"Have you heard about the events in Salonika, Mlle Cordier," Francois asked. "Yesterday, the French and the German Consuls of Salonica were lynched by an angry Muslim mob."
"Oh, spare Mlle Cordier's pretty ears," Salim protested.
There were already too many strange stories going around, of abductions, slaves with tongues slit, harem maidens thrown into the Bosphorus, they made the empire rather creepy. Still, Flora couldn't resist listening. It was horrific and exciting at the same time. Mme Giraud too, joined at the counter and Francois relayed the news. A Greek Orthodox girl wanted to convert to Islam to marry a Turk. Her family was against it so they kidnapped her. A Muslim mob launched a rescue mission. When the French and the German Consuls tried to mediate, the mob tore them to pieces. "No wonder people are scared," he concluded. "And now, the softa' riots have brought violence to our doorstep. I fear for the lives of all Christians, even here in Pera."
"Well, I am going back to France," Mme Giraud said. "They were in my yard last night, you know."
"Who was in your yard," Francois asked bewildered.
"Why, the Muslim fanatics, of course."
"The Balkan Christians are in part responsible for stirring up trouble, don't you think?" Salim said. "They're not innocent, and neither are the Russians."
Salim referred to the Balkan provinces where Christian populations rebelled to throw off the oppressive yoke of the Islamic empire. Since early spring, places Flora had never heard of suddenly appeared dangerously close. In April, Christian rebels in Montenegro and Bosnia declared war on the Porte demanding independence. Last week, Christian rebels in Bulgaria massacred hundreds of their Muslim neighbours. Muslims retaliated and the violence between Christians and Muslims spread like wildfire across the empire. Russian secret agents stoked the fire by inciting the Christians to rebellion. The empire was coming apart at the seams.
"If Midhat Pasha returns to government things will calm down," Salim said.
"On the contrary, my friend," Francois exclaimed. "It would prove that the Sultan has lost all control of government. That mob rule has been established. Under no circumstance should the Sultan cede to the softa."
"Midhat Pasha is reasonable and competent," Salim said.
"But in this government, he would be surrounded by incompetence and corruption. With Sultan Abdulaziz in power, nothing can be done. Nothing."
Mme Giraud ordered a round of sherry for everyone. She raised her glass and declared: "The end is near. To our Christian brothers and sisters in the Balkans who will not stop fighting until they are free. There will be war and chaos, the Islamic empire is obsolete, it has already collapsed."
"My point precisely," Francois said.
"If you believed that you wouldn't stay," Salim said. "You would save yourself and your business. For hundreds of years, the army, the Sultan, and his government, has held it all together, and the empire will hold for centuries more."
"It's falling apart as we speak."
"And in the process, those softa will have us all killed," Mme Giraud interjected.
Francois turned to Salim. "You call yourself Ottoman, explain to me what the softa want?"
His voice was ironic. Francois did not believe there was such a thing as an Ottoman. He believed language, culture and religion united a people, not a six-hundred year lineage of Sultans. Salim believed people were united by six-hundred years under the same rule, while race and religion meant nothing.
Salim smiled. "The softa are against change," he said. "They want the empire to remain traditional, free of Western or Russian influence."
"Ridiculous," Francois scoffed. "As if you could stop progress."
"And they want the empire to remain Islamic."
"No wonder the Christians fight for their freedom," Mme Giraud said.
Salim laughed. "And they want greedy Europeans such as Francois to go home and leave Ottomans to manage their own business."
At this, Francois shook his head: "And leave the business to greedy Levantines such as yourself? You're no more Ottoman than I am."
Salim chuckled. "Well, that's why the empire will not fall. It's too important for business. If it's bad for business, the British won't have it, so if all else fails, the British will make sure the empire holds."
The doorbell jingled. Like a breath of fresh air, Jane entered the shop with a personal greeting for everyone. She introduced the lady by her side as a friend, visiting from Paris. Bracing herself, Flora put on a smile which she maintained, even as Jane had her bring out virtually all the gloves in the store, trying them on, and, after lengthy consultations with Salim and Francois, discarding them: too small, too old fashioned, wrong colour.
The friend from Paris stared at Flora. "It's extraordinary, Mlle Cordier, I know your face, but I don't know from where," she said.
