by Ken Follett
In that house, he thought, is Prince Orlov. I wonder which is his bedroom window?
Suddenly he heard the sound of a car approaching very fast. He ran back ten paces and threw himself into the ditch. A moment later the car's headlights swept along the wall and it pulled up in front of the gate. Someone got out.
Feliks heard knocking. There must be a gatehouse, he realized: he had not seen it in the darkness. A window was opened and a voice shouted: "Who's there?"
Another voice replied: "Police, from the Special Branch of Scotland Yard."
"Just a minute."
Feliks lay perfectly still. He heard footsteps as the man who had got out of the car moved around restlessly. A door was opened. A dog barked, and a voice said: "Quiet, Rex!"
Feliks stopped breathing. Was the dog on a lead? Would it smell Feliks? Would it come snuffling along the ditch and find him and start to bark?
The iron gates creaked open. The dog barked again. The voice said: "Shut up, Rex!"
A car door slammed and the car moved off up the drive. The ditch was dark again. Now, Feliks thought, if the dog finds me I can kill it and the gatekeeper and run away . . .
He tensed, ready to jump up as soon as he heard a snuffling sound near to his ear.
The gates creaked shut.
A moment later the gatehouse door slammed.
Feliks breathed again.
FOURTEEN
Charlotte woke at six o'clock. She had drawn back the curtains of her bedroom windows so that the first rays of the sun would shine on her face and rouse her from sleep: it was a trick she had used years ago, when Belinda was staying over, and the two of them had liked to roam around the house while the grown-ups were still in bed and there was no one to tell them to behave like little ladies.
Her first thought was for Feliks. They had failed to catch him--he was so clever! Today he would surely be waiting for her in the wood. She jumped out of bed and looked outside. The weather had not yet broken: he would have been dry in the night, anyway.
She washed in cold water and dressed quickly in a long skirt, riding boots and a jacket. She never wore a hat for these morning rides.
She went downstairs. She saw nobody. There would be a maid or two in the kitchen, lighting fires and heating water, but otherwise the servants were still in bed. She went out of the south front door and almost bumped into a large uniformed policeman.
"Heavens!" she exclaimed. "Who are you?"
"Constable Stevenson, miss."
He called her miss because he did not know who she was. "I'm Charlotte Walden," she said.
"Pardon me, m'lady."
"That's all right. What are you doing here?"
"Guarding the house, m'lady."
"Oh, I see: guarding the Prince, you mean. How reassuring. How many of you are there?"
"Two outside and four inside. The inside men are armed. But there'll be a lot more later."
"How so?"
"Big search party, m'lady. I hear there'll be a hundred and fifty men here by nine. We'll get this anarchist chappie--never you fear."
"How splendid."
"Was you thinking of going riding, m'lady? I shouldn't, if I was you. Not today."
"No, I shan't," Charlotte lied.
She walked away, around the east wing of the house to the back. The stables were deserted. She went inside and found her mare, Spats, so called because of the white patches on her forelegs. She talked to her for a minute, stroking her nose, and gave her an apple. Then she saddled her, led her out of the stable and mounted her.
She rode away from the back of the house and around the park in a wide circle, staying out of sight and out of earshot of the policeman. She galloped across the west paddock and jumped the low fence into the wood. She walked Spats through the trees until she came to the bridle path, then let her trot.
It was cool in the wood. The oak and beech trees were heavy with leaf, shading the path. In the patches where the sun came through, dew rose from the ground like wisps of steam. Charlotte felt the heat of those stray sunbeams as she rode through them. The birds were very loud.
She thought: What can he do against a hundred and fifty men? His plan was impossible now: Aleks was too well guarded and the hunt for Feliks was too well organized. At least Charlotte could warn him off.
