“Do you heed the rumors about me, Mademoiselle?”
“Should I, Your Highness?” she asked without looking up.
“No. You should not,” he replied quietly. “A fool I may be from time to time, but never a traitor. Now, if you will be so good as to excuse me, I have other obligations this afternoon.” He bowed stiffly and turned away up the path to the palace, kicking leaves ahead of him. He did not turn until he reached the rose garden. When he looked back he saw that she was still staring morosely at the water, her graceful head bowed as if she might be crying. Or praying. Damn the girl to hell! Alexei roared to himself. Whatever her game, he wanted no part of Katiana Danova. Prayers or tears made little difference to him. He would not be made a fool of twice!
He entered the palace through the solarium where he surprised Princess Elizabeth cutting roses.
“Alexei Stephanovich!” she cried smiling radiantly. “You have spoiled my surprise for you. These roses were to have been a bouquet for your room.” She handed the flowers to a servant and raised her hand for Alexei’s kiss. “I was delighted when Oleg told me you would be staying with us for a time. Our new Czar has some strange ways; but in bringing you back to St. Petersburg, he has shown great wisdom.”
“It was your husband’s men who brought me back, Elizabeth. I was returning of my own volition, but they disbelieved me when I mentioned that.”
“Indeed? Well, I hope you and my husband have decided to put away your foolish quarrel, and that you will make our palace your second home. You are more than welcome here, you know.” Her afternoon dress was of finely tucked silk, and the snug bodice hugged her shapely body. He felt her large hard nipples erect through the cloth when she brushed against him. Locking her arm through his, she led him through the solarium and adjoining summer salon to the music room, talking gaily all the while of St. Petersburg society and intrigues. She closed the double doors behind them.
Alexei looked around. The music room was comfortable, a place in which he might himself have chosen to recover from his disappointing reunion with Katia. It was warm; and the last rays of light slanted through the tall windows dramatically, extending across the thick dark carpet to the rosewood harpsichord. Sheaves of music were piled haphazardly about the instrument, giving the room a companionable, lived-in appearance. “Do you play the harpsichord, Elizabeth?”
“Not well enough to satisfy myself. Mademoiselle Danova, my husband’s ward, has taken up the instrument, however; and she sometimes practices here.” A pained expression marked Alexei’s handsome face. “You appear tired, mon cher. I think whoever brought you here, the trip to St. Petersburg could not have been pleasant. Sit a while beside me. So.” She leaned toward him and gently traced the bruises near his eyes. “Did my husband’s men hurt you so much?” Her breath on his cheek was warm and honeyed.
Alexei felt no urge to push her hand away. He knew it would not take much for him to forget Katia in Elizabeth’s arms. She was a woman at least—not a changeable convent child. Hot blooded and carnal to the marrow, Elizabeth was probably too much woman for his cousin, Oleg. But like her husband, she was devious and not to be trusted. She was a beautiful and desirable female, but deceitful and false as well.
Elizabeth sat close beside him, pouting prettily, her opulent lips moist and inviting. “You are distracted, Alexei. I won’t have it, you know! You may not be dull when you are with me.” She looked sideways up at him and smiled seductively. “I can be very entertaining, Alexei Stephanovich.”
“And do you entertain often?” he asked in the same suggestive, bantering way, drawing her hand to his lips once more. His mouth pressed against the warm palm.
“Only on special occasions. And with very special people.”
“And am I special?” He toyed with the cameo buttons at the neck of her dress, then let his hand slip down to cup her full breasts. He felt her breath coming fast; and through the fabric of her gown, her body was hot. Her animal vibrancy was irresistible. Savagely, he pulled her to him and kissed her willing open mouth.
Chapter Nineteen
The next morning by arrangement, Alexei Romanov met with Czar Nicholas on one of the less frequently used bridle paths in the royal park.
