The business of the fair was business and as sellers and buyers argued back and forth under multicolor awnings over the fair cost of a Turkistan rug or a pelt of California otter, Alexei and Jake moved through the crowds almost unnoticed. Occasionally Alexei stopped to ask a question of some passerby in the jostling crowd. After one such interchange he drew near to Jake and spoke quietly, “The man we want may be the flower vendor near the tiled well. It’s somewhere over there toward the town. You stay behind, I’ll go ahead alone.”
After some searching, Alexei found the flower vendor. His cart was hard to miss. With awnings of a brilliant daffodil yellow, it was festooned with garlands of summer flowers. There was an ironmonger’s barrow to the right and a furrier on the other side. These contrasts made the flower stall appear quite fanciful by comparison. Alexei was just about to call for the proprietor when, for an instant, the space near the stall seemed dead quiet; and he knew he was being watched. The curtains to the rear of the stall flew open, and Alexei found himself face to face with the black barrels of three cocked pistols. He heard something behind him, and turned just in time to see the butt end of a pistol as it hit him between the eyes.
He came to in a root cellar. He recognized the place from its mouldery vegetable smell and the shelves dug out of the earth on three sides. He couldn’t tell how long he’d been unconscious. All he knew for certain was that he was powerfully hungry, and his head hurt. He pounded against the wooden door of the cellar, but there was no response except some grunts and derisive laughter from the other side. Enraged, Alexei felt for his knives. They were gone. Even the one he wore in the heel of his boot. Damn! He slammed his fist into the dirt wall and swore again.
Why had he been so gullible? That flower stall had been too pretty, too conspicuous. He should have been suspicious immediately but instead he had barged forward…Damn! Now where was he, and where was Jake? These were Oleg’s men, no doubting that. As the pistol butt was slamming toward his face, one thing had registered in Alexei’s mind. The weapon’s silver strapped handle bore the famous Romanov “R.”
After a while, Alexei’s spirits lifted as his headache dissipated and he began to see the advantages of what had occurred. He did not fear that his cousin would have him murdered. If that were intended Oleg’s hired thugs would have done it already and disposed of his body in some fast moving stream. No, Alexei grewnmore and more sure that Oleg wanted him, needed him for some reason. “I might as well cool off and relax,” he said aloud. “I doubt they’ll let me starve.”
Once a day, he did eat and though the stews were usually overfloured and greasy, short on meat and long on shredded cabbage, they satisfied his hunger. Twice a day he was allowed out of the cellar for five minutes. He was always guarded by at least three armed men.
From these visits into light, Alexei was able to determine the passage of days. Two weeks passed and he had much time to think.
He remembered that Katia had spent one violent night in a hole not unlike this root cellar. He didn’t mind the dark so much or the occasional rodent skitterings; but it was easy to understand how such an experience might have affected a young girl. Alexei knew he would never forgive himself for leaving her when she had been through so much. In his memory he remembered her as more petite than she really was. And those eyes! He thought of them wide with fright, filling with tears, and cursed himself again and again for what he had done. She was a poor child who needed his help. Only that, he assured himself, nothing more.
He tried not to sleep too much for fear he might miss some opportunity to learn more about his situation. Instead he tried to put himself into a trance as he had seen Jake do many times when a long wait was forced upon them. Once, smuggling secret letters to Prince Constantine in Poland, Jake and Alexei had been forced to hide for days in a cave to elude Imperial soldiers who were everywhere looking for two riders, one white, one black. Alexei had watched Jake closely during that time. It was as if some inner curtain had been pulled across Jake’s consciousness, and he seemed to be asleep though his eyes were open. For hours at a time and without apparent effort Jake squatted immobile, staring out the mouth of the cave. All the while his body had retained its tensile readiness, its lean muscled agility.
In the dark root cellar lighted only by the narrow beams of sunlight that hit the wooden door in the afternoon, Alexei tried to lose his thinking mind as Jake had by concentrating on the pinlines of yellow light. One afternoon—it was late because the light had disappeared and Alexei’s cellar was dark once more—there was the sound of hoofbeats and talking. One authoritative voice rang out above the rest; Oleg Romanov had come at last.