She reached the far end of the wood without seeing him. She was disappointed: she had been sure he would be here today. She began to worry, for if she did not see him she could not warn him, and then he would surely be caught. But it was not yet seven o'clock: perhaps he had not begun to watch out for her. She dismounted and walked back, leading Spats. Perhaps Feliks had seen her and was waiting to check whether she had been followed. She stopped in a glade to watch a squirrel. They did not mind people, although they would run away from dogs. Suddenly she felt she was being watched. She turned around, and there he was, looking at her with a peculiarly sad expression.
He said: "Hello, Charlotte."
She went to him and held both his hands. His beard was quite full, now. His clothes were covered with bits of greenery. "You look dreadfully tired," she said in Russian.
"I'm hungry. Did you bring food?"
"Oh, dear, no!" She had brought an apple for her horse and nothing for Feliks. "I didn't think of it."
"Never mind. I've been hungrier."
"Listen," she said. "You must go away, immediately. If you leave now you can escape."
"Why should I escape? I want to kidnap Orlov."
She shook her head. "It's impossible now. He has armed bodyguards, the house is patrolled by policemen and by nine o'clock there will be a hundred and fifty men searching for you."
He smiled. "And if I escape, what will I do with the rest of my life?"
"But I won't help you commit suicide!"
"Let's sit on the grass," he said. "I have something to explain to you."
She sat with her back against a broad oak tree. Feliks sat in front of her and crossed his legs, like a Cossack. Dappled sunlight played across his weary face. He spoke rather formally, in complete sentences which sounded as if they might have been rehearsed. "I told you I was in love, once, with a woman called Lydia; and you said: 'That's my mother's name.' Do you remember?"
"I remember everything you've ever said to me." She wondered what this was all about.
"It was your mother."
She stared at him. "You were in love with Mama?"
"More than that. We were lovers. She used to come to my apartment, alone--do you understand what I mean?"
Charlotte blushed with confusion and embarrassment. "Yes, I do."
"Her father, your grandfather, found out. The old Count had me arrested; then he forced your mother to marry Walden."
"Oh, how terrible," Charlotte said softly. For some reason she was frightened of what he might say next.
"You were born seven months after the wedding."
He seemed to think that was very significant. Charlotte frowned.
Feliks said: "Do you know how long it takes for a baby to grow and be born?"
"No."
"It takes nine months, normally, although it can take less."
Charlotte's heart was pounding. "What are you getting at?"
"You might have been conceived before the wedding."
"Does that mean you might be my father?" she said incredulously.
"There's more. You look exactly like my sister, Natasha."
Charlotte's heart seemed to rise into her throat and she could hardly speak. "You think you are my father?"
"I'm sure of it."
"Oh, God." Charlotte put her face in her hands and stared into space, seeing nothing. She felt as if she were waking from a dream and could not yet figure out which aspects of the dream had been real. She thought of Papa, but he was not her papa; she thought of Mama, having a lover; she thought of Feliks, her friend and suddenly her father . . .
She said: "Did they lie to me even about this?"
She was so disoriented th
at she felt she would not be able to stand upright. It was as if someone had told her that all the maps she had ever seen were forgeries and she really lived in Brazil; or that the real owner of Walden Hall was Pritchard; or that horses could talk but merely kept silent by choice; but it was much worse than all those things. She said: "If you were to tell me that I am a boy, but my mother always dressed me in girl's clothing . . . it would be like this."
She thought: Mama . . . and Feliks? That made her blush again.
Feliks took her hand and stroked it. He said: "I suppose all the love and concern that a man normally gives to his wife and children went, in my case, into politics. I have to try to get Orlov, even if it's impossible, the way a man would have to try to save his child from drowning, even if the man could not swim."
Charlotte suddenly realized how confused Feliks must feel about her, the daughter he had never really had. She understood, now, the odd, painful way he had looked at her sometimes.
"You poor man," she said.
He bit his lip. "You have such a generous heart."
She did not know why he should say that. "What are we going to do?"
He took a deep breath. "Could you get me inside the house and hide me?"
She thought for a moment. "Yes," she said.
