The pasha raised his eyebrows. "Miss Godard's every need has been satisfied during this difficult time. She is disconsolate, you may imagine, Marquis." If not for their surroundings, Foye could have believed himself in a Paris drawing room. "My own personal physician attended Sir Henry in his final days, and even knowing that his faith was not the true one, I nevertheless summoned a Christian priest to preside over his burial."
But he hadn't informed the British consul of Sir Henry's illness or of its fatal result. The pasha had—deliberately?— left Sabine isolated from her countrymen all this time. Foye drank some of his coffee, even though he didn't want any, in order to think through what he ought to do.
"You have my sincerest thanks for all your troubles on their behalf, Excellency. I am sure that everything you did for her and her uncle was a comfort to Miss Godard." He forced himself to loosen his grip on his cup.
"It was nothing," Nazim Pasha said. "I was more than happy to be of assistance to her."
Foye rose from the divan and stood looking down at the pasha. "Would it be possible for me to speak with her now? We have much to discuss, and I would like to be on our way first thing tomorrow."
"But of course, Marquis."
The pasha's answer disarmed him. He had, he realized, expected to be denied. From the moment he'd heard that Godard was dead, he'd believed his worst fears about what might happen to Sabine were to come true.
Nazim Pasha clapped his hands, the usual method of summoning a servant, and gave instructions in a language that, to his admittedly untutored ear, did not sound like Turkish or Arabic. He saw Nabil cock his head. Curious. Foye's uneasiness returned. The servant bowed and left the
irwan.
"While we wait for Miss Godard to join us," the pasha said, "perhaps you will tell me about your country. I am curious to know more about England." He reclined on the divan, a pillow behind him. "Have you a large estate?"
Foye replied with some nonsense about English weather and that when he was not in London, he lived in Cornwall, the loveliest spot in the whole of the British Isles. How the hell long did it take to fetch one young lady? When the servant returned, it was without Sabine. Foye listened, maddeningly, to an exchange in language he did not understand. He had become adept, though, at reading expressions. It was Foye’s distinct impression that there was nothing out of place with the servant He was reporting to his master on a subject that was, for him, entirely mundane. The pasha, however, was another matter. Foye did not like anything about the way he listened to his servant Every instinct in his body reminded him that the man before him was an opportunist
But surely there was no reason for him to feel so apprehensive. Sabine was here, by the pasha's own admission. When she was able, he would see her. There was no reason for Nazim Pasha to keep him from seeing her. None at all.
When he had dismissed the servant once again, Nazim Pasha pressed his hands together and addressed Foye. "Alas, Marquis, such ill luck!" His dark eyes glinted. "I have been informed that Miss Godard is not here."
Chapter Fifteen
"Not here?" Foye had no reason to think the pasha was lying, yet he so believed. Every rumor he'd heard about the pasha came back to him: that he'd held people for ransom; that he engaged in the selling of women into harems; his admiration of Sabine. The extravagant gifts to her were no rumor. The pasha's interest in Sabine was another fact "Forgive me, I'm not certain I understand what you mean when you say Miss Godard is not here."
With a smile, the pasha bowed his head. "Allow me to restate, Marquis. Of course Miss Godard is here"— he gestured with a hand that took in the entirety of their surroundings—"but she has gone for a walk in one of my orchards. Oh, not alone, I assure you. She is accompanied by the servants I have put at her disposal during her stay here. You see, I have been looking after her comfort. My servants have been instructed to inform her of your arrival the very moment she returns."
"Can you not send someone to fetch her?" He spoke casually, but his interior state was far from casual.
"But of course!" The pasha smiled. "I have done so already. She will return any moment, I am certain." A servant came forward to refill and light the coal that would heat the tobacco in the bowl at the top of the narghile. The pasha gestured to the food set out "While we wait, please, my lord, eat"
"I'm sure you won't object if in the meantime I arrange to have the Godards' things prepared for removal. I don't wish to put you to any trouble, so naturally, my servants will take care of everything." Asif, Foye thought He needed to find Asif. Godard's servant would surety know what had happened here.
"I
should like us to leave at first light tomorrow."
"So soon? But you have just arrived." The pasha stroked his beard. "You English are always in such haste. Allow me to properly entertain you before you hurry off."
"Nazim Pasha, as I am sure you can foresee, with the death of Miss Godard's uncle there are formalities to be seen to. The consulate must be notified. The sooner Miss Godard and I are in Aleppo, the better."
"All will be seen to in due time." The pasha clapped again, and another servant came forward to receive instructions. He, too, hurried away as had the other. Foye itched to follow him. About now he'd lay odds that the servant was stopping out of sight and doing nothing but waiting where he would not be seen. Jesus, he was seeing treachery everywhere. It was quite possible that Sabine was indeed engaged at the moment and not available.
Foye’s stomach roiled with tension. No matter how reasonable he told himself it was for Sabine not to be immediately available simply because he wished her to be, he was convinced that every passing moment increased the likelihood that Sabine would be lost to him. The bloody orchard, if it even existed, couldn't be so far away that she would be hours from the palace.
Just as he did not believe Sabine was walking in any orchard, he did not believe the pasha had directed his staff to cooperate in readying the Godards' belongings for transport. Again the servant returned, and again there was a rapid exchange between the pasha and his servant
Foye, in his turn, signaled for Nabil to join him. When the man was at his side, Foye spoke in a low voice. "Can you translate any of what they are saying?"
They are talking about Miss Godard," he replied. There was concern in his eyes.
"And?" Foye did not need to tell Nabil to keep his voice low. The boy's eyes were wide and frightened. Their lives might well depend on maintaining the fiction of the pasha's excuses, and both he and Nabil knew it.
