“I can truly say that there is no one in whom I have equal confidence and from whom it has pained me so much to he separated.
Always, for all my life, your devoted friend,
Alexander.”
For the past seven years Count Araktcheef had held the post of Minister for War. His influence was growing all the time. Clever as a serpent when it came to intrigue, he had made himself the Czar’s mentor, counsellor and watchdog and no one had the courage to warn the Emperor that there was a very different side to the Count’s nature.
The Czar had stayed frequently at Gruzino, Count Araktcheef’s own estate, but Richard knew, as did the rest of the Court, that the Count’s mistress was bundled out of the way when the Czar was expected and that the Bible-reading Alexander was never taken to see the art gallery at the end of the garden, which Araktcheef had filled with a unique collection of indecent pictures.
The Czar too knew nothing of the frequent floggings of the serfs or the harsh punishments inflicted upon married women who were unable or unwilling to bear children.
Terrible stories were whispered of what went on at Gruzino.
Only last month Richard had heard how a girl of sixteen had been flogged to death to please the sadism of Araktcheef while her companions were compelled to stand around her and chant the prayers for the dying.
The Czar knew nothing of this any more than he knew of the tragic misery that was inflicted upon his people by the experiment Araktcheef was making with what were called ‘the colonists’.
Thousands of peasants had been incorporated into the Army, housed in Barracks and made to till the soil in uniform and be subjected to Military discipline. The Czar believed that men who were properly housed with their families and who were given the right tools and the right seed would turn out to be expert farmers.
What he did not know was that Count Araktcheef worked his colonists so hard that a large proportion of them died from sheer overwork, whilst others were herded together in Barracks in such horrible proximity that husbands and wives could find no corner for connubial seclusion.
Overseers arranged their marriages for them, compelling them, when they saw any symptoms of jealousy, to draw lots for their wives. The result of these cruelties was that family after family deserted the settlements, hid themselves in the swamps and forests and died there.
Richard had seen Count Araktcheef on several occasions, but he had always avoided the man for fear that his instincts should get the better of him and he would strike the wide sneering smile from the Russian’s crafty face.
It was not his business what went on in foreign countries and, although he had drawn his own conclusions from the whispered tales of horror and brutality that were passed continuously round the Imperial circle, it had not been his place to interfere or express any comment while he was an honoured guest of the Czar.
But now all that he had listened to and all that had been left unsaid, came rushing into his mind, so that he was filled with a terror such as he had never known before at the thought of Wanda in the hands of such a brute.
It seemed to him inconceivable even now that Katharina’s jealousy should have led her to such lengths and yet he could realise now the truth of the trite saying he had learned at Eton, ‘Hell has no fury like a woman scorned’.
As they reached the open road, the fear within his heart made him whip up the already galloping horses until their hoofs seemed almost to fly over the powdery snow.
He knew that the two grooms were tense and fearful in the sleigh as it swung precariously round corners and when it seemed that only a miracle could save it from being overturned.
But Richard’s superb horsemanship saved them from disaster. The miles were being eaten up and the moon, shining clearly through the frosty night, made the road ahead as clear as if they were travelling by daylight.
On and on they went and, as each mile passed, Richard found himself praying that he would soon overtake Wanda and her escort.
He was well aware that the first sleigh had a long start, but owing to his reckless yet superb driving the distance between them must be growing appreciably less.
He felt as if the anxiety of his own heart might bridge the miles and comfort Wanda in her terror and fear at being kidnapped.
Of one thing he was thankful.
She would not know what was ahead of her when she arrived in Russia.
He thought of her little face, her wide trusting blue eyes raised to his and he vowed in that moment he would save and protect her for the rest of his life.
She was his. He loved her and she loved him.
How, he asked himself now, had he been such a fool as to wait so long without marrying her?
What did money matter? Better to starve together than to risk the misery and the danger of being separated.
He remembered how on the first night, when they had supped together at The Golden Vine, she had said,
“The people one loves grow dearer and more precious.”
How right she had been! She had grown dearer and more precious to him until the thought of life without her was too hideous to contemplate.
‘Wanda, Wanda, I love you! I am coming to you,’ his heart called to her, feeling that his desire for her bridged the distance between them.
On, on.
The horses were lathered now with sweat, but he would not spare them.
On, on!
Over a land strangely ghost-like in the rays of the moon, past forests silhouetted darkly against the horizon, the fields white beneath the snow made it seem as if all life lay shrouded by a heavy pall.
On, on.
And now at last he saw ahead the lights of the first Posting inn.
Intricate arrangements had been made so that the Czar could keep in touch with his Government in St. Petersburg and Posting houses with horses and men were situated all along the route so that the Imperial couriers travelled with almost unheard-of speed from Capital to Capital.
It was, however, not only Affairs of State that brought the messengers speeding along the road. The Czar sent messengers backwards and forwards on the merest pretext.