*
He mounted the horse behind her. The beast shook its head and snorted, as if offended that it should be expected to carry a double weight. Charlotte urged it into a trot. She followed the bridle path for a while, then turned off it at an angle and headed through the wood. They went through a gate, across a paddock, and into a little lane. Feliks did not yet see the house: he realized she was circling around it to approach from the north side.
She was an astonishing child. She had such strength of character. Had she inherited it from him? He wanted to think so. He was very happy to have told her the truth about her birth. He had the feeling she had not quite accepted it, but she would. She had listened to him turn her world upside down, and she had reacted with emotion but without hysteria--she did not get that kind of equanimity from her mother.
From the lane they turned into an orchard. Now, looking between the tops of the trees, Feliks could see the roofs of Walden Hall. The orchard ended in a wall. Charlotte stopped the horse and said: "You'd better walk beside me from here. That way, if anyone should glance out of a window, they won't be able to see you very easily."
Feliks jumped off. They walked alongside the wall and followed it around a comer. "What's behind the wall?" Feliks asked.
"Kitchen garden. Better not talk, now."
"You're marvelous," Feliks whispered, but she did not hear.
They stopped at the next corner. Feliks could see some low buildings and a yard. "The stables," Charlotte murmured. "Stay here for a moment. When I give you the signal, follow me as fast as you can."
"Where are we going?"
"Over the roofs."
She rode into the yard, dismounted, and looped the reins over a rail. Feliks watched her cross to the far side of the little yard, look both ways, then come back and look inside the stables.
He heard her say: "Oh, hello, Peter."
A boy of about twelve years came out, taking off his cap. "Good morning, m'lady."
Feliks thought: How will she get rid of him?
Charlotte said: "Where's Daniel?"
"Having his breakfast, m'lady."
"Go and fetch him, will you, and tell him to come and unsaddle Spats."
"I can do it, m'lady."
"No, I want Daniel," Charlotte said imperiously. "Off you go."
Marvelous, Feliks thought.
The boy ran off. Charlotte turned toward Feliks and beckoned. He ran to her.
She jumped onto a low iron bunker, then climbed onto the corrugated tin roof of a lean-to shed, and from there got onto the slate roof of a one-story stone building.
Feliks followed.
They edged along the slate roof, moving sideways on all fours, until it ended up against a brick wall; then they crawled up the slope to the ridge of the roof.
Feliks felt dreadfully conspicuous and vulnerable.
Charlotte stood upright and peeped through a window in the brick wall.
Feliks whispered: "What's in there?"
"Parlormaids' bedroom. But they're downstairs by now, laying the breakfast table."
She clambered onto the window ledge and stood upright. The bedroom was an attic room and the window was in the gable end, so that the roof peaked just above the window and sloped down either side. Charlotte moved along the sill, then cocked her leg over the edge of the roof.
It looked dangerous. Feliks frowned, frightened that she would fall. But she hauled herself onto the roof with ease.
Feliks did the same.
"Now we're out of sight," Charlotte said.
Feliks looked around. She was right: they could not be seen from the ground. He relaxed a fraction.
"There are four acres of roof," Charlotte told him.
"Four acres! Most Russian peasants haven't got that much land."
It was quite a sight. On all sides were roofs of every material, size and pitch. Ladders and strips of decking were provided so that people could move around without treading on the slates and tiles. The guttering was as complex as the piping in the oil refinery Feliks had seen at Batum. "I've never seen such a big house," he said.
Charlotte stood up. "Come on, follow me."
She led him up a ladder to the next roof, along a board footway, then up a short flight of wooden steps leading to a small, square door set in a wall. She said: "At one time this must have been the way they got out onto the roofs for maintenance--but now everybody has forgotten about it." She opened the door and crawled through.
Gratefully, Feliks followed her into the welcoming darkness.