"I don't think so," Flora said and brought out new gloves, and placed them, pair by pair, on the counter. "From our new collection."
"Have you been to Paris," the lady insisted.
"I'm afraid not."
Jane said: "Mlle Cordier comes from Belgium."
"Oh," the friend said, unimpressed. "Your name is Cordier? It too sounds familiar."
"You have family in Paris, a distant cousin of your father's. Isn't that right, Mlle Cordier?" With raised eyebrows, she turned to her friend. "The Marquis de Cordier, perhaps you know him?"
The lady shook her head. "Not personally. I'm told he leads a rather secluded life." She looked puzzled. "I suppose I'm confusing things, but I do have the impression I know you, Mlle Cordier. How strange."
As Jane and her friend left the shop, Flora waited, her heart pounding. The sewing machine in the backroom whirred, and from a nearby clock tower came four muffled rings. Only then did she allow herself to turn away from the counter to put away the jilted gloves. Her hands trembled. Had Jane noticed?
The door bell jingled, she collected herself and swirled around, but beneath her bright welcome she felt raw and vulnerable. Conversation dwindled as the Countess Ignatieff, wife of the Russian Ambassador, made her purchase - seven pairs of white silk gloves. Formal farewells were exchanged with the other customers, and the Countess exited the shop.
"That reminds me of the reason for my visit," Salim said. "My wife would like to receive her new gloves, but I'm afraid I will only get home very late. Could you make a delivery, Mlle Cordier?" He leaned in over the counter and took her hand. "Your visits brighten her day."
Her insides contracted into a knot. The inappropriately familiar way he took her hand felt like another aggression. It had happened before, and there was nothing wrong with flattering, or even, that he paid her any attention at all. Some would say she should be grateful. But for all his charm, Salim was a predator, and his wife, Hélène her friend. Already on their wedding night Salim cheated on her, Hélène had told Flora. By Hélène's estimation, he had seduced every woman in their household. Presently he was bedding the governess. Twice, Hélène had sent a girl away because of her unwanted condition. What becomes of those poor girls, she had asked Flora. What becomes of their babies?
Gently, Flora retrieved her hand, put the money in the till and wrapped Salim's purchase. A familiar, clammy feeling of shame, sent her grinding thoughts back Jane and her friend, and to last night. Her cheeks burnt. The life she had painstakingly built for herself in Constantinople, she had thought it solid, but what if it wasn't? What if it was nothing more than a deceptive facade? It had propped her up, behind it she had felt safe. But she wasn't. The uncontrollable flow of pleasure she had felt yesterday, the almost erotic excitement of the whole adventure. Was she, unaware, giving it off? Had Hamid sensed it? And William? Was Salim sensing it now? She couldn't trust herself. In Paris there had been youth and love to reckon with, and desire, and all its messy consequences. But here, she had thought herself wiser, less gullible, and in control. She cursed her stupidity.
Her mind drifted sideways, to William, and her shame morphed into defiance. She had done nothing wrong. What did she care what Jane or anyone else thought of her? How could she be to blame? What if she had sensed that William was interested in her? What if she had used her smile and wit to charm him? What of it?
But the answers remained somewhere else, high up and distant. The shameful feeling wouldn't leave her. Shame for what? Of what she was? Of her ambition? Should she be ashamed? She didn't know anymore. She felt herself dwindle. She would turn William down, she decided. That's what she would tell Hélène. But Hélène would not understand her, she hardly understood herself. The weight of her decision settled heavily upon her as she stepped out into the bustling streets of Constantinople.
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Author's note
The Ottoman conquest of the Balkans was a gradual process which started in the 14th century. The Ottoman rulers exercised control over the conquered lands in indirect ways. Often, local leaders paid tribute to the empire, but for the rest had little contact. Turks settled in the Balkans, garrison troops, civil servants, craftsmen, and merchants, mostly in urban areas which became differentiated from the countryside (to a large extent Orthodox Christian), in terms of language, ethnicity, and religion.
In the 19th century, the Balkan provinces demanded independence. Russia was closely involved in encouraging these liberation movements. As a pretext for meddling in the affairs of the empire, the Tsar announced that, as the leading Orthodox power, it was Russia's duty to protect fellow Orthodox brothers and sisters wherever they may be.