in
Kent.
We felt it right to tell them our news in person and
wanted
to extend the proverbial olive branch. But only the most
rare sort of mother could find it in her heart to welcome
home a child who had deprived her of the pleasure of
planning a society wedding, and Lady Catherine Bromley
was
not such a woman. The only bright spot in the visit was
the
fact that my dearest childhood friend, Ivy, in that happy
condition that comes inevitably after marriage, was also
there. My mother, upon learning that Ivy’s parents were
in
India, had all but carried my friend into Kent, insisting
that she needed special care during her confinement.
Much though Colin and I enjoyed seeing Ivy, it had become
evident almost at once that escape was necessary. We
longed
to get away from everyone, to a place where our only
pressing business would be to enjoy our honeymoon, and
had
planned a trip east to visit sites important to me
because
of my love of classical antiquities and literature. I
wanted
to see the ruins at Ephesus, and as student of Homer,
craved
a visit to Troy. Colin, proving himself husband
extraordinaire from the first, did not need to be told
any
of this; he anticipated my every desire. And hence, we
soon
found ourselves speeding towards Constantinople on the
Orient Express.
“I’m not sure your mother will ever forgive me all the
way,”
Colin said as he guided me through narrow mahogany-
paneled
corridors to the train’s dining car. “I’d no idea how
wild
she and the queen had run with their wedding plans.”
“Well, we did give up our opportunity to be wed in the
chapel at Windsor Palace.”
“Yes. With fireworks and our two thousand closest
friends.”
I laughed. “I confess I never thought she had it in her
to
be so fierce with you.”
“Now that we’re married she considers me a safe mark. No
more worries that I’ll take my affections and my fortune
elsewhere.”
“Excellent point. But I’d hoped that her desire to charm
you
into eventually accepting a title from the queen would
keep
her better in line.”
“She’s quite amusing,” he said.
“Spoken like a man who’s never lived with her.” A crisply
uniformed steward pulled open a door for us, and we
stepped
into a dining room that, although small, was worthy of
the
best restaurants in Europe. Soft candles flickered with
the
gentle motion of the train, sending light undulating
across
crystal glasses, gold-rimmed porcelain, and damask
tablecloths the color of bright moonlight, while the
smell
of perfectly roasted beef with a tangy claret sauce
filled
the air.
“Twenty-eight days was more than enough,” Colin said.
“Was it only twenty-eight?” I asked.
“And a half. Why do you think I insisted we take the
morning
train to Paris?”
I slipped into a chair across from him at a table where a
silver-haired gentleman was already settled. He’d risen
and
bowed to me—over me, more like, as his height was
extraordinary—and then offered his hand to my husband.
“Sir
Richard St. Clare,” he said, introducing himself with a
stiff nod. Colin shook his hand and introduced us both.
“Hargreaves, eh? I know of your work. Your reputation is
sterling in diplomatic circles.”
“The compliment is much appreciated,” Colin said, sitting
down next to me.
“And much deserved. But we shan’t bore your lovely wife
with
talk of business.” He turned to me. “How far are you
traveling?”
“All the way to Constantinople,” I said, then leaned
forward, a broad smile stretching across my face. “First
real stop on our wedding trip.”
“Excellent.” He rubbed together thick-knuckled hands.
“And
where else shall you visit?”
“I’ve been promised Ephesus,” I said, raising an eyebrow
at
Colin, who was a vision of handsome perfection in his
evening kit.
“I’ll take you to Philadelphia and Sardeis as well,”
Colin
said. “So long as you have clothing suitable for
exploring
ruins.”
“You wouldn’t have married me if I didn’t,” I said,
wishing
I could grab his knee under the table and feeling a hot
rush
of color flood my cheeks at this reference to a
conversation
we’d had nearly two years ago on the Pont Neuf in Paris,
the
night he’d fallen in love with me in spite of his
erroneous
belief I was not in possession of a wardrobe suitable for
adventurous travel. The gown I was wearing now—of the
palest
pink silk embroidered with silver thread from which hung
teardrop shaped crystals—did not suggest I was a lady
ready
for the wilderness, but I was not the sort of woman who
should be judged by her clothing. An appreciation for
high
fashion does not preclude possession of common sense.
“A rather wild agenda, isn’t it?” Sir Richard asked. “You
might find you’d prefer Rome for ruins. It’s far safer.”
“I was not aware of problems at Ephesus,” Colin said,
pointedly not looking at me as I raised an eyebrow.