Lydia borrowed a motor car and driver from her brother-in-law, George, and, having lain awake all night, left London very early. The car entered the drive at Walden Hall at nine o'clock, and she was astonished to see, in front of the house and spreading over the park, hundreds of policemen, dozens of vehicles and scores of dogs. George's driver threaded the car through the crowd to the south front of the house. There was an enormous tea urn on the lawn, and the policemen were queuing up with cups in their hands. Pritchard walked by carrying a mountain of sandwiches on a huge tray and looking harassed. He did not even notice that his mistress had arrived. A trestle table had been set up on the terrace, and behind it sat Stephen with Sir Arthur Langley, giving instructions to half a dozen police officers, who stood in front of them in a semicircle. Lydia went over to them. Sir Arthur had a map in front of him. She heard him say: "Each team will have a local man, to keep you on the correct route, and a motorcyclist to dash back here and report progress every hour." Stephen looked up, saw Lydia, and left the group to speak to her.
"Good morning, my dear, this is a pleasant surprise. How did you get here?"
"I borrowed George's car. What is going on?"
"Search parties."
"Oh." With all these men looking for him, how could Feliks possibly escape?
Stephen said: "Still, I wish you had stayed in Town. I should have been happier for your safety."
"And I should have spent every minute wondering whether bad news was on its way." And what would count as good news? she wondered. Perhaps if Feliks were simply to give up and go away. But he would not do that, she was sure. She studied her husband's face. Beneath his customary poise there were signs of tiredness and tension. Poor Stephen: first his wife, and now his daughter, deceiving him. A guilty impulse made her reach up and touch his cheek. "Don't wear yourself out," she said.
A whistle blew. The policemen hastily drained their teacups, stuffed the remains of sandwiches into their mouths, put on their helmets and formed themselves into six groups, each around a leader. Lydia stood with Stephen, watching. There were a lot of shouted orders and a good deal more whistling. Finally they began to move out. The first group went south, fanning o
ut across the park, and entered the wood. Two more headed west, into the paddock. The other three groups went down the drive toward the road.
Lydia regarded her lawn. It looked like the site of a Sunday-school outing when all the children have gone home. Mrs. Braithwaite began to organize the cleaning-up with a pained expression on her face. Lydia went into the house.
She met Charlotte in the hall. Charlotte was surprised to see her. "Hello, Mama," she said. "I didn't know you were coming down."
"One gets so bored in Town," Lydia said automatically; then she thought: What rubbish we talk.
"How did you get here?"
"I borrowed Uncle George's car." Lydia saw that Charlotte was making small talk, and thinking of something else.
"You must have started very early," Charlotte said.
"Yes." Lydia wanted to say: Stop it! Let's not pretend! Why don't we speak the truth? But she could not bring herself to do it.
"Have all those policemen gone yet?" Charlotte asked. She was looking at Lydia in a strange way, as if seeing her for the first time. It made Lydia uncomfortable. I wish I could read my daughter's mind, she thought.
She replied: "Yes, they've all gone."
"Splendid."
That was one of Stephen's words--splendid. There was, after all, something of Stephen in Charlotte: the curiosity, the determination, the poise--since she had not inherited those things, she must have acquired them simply by imitating him . . .
Lydia said: "I hope they catch this anarchist," and watched Charlotte's reaction.
"I'm sure they will," Charlotte said gaily.
She's very bright-eyed, Lydia thought. Why should she look that way, when hundreds of policemen are combing the county for Feliks? Why is she not depressed and anxious, as I am? It must be that she does not expect them to catch him. For some reason she thinks he is safe.
Charlotte said: "Tell me something, Mama. How long does it take for a baby to grow and be born?"
Lydia's mouth fell open and the blood drained from her face. She stared at Charlotte, thinking: She knows! She knows!
Charlotte smiled and nodded, looking faintly sad. "Never mind," she said. "You've answered my question." She went on down the stairs.
Lydia held on to the banister, feeling faint. Feliks had told Charlotte. It was just too cruel, after all these years. She felt angry at Feliks: why had he ruined Charlotte's life this way? The hall spun around her head, and she heard a maid's voice say: "Are you all right, my lady?"