“There’s a turn here. Watch your step.”
“As if I didn’t know these steps by heart. Come up and down ’em ten times a day. Betty told me you’re the worst of the lot, rough and randy, ready to pommel a girl till she screams for mercy.”
“It isn’t mercy they’re screaming for,” Ivan growled.
“You’re awful!”
They moved past me. Lizzie’s arm actually brushed my own, but she was much too immersed to notice. I waited several moments, listening to their footsteps climbing the rest of the stairs, and then, shaken, moved nervously down the rest of the steps. The lower hall was deserted, but I could hear noises coming from the kitchen. Dishes rattled. The door was open. I would have to move past it to reach the corridor leading to the west wing. Hesitating for only a moment, I scurried past, relieved when I entered the broad, unlighted corridor.
The worst part was over now. The west wing was unoccupied, the rooms shut up, the furniture covered with dust sheets. My feet were freezing. Moonlight spilled through the uncurtained windows, gilding the walls with silver, intensifying the shadows. I turned and moved down a shallow flight of steps that led to one of the back doors. The matches and candle were still in the niche where I had hidden them. I lighted the candle and waved it in front of the glass panes of the door.
This was all terribly risky, of course, but it was the only way. Lucie and I were always accompanied by Vladimir and several others when we went out shopping, and there was no way she could slip away to meet Bryan without their finding out. Bryan had to come here. I knew she was far too nervous and distraught to traverse these halls herself without detection, so I had arranged to meet him myself and take him to her room. Once he knew the way, he could come on his own late at night when everyone was asleep, and all I would have to do was see that the door was unlocked.
He tapped furiously on the glass. I had been so intent on giving the signal that I had forgotten to unlock it now. I slid the bolt and turned the knob. A gust of snow blew in as he flung open the door, almost knocking me down. The candle blew out. He stamped snow off his boots, absolutely livid.
“I’ve been waiting for hours!”
“For God’s sake, be quiet!” I warned.
“I’ve been freezing!”
“Keep your voice down!”
“I’ll probably catch my death of cold,” he whispered furiously. “I think I already have. Maybe it’s frostbite! I’ve been huddling behind that goddamn marble column for at least two hours.”
“Will you stop whining!” I hissed. “I didn’t know we were to have guests tonight. I didn’t know they were going to stay so long. You’re supposed to be a bold, intrepid young lover, risking all for the girl he loves, and you sound like a petulant child.”
“You’re a vicious bitch!”
I had to smile. He saw it in the moonlight, and I thought he was going to strike me. He shivered and brushed the snow from his hair and glared at me, and I placed my hand on his brow.
“You don’t have a bit of fever,” I told him.
“I’m very sensitive to colds. This is insane, Marietta. We’re never going to make it without being caught.”
“Not if you keep carrying on like a banshee,” I said calmly. “Several of the servants are still up. Gregory is, too. We’re going to have to be extremely careful.”
“It’s dark. I can’t see a bloody thing.”
“There’s plenty of moonlight. Follow me. There are seven steps here. They’re low and flat. Be careful.”
I moved up the steps. So did Bryan. He made four of them, slipped on the fifth, and went sliding back down, arms and legs flying at crazy angles, landing with a crash and a cry I felt sure would bring the whole house down on us. He sat up, groaning, rubbing his head. I hurried to him and took his hand, yanking him back to his feet.
“Maybe we’d better just forget the whole thing,” I said acidly. “Maybe you’d better just leave.”
“Jesus, Marietta! I didn’t do it deliberately. I could have cracked my skull open. I think maybe I did.”
“You’re perfectly all right. Here, take my hand again.”
Bryan straightened up, his eyes full of silent apology. I sighed and took his hand and led him on the long journey up the stairs, down the hall, past my own rooms, past the staircase to Lucie’s sitting room.
A trembling Lucie opened the door immediately. Her face was chalk white.