“You will understand that we cannot meet you publicly, Prince Alexei,” the Czar said when he had reined in his steel grey pleasure horse beside Alexei’s Alladin. “Were certain of my subjects to know of this rendezvous, they would be understandably disturbed.” The Czar was a large man, military in his bearing with a sloping forehead and strong jutting jaw. His appearance described his personality well. He looked like a man of iron will and, Alexei thought, inferior intelligence. The two men rode together silently for a time through the thick carpet of auburn leaves that covered the path beneath a long line of poplar and ash. To the right and left lay broad open meadows of waving yellow grass.
“We must in all candor tell you, Alexei, that if our board of inquiry into the matter of the Decembrist Revolt had been able to link you conclusively to the insurgents, you would not be here now. There were rumours, you know, that you had helped to provide the scum with weapons.” The Czar turned his steel gaze on Alexei and spoke sternly. “It is treason to provide arms for revolutionaries, Alexei Stephanovich. A crime punishable by exile or,” the Czar lowered his huge brows and glowered “death.”
“I am not a traitor. Your Majesty,” said Alexei, returning the Czar’s look unflinchingly.
“But you play a dangerous game, and there are many in Petersburg and Moscow who would prefer to see you hang then quibble over definitions.”
The bridle path turned down a little hill to a stream. The Prince and the Czar dismounted to permit their horses to drink from the clear water as it rushed in rocky shallows.
“We are prepared to make a…” the Czar paused, choosing his words with care “…bargain with you, Alexei Stephanovich. If you will prove your love of Holy Russia by assisting us in a delicate matter of diplomacy we will no longer doubt your loyalty. You appreciate that without our trust it will be difficult, perhaps impossible, for you to have any life at all in Russia.”
And you would see to it, thought Alexei wryly, sizing up the formidable ruler who stood beside him. In middle age, the Czar’s face had the sternly set expression of a marble bust. Immovable. Unchangeable. Despite his promised trust, Alexei knew that as long as Nicholas was Czar of Russia, there would be no peace for him. Nicholas was not a man to forget; and the accusations he had heard against Alexei Romanov, though never proven, could never be erased from his mind. As long as he remained in Russia, Alexei knew that his name and activities, no matter how innocent, would be looked upon with suspicion. Recognizing this, Alexei was tempted to ride away without waiting to hear the Czar’s so-called bargain. He would not make deals with despots and that word most certainly described the Czar of Russia. Nevertheless…
“How may I assist. Your Majesty?” Alexei asked, finally breaking the silence that had followed the Czar’s words.
“A matter of extreme delicacy has arisen in our relationship with England, Czar Nicholas brushed a bit of lint from his doeskin trousers. Once again, Alexei had the impression that Nicholas was choosing his words very carefully. “Because of the treaties signed by our late Czar at the Congress of Vienna, England refuses to support our cause in the matter of the southern provinces: Serbia, Wallachia and Moldavia. Now, as a loyal Russian, you understand that those lands rightfully belong to us, and it is our holy duty to wrest them from the control of the infidels. Devout Christians are being denied the sacraments and forced to conceal their true beliefs. Why does England persist in such blindness in this affair? You know these people, you have lived among them. Explain the British point of view to us.”
Alexei chose his words as carefully as the Czar had done. There was no percentage in antagonizing the regent, and yet what Alexei had to say was not calculated to please.
“The British believe that Russia intends to dominate the eastern end of the Mediterrane
an and undercut their power in that part of the world.”
“But England is the great Imperialist. That small nation’s tentacles stretch to the farthest corner of the earth. Do they really believe that we threaten them?” The Czar seemed, in some obscure way, to be pleased by Alexei’s words, as if he enjoyed the idea that he was able to instill fear in the great kings of the West.
“Russia is a huge nation with immense resources, Your Majesty. You maintain the largest standing army on the continent with forced enlistment for twenty-five years. Smaller nations are quite naturally apprehensive.” Again Alexei paused, “And our political system is not looked upon with favor in more democratic countries.”
