“What’s ’appened, Guv?” he asked. “Didn’t you meet ’er Ladyship?”
“Meet whom?” Richard enquired.
“The Comtesse,” Harry returned. “She got your message and sets off in ’igh glee ’cos you was awaitin’ for ’er.”
“What the devil are you talking about?” Richard enquired. “I have not sent the Comtesse any message. I have been riding. You yourself saw me go off after the ladies had left in their carriage.”
“Yes, I know, Guv, but when they got back about an hour ago, a sleigh draws up, a slit-eyed bloke comes up to the door, says as ’ow you’d sent for ’er Ladyship and she was to ’op along at once and meet you at the ’Ofburg.”
“At the Hofburg?”
“Yes, Guv.”
“Are you sure he said that?”
“Gawd’s truth! I thinks to meself that you must ’ave made it up with them Russian nobs after all. It queered me what your plan might be. Then I thinks to meself a meal’s a meal, whoever pays for it.”
“Cut your cackle, Harry, and get on with what happened,” Richard said sharply.
“There ain’t nothin’ else to tell. Guv. ’Er Ladyship gets into the sleigh and rattles away.”
Richard pressed his lips together.
This was Katharina’s doing, he was sure of that.
What could she want with Wanda?
“Bring me my horse,” he said sharply.
“Very good, Guv.”
Harry disappeared to do his bidding and a minute or so later the horse was back at the door and Richard sprang into the saddle.
The animal was still fresh, despite the afternoon’s ride and it took him not more than ten minutes to reach the Hofburg and nodding to the servants in the main hall, who knew him well by sight, he climbed the stairs to the Imperial apartments on the first floor.
He decided to ask the Czar first if he had sent for Wanda and what he required of her, but, when he reached the Emperor’s private salon he found it occupied only by an aide-de-camp.
“I wish to see His Imperial Majesty,” Richard demanded formally.
“That is impossible,” the aide-de-camp replied.
“Why?”
“The Emperor is occupied.”
Something in the man’s manner and the slight giggle that accompanied the words made Richard stiffen with a sudden suspicion.
“Who is with him?” he asked sharply.
“I don’t think I really ought to tell you,” the aide-de-camp smirked.
“Tell me at once.
There was something in Richard’s face that commanded the truth.
“It’s a lady.”
“I guessed that,” Richard replied. “Who?”
The aide-de-camp looked over his shoulder before he replied and then, as Richard waited tensely, he answered,
“The Comtesse Sophie Zichy, and you would not believe what has been going on here,” he continued, only too eager to tell his tale now the first barrier was down. “The Comtesse was teasing the Emperor and saying that men were vainer than women and took longer to dress. He contradicted her, so she made a bet with His Imperial Majesty that she could change her clothes more quickly than he could. He accepted the challenge and sent an orderly to the Comtesse’s house for the necessary garments. They are in there now,” the aide-de-camp finished, pointing to the bedroom. “I suppose they will tell us when they come out who has won.”
He sniggered as he spoke and Richard turned from him in disgust.
Without a word he went from the salon and down the corridor towards Katharina’s bedroom.
As he expected, she was resting in the large cupid-decorated bed. Only a few candles were lit and she was lying back on her pillows with her eyes closed as if she was asleep.
As Richard closed the door behind him and advanced across the room, she opened her eyes.
“Richard! What a surprise! I had given up hope that you would come to me.”
“Where is Wanda?”
“Wanda? Who is Wanda? Oh, of course, that wench from the mountains you are so interested in. My dear, how should I know? I thought you were staying with her.”
Richard came closer to the bed.
“What have you done with her?” he asked. “It is no use lying. I know it was you who enticed her away.”
“I cannot recollect what you can be talking about,” Katharina prevaricated.
She looked up at him, her fair hair falling against the lace pillows, the nakedness of her shoulders rising above the silken sheets.
For a moment her eyes were wide as they watched his face and then they narrowed beneath the heavy lids and her lips parted.
“Have you really forsaken me, Richard?” she asked softly.
“I have asked you a question,” he replied, “and I want an answer.”
“This tiresome girl! Why should she come between us? She is pretty, I warrant you that, but so are a thousand other women. What can she give you that you have not already had from me? Is she passionate? So am I! Does she desire you? So do I! Does she love you? Oh, Richard, so do I!”
She held out her arms towards him as she spoke and now the sheets slipped back to reveal the beauty of her diaphanously covered breasts.
“Richard! Richard!”
Her voice was deep and hoarse with yearning, but his fingers closed fiercely, almost brutally, over her wrist.
“Answer me!” he demanded. “Where is Wanda?”
Then, as she did not reply, he released her wrist and bent towards her.
“Listen, Katharina. I am a desperate man. I have lost the woman I love and nobody shall stand in the way of my finding her. If you do not tell me where she is or where you have taken her, I shall kill you here and now.”
His hands went out as he spoke and fastened themselves on her neck, the round, soft, white neck that he had kissed so passionately, that had throbbed beneath his lips, that held so proudly the exquisite beauty of her face.
“Answer me!”
