‘This is my home, is it not?’ Colin inquired. ‘You made it my home, my dear. How is your cheek?’
‘My cheek will get better,’ she said. ‘Before you.’
‘Or before Jennie Cromb, no doubt. But you will be sorry to learn that your friend Vorontsov had not yet completed the task you set him. Jennie Cromb is alive, and she will be well. What is more, she will return here, with the other people you so carelessly condemned.’
Dagmar’s face seemed to freeze. ‘Are you mad?’ she demanded. ‘Seize him,’ she told Igor. ‘Bind him, and confine him. Don’t worry about his shoulder. If it breaks again that is his bad luck. And what he deserves.’
Igor gestured his people forward, and Colin heard a movement behind him, where Smyslov was drawing his revolver. ‘If any one of you lays a finger on me,’ he said quietly, ‘I will have you hanged.’
Igor checked, looking at his mistress. ‘He gives himself airs,’ Dagmar sneered. ‘He thinks he is the Prince Bolugayevski. I made you that, husband, and I can unmake you. Your letters patent have not yet arrived. Now they never will. I will send to the Tsar...’
‘I hate to disappoint you, but my letters patent arrived last night,’ Colin said, and took them from his breast pocket. ‘They were given to me by Baron Lebedeff this morning.’
Dagmar marched towards him, and snatched the letters from his hand. ‘There are, of course, copies both in Poltava and St Petersburg,’ Colin reminded her. ‘So call off your dogs, and come upstairs with me. I have some things to say to you.’
She glared at him, then turned to Igor. ‘I said, seize him.’
‘But Your Highness, the Prince...’
‘He is the Prince. But he has clearly lost his senses.’
She turned back to Colin. ‘Oh, there is a list as long as my arm of action which could only be the result of madness. Lebedeff and Vorontsov will both supply evidence against you. I shall confine you for the protection of us all. Seize him!’
Still the servants hesitated, aware that they were signing their own death warrants if they arrested a prince without due authority, as Dagmar recognised. ‘I give you the authority to do this,’ she said. ‘I will inform the Governor of what I have done.’
‘And I say that my wife has no authority in this house or on this estate,’ Colin said.
The servants looked from one to the other. Colin knew this was the moment of crisis; he had not supposed Dagmar would go this far. He had no physical power to fight these people. He could only use their age-old fear of authority to his advantage, but he was the newcomer here—they had known and feared Dagmar for twenty-seven years. ‘Smyslov,’ Dagmar said. ‘If you fail me, you know what I shall do.’
Colin heard the click of a revolver being cocked behind him. ‘You will surrender, please, Your Highness,’ Smyslov said.
Dubaclov also drew his revolver. Colin took a deep breath, realising that he might be about to die, and Anna spoke from the gallery. ‘You cannot touch him,’ she said. ‘He is the Prince Bolugayevski.’
Dubaclov paused in consternation at the interruption, delivered in such an authoritative tone. ‘It appears that my sister has also lost her senses,’ Dagmar said contemptuously. ‘I will deal with you later, miss. Now, bind him.’
‘I know your secret, Dagmar,’ Anna said quietly. Dagmar turned to look at her sister, the blood draining from her face. ‘Would you like me to tell them all?’ Anna asked. ‘Tell the servants? Tell Dubaclov?’
Dubaclov stared at his fiancée with his mouth open.
‘You are a lying little bitch,’ Dagmar said, every word a drop of venom from her lips.
‘Am I?’ Anna asked. ‘I share your secret, sister dear. Do you think he would be satisfied with just you?’
Dagmar seemed to shudder, from head to toe. Then she threw back her head and uttered a primeval shriek, and ran at the stairs. Colin ran behind her, and caught her arm. She turned and swung her hand at him, but he evaded the blow easily enough. ‘Igor,’ he snapped. ‘Your mistress has lost her senses. Help me.’
Igor hesitated a last time, then signalled two of the maidservants forward. ‘Take Her Highness to her apartment,’ Colin said. And stay with her until I come.’ He looked at Smyslov. ‘You had best put away that weapon, Smyslov.’