"Nazim Pasha has told his servant to post a guard at her door."
Foye schooled himself. "I want you to find a man, a native, who worked for Sir Henry Godard. His name is Asif. Find him, tell him I am here. Find out whatever you can about what happened. Then find Barton and tell him we're to leave at first light tomorrow with the Godards' possessions."
Nabil bowed and hurried away.
"Has Miss Godard returned from her walk?" Foye asked when the pasha's servant had bowed his way back to a place on the floor of the
irwan.
"Indeed, Marquis, she has. But I am informed now that she is sleeping." He gestured. "Of course I am deeply concerned for her. My physician has been monitoring her for signs of the illness that took her uncle. She must not be disturbed. Be patient." He drew deeply from the narghile. 'There is time for all that and more. When we are certain her health is not at risk."
"Has she been told I am here?"
The pasha lifted his hands. 'That I do not know. You English wish the world to move so quickly." He shook his head. "This evening, Marquis. You will certainly see her later this evening. In the meantime, please, enjoy yourself. There is much to see here in Kilis."
"Respectfully, Pasha, Miss Godard is a British citizen and in need of assistance from her countrymen in her time of need. She is alone, without her uncle. There are a hundred details to be attended to in this matter. Surely she can be awakened and told I am here', willing and ready to assist her."
"One wonders," the pasha said, reclining against his silk-covered divan while a servant—a slave?—slowly fanned him, "why you are here instead of the consul in Aleppo. I have met Mr. John Barker. We have dined together from time to time. He is a most amiable and competent man."
"No doubt he is," Foye replied.
"How can all be taken care of as it should be without his authority?" He crossed an arm over his middle, one hand holding the water pipe. "You are surely aware that you are not in Britannia. There are legalities among the Turks, Marquis, that should be seen to as well." He fingered the luxurious fabric of his kaftan. "Customs that should be observed."
Foye tilted his head. " I am sure," he said slowly, "there are ways to repay you for the trouble you've been to on behalf of your British guests."
"I think," the pasha said with thoughtfulness that was not the least genuine, "that it would not be right or proper for me to deal with anyone but the consul himself where Miss Godard is concerned. I understand that now her uncle is dead there is no other male relative here to represent her interests."
"You are correct, Pasha."
"How can I release her to you when you are not her uncle or brother or a male relative who will protect her as a woman must be protected in these dangerous and uncertain times?" He shook his head mournfully. "Such things are not done here. It is not our way to entrust a woman to a man who is not her relative. Has she really no family who can come here and retrieve her?"
"I'm sure the consul can assist in clarifying her status, Pasha."
"You are doubtless correct in that" The pasha exhaled a stream of smoke. "These things take time. A very long time."
Foye knew what the pasha intended. He knew it in his soul. First, Foye would be required to pay a bribe that would be more than he could possibly have on hand. He would have to return to Aleppo to raise the money and convince the consul to deal with the pasha. Nazim Pasha would either refuse the ransom, demand an even greater sum, or, more likely yet, arrange to have Foye robbed of it on his return to Kilis. And what would happen to Sabine in the meantime or afterward?
His chest turned cold with fear. A thousand unpleasant outcomes occurred to him, each worse than the one before. The pasha would establish her in his harem or sell her to someone else. One heard that the lurks prized European women in their harems. Was it not whispered that the sultan's own mother had been a Frenchwoman? No mere rumor, alas. This was the nineteenth century, not the fifteenth, and yet so many old customs remained alive and vital.
"Certainly," Foye said easily, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, "I insist on seeing you are compensated for you troubles on her behalf, Nazim Pasha."
While Foye waited for a response, the pasha took up the narghile again. A cloud of bergamot-laced smoke floated in the air. He smiled broadly. "Compensation would be most generous of you. My good friend Mr. Julius Ghost was my guest here for half a year." Unfortunately, Foye knew this to be fact Ghost’s trials at the hands of Nazim Pasha were the stuff of legend among the diplomats in Buyukdere. "He will tell you himself he was entertained every day of his stay."
"At no small expense to you."
"Precisely." He grinned. "How quick you are to understand. That is what I so like about you British. But I wonder. Surely, in six months, perhaps a little longer, some relative from England might bestir himself to come for her. That would resolve both difficulties: the expense of her stay here and the difficulty in putting her into the hands of a man who is not her relation."
"I have five very fine horses with me," he said "You may have your pick of them. For your trouble."
"Only five?" Nazim Pasha laughed, one hand on his belly. "I have a dozen in my stable now! Do you value Miss Godard so little, Marquis? Five thousand Arabians would be a small price to pay for a woman such as she is." He touched the ring on his index finger, twisting it around and around. "She is... a pearl without price, do you not agree?"
"Not without price," Foye said.
"Agreed," the pasha replied with a laugh. He lifted his hands. "You see I am a reasonable man. There is, indeed, always a price."
"The question to be settled between us," Foye said, "is what I will agree to pay you to put Miss Godard into my custody."
The pasha's smile sent a thread of ice straight to his heart "There is the matter of the sultan as well."
"The sultan?"
Nazim Pasha leaned back, stretching an arm along the top of the divan. "He would be pleased, I think, if I sent her to him. A gift to demonstrate my great esteem for him."
Foye stared into his coffee until he was certain his face would not give away his emotions. Everything depended upon him remaining calm. "I assure you, the British government would not look kindly upon such an action."
"And yet, I am moved to do so." He held out one hand, palm up. "I spoke of customs. This is a custom among us. Not at all an uncommon transaction, Marquis. I am free to make a gift of any woman in my harem. Or to sell any concubine I wish."