Alexei was ready when the trapdoor opened and he saw his cousin silhouetted against the dying day . “Good afternoon, Coz,” he cried jauntily, giving Oleg a mock salute. “Good of you to call. I wish I could offer you tea, but…he shrugged and bounded up the four stairs into the light.
“Don’t try anything, Alexei,” cried Oleg, stepping back, his hand on his pistol. “My men…”
“I know all about your men. I know that every one of them knew he could gain favor with you by putting a bullet between my eyes. Why didn’t it happen? Why do you want me alive all of a sudden?” Alexei stood with his legs apart, his hands at the waist of his trousers. Standing this way, his shirt, filthy and torn at the yoke and shoulder like some Caribbean pirate’s, he appeared every inch the desperado. Oleg hated him with every fiber of his body; and yet, when he spoke, his tone was calm and civilized.
“Don’t you believe in reform, Alexei Stephanovich? Is it not possible that I have had a change of heart where you’re concerned? Perhaps I have decided to put away our old battles and begin afresh.”
“What do you need from me?”
“You’re such a cynic, Alexei Stephanovich.” Oleg indicated two hunting seats which had been placed nearby. “Sit down, Alexei. Stop looking like a wretched bandit.”
“I’ll hear what you have to say right here, right now, Oleg. Forget the amenities.” Alexei stood as if rooted to the ground, instincts and responses finely tuned to the scene around him. He knew where every guard stood and how each was armed. He knew where the horses were, and he knew that he could escape if he had to. But first, he must know what news Oleg was chewing over.
Oleg sighed elaborately. “If you insist on being boorish, Coz. So be it.” He snapped his finger and a servant brought a white cloth with which Oleg fastidiously wiped the seat of the hunting stool. “I’m here on Imperial business. I come as an emissary from the Czar. For some reason, Alexei, he believes he needs you. When I heard of this I offered to send my men, my spies, after you.” Oleg smiled. “His Imperial Majesty was so impressed by my eagerness that he added his own request: you are to be my guest at the palace in St. Petersburg awaiting Czar Nicholas’ pleasure.”
Alexei did not show the relief and satisfaction he felt at these words. But his body relaxed a little. He took a moment to puzzle over this good fortune then asked “In other words you had to find me. Where’s Jake?”
“He eluded my men for three days, but they finally caught up with him when his horse went lame. He was following us.”
“If you’ve hurt him, I’ll…”
“Tut-tut, Coz. Your bodyguard is healthy. He’s here, a mile or so away. I thought it wise to keep you well apart from one another.”
“Where is this place?”
“You’re a day’s easy ride from St. Petersburg. By tomorrow you’ll be,” Oleg’s voice rang with sarcasm, “home.”
With the coming of September there was a pleasant briskness to the air, a feeling of expectancy as the countryside awaited winter. Katia’s health had improved steadily despite her despondent spirits. Lately she had taken to walking alone in the palace gardens in the afternoon. The solitary time was a balm to her spirit. This September the world was more radiant than ever before, and the long leisurely walks calmed her nerves and somewhat lightened her spirits.
To the right of the path, ove
rlooking the broad-crested Neva, lay a small stone-terraced area with a fountain and some white iron furniture. She often came to this place to sit because if she positioned herself perfectly, she could not see the great rose marble Romanov palace; for a while, she could pretend that it and Oleg Romanov did not exist for her. The terrace was planted with a multitude of roses, some older than Katia herself. Surrounded by their fragrant fall blossoms, she spent her time daydreaming while the unchained exuberance of the river sang its song of freedom especially for her. Just beyond the terrace where the path curved along the shoreline, there was a boat house. Sometimes she thought how easy it would be simply to step off the porch of the boat house into the rushing river water and put a finish to her sordid existence. But she would not choose that form of freedom. She would not be that easy on Oleg Romanov, she told the bright September day.
Besides the matter of vengeance, there was Mary for her to consider. Katia could not end her own life and leave the child to suffer. Mary needed her; and despite everything, Katia would not deny that responsibility. And there was silly Aunt Nikki to consider as well.