Smyslov bit, his lip. ‘You do not understand, Your Highness. The Princess...’
‘It is the Princess who is demented,’ Anna said. ‘You will take your orders from the Prince.’
Smyslov looked from one to the other. ‘I am capable of understanding anything, Smyslov,’ Colin said. ‘Certainly where my wife is concerned. I will tell you this: serve me faithfully, and you will have nothing to fear from my wife.’ He looked at Igor. ‘That also goes for you, Igor.’
Igor looked at Smyslov, and the bailiff holstered his revolver. Dubaclov merely looked thunderstruck. The maids were half helping, half forcing Dagmar up the stairs. ‘You had better go with them, Alexandra,’ Colin said.
‘No!’ Alexandra said. ‘I hate her.’ She turned and ran along the gallery to her room.
‘I will go with them,’ Anna said.
It was Colin’s turn to say, ‘No!’ She looked down at him. ‘I wish to speak with you.’
She considered, then inclined her head in half a nod.
And you, Dubaclov?’ Colin asked.
‘I...’ Dubaclov holstered his revolver. ‘I also wish to speak with you, Countess.’
Anna looked at Colin. ‘I think she will speak with me first,’ Colin said, and went up the stairs. From the head he looked down at the petrified servants. ‘Get these people back to work, Igor,’ he said. And you, Smyslov. I will speak with you both later. Anna?’
She wore a defiant expression as she went into one of the upstairs reception rooms. Colin followed.
He closed the doors and gazed at her. She sat on a settee in front of the window. ‘I would say I owe you a great deal,’ he remarked, going towards her.
‘I would say you owe me everything.’
‘I accept that. But don’t you owe me anything in return? Such as an explanation?’ She gave a little shiver. He sat beside her. ‘Whatever secret you share with Dagmar, and is sufficiently important to cause her to lose her senses, she will undoubtedly recover, and wish to do something about it. I’m sure you understand that Dagmar is capable of doing anything, to protect such a secret. Therefore your only defence is to share it with me, and I will protect both you and myself.’
‘How do I know I can trust you?’
‘I could give you the word of an English gentleman. I could say that you have to trust me, because you can trust no one else. And I can also say that I know what the secret is, what it has to be.’
She shot him a glance. ‘And you still married her?’
‘Well, I did not really have very much choice, Anna. Besides, I knew nothing of any secret until after we were married. I only knew she had one. So...Georgei was the father of her child. Am I right?’ Anna stared at him. ‘And he also had a go at you, is that it? I’m not as shocked as you thought I would be.’
Anna continued to stare at him for some seconds, then she gave a short laugh. ‘What are you going to do, with your “knowledge”?’
Colin frowned; she had sounded contemptuous. ‘Use it to our advantage. Does Dubaclov know of this?’
‘Of course he does not. No one knows of it.’
‘Nor can they. Do you still intend to marry him?’
‘Are you going to tell Dagmar what you know?’
‘I will have to, won’t I.’
‘She’ll laugh at you.’
‘You haven’t answered me about Dubaclov.’
‘Marrying me to him was Dagmar’s idea.’
‘And you don’t love him.’
‘Love him?’
‘That is very encouraging. I don’t like the fellow either. I’ll see him off, if you wish.’
‘Thank you.’
‘He hasn’t, er...’
‘He does not know that I
am not a virgin,’ she said. ‘I would not let him come to me.’
‘Anna, you will have to marry some day, you know. And your husband will have to know you are not a virgin.’
‘I would prefer the secret remained mine. And yours.’
‘And Dagmar’s?’
‘Yes. And Dagmar’s. She does not love you,’ Anna said. ‘As of now, she will hate you.’
‘And you would love me?’
‘Yes. Will you not love me?’
‘I imagine I probably could, very easily. But it is quite impossible, Anna. I am married to your sister. Who is also going to be the mother of my child.’
‘I also will be the mother of your child, Colin, if you wish. I am not asking you to divorce Dagmar. But why should this secret not be as securely kept as the other? Who is to know, or would dare say, what we do with our midnight hours?’
‘My dear girl, that has got to be the most immoral suggestion I have ever heard.’