I pushed Bryan through the door just ahead of me, then closed the door and leaned against it, so relieved I could barely stand. Lucie was wearing a light tan muslin frock sprigged with pink and brown flowers. Her hair was brushed, falling to her shoulder blades in a gleaming mass, a brown velvet bow fastened in back. A fire was burning vigorously in the fireplace, I noted. Thank goodness for that. I heaved another sigh, stood up straight, and told Bryan to take off his clothes.
“What!” He was horrified.
“Do as I say,” I ordered.
“Now just a bloody minute! I came here to see Lucie. I’ve heard all that talk about you, but—”
“Fetch him a towel, Lucie, and a robe or something he can wrap up in while his clothes dry. You go stand by the fire, Bryan. I’ll give you exactly twenty seconds to start disrobing. Hang your clothes over the fire screen.”
Dismayed, offended, afraid to disobey, he set his boots down and took off his coat. In a few moments he was shivering, and Lucie gave him a towel and a long brown silk robe. She had regained her color. Her eyes were full of wry amusement as she poured a glass of brandy for him. In a matter of minutes the anguished girl had been transformed into a poised and lovely woman. Bryan wrapped the robe around him and belted the sash and began to dry his hair with the towel. I slipped on the shoes I had been carrying all this time.
“I’ll leave you two alone now,” I said quietly. “I’m sure you have quite a lot to talk about.”
“Thank you, Marietta,” Lucie told me. “Don’t worry about anything. I’ll see that he gets out.”
I returned to my rooms and had a glass of brandy myself, weak from nervous exhaustion. I sat in the large gold velvet chair and stared at the dying fire, sipping the brandy, sad now, a prey to those memories that invariably returned when I was tired, when I was low and alone. Lucie’s story was going to have a happy ending, I would do everything in my power to see that it did, but my own had no such conclusion in sight. There was no Prince Charming waiting to take me away, no love-filled future to be shared. I took another sip of brandy and watched the tiny yellow-orange flames leap and lick, growing weaker as the log flaked away.
Where was he now? What was he doing at this very moment? Why couldn’t I hate the son of a bitch for what he had done to me? Why couldn’t I forget him? I saw the floppy chestnut hair, the vivid blue eyes, the twisted nose and grinning lips and remembered the fights, the fury, the feeling of being gloriously alive. Jeremy Bond had saved my life a number of times, and then he had robbed it of all meaning. Who was he wooing now? Who was he dazzling with that roguish charm? Why, oh why, did I have to remember when I wanted only to forget?
I was amazed to find the brandy glass empty. I got up and poured more and sat back down in the chair. The room was growing chilly, but the fur cloak was still around my shoulders and what did a little chill matter? I remembered and the candles spluttered out and the fire died and moonlight invaded and the memories merged into dreams and he was there with a teasing smile on his lips and a wicked gleam in his eyes and I slapped him and he seized me and I came alive again and joy flooded through me and I knew this was where I belonged, wrapped tightly in his arms, my haven, my Heaven. Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy, never let me go. Don’t leave. Don’t go. Don’t vanish again … I opened my eyes and saw the pink-gold light of early morning and saw Lucie standing over me, looking at me with inquisitive eyes.
“You never went to bed?” she asked.
“What time is it?” I said groggily.
“It’s six-fifteen. The brandy bottle is almost empty, Marietta.”
“It couldn’t be. I don’t drink.”
“Apparently you did,” she replied.
“Do you have to be so bloody chipper?”
“I—oh, Marietta, I’m so happy I could dance!”
“Do and I’ll kill you,” I promised.
I got up, feeling stiff and sore and slightly dazed. I would have committed any number of crimes for a cup of coffee. As though reading my mind, Lucie skipped blithely over to the tray she had brought and poured me a cup, and I muttered a sullen thank you as she explained, interminably and in a disgustingly cheerful voice, that she had gone down to the kitchen and found the chef already up and squabbling with an assistant and told him she’d awakened early and charmed him into making coffee for her and brought the tray up herself because she simply had to talk to me.
“Not until I’ve had at least two cups,” I warned.
