by Carola Dunn
She leaned her forehead against the window pane, cold despite the sunshine. He would ride back down that street, cheerful, restored to his usual exuberant health, and they would be waiting for him. There must be some way to warn him!
A group of four uniformed horsemen was cantering towards the house. The chill of the glass ran throughout her body.
“Rowson, come here. Look.”
He hurried to her side. “That’s the Pavlovski regiment, as garrisons the Peter-Paul fortress,” he confirmed grimly. “Looks like we’re in for a mite o’ trouble.”
The thunderous knocking at the front door could be heard even from their position on the third floor. It stopped suddenly, to be succeeded by pounding feet on the stair. Rebecca felt the blood drain from her face as she turned to face the intruders.
The door swung open and crashed against the wall. A short, thin officer strutted into the room. Rebecca recognized by his insignia that he was a lieutenant, and though she had been uncertain of the uniform, his snub nose confirmed that he was of the Pavlovski regiment. The massive trooper who loomed in the doorway behind the lieutenant was also snub-nosed. She remembered with half-hysterical irrelevance how Kolya had told her of the founding of the regiment by mad, snub-nosed Tsar Pavel Petrovich.
“Vashi dokumenty!” the officer snapped.
Rowson stepped forward. “We are servants, your excellency. We have no papers.”
“Your names.” He checked their names against a list, pointed to Annie and Rowson, then hitched his thumb over his shoulder. “You and you—out.”
Rowson hesitated, glancing back at Rebecca.
“Go on,” she insisted. “You must take care of Annie. I daresay he only wants to ask me some questions.”
Despite her brave words, she felt very alone when the two had gone, Annie in tears. Behind her back, she gripped the windowsill as if it could save her from being swept away.
“Revekka Ivanovna Nootall.” The lieutenant rolled the r with more than usual Russian gusto, and leaned on every syllable. “You are not servant.”
“I am a governess,” she replied with all the composure she could muster.
“You entered Russia as governess, on passport of Sir Andrew Graylin. Then you go into highest society, to balls, theatre, everywhere. Is curious, nyet?”
“Lady Graylin was kind enough to take me to parties.” To her chagrin her voice was shaking. “But I am a governess.”
“What you know of Graylin’s business in south?”
“Nothing. I was told they were to visit Moscow.”
“Where is Lord John Danville?”
“I do not know. He does not report his movements to me.”
“But you know he is spy! And Graylin also!” His stabbing forefinger threatened with an almost physical shock. “Perhaps you too are spy?”
“No! They are not spies. I am not.”
“Tell me why Graylins went to south.”
“To see Moscow.”
“Where is Lord John Danville?”
“I do not know. Indeed I do not!”
“I think you know. I think you will tell my colonel when he asks.” He gestured to the trooper.
The soldier marched forward and gripped Rebecca’s upper arm. She stumbled after him down the stairs. The world seemed to swim about her head, but she saw the pale, frightened faces of the Russian servants and heard Esperanza crying in the kitchen. Of Annie and Rowson there was no sign.
In the street, they shackled her wrists and tossed her up on a horse before one of the other troopers. Grinning, he pulled her roughly against his chest, his arm round her waist. He smelled of cabbage and sweat, and despite the warmth of his body she could not stop shivering. The streets passed in a dream, until they crossed the Neva and she saw before her the sinister gate and gold cathedral spire of the Peter-Paul fortress.
They rode through the square stone gateway, beneath the sneering double eagle. She was lifted down from the horse and hustled into the nearest building. Her escort paused before a door and knocked. A gruff voice bid them enter.
As they obeyed, a familiar figure slipped past them and out of the room. Rebecca caught only a glimpse of his face, but it was enough.
It was Count Boris Ivanovich Solovyov. And he wore an expression of malicious satisfaction.
The next few hours were a nightmare of repetition. “Why did the Graylins go to the south? Where is Lord John Danville?” She stood before the hard-faced colonel, obstinately insisting that she did not know. They did not touch her, just let her stand there, the shackles biting into her wrists. At last she crumpled to the floor, barely conscious.
They carried her out. Her ankles were fastened together with iron rings and a length of chain. Supported by a trooper on either side, she was taken along gloomy passages, down steps worn in the centre by the feet of countless prisoners, until they stopped before a black hole in the wall.
A dank, noisome miasma rose to her nostrils. The soldiers let go of her, then a hand between her shoulderblades propelled her forward to sprawl on slimy stone.
Behind her, the door clanged shut.
Chapter 15
John whistled as he cantered back towards St Petersburg, Kolya keeping pace at his side. The cold wind off the Gulf of Finland was invigorating. He was full of energy, ready to slay dragons if any should present themselves.
“Is great pity you will not be here next summer to enjoy your dacha,” Kolya observed.
“Yes, it’s a pretty place. I’ll bring Rebecca and Esperanza out to see it one day soon, but I shall have to sell it.”
“Count Kirsanin will be anxious to buy back, at good price. You are wealthy man, John.”