The Czar snorted disparagingly. “The British would have us copy their way, I suppose?” When Alexei did not respond, he demanded, “Well, go on! We do not like what we hear, but having begun this conversation, we would have it finished. Say what we should do to win the favor of the inestimable English crown.”
“Emancipation and a constitution,” replied Alexei simply, his eyes never leaving the Czar’s face.
“Never!” cried the Czar. Angrily, he jerked his horse toward him and mounted. He looked down at Alexei. “This is what you would like too, we suppose. Constantine and Constitution,” the Czar parodied the cry of the Decembrist Revolt.
Alexei mounted Alladin. “No, Your Majesty,” he said, dipping his head in respect to his leader. “I believe that the British, though they originally favored your brother’s claim to the crown, would be eager to support you in any effort to free the serfs and proclaim rights for this' country. It could be Nicholas and Constitution.”
“How dare they dictate to us! Our system is based on, depends on, the loyal peasantry. Without them we would be in chaos.” The Czar laughed. “Democracy is all very well on a tiny island like England, but a country of the size and might of Mother Russia requires a specialized system, one suited to our habits and customs. It is impractical to speak of emancipation at this time.” The Czar began to walk his horse across the stream and Alexei followed. They rode for some time in silence. At a stand of oaks, the Czar stopped again and continued his orders.
“You must go to England. Carry our assurances that Russia does not intend to threaten British power, but that in the matter of the southern provinces, we are resolved to fight the Turks and regain our control. We ask that England support our position.” The Czar shrugged. It was an uncharacteristic, almost peasant gesture. “So little, Alexei Stephanovich! And for this you will be reinstated. You will be known as a respectable loyal subject once more and welcome in our home and family circle.”
“But I doubt I can succeed, Your Majesty. Your sources have overestimated my influence in the English court.”
“Or perhaps you underestimate your powers of persuasion, Prince. We expect you to be completely successful in this matter.”
“It is my honour to serve, Your Majesty,” Alexei said, knowing it would be fruitless, even foolhardy, to argue.
“I know you will succeed,” said the Czar with a hint of menace in his voice. “Good day to you, Alexei Stephanovich.”
As Alexei watched Czar Nicholas gallop away down the bridle path, his mind was already racing toward England. He knew that he had little hope of winning English good will for Russia. By and large, the royalty and power of that country believed Russia to be a barbarian land dominated by cruel rulers and a corrupt religious hierarchy. It would take more than the assurances of one Romanov prince to make them change that attitude. And why should they? Alexei asked himself as he rode back along the way they had come. Alexei himself did not trust Czar Nicholas. He knew that Nicholas, a military man since early adolescence, was as eager for enlarged power as any Russian monarch. If he thought it possible, Nicholas would send his armies in all directions. Even Europe would not be safe.
Yet, despite the futility of the cause, Alexei would carry the Czar’s message; his loyalty would not be questioned. And if he did not succeed? With sorrow, with resignation, Alexei accepted the truth that if he failed he would be forever barred from Russia, the home of his birth, the land where his heart would always lie.
The conversation with the Czar had depressed Alexei, and when Alladin was stabled, he decided on a whim to walk awhile. He strode along the busy riverside for a time, drinking in the cosmopolitan atmosphere of Russia’s most sophisticated city. His heart was heavy with the realization that he might never again see this or any other part of his homeland.
Some day perhaps the political climate would be more favorable to libertarian principles, but he could not guess when that might be. The nobility of Russia was firmly entrenched in its ancient ways and without some monumental clash of wills and strength, he knew that nothing would change.
Near mid-afternoon, Alexei’s thoughtful wanderings had led him by chance to an old neighborhood of the city. Here the houses, though large and impressively built, had been allowed to fall into neglect. Paint had chipped from the window trims and the wrought iron grills that separated each building from the street were bent and twisted. Alexei was about to leave the depressing area when he recalled that a scholar, an old friend of his father, once lived in the neighborhood. He glanced at the name plates on several doors before coming to that of Count David Pavelovich Stolypin.