She moved over to a window and held the drape back and more light spilled into the room and I blinked and drank the coffee which was wonderfully hot and strong but really didn’t help all that much. Impatient, unable to contain herself, Lucie let the drape fall back into place and started chattering again in that bright, joyous voice and I shook my head and held my hand out in front of me, swallowing the rest of the coffee. She refilled my cup.
“Feeling better?”
“Not really.”
“He wants to marry me, Marietta.”
“I assumed he would.”
“We talked and talked and he looked so engaging in that brown silk robe I just wanted to hug him. I didn’t. I was very dignified and proper even though he was naked under the robe. His hair started drying and got all feathery and soft and his clothes dried and started steaming and—and he’s writing another play, it’s almost finished, he’s been working on it at the hostel and it’s going to be wonderful, Marietta, a huge success. It was almost five o’clock before he finally put his clothes back on and left.”
“Did he—”
“I showed him the way myself. No one saw us. We were very careful. I took him to the back door in the west wing and he left without even kissing me good-bye. He’s coming back tonight but we’ve decided it would be much easier if I slipped down to one of the empty rooms in the west wing and met him there.”
The clock struck six-thirty. I cringed and took another gulp of coffee.
“We—we’ll have to run away, Marietta,” she said, her voice solemn now. “We’ll have to leave Russia and get married in London. My uncle would—there is no other way. Bryan is going to book passage for two on the next ship that can get us to England. He’s going to drive out to Kronstadt this afternoon to take care of it.”
“I see.”
“It’s the only way. It—it’s going to be tricky, but once we’re on that ship there’s nothing my uncle can do. I’m a little frightened, but we’ll work it out. I—I love him, Marietta.”
“I know you do, darling.”
“He loves me, too.”
“Of course he does.”
Lucie perched on the arm of a chair, spreading her muslin skirts out, and in the softly diffused light she looked so young, so radiant and lovely, it made my heart ache.
“In the past I—I’ve done a lot of things I’m not proud of,” she said in a quiet voice, “but—when I’m with Bryan none of that matters. When I’m with him I’m a different person. I—I feel pure again. That sounds crazy, I know, but when I’m with him I’m the person I was meant to be.”
“I understand, Lucie.”
“I’m not a dewy-eyed girl, Marietta, I haven’t been for a long, long time. I know it won’t all be sunshine. I know there’ll be difficult times. Bryan is temperamental and moody and often childish—he’s an artist, you see. He needs me, and—it’s glorious to be needed.”
I nodded, wanting to cry. Lucie brushed a golden brown wave from her temple and stood up.
“Will—will you help us, Marietta?”
“You know I will, darling.”
Lucie gave me a hug and smiled and left the room. My dream had evaporated and Jeremy was gone for good, but I vowed Lucie’s dream was going to come true. I would do anything I had to do to see that it did, no matter what the risk. It was too late for me now, my chance had come and gone, but one of us was going to have that happy ending.
Chapter Nineteen
Gregory was growing more and more impatient as day after day passed and Empress Catherine failed to summon him. After their night of cozy intimacy at the Winter Palace, he had been prepared to move into his old quarters at once, certain the evening had been a complete success. Now, ten days later, ugly doubts were beginning to crack his confident facade. His mood grew progressively more sullen, with frequent outbursts of temper. I had been appalled to see him strike a footman, knocking the poor man to the ground when he failed to perform some minor duty promptly enough to suit the testy Orlov. The relationship between the two of us had deteriorated considerably since my refusal to let him sleep with me again, and I suspected that he was beginning to blame me for Catherine’s continuing neglect.
He was puzzled, resentful and, finally, optimistic when a messenger arrived with a royal summons—for me, not Gregory. I was to appear at the Hermitage at four o’clock the next afternoon for “English tea with the Empress.” A carriage would be sent for me. After ranting and railing, Orlov was finally able to convince himself that this was a very good omen, that Catherine wanted to break the bad news to me herself and send me packing with, no doubt, a most generous gift. She was very diplomatic about these matters, he informed me, and would naturally want me out of the way before restoring him to his position of glory. I was not to be nervous. She was no dragon. She would be very tactful, very polite, and if I handled myself properly I would probably embark for America an even wealthier woman.
