“I’ll try to keep you distracted.”

“You’d better.” I opened the envelope. “I can’t imagine the sultan using fragranced paper.”

“I can’t imagine the sultan writing to a European woman.”

“He’s very cultured,” I said. “And more Western than I’d expected. Surely you don’t doubt I could charm him?”

“Quite the contrary. But though he may be cultured, he’s a difficult man. Extremely paranoid—won’t allow electricity in the city because when someone explained to him how it works, he mistook ‘dynamo’ for ‘dynamite.’ ”

“Perhaps he’s overwhelmed. He is, after all, ruling an empire in an advanced state of decay—a situation that’s growing worse faster than expected. People accustomed to being in a position of strength often assume it will last. I often wonder about our own empire.”

“Britain is not in a state of decay at the moment,” he said. “But our way of life is a precarious one that must be protected with vigilance if we don’t want it to slip away. All of Europe will be affected if Turkey becomes more unstable—instability has a way of being contagious.”

“So we’re witnessing the decline and fall of the Ottomans?”

“Due in large part to the excessive and obscene spending of Abdül Hamit’s predecessors. They’ve done more palace building than prudent this century—and that went a long way to bankrupting the empire.”

“Why would anyone with Topkapı Sarayı at his disposal want another palace? I’ve never heard such exotic descriptions of a place.”

“It’s ordinary to anyone who lives in it, I’d imagine.”

“Not to the concubines when they first arrive and are prepared to meet the sultan. Only think how awestruck they must be to find themselves ensconced in such luxury.”

“Your imagination is running quite wild, Emily. At any rate, the sultan now lives at Yıldız, not Topkapı.”

I unfolded the paper I was holding. The letter was written in a confident, elegant hand. “This is from someone called Bezime. She says she’s Abdül Aziz’s mother. Who is Abdül Aziz?”