Scandal's Daughter (2 page)

Ibrahim nodded, his soft, young-old face understanding. “
Inshallah
—if God wills it, it is good. An unmarried woman belongs in her father’s house. But is it not a long journey?”

“A very long journey. That is why I need a travelling companion. Will you go with me?”

“Oh, Bayan, I am honoured that you ask me,” the eunuch stammered, “yet I am afraid. I have heard, in Europe they do not make men like me.”

“True.” Cordelia frowned. She didn’t want to drag him all the way to England, to a cold climate where he couldn’t speak the language and would be regarded as a freak. “I know, come as far as Athens with me. Greece is part of the Ottoman Empire, so if I give you enough money you can easily come back to Istanbul.”

“God is merciful, but to desert my kind mistress would be a sin. It is not right for a young lady to travel alone.”

“In Athens I shall go to the British Resident. He will find someone reliable to go with me, perhaps even a party of English travellers. People come all the way from England to visit the ruins, especially now Napoleon has closed so much of Europe. So, you see, you need not worry about me. But, oh dear, will Mehmed Pasha find you when you return and blame you for my flight?”

Ibrahim drew himself up proudly. “The pasha is not my master. You are my mistress, and he cannot blame me for doing my duty to you. Perhaps I shall go to Cairo or Damascus,” he added more practically.

“I’ll give you as much money as I possibly can. That’s the next thing. I shall sell Mama’s jewels.” At last all those useless baubles could be put to good use. “I’ll go and sort them out now, and take them to Aaron the Jew tomorrow. Mama trusted him, and so must I.”

She went up to her mother’s room and lit a lamp. The muezzin was calling the faithful to the twilight prayer. Was it only this morning she had listened to his cry with nothing more on her mind than what to buy for dinner?

Since then her life was irrevocably changed. At last she was going to be respectable.

There were two jewelry cases, one of stamped leather, the other of sandalwood inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Shunning the luxurious, licentious bed, Cordelia sat cross-legged on the blue and red carpet and emptied onto it the wages of sin. Rubies, emeralds, sapphires, amethysts—Lady Courtenay had not been fussy—glimmered in the lamplight. The sparkling river of diamonds given her by the Margrave of Rennenburg put to shame the Polish Count Szambrowczyk’s topaz bracelet.

Little chamois leather bags held delicate opals and pearls, some the gift of the Conte di Arventino, Cordelia thought. She had fond memories of the Italian nobleman, who had been a father to her for several years and taught her much about art and literature. He had even taught her to write English correctly, Mama’s orthography being anything but orthodox.

Then his family had insisted that he marry; his mistress and her daughter had moved on.

At the bottom of the leather case, Cordelia found a simple string of quite ordinary pearls. Those were Mama’s before her marriage and she hadn’t worn them since. She had given them to Cordelia on her sixteenth birthday. Cordelia had had little occasion to wear them, none since coming to Istanbul, but she decided to keep them. Half ashamed of her sentimentality, she told herself they were not worth much. She clasped them round her neck and tucked them under her kaftan.

At the bottom of the sandalwood box, she found her baptismal certificate, her mother’s marriage lines, and a letter.

My Dearling Dee, I know I have offen erked you by refusing to part with my Jewls. Now you are reading this you will reelise why and not blame yore foolish Mama—They are All I have to leave you. I know my wise child, so much wiser than her mama will make use of them wisely to ashure her Future. God bless you and keep you, my Dearling. Your ever loving Mama.

Cordelia wept.

* * * *

In the cool of the morning, Aaron the Jew sat on the bench outside his little shop. His yellow turban, as decreed by the authorities, proclaimed his faith. His shabby clothes proclaimed not his relative wealth, nor a superstitious fear of the Evil Eye, but a sensible wariness of arousing the envy of his Moslem neighbours.

Approaching, Cordelia studied his face, thin, lined, with deepset eyes and a sparse grey beard. All depended upon his willingness to help her. If he refused, or if she felt unable to trust him, she didn’t know where to turn.

He regarded her with a gravity which inspired confidence. Standing up, he bowed and without a word held back the curtain across the doorway of his shop. She entered, followed by Ibrahim with the jewelry in a plain rush basket, wrapped in linen cloths. Aaron came in after them, letting the curtain drop. The light within was dim.