“The Emperor thinks of nothing except his uniforms,” a disgruntled aide-de-camp confided to Richard one day at the Hofburg. “For the love of God, man, keep this to yourself, but today I found him trying on eight or nine pairs of Hussar’s trousers and in despair at seeing that they were all too tight or too short! A courier has been despatched to St. Petersburg to bring back another uniform. He will arrive too late! This was pointed out to the Emperor, but he would not give up and sent him notwithstanding!”
As Richard turned into the yard of the Posting house, he prayed that one of those frivolous errands would not have deprived the Post of all its fresh horses.
Wanda’s sleigh had already come and gone and two would have depleted the number available and he required four of the very best to carry him on.
As the sleigh drew up in the light of several flaring torches, grooms and ostlers came running.
There was no delay and no question asked.
As the men unharnessed the sweating, exhausted team and led them into the stables, others were brought to replace them.
When Richard walked into the inn he found hot food and wine ready for him and he had to admit reluctantly that the Czar’s arrangements were perfect down to the last detail.
“A sleigh has passed through here,” he said to the innkeeper. “There was a lady in it. How long has it been gone?”
“A sleigh stopped about half an hour ago, mein herr,” the man replied, but I don’t know who the passenger might be.”
“Why not?” Richard enquired.
“The lady, if it was a lady, mein herr, did not leave the sleigh.”
Richard pressed his lips together.
This meant that Wanda was being kept a close prisoner.
It would be on Volkonski’s orders and he wished now that he had hit him harder. He was well aware how tired and cramped one became
after sitting for a long time in either a carriage or a sleigh. But Wanda had not been permitted to enter the inn.
“Was the lady given anything to eat or drink?” he asked.
“I think not, mein herr, but I’ll make enquiries.”
Richard did not wait for any more.
He had eaten a few mouthfuls of food in the time that it took the ostlers to change the horses.
Now he gulped down a glass of wine and went back to the sleigh. He saw by the faces of the grooms that they would like to have protested against being hurried so quickly from the warmth and comfort of the inn, but they had been too well disciplined to complain.
They said nothing, but, as they climbed back into the sleigh, their faces were eloquent of their dissatisfaction.
On again now.
The road was more difficult than before, climbing up the sides of mountains and dropping down into deep valleys, but the horses were fresh and of a fine quality, having come from the Imperial stables in St. Petersburg.
On, on!
Now they were passing through a desolate countryside, without a sign of human habitation. There were great forests ahead, dark and menacing, in which they were obliged to slacken their pace, because even the moonlight could not penetrate the close density of the trees.
Then, as they moved slowly in the darkness, the horses shying uneasily at a broken bough or at the hoot of an owl, Richard heard the baying of a wolf.
*
Wanda had heard it earlier when her sleigh had entered the forest and the horses had suddenly reared up on their haunches and only with repeated beatings had been persuaded to go forward again.
At first she had not known what the sound was, but when she did understand the meaning of that strange eerie howl and the terror of the horses, it seemed to her no worse than the agony of fear she had been experiencing ever since the sleigh that had fetched her from the Baroness Waluzen’s house had carried her past the Hofburg and out of Vienna.
At first she thought there must be some mistake.
She turned to speak to the man driving behind her.
“You said Mr. Melton was expecting me at the Hofburg Palace,” she said.
He did not answer her, but stared straight ahead, his eyes on the horses he drove.
“The Hofburg,” she called to him. “Did you not say that Mr. Melton was expecting me at the Hofburg?”
Again he did not answer and she felt as if an icy hand clutched her heart. Almost instinctively she half-rose.
As she did so, a man’s hand came down on her shoulder and for a moment she could hardly believe that he was touching her, forcing her back into her seat.
The impertinence of being handled by a servant was almost more than she could credit.
Then, with a sudden clarity, she understood.
This was a trap.
Richard had not sent for her. How could she have been so stupid, so foolish, as to believe for one moment that he would ask her to go to him at the Hofburg?
It was the Czar who had done this, the Czar who was punishing her for resisting him the other night.
Then, even as she accused him, she saw Katharina’s face as vividly as if the Princess stood before her and she knew who was responsible for everything.
She remembered now that she had seen Katharina watching her two nights before when she had gone with Richard to see the ballet Flore and Zéphire at the Opera House.
They had been sitting with the Baroness in her box when the Czar, accompanied by several members of his suite, had come into one opposite them.
Katharina was among them and Wanda had watched the older woman without saying anything to Richard. As he was sitting in the back of the box, she did not know whether he had noticed the Royal party, but her new-found jealousy would not permit her to mention Katharina to him.
Again and again she found her eyes being drawn across the Opera House to where Katharina sat. She was looking exquisitely beautiful that evening, Wanda thought, with a little stabbing pain in her heart.
She wore a necklace of huge emeralds above a décolletage so low and so daring that she appeared to be almost naked above the waist. There were emeralds glittering in her ears and a tiara of emeralds and diamonds on her head.