‘You are the Prince Bolugayevski. Here on Bolugayen the Prince Bolugayevski may do whatever he chooses. As my father has always done.’
He stared at her, and she stared back. ‘Good God!’ he muttered.
‘So there you have the truth. That is the knowledge that will make Dagmar your slave.’
‘Good God,’ he said again. ‘Your mother knew!’
‘And killed herself. And her unborn babe.’
‘You knew that?’
‘No. I was only eight years old when it happened.’
‘And...when did...’
‘I was fourteen when Papa came to me. Just before he went to Sevastopol. But he has been to me since returning.’
‘The man must have been an utter monster.’
‘You have lived with us long enough to understand that.’
‘And Alexandra?’
Anna shook her head. ‘They killed him before he could go to her as well.’
‘And you say no one knows of it, save us three?’
‘Unless Papa told Jennie. But I doubt he would have done that.’
‘But the scandal, your ostracism…!
‘It was sufficient that the Countess Dagmar Bolugayevska became pregnant out of wedlock.’ Anna smiled. ‘But I think her real crime, to the gossip hungry matrons of St Petersburg, was that she would never tell them the name of the father.’
She paused, and Colin sat down on the far side of the room. ‘Well, then,’ she said. ‘Have I filled you with horror, at such devious goings-on? They are not so uncommon in the heart of this vast country. You are the Prince Bolugayevski. Here you are lord of everything you can see.’
‘Were I to take advantage of what you are offering, I would be lowering myself to the level of your father.’
‘You have already done that, Colin, simply by accepting his position and his power. Dear Colin.’ She got up and came to him, standing beside him. ‘For you not to accept what I am offering would mean you are a fool. Would you not agree?’
PART TWO - THE MASTER
‘Gold is for the mistress—silver for the maid Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade.”
“Good!” said the Baron, sitting in his hall,
“But Iron—Cold Iron—is master of them all.”’
Rudyard Kipling
Cold Iron
SIX YEARS LATER
CHAPTER EIGHT - THE AMERICAN
The stagecoach drew to a halt in the main square of Poltava, and was immediately surrounded by a seething crowd of men, women, and children, seeking news, seeking mail, seeking employment. Charles Cromb got down, brushed himself off, and waited for his bag to be unloaded. The American was tall and powerfully built, and wore a ribbon-tweed cape over his black frock-coat and matching trousers. Travelling in this country reminded him of travelling west of the Mississippi, save that there were no Indians. But a whole hell of a lot more restrictions.
And a whole lot more weather. It had taken him two months to get here from England. It was now late April and there were still patches of snow outside the city.
Several little boys were gabbling at him. He had picked up Russian over the past few weeks, but he couldn’t understand them. He did gather they wanted to carry his bag, however, so he nodded to one of them, who promptly asked him a question. ‘Police?’ he said. ‘Policia?’
‘Ah, spassebo,’ the boy said, and hurried off. Charles followed, the disappointed urchins trailing behind.
The police station was not far, and Charles found himself facing a large man wearing a green uniform and sitting behind a desk beneath a huge portrait of the young Tsar. Charles gave him the passport with which he had been issued in Sevastopol. The sergeant opened it suspiciously, carefully turning the pages; obviously he had no idea what it was. ‘Passport,’ Charles explained. ‘I was told to bring it here the moment I arrived in Poltava.’
The sergeant blinked at him, and remarked, ‘Eeengleesh.’
‘Only by descent, bud. I am American.’
‘Eeengleesh,’ the sergeant repeated, and gave orders to an underling. Charles was to follow this fellow, and did so, having regained his passport. They went up a flight of stairs, along a corridor, and up another flight of stairs. Charles was out of breath when they arrived at a closed door. The constable knocked, and the door was opened, to reveal four male secretaries. The constable explained the situation, and one of the secretaries took the passport from Charles, opened an inner door, and spoke to the person beyond. Then he beckoned Charles.
Charles went forward, and gazed at a man, also wearing uniform, quite young, judging by his unlined face with thick black hair. ‘I am Colonel Vorontsov,’ the man said in English, and glanced at the passport. ‘You are a long way from home, Mr Cromb.’