His voice was raw, then, as Katharina tried to scream, his hold tightened.
She tore at him with her fingers, her nails leaving long, bleeding scratches on his hands, but she could not unfasten his grip and after a few seconds her struggles grew weaker. Her face was suffused with blood, her breath came panting between her lips.
“Answer me!”
Richard’s voice seemed inexorable, the voice of someone devoid of all human feeling.
Katharina tried to scream, but it was impossible for her to force the sound from her imprisoned throat.
“Answer me!”
“I-I – will – tell – you.”
She was hardly able to breathe the words, but he heard them and relaxed his grip a little so that she could speak.
“You’ve hurt me – dear God – how you’ve – hurt me!”
“Answer me!”
“Volkonski has – sent her – to Count Araktcheef at Gruzino.”
“Araktcheef!” Richard repeated the word in tones of horror. “I ought to kill you for that.”
“My neck – my neck!” Katharina moaned.
Her lips were swollen and her face was still mottled purple and crimson, even now after he had released her.
Her voice came only in a croak and she tried ineffectively to scream again as he picked up the soft scarf that she had worn round her shoulders and tied it over her mouth.
Having gagged her effectively, he twisted her hands behind her back and tied them together with a handkerchief.
As she lay writhing on the bed, half-naked and helpless, he straightened his shoulders and looked down at her.
“If I can’t save Wanda,” he asserted, “God help you, for I shall kill you, if it is the last thing I do on earth.”
He walked from the room, shutting the door behind him.
Outside he saw one of Katharina’s maids whom he knew by sight. The woman smiled and curtseyed.
“Her Highness is asleep,” Richard said, “she does not wish to be disturbed for at leas
t an hour and a half.”
“I understand, sir,” the lady’s maid smiled.
She was used to such orders and drew her own conclusions as to why they had been given.
Richard walked down the passage to Prince Volkonski’s apartment. He entered without knocking.
The Prince, who was seated at his desk, looked up in surprise.
Then, at the sight of Richard’s expression, he rose to his feet.
“Good evening, Melton. What do you – ?” he began in his high insidious voice.
Richard hit him without waiting for him to finish the sentence.
Then, as Prince Volkonski staggered, for the moment too astonished to retaliate, Richard hit him again.
They were about evenly matched in height and weight, but Richard had learnt boxing in Gentleman Jackson’s Academy in Bond Street and the Prince was soft and flabby from over-luxurious living.
He tried to defend himself and tried to ward off Richard’s blows, but he was used to fighting with a sword and pistol and not with bare hands.
Again and again Richard hit him until, with a terrific uppercut that seemed to lift him off his feet, the Prince went down unconscious.
After that it was but a matter of seconds before Richard had him gagged with his own cravat, his feet and arms tied with curtain cords.
Then Richard looked about him for a place of concealment. There was a big cupboard at one end of the room where the Prince kept his files and various books of reference.
There was just room, by tumbling a number of them onto the floor, to shut the Prince inside.
Richard slammed the door, locked it and threw the key out of the window.
His knuckles were bleeding when he came out of the Prince’s room and went back down the corridor towards the Czar’s apartment.
His blood was up by now and he felt that nothing, not even a Regiment of soldiers, could stop him.
He walked past the sentries.
There was nobody in the salon and he guessed that the aide-de-camp had gone downstairs to escort the Comtesse Sophie to her carriage.
He walked across the room and opened the door of the Czar’s bedroom and then the impetuous words he was about to speak died on his lips, for Alexander was asleep.
He was lying on his bed, wearing his brocade dressing gown, his legs covered by a gold and sable-lined spread.
There was the contented smile of a satiated man upon his lips and he looked younger and more vulnerable than when he was awake.
For a moment Richard stared at the sleeping Emperor and then, as he stepped towards him, something on the table by the fireside glittered in the light of the flames.
It distracted his attention and in that second his plans were changed.
He knew what the ring was.
It was one of those used by the Imperial couriers when they travelled between St. Petersburg and Vienna on the Emperor’s business.
It was understood that a man who carried such a symbol should be given every attention, because, while the ring was in his possession, his commands and orders were given in the Emperor’s name.
The Czar turned over and murmured in his sleep.
Richard stood very still and then he reached out his hand, picked up the ring from the table and went from the room, closing the door behind him.
Chapter 14
Hurrying down the staircase of the Hofburg Palace, Richard met the aide-de-camp returning, as he had suspected, from seeing the Comtesse Sophie Zichy into her carriage.
He nodded to him coolly, but the young man was anxious to stop and gossip.
“They were in His Imperial Majesty’s bedroom for an hour and three-quarters!” he recounted with glee.
“Indeed,” Richard answered indifferently and hurried down the stairs with what he hoped was an absentminded air that would not arouse suspicion.
When he had reached the main hall, he turned down the passage that led towards that side of the Palace where the stables were located.
The Czar’s private grooms, sleighs and horses occupied a large part of the Imperial stables.
The rest of the Sovereigns had been content to use the three hundred carriages thoughtfully provided for them by the Emperor Francis and were more than delighted with the fourteen hundred thoroughbred German horses that had been brought to Vienna especially for the Congress.