She was smiling at the Czar and she had evidently said something to amuse him, for he laughed and turned to whisper something in her ear.
It was at that moment Wanda realised that Katharina had recognised her and Richard, who sat behind her in the shadows.
She saw Katharina’s face change, she saw the smile fade from her lips, her eyes narrow and an expression so venomous change her that for a moment her beauty seemed to vanish as if a cloud passed across the sun.
‘She hates me,’ Wanda thought and added defiantly, ‘and I hate her too.’
It was hard to make herself watch the ballet with Senorita Bitollini in the principal part. Afterwards she could not recall what she had seen or what she had heard.
She was only conscious of Katharina’s hatred vibrating towards her from the Royal Box.
She felt as if those dark eyes stabbed at her. She found herself remembering tales she had heard of witches who could injure their victims at a distance, of magic that, by mysterious rites and incantations, practised by natives in the jungle, left the victim incapacitated without visible wounds and without mortal weapons.
She could feel Katharina’s hatred and malice without looking at her, feel it as if a cold finger touched her back, feel it, as her old Nanny would have said, ‘in her bones’.
When they had left the Opera House and she was sitting beside Richard in the carriage driving home, she chided herself.
He was holding her hand beneath the fur rug and his fingers were strong and reassuring.
He had said nothing and he had done nothing to make her think that he had even seen Katharina. Whatever there had been between him and the Princess in the past, it was over now. It was ridiculous for her to worry.
Surreptitiously, so that the Baroness should not see, she rested her cheek against his shoulder. It had been a movement to reassure herself, but he noticed it and his fingers had tightened on hers.
“You are not tired?” The question, tender with concern, made her smile. “Shall we go to the ball at the Apollo Hall?”
The Baroness laughed,
“Have you not had enough parties lately that you must join the hoi polloi and the sweepings of the streets at a place of public amusement?”
“The rarefied atmosphere of the great makes me yawn,” Richard answered. “There are to be Tyrolean singers at the Apollo tonight. Shall we go and hear them?”
There was a boyishness about his enthusiasm that the Baroness could not resist.
“Youth is contagious,” she grumbled, “so I suppose I must agree.”
But she had enjoyed it as much as they had.
A public ball was a change from the exclusive pomposity of the entertainments that were planned to dazzle the visiting Sovereigns. Here the Viennese were enjoying themselves light-heartedly with an enthusiasm that came from a sheer love of music and a natural gaiety. Polonaises and mazurkas were danced with joyful abandonment that had something childish and spontaneous about it.
There were no wonderful jewels, few gorgeous uniforms and no formality.
And yet it was an evening of fun such as Wanda had not found at the balls given at the Hofburg or the Razumovsky Palaces or any of the other great mansions that had been commandeered for the amusement of the Nobility.
The Apollo Hall was in itself a fantastic entertainment.
“We must look at the Turkish kiosk!” Wanda exclaimed. “I have heard people talking about it.”
“There is also a Lapland hut and a Chinese pagoda for you to see,” Richard answered, having been there before.
“I don’t want to miss anything,” Wanda cried excitedly.
Every style of architecture had its place in the galleries surrounding the Great Hall, while in the centre of the huge supper roo
m there was a rock with a waterfall springing from among the flowers and ferns and flowing into stone pools filled with various kinds of fish.
The Baroness had spoken scathingly of those who frequented the Apollo Hall, but she was surprised to find a large number of the Emperor’s distinguished guests enjoying themselves by rubbing shoulders with the middle class, flirting with little shop girls and imagining that their incognito was impenetrable.
Wanda danced with Richard and he held her close to him in a manner that would have caused comment at the more formal balls.
“I am happy – so happy that I want to go on dancing for ever,” she whispered.
“Another enchanted waltz?”
She shook her head.
“It is different from that first night. Then you were a stranger and I was afraid of you, even while you attracted me. Now I love you. Oh, Richard! I am too happy to put it into words.”
“If you look at me like that,” he answered, “I shall kiss you.”
“I don’t suppose anyone here would be shocked – except me!” she answered provocatively.
“Are you flirting with me?” he enquired.
“I hope so,” she replied, “if this is what flirting means.”
“It is,” he replied, “and if you ever do it with anyone else, I warn you that I shall beat you or suffocate you to death with kisses.”
They laughed at that.
It had been so easy to laugh.
Everything had seemed to be touched with some special magic of excitement, happiness and joy.
It was only later when she was alone in her bedroom that Wanda remembered Katharina and the hatred in her eyes.
She knew now that it was Katharina who had had her kidnapped by a trick.
Already the sleigh had carried her out of Vienna and they were travelling too fast for her to contemplate screaming for help to some passer-by.
Perhaps, Wanda thought, she could throw herself from the sleigh into the snow, but she decided that it was too risky.
Not only might she injure herself, but there was also every likelihood of her being stunned by the fall and being picked up again before she could run to safety.
The Enchanted Waltz Page 21