‘You could say that, Colonel.’
Vorontsov waved him to a chair, and then sat behind his desk. The secretary bowed and withdrew, closing the door. Charles sat down. ‘You have business in Poltava?’ Vorontsov asked.
‘May I ask you a question, Colonel?’ Vorontsov raised his eyebrows. ‘What’s with this country? You know, it’s possible to travel from New York to San Francisco without a single solitary soul asking your business. Here, wherever I stop, I have to report to the police, and answer a whole lot of questions. What are you guys frightened of?’
Vorontsov regarded him for some seconds. ‘We are not frightened of anyone, Mr Cromb. It is my business to keep the peace. There is unrest in the country, inspired by a few anarchists. Perhaps you do not have anarchists in America.’
‘We have Indians.’
Vorontsov gave a faint smile. ‘And we have Mongols. But not in Poltava. You have not answered my question.’
Charles sighed. ‘I am on my way to pay a visit to a place called Bolugayen.’
Suddenly Vorontsov was interested. ‘Do you know the Bolugayevskis?’
‘No, I don’t. But I am looking for a cousin of mine who is believed to be in Russia, and on that estate.’
‘You are related to the Prince?’
‘Afraid not, Colonel. This is a woman, who may be living with them.’
Vorontsov rested his chin on his hand. ‘Of course! Jennie Cromb!’
Charles frowned at him. ‘You know my cousin?’
‘Yes,’ Vorontsov said. ‘We have an acquaintance. Tell me, Mr Cromb, have you come to Russia to take your cousin back to America?’
‘Well, that will obviously have to depend upon whether Jennie wishes to come with me. When you say, back to America, I should point out that she has never been there. Now you tell me: is she a serf?’
‘There are no longer any serfs in Russia,’ Vorontsov said, regretfully. ‘By edict of the Tsar, they were all freed, last month.’
‘But that’s great. If the serfs are free, then Jennie is free too. If she ever was a serf.’
‘She came here as a serf, certainly,’ Vorontsov said. ‘But then...I must tell you, Mr Cromb, that your cousin became involved in subversive activities.’
‘What subversive activities?’
‘The assassination of Prince Bolugayevski. She belonged to an organisation called the Will of the People. This organisation still exists, and is bent on a course of assassination of public figures.’
‘Good God! And you say my cousin was a member of it?’
‘She was undoubtedly a member of the conspiracy which plotted the death of the Prince, and carried out the assassination. She should have been hanged. Had I my way, she would have been hanged. However, the new Prince Bolugayevski thought otherwise.’
‘Thank God for that. This new prince being the Britisher, right?’
‘That is correct, Mr Cromb.’
‘You’ll understand, Colonel, that I find it difficult to accept that a cousin of mine could possibly be involved in a murder.’
‘No doubt. However, I strongly recommend that you do take her out of Russia, and back to America, if that is at all possible.’
‘Would that be some kind of a threat, Colonel?’
‘It is advice, Mr Cromb. You should understand that your cousin has never been exonerated, acquitted or amnestied for her crime. She was removed from my custody by the simple decision of Prince Bolugayevski. Her file is still in that cabinet over there, and it is still open.’
‘Because you hope to nail her again, one day?’
Vorontsov smiled. ‘I am a patient man, Mr Cromb.’ He held out the passport. ‘I will wish you a pleasant stay at Bolugayen.’
*
When he attempted to hire a horse and a guide out to the Bolugayevski estate, Charles was advised that the Prince had a house in the city, and that there would be the best place to find what he wanted. So he took himself along to the Bolugayevski Palace in Poltava, and stood on the pavement to stare at it. It was a palace. As for his brownstone in Boston, so carefully selected by his father to represent his rise in the world...He went up the steps and rang the bell. The door was opened by a footman, wearing blue and gold livery. ‘I don’t suppose you speak English?’ Charles inquired.
The footman held up his hand, and stepped back into the house, half closing the door. Clearly, with a Britisher as Prince, the language would not be unknown in this house. The door was opened again, by another man, clearly also a servant although far more resplendently dressed than his underling, in the same colours. ‘You Engleesh?’ he asked.
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