But the Czar, in his usual grandiose manner, had brought a large number of his own horses, carriages and sleighs with him and the fact that his most generous host found it hard to house so vast an entourage did not trouble him in the slightest.
It was fortunate that Richard knew the Head Stableman personally and that they had a mutual respect for each other as being able judges of horseflesh.
He sent for him now and extended to him his left hand, on the third finger of which glistened the gold ring that he had taken from the Czar’s room.
“Secret and urgent orders of His Imperial Majesty,” he said in a low voice.
The Head Stableman looked over his shoulder as if he was afraid of being overheard.
“I am at your service, mein herr.”
“A sleigh left here this afternoon by order of Prince Volkonski. It was to pick up a passenger at Baroness Waluzen’s house and carry the lady to Count Araktcheef at Gruzino.”
“That’s right, mein herr, the sleigh left about an hour and a half ago.”
“His Imperial Majesty has changed his mind. He wishes me to intercept the sleigh and bring back the passenger.”
“I understand, mein herr.”
“How many horses were drawing the sleigh?” Richard asked.
“Two, mein herr. Two of our best Arabs.”
“Give me four!” Richard commanded.
The man hesitated and his eyes went towards the crowd of servants standing around the stables with little or nothing to do.
Richard knew that he was wondering which among them were competent to drive a four-in-hand fast and at night.
“I will drive myself,” he said.
The Russian’s lips broke into a reluctant smile.
“You’ll find them a handful, mein herr.”
“Time is pressing,” Richard replied curtly.
He glanced up, as he spoke, towards the Palace as if he half-suspected the Czar might be watching from one of the many brightly illuminated windows.
His words seemed to galvanise the Head Stableman into action and a torrent of words poured from his lips as order followed order and men sprang to obey them.
It was only a question of minutes before a narrow finely constructed sleigh was brought into the courtyard and four black horses with their arched Arab necks and long black flowing manes and tails were harnessed together.
“I shall want a coat,” Richard said.
A driving coat lined with sable was produced as if by magic. A Russian cap, trimmed with the same fur, was offered to him and he thrust it on his head.
“I have chosen two grooms to go with you, mein herr.” the Head Stableman said when the horses were practically ready, “Two of my best men. They are both capable of driving if you prefer it. They both speak a little German.”
“Let them sit in the sleigh,” Richard answered.
He knew that however good the Russian coachmen might be, they would be afraid of travelling at the speed at which he intended to go and there were dire penalties for a groom who upset a sleigh or carriage or who overdrove one of the Czar’s horses.
Wild though Russian drivers were as a general rule, in the Emperor’s service they were forced for fear of punishment to a caution that was in fact foreign to their natures.
The sleigh was ready.
Every moment that he had waited had seemed to Richard to pass like an eternity in case Volkonski or one of Katharina’s servants came into the yard and prevented him from leaving.
Both of them would be well aware as to where he was going and from both of them in future he could expect a revenge that would mean death.
No one,
as Richard knew, could insult Volkonski and live. His power was tremendous, for he had the ear of the Czar and everyone in the Russian Court was afraid of him.
But there was a man who was stronger still and much more to be feared and his name was Araktcheef!
But, as Richard, with the reins in one hand and a long driving whip in the other, guided the excited horses through the narrow gates of the Hofburg Palace and out into the snow covered street, he did not dare to let his mind rest on Wanda and where she was being taken.
The horses occupied his mind for some miles to the exclusion of all else. Fortunately they were used to being teamed together and he was an outstandingly brilliant whip.
Even his worst enemy could not deny that he was a Corinthian when it came to handling the ribbons and, although it had not been often in his life that he could afford a four-in-hand of his own, his reputation made his friends eager to secure his services when they had a wager to win or when they were in a hurry to get to Newmarket for the races.
After a few wild prancings and rearings that made the grooms grip the sides of the sleigh and mutter beneath their breath, the horses settled into a steady gallop and Richard could begin to plan his journey.
He knew it was a question of time, first to save Wanda from falling into the hands of Count Araktcheef and secondly to get her back to Vienna before Prince Volkonski sent another sleigh to intercept them.
So long as they were on Austrian territory and in the open, Richard felt that he could deal with the Prince, but he was well aware that Volkonski would eventually resort to a stab in the back or a blow to the head in the dark if he could not obtain his revenge in any other way.
What was terrifying beyond expression was the idea of Wanda coming into the clutches of Count Araktcheef, a soldier whom a great number of people already looked upon as the Czar’s evil genius, Araktcheef was a man of malice and spitefulness with no friends because no one except the vilest toadies could tolerate him.
Even the easy going, self-seeking members of the Russian Court could not pronounce his name without contempt and the more respectable and dignified among them made no secret in private of their hatred for the Czar’s favourite Minister.
But the Czar looked on the Count as his friend and trusted him implicitly. Araktcheef had showed everyone a letter written from Paris earlier in the year, which the Czar ended,
The Enchanted Waltz Page 20