The Aviary Gate (43 page)

‘The Valide? So she knew about it all along. But no one had given an alarm. How on earth did they know?'

‘I've no idea, but someone must have tipped them off.' Annetta shook her head. ‘At first they just stood at the door, as if they were too frightened to come in. But even so they were so close I could hear them talking, every word. I was sure they would discover me. Once I even made a noise, but thank goodness they thought it was the cat …'

‘What did they do?' Celia's face was pale.

‘The Valide asked: “Are they dead, yet?” Esperanza came into the room to look. She said: “The girl, yes.” Then she looked very closely at Hassan Aga, and held a mirror up to his nose. And when it turned out that he was not actually dead, she offered to send for the palace physician, but the Valide said something like, “No, not yet.”'

‘She refused to help him?'

‘Not exactly. It was as if …' Annetta screwed her face up in an effort to remember, ‘as if she already had another plan. As if she already knew, or at the very least had been expecting something like this to happen.'

For a moment Celia said nothing. ‘Do you think she did it?' she whispered eventually. ‘The Valide?'

‘Well, she could have done, but why would she?' Annetta said. ‘The Chief Black Eunuch is one of her principal allies. He's her right hand. The one she's always been able to count on. And besides, if she had done it, do you think she would have rushed to the scene like that? No, she would have stayed well away.' Annetta shook her head. ‘No, I think the Valide went there because she was trying to stop it from happening in the first place.'

‘You mean she knew what was going to happen?'

‘I think she had an idea that
something
was going to happen.'

‘And ever since she has been protecting the person who did it.'

‘Oh, she knows who did it, I'm sure of it,' Annetta nodded. ‘You don't know her like I do. Why do you think there's been no real investigation all this time?'

‘Well, it's obvious, isn't it?' Celia said, standing up.

‘It is?'

‘Of course. Who, apart from the Sultan himself, would the Valide ever go this far to protect? The other Nightingales, of course. Well, Little Nightingale clearly didn't poison himself – so it must have been—'

‘The third Nightingale?'

‘Exactly.'

‘Cariye Mihrimah.'

‘The one who's supposed to be dead.'

‘And if I'm going to find out who Cariye Mihrimah is,' Celia said, ‘there's only one person who can help me.'

‘Who's that?'

‘I'll have to go and see Handan again.'

‘That's madness,' Annetta gripped Celia by the arm, ‘please, that's absolute madness. You'll get caught – and even if you don't, Handan is half mad, they say. Whatever she tells you, how will you know it's the truth? It's a bad idea, I tell you.'

‘I got her to tell me about Cariye Mihrimah, didn't I?'

‘Yes, but …'

‘So perhaps I can get her to tell me the rest. And, besides, I don't think she's mad at all. She's been made weak and ill by the opium – but she's not mad.'

Just then there were voices in the courtyard beneath them. As Celia got to her feet, Annetta caught her arm.

‘Please, goose, I'm begging you, don't go.'

‘I have to.' Celia bent and kissed her on the cheek, and before Annetta could frighten her into changing her mind she was gone.

Celia made her way down the narrow wooden stairs and into the Courtyard of the Cariyes below. Two old black serving women were sweeping there with brooms made from palm fronds. When they saw Celia they backed away, murmuring respectful greetings. On one of
the rooftops a pigeon flapped. Its wings made a sharp retort, ringing like a pistol shot in the drowsy air. Suddenly Celia was reminded of the morning when Annetta had first summoned her to see the Valide. They had stood together, right here, just outside the door to Safiye Sultan's apartments. Could it really be less than a week ago? And that girl, that Celia: Kaya Kadin, the one who was
gözde
. She hardly recognised her.

With a clattering noise one of the servant women dropped the broom she had been carrying, and for the first time Celia looked at them. Were these the same women who had been cleaning in the courtyard then? Annetta had spoken to them sharply, she remembered that, but other than this she had no recollection. Even in the House of Felicity, where everyone lived on top of everyone else, one serving woman looked very much like another. Was that how Cariye Mihrimah had done it? Had herself smuggled back into the harem, disguised as a servant so that no one would recognise her?

