The Abyssinian Proof by Jenny White Page A

beamed at him. “It’s a start. We’ll domesticate you eventually. Come along. I have a surprise for you too.”
    “Elif is a distant cousin of Huseyin’s from Macedonia,” Feride explained, as they made their way back to the main part of the house. “She landed on our doorstep five days ago, as thin and dirty as a street urchin. And as tough. I can’t believe what she has been through. I wouldn’t have been able to survive it.”
    “I think you’d be surprised at how tough you are.”
    “I don’t know.” She shook her head. “They shot her husband right in front of her and then, when she was fleeing, bandits killed her five-year-old son and stole her carriage. Somehow she got hold of a horse and rode until she arrived here. What amazes me is that she seems so kind and considerate. I could never be so pleasant if I had gone through all that.”
    Kamil thought, that being pleasant was a survival strategy. The woman probably had nowhere else to go.
    He let Feride draw him into the dining room.
    “Where have you been?” Huseyin growled when he saw Feride, waving her in with one large, pale hand.
    Face flushed, Huseyin sat at the head of a long table that was set with silver and fine china. He wore a frock coat with a wide blue sash and a large diamond starburst order on his chest. His thick neck was encased in a starched collar. Kamil found the medal to be an affectation when worn at lunch with one’s own family. The woman sitting by Huseyin was partly obscured by a silver candelabra.
    Spying Kamil, Huseyin jumped to his feet and hurried over. “Brother-in-law, what a surprise.” He grasped Kamil by the shoulders and kissed him on both cheeks. He smelled of expensive French cologne. “What are you doing away from the court in the middle of the day?” He gasped before each sentence, as if he couldn’t get enough air. “Did we commit a murder or did Nizam Pasha fire you?”
    For Feride’s sake, Kamil forced himself to smile.
    “Not yet, Huseyin, but you’ll be the first to know.”
    Huseyin laughed too heartily and pounded Kamil on the shoulder. “Come and sit.” He pulled out a chair next to his.
    The woman turned her head toward Feride and a smile appeared on his sister’s face. Kamil liked Elif already. He saw opposite him a delicate blond woman with chin-length hair and clear blue eyes. She looked tired and thin. The planes of her face were angular, her cheeks hollow, and there were deep circles under her eyes. She appeared to be in her late twenties, although her ordeal might have aged her. A small silk kerchief was pinned to the top of her head, almost as an afterthought, concealing little. Her face and hands were tanned like a peasant’s, but her neck was pale.
    There was something intriguing and elusive about her. She wore no jewelry and her vest was unornamented. Even the kerchief on her head didn’t have the usual fringe. She was trembling. Kamil remembered what Feride had told him about the young woman’s experiences. He had heard stories about the fighting in the Balkans, some brutal beyond his imagining. He thought again of Marko’s childish face as he’d pulled the trigger. How much horror the boy must have seen to have met death so serenely.
    Feride watched him, and he thought he saw an element of calculation enter her eyes.
    “Kamil, this is Elif.” She turned to Elif, who sat with her eyes down, hands clasped tightly in her lap. “I’ve been telling Kamil about you.”
    “I’m pleased to meet you, Elif Hanoum.”
    Elif nodded her head in acknowledgment, but said nothing.
    Servants bustled around the table, filling everyone’s bowls with fragrant leek soup. Kamil realized he was hungry.
    “Watch out, Elif. Feride’s mission in life is to get her brother married off.” Huseyin pointed his spoon at Kamil. “You’re better off a bachelor. Wives are trouble.” He was already halfway through his soup.
    Feride placed her hand briefly on Elif’s arm, then pretended to busy