“My son, Benjamin, is an archaeologist and spent some
months
with the team excavating there a year or so ago,” Sir
Richard said. “There’s no longer the trouble they had
there
in the past, but I can’t say it’s a place I’d bring a new
bride.”
This line of thought did not surprise me in the least. It
was precisely what I expected from an ordinary Englishman
and precisely the sort of reaction I had grown accustomed
to
dismissing without reply. “What has induced you to visit
the
Ottomans, Sir Richard?” I asked.
“Constantinople is my home. I work at the embassy.”
“Then you must tell us all the inside secrets of the
city,”
Colin said. “The places we shouldn’t miss.”
“You might consider hiring a guide to keep track of you
unless you plan on staying in the westernized parts of
the
city.”
“I’d much prefer an adventurous approach,” I said. “I
want
to have no doubt in my mind that I’m far from England.”
“You remind me of my wife. Not that she ever went to
England—that she preferred adventure. An explorer like no
other, my Assia.”
“Will she be dining with us tonight?” I asked.
“I’m afraid I lost her many years ago.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said, a shard of grief piercing my
stomach, bringing with it memories of Philip, whom I’d
come
to love only after he was gone. I owed my happiness with
Colin in no small part to him. We would never have come
to
know each other were it not first, for their friendship,
and
second, for Philip’s murder. And this was a realization
that
carried with it a large dose of complicated and
bittersweet
emotion.
“It’s a terrible thing to lose someone you love,” Colin
said.
“Quite,” Sir Richard said, looking down and tapping a
finger
against the tines of his fork as an awkward silence
enveloped us. I had thought of and rejected no fewer than
fourteen ways to change the direction of the conversation
before our dinner companion surprised me by continuing.
“My
son goes sour whenever the subject of his mother comes up
—we
lost her and his sister the same day. He was only eight
years old and in ways has never fully recovered. Neither
of
us has, I suppose.”
“Condolences are not enough,” Colin said.
“But they are appreciated nonetheless,” Sir Richard said,
the words heavy with the sound of forced strength. “Assia
was an Algerian Berber, and a more beautiful woman has
never
walked the earth. She had been educated in Paris—I
imagine
you, Lady Emily, would approve of the value placed on
cultured women in Kabilya, the region in which she grew
up.
She loved adventure, and we traveled constantly. I took
her
to India and Egypt. After our children were born, we
brought
them with us.”
“What a marvelous childhood,” I said.
“I thought it would be.” He squared his jaw. “Until
bandits
attacked our camp near the dig at Ephesus. This was
twenty-odd years ago, soon after John Turtle Wood started
excavating. He was plagued with problems—warned us not to
come—but I would have none of it. I was a young fool.”
“Redundant,” Colin said, drawing a hard laugh from our
visitor.
“Quite. We were in two tents. Ceyden, my daughter, had
been
sick, so Assia was sleeping next to her. I didn’t know
what
was happening until I heard my wife screaming as they cut
her throat. She’d struggled too much.”
“I’m so sorry.” I could not help but reach out to take
his
hand, but he pulled it from the table.
“I had to protect Benjamin. Helped him hide before I
grabbed
my rifle and went on the offensive, but at the first
gunshot, the cowards started to retreat. They took Ceyden
with them. She was a beauty, even at three years old.
That
striking red gold hair, blue eyes. Looked like her
mother.”
“You must have been frantic,” I said. I thought of the
poor
girl, terrified, torn from her family, and my heart ached
at
the thought of her carrying so much pain and such
horrific
images.
“I spent years and a fortune searching for her, but never
uncovered a trace. All my efforts were futile. I’ve
always
assumed that she must have been sold into slavery. So you
see, adventurous travel isn’t all romance. You’d be
better
off, Hargreaves, keeping your wife safely in sight.” He
drained his wine, slammed the glass down with a thump and
laid his hands flat on the table.
“I of course appreciate the advice and shall heed it,”
Colin
said. I resisted the urge to kick him under the table,
restraining myself only out of respect for the tragedies
suffered by Sir Richard.
“I’m afraid I’ve—I’ve quite ruined the mood of the
evening.
Apologies.” His words sounded almost slurred as he
reached
for the half-empty bottle of wine in front of him, filled
his glass, and took a long drink, sweat beading on his
forehead. “I’m sure that between Topkapi Palace
and...ah...yes, the Blue Mosque and the Grand Bazaar
you’ll
find yourselves quite well diverted. I’ll see what I can
do
about arranging invitations to any parties in the
diplomatic
community as well as—”
His eyes rolled back in his head
and
he slumped over in his chair, still only for an instant
before his body convulsed, sending him crashing to the
floor.