On impulse, Celia stopped and turned back towards the two women. When they saw her they bent their heads towards her, bowing respectfully in unison.

‘
Kadin
!' Celia was about to move on when she realised that one of the women had called out to her. ‘My lady!'

She wore a thin gold chain around her ankle. The other, whose thinning, crinkled hair had more grey in it than her companion's, had a slight cast over one eye. The first old woman with the golden anklet took the other by the hand, and they shuffled slowly towards her.

‘Please, my lady …'

Now they had her attention they seemed unsure how to proceed.

‘Did you want something,
cariye
?' Celia looked at them curiously. ‘What's your name?' she asked the one with the gold chain.

‘Cariye Tusa.'

‘And yours?' she turned to the other.

‘Cariye Tata, my lady.'

Still hand in hand, they stared at her wonderingly. Why, they're as helpless as children, Celia thought, and then was struck by a sudden realisation.

‘Why, you're sisters, aren't you? Twin sisters.'

‘Yes,
kadin
.' Cariye Tusa put her hand protectively on her companion's arm. The second old woman, the one with the damaged
eye, gazed straight at Celia. Or rather not at her so much as through her. Celia turned round, looking over her shoulder to see if there was someone there, but the courtyard was empty.

‘You,' she said, nodding at the second woman, ‘Cariye Tata – do you know who I am?'

The old woman searched for Celia's face with her one good eye. The cornea was blue, the bright blue of a cornflower. Her sister, Cariye Tusa, started to answer for her, but Celia stopped her.

‘No, not you, let her answer.'

‘I … I …' In confusion Cariye Tata shook her grizzled head from side to side. She was still staring obliquely over Celia's shoulder with her strange vacant gaze; the gaze of one so old she could see only ghosts in that deserted courtyard. ‘You are one of the
kadins
,' she said at last. ‘Yes, that's right. I know what I must call you.
Kadin
…' She bowed her old head, bobbing it up and down, faster and faster. ‘Please, that's what I must call you. If you please, my lady.'

‘Please,' Cariye Tusa's old eyes filled with tears, ‘please don't, Kaya Kadin. Please forgive my sister, she means no disrespect.'

‘Ah, but it is you who must forgive me,
cariye
.' Celia said, and this time her voice was gentle. ‘I did not see—' she corrected herself, ‘I did not know until now that your sister was blind.'

And at that moment, in her mind's eye Celia saw them suddenly as they must once have been: two little slave girls, black skinned and blue eyed, as well matched as a pair of perfect deep-sea pearls. Everyone has their story: what was theirs, she wondered? How old had they been when they first came here, six, seven? How they must have clung together, two frightened little children so far away from home, as they clung together still, grown old and slow and blind in the service of the Sultan. And as she was wondering all this, Cariye Tusa put out her hand. And Celia saw that she was offering her something, something that she had pulled from her pocket, and which glinted, bright as brass.

‘For you, Kaya Kadin.' Her old paw closed over Celia's hand, pushing her fingers down around something smooth and round. ‘It's what we came to tell you. One of the
kiras
left this for you.'

Celia opened her fingers. The gilded brass case of Paul's compendium gleamed at her in the sunlight.

‘What is it?' Cariye Tusa put her hand on Celia's arm. ‘Are you unwell,
kadin
?'

Celia did not reply. She flicked the hidden catch at the base with her finger, the compendium opened and her own face stared out at her.

As Time and Hours passeth Away, so doth the Life of Man Decay,
As Time must be Redemed with Cost,
Bestow it Well and let no Hour be Lost.

And right then and there, before she knew what she was doing, Celia sat down on the doorstep of the bathhouse and wept. She wept and she wept, from some deep well inside her which until now she had never known had been sunk so deep: for Cariye Tata and Cariye Tusa, two old women whom she had never known until that day; she wept for Gulay Haseki, drowned at the bottom of the Bosphorous. But most of all she wept for herself, because she had survived the shipwreck, and for the sailors on the boat, because they had not; and she wept for her dead father, and for her lost love: a love that was never more lost to her, now that she was once again found.

The day after her dream Elizabeth stayed in her room most of the day, reading. Late that afternoon, when she came downstairs hoping to send Rashid out for a sandwich, she was surprised to find Haddba waiting for her in the hall.