I was extremely nervous as I left in the royal carriage the next afternoon, but not because I was to take tea with the Empress. Lucie had come to my room in the morning, tense and apprehensive. She and Bryan had been meeting in the west wing almost every night and both had been extremely careful and were certain no one had seen them—until last night. As she was slipping down to meet Bryan well after midnight, Lucie had run into Vladimir in the back hall. Flustered, she finally managed to stammer that she had awakened to find herself hungry and was on her way to the kitchen to see if she could get something to eat.
“He—he wanted to know why I had used the servants’ stairs, why I carried no candle,” she said. “I told him I—I didn’t want to disturb anyone. He was very suspicious, Marietta. I—there was nothing I could do but go on into the kitchen and order a light snack sent up to my room on a tray.”
Vladimir had escorted her back up to her bedroom and had brought the tray up himself a short while later. It had been two in the morning before she had dared leave her room again, and although she had seen no one she had had a peculiar feeling that someone was watching her, following her to the room in the west wing where Bryan was waiting. It was probably her imagination, she admitted, and there had certainly been no one around when Bryan slipped out at five and she returned to her room, but the encounter with Vladimir had completely unnerved her. She couldn’t help but worry. Had he believed her story? Would he report the incident to her uncle? If it had been a footman or one of the other servants she could have carried it off with aplomb, but Vladimir—Vladimir was like a watchdog, savagely suspicious and always on guard.
Vladimir hadn’t said anything to Orlov yet, I was sure of that, and I tried to convince myself that he had accepted the girl’s story, but I was every bit as worried as Lucie and found it hard to shake the nervous apprehension as the carriage moved smartly along. It was a brilliant day. I gazed out at the elegant parks and majestic marble buildings. Put it out of your mind, Marietta, I told myself. No use worrying about something that hasn’t happened yet. Take each thing as it comes. Concentrate on seeing Catherine now. God knows that’s going to be strain enough.
I seriously doubted that she inten
ded to send me away with a generous gift to soothe any hard feelings, just as I doubted she had the slightest intention of taking Gregory back. I suspected, instead, that it was pure feminine curiosity that had prompted her to send for me. Catherine was Empress of All the Russias, yes, but she was also very much a woman, and it was only natural that she should be curious about me. I kept remembering that silent message I seemed to have read in her eyes, that sense of female conspiracy against the male, and instinct told me that Catherine saw me not as a rival but as a sister conspirator.
As we drove past the Winter Palace, I smoothed down my skirts and arranged the glossy sable cloak about my shoulders. I had selected a simple light brown silk gown ribbed with deeper brown stripes for the occasion, feeling tea was no time for opulent attire. My hair, just washed, fell to my shoulders in natural coppery red waves, no sculpted coiffure, no diamond ornaments. Catherine would be meeting Marietta Danver today, not Count Orlov’s artificial doll.
Through the trees ahead I could see the Hermitage, its columned portico a statement of elegant simplicity. Completed in 1767, it was actually more like a large house than a palace, a small architectural gem that reflected the personality of the woman who had had it built—dignified and majestic but completely unassuming, displaying the European influence far more than the baroque heaviness of the Russian taste. Though perhaps a bit larger, the Hermitage was not unlike any number of fashionable town houses to be found in Paris and other affluent European cities. It was to the Hermitage that Catherine repaired when she wanted to temporarily forget the pressures of her position.
A footman helped me out of the carriage. Another escorted me up the steps, and yet another showed me into the spacious foyer with its high ceiling and very broad staircase rising to the second floor and main rooms. White marble gleamed and lovely works of art vied for one’s attention. I gave up my sable cloak and was ushered up the stairs and down a hall to a set of white double doors gilded with gold leaf patterns.
The doors were opened. I was announced. Catherine put down her quill and greeted me with a welcoming smile.
When Love Commands Page 37