“
Shalom
, Meess Courtenay,” he said, much to her surprise, continuing in broken English, “your visit honours to me. I hear the mother dies and feel much sorry. A lady of good charm.”

“Thank you, Mr...sir.” Cordelia unwound the shawl from her face, though she left it over her hair. “How did you know who I am?” she went on in Turkish.

“I know your servant. Also, I have seen you with your mother, and though you wear Turkish clothes, you do not walk like a Turkish girl, if you will excuse my mentioning it.”

Blushing, she glanced at Ibrahim, who nodded confirmation. So much for her prized anonymity in the streets! This might complicate her escape, but with luck no one would think twice about her visiting her mother’s jeweller.

“You have come for the ring?” he asked. “It is in my workshop, not here. I have not yet done the work, but perhaps you want it left as it is?”

“Yes, thank you.” She had forgotten the ring Mama brought yesterday to be reset—the reason for her fatal outing. “That is, it doesn’t matter now. Mr. Aaron, I need your help, but I must beg your promise to keep my affairs secret. If you cannot promise, I shall have to...to think of something else.”

“I promise not to disclose your affairs.” As he spoke, the Jew lit a lamp. “Until you tell me what you wish, I cannot promise to help.”

Cordelia looked around the small room. “I don’t know,” she said doubtfully, noting the bare furnishings. On the threadbare carpet stood two low, cushioned benches, and in a corner a plain wooden chest, not large, with an iron lock. A shelf on one wall held only writing materials. “Maybe I am expecting too much of you.”

He smiled, his thin face wrinkling. “You must not judge my business by this place, Meess. Most of my stock is at my workshop. Here I show prospective customers examples of my work and discuss their desires with them. If you care to sit, I shall send for coffee and we shall discuss whatever you need.”

Still uneasy, Cordelia sat down. Ibrahim stood against the wall, clutching the basket to his chest, as Aaron stuck his head out of the doorway and called to an urchin to bring coffee from the coffee-house.

While they waited, he told Cordelia how much he had enjoyed talking about England with Lady Courtenay. “I have relatives there,” he said. “I do not hear their news often, but now and then I am fortunate enough to be of assistance to them in some small matter of business. We Jews are found in every corner of the globe, like you English.”

“I was too young when I left to remember anything,” Cordelia told him, her trust in him increasing, “but I want to go back.”

She fell silent as a ragged, barefooted boy came in with a brass tray holding a long-handled copper pot and three tiny china cups without handles. Aaron paid him the money for the coffee and a tip for himself, then poured the thick, fragrant liquid. “May your servant drink with us?” he asked.

“Oh yes, of course. Ibrahim, you may put down the basket.”

The eunuch sat cross-legged on the floor, the precious basket close beside him, and accepted a cup. They all sipped the hot, syrupy-sweet coffee.

“You wish to return to England, Meess,” Aaron prompted gently.

“Yes, and I must leave soon.” She owed it to him to warn him that helping her might well offend Mehmed Pasha. “The trouble is, someone—a high official—does not want me to leave, so all must be arranged in secret.”

“I understand. I am sure I can find a discreet ship’s captain who will give you passage at least to Alexandria or Piraeus, the port for Athens, perhaps even to Italy.”

“Can you really?” Cordelia had not even begun to consider how that might be accomplished, still less thought of consulting the jeweller. “That’s wonderful. I can pay well—that is, if you... You see, I have very little money, but a good deal of jewelry.”

She signalled to Ibrahim, who spread a cloth on the floor and laid out the glinting gems in their gleaming gold settings. Aaron’s sharply indrawn breath told her he was impressed.

“You wish to sell all this?”

“I have no use for jewels, and much need of money.”

He leaned down, picked up the Margrave’s diamonds, and let them run in a glittering rainbow through his fingers. “These alone are worth a fortune, Meess. If you turn them all to gold coins, it will make a heavy load, and one easily lost or stolen.”

“What do you advise, then? That I sell some and take the rest with me?”

“No.” He carefully put down the diamonds, sipped his coffee and stroked his beard. Cordelia watched him eagerly, convinced now of his good will. “No, such gems as these are not easily sold should you find yourself in need of further funds on the way. You must have some ready money, of course. For the rest, I suggest you exchange half for small diamonds. Sew them into a cloth which you can wind around your waist, under your clothes.”