Lately, Katia had come to pity Natasha Filippovna. The woman complained now of constant worsening discomfort. Gone were her days of extravagant socializing. She could hardly open her mouth without speaking of the Little Father. For Katia, the change in her aunt was confusing, but she tried not to be critical of Nikki’s growing obsession with the faith healer.
’At least he has given her hope,’ she thought. ’That is more than I have.’ Sorrowfully, she folded her hands on her lap and sighed, imagining all the hopeless tomorrows stretched before her.
When the women were eating dinner earlier that afternoon in their sitting room, Natasha Filippovna had been unable to sit at the table laid by the window and had instead lolled on a chaise nearby, drinking only sugared tea and nibbling on rusks for nourishment.
“The Little Father assures me this pain will pass. He says that I am only being tested.” Natasha Filippovna took a sip of tea. “You really should take Mary to see the blessed man. I’ve told you that he has special powers where little ones are concerned.” Her aunt had said the same thing countless times, but Katia remained unconvinced. She believed that once she and Mary were away from Oleg, all would be well; the child would regain the gift of speech without the help of a disreputable Khlysty faith healer.
But how could she ever hope to escape Oleg’s power?
Continuing down the beech path toward the terrace a little later, a breeze played with the gossamer lace at her neck and stirred her skirts about her ankles. Her dress was of fine brushed cotton, the colour of summer’s bluest sky and embroidered here and there with pastel nosegays. As the sun dipped westward, she grew chilly; but she was reluctant to return to her suite in the palace for her shawl. Her room had become a cell in which she was forced to await Prince Oleg’s pleasure. She hated its fine appointments, the wide luxurious canopied bed. Sometimes he came to her, and at other times Leo escorted her through the dark passageways to the Prince’s rooms. And when they were together…Katia’s face burned with shame from her memories. Oleg had debased and ravaged her as he forced her to play his games of humiliation and pleasure. She had satisfied his every whim no matter how perverted and demeaning to herself. Yet he was never satisfied.
She recalled his words. “You think you have turned yourself to stone but you are wrong. At the center, you are still soft and pliant and warm. You think you can hold out against passion forever, that I will tire of the challenge you pose for me. But, again, you are wrong, Katia. Why do you not save us a great deal of time?
Admit that my hands and lips thrill you, that you long to be a wanton, that you hunger after me to fill you up and burst the dam that holds the passion back.”
If it took a knife in the stomach or poison, she would be rid of Oleg Romanov. He would pay in full someday, somehow.
“Mademoiselle Katiana.”
Had she imagined…?
She turned and blue eyes met raven black. For one breathless moment a crazy urge to run away possessed Katia. She stared up at Alexei in wonder and disbelief.
He was smiling at her with bold laughter in his dark eyes. She could not resist the contagion, and for the first time in weeks she smiled with her whole heart. A blush rose in her satin cheeks.'
“Which is more beautiful, Katia; you or the bouquet you carry?” Alexei reached for her and without hesitation, she ran to him and was enveloped by his loving arms. “How I have missed you, Katia,” he whispered against her hair.
“And I have thought much of you, my lord,” she replied with a catch in her voice.
Had he read her thoughts and dreams from far away and come for her? There had been nights when she had been too weak with longing to fight her fantasies. But the hazy visions of herself and Alexei had left her unfulfilled and gasping for something she only half understood in spite of all her sordid experiences with Oleg. Memories of the boy and girl in Troitza park merged and blended with thoughts of Alexei until she grew to fear her own imagination and the strange aches and longings that it brought.
“Why have you come?” she asked, hardly daring to hope.
“I am told the Czar wishes to see me.” Alexei did not see the shadow of disappointment cross her face. He chose not to reveal the real reason for his return until he was sure of Katia and his own plan for their departure from Russia. Courting did not come easily to him. He had avoided its rituals all his life, and now he felt as foolish as a schoolboy with his first village maiden.
“Does Prince Oleg know you are here? You must be careful, Alexei. Oleg is…he is…”
The look of curiosity in Alexei’s eyes brought Katia to a stuttering halt. For one giddy moment, she had forgotten that Alexei must never know about her relationship with Oleg Romanov. He must never suspect that she had changed so drastically from the convent innocent he had once known to a woman driven to thoughts of revenge and murder.