‘Elizabeth, you're here after all … I've just rung your room. I'm so glad I've caught you.' Looking inscrutable, Haddba beckoned her to the under-the-stairs cubby hole. ‘My dear, you have a visitor.'

‘Mehmet?' Elizabeth's heart soared. ‘Is he back?'

She was about to turn and run into the sitting room when Haddba put her hand on her arm. ‘No my dear,
not
Mehmet—' but before she could finish the sentence Elizabeth heard a familiar voice behind her.

‘Hello, Elizabeth.'

She turned round. And there he was, just the same. Faded jeans, leather jacket, come-to-bed eyes. And despite herself she felt a liquid rush of pure desire for him.

‘Marius?'

‘Hello, beautiful.'

‘What are you doing here?' Stupid, stupid question. ‘How did you find me?' Even worse. Was it nerves that were making her smile at him?

‘I came to find you, baby.' His voice was soft, almost crooning: a voice that in the past had made her submit to almost any humiliation simply in order to hear it again.

‘I'm sorry, Marius, but I don't …'

But before she could protest any further he had put his arm around her shoulders, was kissing her on the lips.

‘You ran away from me,' he whispered.

‘Don't—' Elizabeth tried to pull away from him, felt her hip clash awkwardly against his.

What's the matter with him
? She could hear Eve's bitter refrain.
He doesn't want you, not really, but he can't seem to let you go
.

‘How did you find me?' Looking up at him she gave a small shiver. Was it dread or excitement that she felt? His hair, always dishevelled, had grown even longer, was curling around the collar of his jacket. He was so close she could smell his familiar scent, his hair and skin, the bad-boy smell of cigarettes and dirty sheets; the not unpleasing, slightly sour odour of leather from his jacket.

‘I've missed you, baby …' he said. Brazen. Not replying to her question. Somehow, Elizabeth found that her arm was round his neck, her fingers laced in his hair. Nearly six whole weeks of forgetting, and for what?

‘Shall we go to your room then? We need to talk.' She felt him run his fingers lightly down her back. ‘I tried to persuade the concierge here to let me up,' he murmured in her ear, ‘but she wasn't having any of it. Who is the old bag anyway?'

Elizabeth became suddenly and acutely aware of Haddba's solid and imperturbable form standing only a few feet away from them.

He trifles with your heart
.

Startled, she turned to Haddba. ‘What did you say?'

‘I said nothing.' Haddba continued to stand there. The screaming impropriety of Marius's behaviour was written so clearly on her face it was like a shower of icy water. Ashamed, Elizabeth pulled away.

‘I'm sorry … Haddba, this is Marius. Marius, this is my landlady, Haddba.'

Marius put out his hand, but Haddba pointedly made no move to take it. The emeralds on her earrings glinted like a cat's eyes in the soft light. She was looking at him, Elizabeth saw, with an expression that would have flailed alive most ordinary mortals.

‘Good day to you,' her words were a clear dismissal.

Outside, even Marius seemed disconcerted.

‘God, what a bloody old harridan.' To Elizabeth's mingled disappointment and relief, he did not put his arm around her again, but thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket, walking on up the
street slightly ahead of her. ‘Do you normally let her boss you around like that? But you do, don't you? Of course you do.'

‘Don't speak about her like that, she's a friend.'

‘The hotel concierge?'

‘She's not a
concierge
.' Elizabeth was almost running now to keep up with him. The air outside was so cold it made her teeth ache.

‘Really?' His voice was sour. ‘She looks like one.'

Elizabeth suppressed a smile. It was not often that Marius failed to charm a woman – young, old, the middle-aged – no one seemed immune. No wonder he was annoyed.

They walked together for a while in silence, up the steep narrow streets towards Istiklal Caddesi. It was dusk; the sky was filled with livid purple clouds. Skinny cats sheltered in doorways. They passed the
bufes
, tiny slips of stores, where Rashid went to buy tea and newspapers; the old barber shops and pudding houses; the man on the street corner selling roasted chestnuts. How familiar this landscape had become, Elizabeth thought, in just a few weeks.