“Free of his Grace’s apron strings at last!” He laughed, touching the package of papers in his greatcoat pocket. Russians were as punctilious as Englishmen about paying their gambling debts; he had no fear of being cheated.
The road entered a birchwood. The graceful trees were leafless now, but the white trunks grew so close together it was still impossible to see very far into their midst. Not until they were nearly level with it did John notice the ramshackle tarantass, drawn some way off the road, and the hobbled nag beside it.
At that moment a man ran towards them, shouting. “My lord! My lord!”
So unexpected was the sight of him that it was a moment before John recognized Rowson in his peasant garb. He drew rein at once.
“What the devil are you doing here?”
Rowson glanced at the prince, who tactfully moved out of earshot.
“Sir Andrew sent me back to warn your lordship. The Russkis tumbled to his lay and him and her ladyship lit out for the border. He reckoned they’d be after you for sure, and right he was. Oh my lord, I don’t know how to tell you.”
“What is it man? Out with it.”
“I got Annie and Miss Esperanza away safe enough, my lord, but they’ve taken Mistress Beckie to the fortress.”
An icy hand clutched at John’s heart and the blood drained from his face. “Beckie! Oh God, no!”
His anguished cry brought Kolya to his side. “Shto s toboy? What is wrong, John? Can I help?”
His long face with its slanted eyes was full of concern. The fact that he was on the other side seemed irrelevant. He was a friend—and his father was a powerful man.
“Rebecca has been arrested. Surely Prince Volkov can arrange her release? Will you ask him?”
“Arrested? Bozhe moy, do not tell me she is in Peter-Paul fortress.”
“Rowson thinks so. I have heard stories...”
“Better not to think of them. John, I will do what I can for you, but is useless to approach my father. Already he has warned me not to entangle self with English governess.”
“You do not think he had her arrested because of you?”
Kolya shook his head. “Nyet. Is because of your profession, I do not doubt. Perhaps as bait to lure you.”
“You know what I have been doing?”
“Am not blind, my
friend. If not you, then another. Is best each country knows what others plan, then no nasty surprises. We are allies, after all. Now let us move off road and think what is best to do.”
John dismounted and followed him into the wood. He felt utterly helpless. Here was no dragon to be faced with sword and spear, but a multi-headed hydra of bureaucracy with an army to back it. If he rode up to the fortress and demanded admittance they would grant his wish. He would find himself in a cell, less able than ever to help Beckie.
“If I gave myself up, would they release her?”
Kolya tied his horse to a tree before responding. “Possibly. Perhaps not. You must not do this until we have tried all else. I know you love Rebecca Ivanovna but...”
John stared at him, not hearing the rest of his sentence. Of course, he loved her. How could he not have realized it? That explained everything, made everything simple. Whatever was necessary to ensure her safety he would do, even to facing a firing squad at dawn.
He was calm now, ready to make plans, ready to listen to Kolya, who knew his way about in this benighted country. When a shriek of “Uncle John! Uncle John!” preceded the eruption from the tarantass of a small figure bundled in a fur robe, he managed to grin at her as he caught her and tossed her in the air.
“Are you having a splendid adventure, Chiquita?”
“Oh yes, ‘cept Annie cries a lot. I want Aunt Beckie.”
Annie’s tired face appeared between the panels of the tarantass cover. Her tight-curled black hair was hidden by a peasant shawl but inevitably she was conspicuous. John loved Rebecca and feared for her, yet he also had responsibilities to the little girl and the faithful servants.
“I’ll tell you what,” he said to Esperanza, “You and Annie and Rowson shall go and stay in my new house and Auntie Beckie shall join you there as soon as she can. You will like it. There is a stream in the garden with a little bridge over it.”
“You come too.”
“I’d like to, but I have work to do in St Petersburg. Now hush a minute, there’s a good girl, while I give Rowson directions. The sooner you are off the better.”
“Good idea,” Kolya approved.
John explained to Rowson how to find the dacha and offered him some money.
“Sir Andrew gave me plenty for the present, my lord.”
“You may need more. In fact, you had best take all I have on me. I shall try to be in touch shortly, but if things go wrong you will have to get them home as best you can. I know Sir Andrew has the utmost faith in you, and I do too. Here.” He gave the man the purse full of his winnings, amounting to several hundred roubles. “Now off with you. There’s not much traffic on this road at this season, but the fewer who see you the better.”
While Rowson hitched up the nag, John carried Esperanza to the wagon and set her down with a kiss.
“Take care of her, Annie.”
The maid looked at him with trembling lips. “And you’ll look after Miss Beckie, my lord?”
“You may be sure I shall,” he said grimly and stood back as the tarantass lurched into motion.
He and Kolya mounted and followed the clumsy vehicle till it reached the road safely. They watched for a moment as it rattled away, then turned their horses’ heads in the opposite direction.
“First thing you must do,” said Kolya, “is to speak to your ambassador. Rebecca Ivanovna is British citizen, after all, and has committed no crime.”
“No doubt they will expect that and be waiting for me.”