They had spoken less than one hundred words, yet she knew she loved him. A spark was ignited in her that only death could extinguish. And she knew Alexei loved her. It was there in the uncertain lights of his eyes, the gentle tremor in his voice when he spoke to her, A good strong man, he could take her away from Oleg’s vile influence. But he was also a proud man. Katia knew that if he were to learn how she was forced to spend her nights with Oleg, his love would quickly turn to disgust; and he would leave her. Katia knew she could not bear a second loss of Alexei. There was only one way she could avoid the agony and hurt that was inevitable between them if she permitted their love to flourish. She would reject him first. Somehow she must.
With an abrupt change of mood, Katia tossed her head back and laughed, playing the practiced coquette in a way she knew Alexei would not like.
“What I mean to warn you of, is that Oleg is devilishly jealous of me. Why at times, I feel he owns me almost. He has done so much for me since you left; I cannot begin to tell you. I was quite ill, you know; and Oleg saw to my every need and that of Aunt Nikki as well. And he’s been so generous providing me with wonderful gowns and even dancing lessons. This season he will introduce me to St. Petersburg society, Alexei. He says I will have my choice of gallants then.” She smiled dazzlingly though she thought her heart would break.
A shadow of confusion—or was it concern?—darkened Alexei’s expression. Katia chattered on, her mouth full of breathless lies that poisoned the atmosphere between them. “I shall marry well, Prince Oleg promises. But of course, I intend to enjoy myself first. Goodness, but that convent was an awfully dull place compared to St. Petersburg. I wonder it didn’t drive me mad!”
There was silence between them.
“How fortunate you are that my cousin took you in so generously,” said Prince Alexei finally. Katia winced at the sarcasm unconcealed in his voice though she knew it meant her plan was succeeding. “I have no doubt you will be the toast of St. Petersburg.”
Katia giggled merrily, like a flighty-headed soci
ety girl; but inside her heart beat painfully. Somehow this moment of deceit was worse, far worse, than all the brutal hours she had spent with Oleg. In a few moments, she knew Alexei would leave her and probably never speak to her again. For awhile, they would dwell in the massive Romanov palace like strangers, and then he would disappear from her life completely. Finally and irrevocably, she was turning Alexei against her so that he might be spared knowing the worst of what she had become, the whore Oleg had made of her.
“Are you happy, Katia?” He sounded puzzled, as if he had read some confusion in her eyes.
“Quite, Your Highness.” She made her voice so hard and toneless that he could not ignore the insult it implied. She would make him leave her now. She wanted nothing so much as this. But he was unwilling to be dismissed. There was something in Katia’s manner that did not harmonize with her shallow chatter. She reminded him of a schoolgirl playing the role of a more experienced woman. They strolled in awkward silence along the beech path to the boat house. Already, it was boarded over for the winter. Overhead, the sky had grown cloudy; and the Neva slapped hard against the boat house pilings. Katia kept her eyes downcast, watching the pathway. Alexei stared at the lovely dark-haired woman beside him and wondered if he had come so far, so long, only to be made a fool of.
‘Leave me, leave me, beloved Alexei,’ Katia’s heart cried. ’For both our sakes, you must learn to hate me.’
“Winter will soon be here,” Alexei said idly. He had lost his summer’s day enthusiasm for courtship. He was suddenly depressed and out of sorts. This meeting with Katia, so long and eagerly anticipated, had turned out badly; and yet he had been certain when they embraced that she loved him. How could he have permitted his heart’s desire to mislead him so completely?
“Apparently, you find my company displeasing this afternoon, Mademoiselle Katiana,” he said after a long stilted silence had again come between them. “It is likely we will see one another again, however, as the Czar has ordered my cousin to keep me here as his guest until such time as I am called to some service for His Majesty.” In the midst of speaking, he was struck by a sudden thought. Was it possible that Katia believed him to be a traitor? Could this explain her coldness and artificiality when he remembered her as straightforward and bright to life?
The Frost And The Flame Page 17