“That’s what I was going to do with the gold coins.”

“An excellent idea, but diamonds will give you more value for much less weight, and small, loose diamonds are not difficult to sell. I can give you the names of reputable dealers in the cities you are likely to pass through.”

“You are most obliging, sir,” Cordelia said gratefully. “But you say to change half for diamonds. What of the rest?”

Aaron spread his hands, indicating the shimmering gems laid before him. “This is worth a great deal. I cannot tell you how much without further examination.” He turned to Ibrahim. “You had best put everything back in the basket for the present, lest anyone come in. Meess, I can only say I would not carry so much with me for fear of losing all. The world is full of accidents and thieves.”

“What should I do?”

“If you wish, I can arrange for my relatives in England to provide you with funds to the value of half your goods. I will give you a letter of credit, and also notify them by other means so that losing the letter would not be a great disaster to you. Otherwise, I advise you to entrust the funds to the English Ambassador here in Istanbul, to be sent to England with the next returning diplomat on a vessel of the English navy.”

Cordelia clasped her hands beneath her chin, closed her eyes, and thought hard. No doubt a Royal Navy ship was safer than most means of travel. No doubt the British Ambassador was an honest man. But he had been extremely rude when Lady Courtenay went to report their arrival in Istanbul. He might agree to take charge of her money yet not trouble to keep her departure secret. She didn’t want to ask him, to have to explain Mehmed Pasha’s plans for her future.

Aaron had not required an explanation. She had already decided to entrust the jewelry to him, and she would have to trust him to give her fair value, so she might as well trust him for the rest.

“Please,” she said, “I leave it all in your hands.”

“You honour me, Meess.” Rising, he bowed to her before fetching his writing materials from the shelf. “The first thing is to make two lists, one for me and one for you.”

“I can’t read Arabic writing,” Cordelia confessed.

“In this country, few females can read at all. I do not know the English words, so I shall write the Turkish words in English characters as best I can.”

He beckoned Ibrahim over to the chest in the corner, and turned a heavy key in the iron lock. One by one, as he listed them, the pieces were transferred from the basket to the chest: Count Szambrowczyk’s topazes, the Margrave’s diamonds, the Conte’s pearls and opals, the Pasha’s amethysts, one lover’s rubies and another’s emeralds. Each disappearance into the depths of the plain wooden box seemed to Cordelia to loosen the chains of her mother’s past from about her heart.

At last the basket was empty. Ibrahim stolidly folded the cloths and stowed them away.

Giving Cordelia one list, Aaron said, “How soon must you leave, Meess? It will take me several days, perhaps a week or more, to find the diamonds you need. Then you must sew, and it’s no use to seek a ship before you are ready.”

“Forty days,” Cordelia whispered. “Forty days from yesterday.”

It had sounded like plenty of time when Mehmed Pasha announced his intentions. Now it seemed all too short.

* * * *

One more day. At dawn the day after tomorrow, the Greek ship Aaron had found would leave its berth in the Golden Horn and set sail across the Sea of Marmara towards freedom.

From the street below came the night-watchman’s raucous cry. Cordelia lay tossing and turning in the dark. Tomorrow night she and Ibrahim would sneak out of the house and down to the quay where Captain Vasiliadis expected them.

Everything was ready. Aisha, wide-eyed, had helped her sew the diamonds into a long strip of linen. Amina, at last let into the secret, had already packed the clothes Cordelia was taking into a bundle Ibrahim could carry. The rest she would leave for the two maids, along with enough money for dowries—Aaron had promised to take them into his house until he could find them either husbands or positions in comfortable households.

One more day. She’d never be able to sleep tonight, she was sure. Yet as the watchman’s cry faded into the distance, she began to drowse off...

Then suddenly she was wide awake again. Someone was in her room. By the pale moonlight which now filtered through the carved screen, she saw a dark figure crossing the carpet towards her with slow, stealthy steps.

Starting to sit up, she took a breath to shout for help. The figure pounced. A hard hand clapped across her mouth.

“Hush, don’t scream,” hissed an English voice.