your first visit to Constantinople?’
What? ‘Mmm! I mean… yes. Thank you…’
‘Enjoy,’ the tall man said, with a smile that seemed to touch her mouth. He raised his hat again and strolled off across the deck, to where a man in robes stood guard over a trunk and a pile of portmanteaux.
Enjoy, indeed! Caroline made her shaking legs take her to the spot he had indicated. Mercifully, she found herself screened from the rest of the main deck by a stack of casks. He did not mean Enjoy the sights or Enjoy the food or even Enjoy the shopping. He meant Enjoy doing what you were dreaming about. I wish I could! He must think I have a lover on board, or a husband, or I am travelling to meet one or the other. Could that possibly have been any more embarrassing and awful?
Well, yes it could, she realised ruefully as the hectic colour began to ebb from her face and her thoughts became a little more coherent. He could have come across and made a very crude proposition—or even a tactfully worded one, come to that—and she would not have had the slightest justification for resenting it.
CHAPTER TWO
‘LADY MORVALL?’ The voice at her elbow made her jump.
‘Yes, Mr Lomax?’ It was her courier. Caroline smiled upon the rotund figure with something like affection. Certainly with relief. No one could ever find themselves incorporating Mr Lomax into an improper fantasy, bless him. He was a head shorter than she, with a shiny bald pate under his straw hat, a pince-nez perched on the end of his nose and a little pot belly.
He was also an experienced and knowledgeable courier and had shepherded her and Gascoyne, her maid and dresser, all the way from England with impeccable organisation and without the hint of an unpleasant incident. Unfortunately, he could not be expected to save her from the consequences of her own torrid imagination.
‘I must apologise for having been away so long, Lady Morvall, but the canvas cover of your larger travelling trunk had been torn in the hold and I have had to stand over the ship’s sail-maker to make sure he repaired it properly. Gascoyne has everything packed, and our luggage is over there.’
Caroline followed his pointing finger and located the maid, waiting watchfully by a pile of familiar baggage—right next to where That Man’s robed attendant was standing. Hastily she turned back.
‘Please point out the major buildings, Mr Lomax. I do not wish to go and stand in the crowd before I need to.’ That Man’s directions had been enough for her to orientate herself, given all the reading she had done, but she wanted an excuse to stay apart. Her heart-rate was slowly returning to normal, and she had no intention of raising it again.
‘Of course, my lady. The large mosque on the left is the Blue Mosque, in the centre is Aya Sofya mosque, which was built as a Christian church, and all the rest of the buildings as far as the point are the Topkapi Sarayi—the Sultan’s palace. Very soon we will sail into the mouth of the Golden Horn.’
‘So that will be Seraglio Point, where courtesans who offended would be tied up in silken sacks and thrown into the water?’ She pointed to where the stranger had indicated.
‘Er… yes.’ Mr Lomax did not seem comfortable discussing courtesans. ‘And not only such… er… ladies. Constantinople is still at heart a violent city in many ways; it is essential that you take the advice of the staff at the Embassy and do not go out without your escort.’
Caroline nodded with a meekness that would have stunned Sir Hubert. But defying her stepson’s pompous demands for respectability was one thing; taking advice from an expert in an alien city was simply common sense. Besides anything else, to travel outside Constantinople she would need a firman, the equivalent of a passport, showing the Sultan’s permission to go freely about the countryside, and to secure that she must behave with impeccable regard to all the conventions.
They remained at the rail as the ship swung into the Golden Horn and slowly glided into dock on the opposite bank to the old city. Above them loomed the hill where the quarters of Galata and Pera housed the Westerners and their embassies.
‘I think we should get back to our luggage,’ Mr Lomax pronounced. ‘If you would just care to take my arm, Lady Morvall, then there will be less risk of you being jostled in the crowd.’
Jostling was the least of her anxieties. Wishing her smart bonnet possessed a veil, Caroline kept her eyes down, only risking raising them as she negotiated the gangplank to the dockside. There, in front of her, a clear head over most of the jostling throng of porters and passengers, was an instantly recognisable pair of broad shoulders and a rakishly tilted broad-brimmed hat. Then she was down on the firm ground and he had gone.
She did not realise she had sighed aloud until Mr Lomax looked at her with some concern. ‘Are you quite well, my lady? Perhaps you are feeling a little unsteady after so much time at sea? I have sent a porter for a carriage; it will not be long coming.’
‘No, no, I am quite well, Mr Lomax. I was merely reflecting on my first Turkish… encounter.’ And hopefully all the rest would consist of colourful sightseeing and interesting exploration. It had, at least, taught her the foolishness of dreaming about taking a lover. I simply do not have the courage for that sort of thing, and it is as well to discover it now. Imagine what I would have done if he had made me a proposition!
The British Embassy was a handsome double-fronted residence, with overhanging enclosed balconies and great double gates through which the carriage bearing Caroline’s party swung, followed by the carts with their luggage.
Feeling slightly dazed by the crush of the streets, the babble of different tongues, the colour and endless details that had her head swivelling from one side to the other until she was dizzy, Caroline was only too glad to allow Mr Lomax to take control. She was going to have to learn to manage affairs herself soon, she knew, for she had only hired him as far as Constantinople, and he would return as soon as he acquired a new client to escort.
‘Lady Morvall—welcome.’ The thin, scholarly man who hastened down the steps of the inner courtyard held out his hand and shook hers with enthusiasm when she extended it. ‘Terrick Hamilton, ma’am, I am the Foreign Languages Secretary to the Ambassador, who sends his most sincere apologies for not being here to greet you in person. Unfortunately there is a tricky matter with some English and Russian traders on the Black Sea coast, and Sir Robert has found it necessary to deal with it in person. Do come in, ma’am.’
He snapped his fingers at a number of men who were waiting in the shadows. Caroline studied the turbans—no two seemed exactly the same—and noted the baggy trousers beneath the knee-length tunics that most of them wore; they would form the first subject for her Constantinople sketchbook, she resolved. The men began to unload the trunks.
‘Dikkat! Yavafl!’ Mr Hamilton called as one or two bags were dropped.
Caroline tucked the words away in her mind: careful and slow. She had seen them written down; now she tried to pay attention to pronunciation, determined to learn the language as much as possible. She would need guides and a dragoman, but the more she understood of what was going on around her, the less vulnerable she would be.
Established at last in her room, with only Gascoyne for company, Caroline cast off her bonnet and light pelisse and flopped down on the bed. ‘Phew! Gascoyne, do sit down and rest a while. The housekeeper says she will send up some refreshments and warm water shortly. How good it is to be in the quiet and to have nothing moving about!’