The old man was delighted to see Alexei. He ushered him into his sitting room with the eagerness of one who has few visitors. But Alexei noted that he was nervous and over quick to close the street door behind them.
“Alexei Stephanovich,” the Count was saying, “it is so good to see you here. You have grown so like your father that for a moment, when I saw you in the doorway I half thought…but never mind; I am an old man and the mind swims in strange channels.”
Alexei was alarmed to see the Count so old and—in his ancient cutaway jacket—pathetic. Though he was attempting to put on a good face, it was clear that times had been very hard on him; and Alexei’s heart went out to him in compassion.
“I’ve come to take you out for a meal.” Alexei said, trying not to think how shabby the Count’s coat was, how worn the heels of his high boots. “Come, old friend. Let us drink vodka together and speak of the old times.”
Count David became agitated. “Oh, Alexei Stephanovich, I would enjoy that, but…no, I think not. No.”
“You have another engagement?” Alexei doubted this. The Count’s apartments had the appearance of a place that rarely received visitors. The windows facing the street had not been washed in some time, and every table surface that was not piled with books showed a thick coat of dust. The count saw Alexei’s expression as he looked about the room.
“Forgive me. Had I expected you I would have made some effort…” Like a flustered housewife he waved his hand to indicate the untidy room.
“No matter, David Pavelovich. But all the more reason why I should take you out. Come. We’ll take a carriage to…”
“No,” declared the old man with surprising vehemence.
“But why not?” Alexei was perplexed. When Count David did not answer immediately, he pressed further. “What is the matter, David Pavelovich? I am an old friend; surely you can trust me?”
The man bitterly laughed. “Oh, I trust you. Do not be concerned for that, Alexei Stephanovich. It is my neighbors, my so-called friends, I doubt.”
“I still do not understand,” said Alexei although a suspicion was beginning to form in his mind.
“These apartments, pitiful as they are, are rented to me by General Simanova. Do you remember him?”
“Indeed I do. Your wife was his sister was she not?”
“Precisely. And now that I am come upon…difficult times, he is good enough to make these rooms available to me.” Count David looked up at Alexei sadly. “If he were to hear that you and I were together, I fear he might force me to leave.”
Alexei was horrified. “But you were one of the greatest western scholars in Russia. You were a confidant of the Czarina Catherine. Forgive me, David Pavelov
ich, but I do not understand any of this.”
The old count sighed and slumped wearily into a battered armchair. “It is most simple. Western thought and sympathies are not regarded kindly in Russia. It was ever so, but these days,” he shuddered, “these days it is very bad. I dare not risk being seen publicly with you.”
Alexei felt nauseated. The anger that had been growing in him since that morning’s conversation with the Czar solidified, and when he spoke to David Pavelovich his voice was low and bitter as if he dared not raise it for fear of losing control. “I have come this day from an audience with Czar Nicholas. He has asked me to help sway the English crown to the Russian cause in the south. I believe he wants Britain to join him in the fight against the Turks.”
“This will never happen.” Count David leaned forward and whispered, a half-glint of humour in his rheumy eyes, “Is our Czar really such a fool?”
“No. Only blind like the rest of his class.” Alexei walked around the room, not speaking, stopping now and then to glance at a book from the crowded shelves that lined the walls.
Count David watched him thoughtfully, then asked. “Why have you come back. Alexei Stephanovich? I had heard that you were en route to England.”
“And so I was,” replied Prince Alexei. Then he began to explain why he had returned .He spared few details, made no effort to hide that it was a woman who had made him risk his safety. At the end of the story, Alexei tried to laugh; but the sound was false. “So, you see, I am as much a blind fool as Nicholas.”
“I think not. Unless of course, you are hasty. In affairs of the heart, it is most often hasty words and actions that prove a lover’s undoing.”
The Frost And The Flame Page 18