“Aha, I have wonderful notion. I get you hussar’s uniform, not officer, just trooper. You are large enough and no one looks at face of soldier in uniform.”
“I have no moustache. All hussars wear a moustache, do they not?”
“I know many people in theatre, will find false moustache.” Kolya appeared to be enjoying himself.
“Suppose it were to fall off? I shall be out on the streets, not strutting on a stage. I should prefer to dress as a peasant, like Rowson.”
“My dear John, no one will believe you are serf! Your bearing is of nobleman of many generations. Is not exactly arrogance—no, is unconscious pride. Hussar, even common soldier, walks with swagger. Lord John Danville, son of Duke of Stafford, cannot walk like peasant.”
John was about to protest this aspersion on his acting ability. If it would help Rebecca, he would become the most obsequious serf ever seen. But Kolya held up his hand.
“Wait. I have it. Is nothing in world more arrogant than palace footman, yet no one notices man inside livery. Powdered wig will hide dark hair. You shall become footman of Tsar Alexander!”
“That’s a devilish good notion. Besides, it’s more likely for a footman to be sent on an errand to Lord Cathcart. You can get me a livery?”
“Certainly.”
“But all this will take time. I shall have to hide in the meantime.”
“You shall stay with Dunyasha.”
“Your ballet dancer? Yes, that would do. I could pretend to be her cousin, perhaps, and as a favour to her you have found me employment at the palace.”
“I daresay I can trust a man in love not to touch my chère amie?” Kolya’s grin changed to a frown. “Is pity you do not speak Russian, though Dunyasha knows some French.”
“I’m delighted to hear you have not found out all my secrets. I understand Russian very well and can make shift to speak a little, though badly. However, as a high-and-mighty palace footman, I shall insist on using French. No one will wonder at it if it is bad French.”
“What fine conspirators we are! Now let us turn our minds to reaching Dunyasha without having you arrested on way.”
This was accomplished without incident. That very evening Kolya brought the livery, a magnificent outfit adorned with lace and ribbons in which John felt like a regular popinjay. Kolya and Dunyasha went into fits of laughter when he put on the curled and powdered wig, and the dancer continued to giggle quietly whenever she looked at him. Kolya soon sobered.
“Is little problem,” he said. “Tsar’s footman brings message to ambassador’s residence, but is not likely to see ambassador in person.”
“I have thought of that. Lord Cathcart must be told to expect me. It would look odd if you asked for an interview with him but you know Sebastian Crane and can visit him without arousing too much comment. He does not know what I was up to, but he’s a good-hearted fellow and I daresay he would help. Or does everyone know by now that they are after me?”
“No, has been kept quiet. When ambassador hears news, will claim diplomatic immunity for you. If you are already in cell, will be more difficult. I shall see Mr. Crane tonight, then. I know his usual haunts.”
“I need some money, Kolya. I gave Rowson all I had.”
“My purse is yours, my friend.”
To his own surprise, John flung his arms around the prince and kissed him on both cheeks.
“Hell and damnation, I’ve been here too long,” he muttered, flushing to the roots of his wig. “You’re a good friend, Kolya, but I shan’t need your money if you can redeem some of these vowels for me.” He handed over the package of papers. “Don’t let Count Kirsanin have his villa back, though, until we are ready to move Rowson out.”
Laughing, Kolya took the package. “They will think I have won them from you! I see you tomorrow. Take care of milord, Dunyashenka, dusha moya.” He kissed the girl and departed.
John spent an uneasy night planning and replanning what he would say to Lord Cathcart, and trying not to think of the stories he had heard of the Peter-Paul fortress. He did his best to remember Rebecca as she had been at her first ball, but the memory that recurred was her white face when he had rescued her from the river.
He paced up and down his narrow chamber. If the bastards had hurt her, he would create an international incident as soon as he reached home. He would persuade his Grace to speak to Prinny, Prinny would raise the matter with the Tsar, and heads would roll. The Russians would learn that an Englishwoman was not to be
mistreated with impunity. Vengeful thoughts raced through his mind and he did not sleep till dawn.
He met the ambassador the next afternoon. Lord Cathcart was not encouraging.
“Of course I shall do what I can, Danville, but the courses of action open to me are very limited. In fact, before I can do anything else I shall have to obtain confirmation of Miss Nuthall’s arrest from the Foreign Ministry, and then lodge a formal protest with them. You know how enamoured of paperwork they are in this country. It will go from ministry to ministry and I cannot hold out hope for a speedy resolution.”
“But in the meantime Rebecca is in a dungeon that has driven strong men to madness! There must be something we can do!”
“Crane tells me Prince Nikolai Volkov is acting for you?”
“Yes, but his father cannot be approached in this.”
“A pity. Yet Prince Nikolai is a popular man. He has contacts everywhere, and an excessive reliance on seals and signatures can work both ways. Nor are Russian officials incorruptible. I can let you have some money, though naturally I cannot afford any public connexion with anything you may choose to do.”
“Thank you, Lord Cathcart, I am well beforehand with the world. And you have given me food for thought.”
“If Crane can be of any assistance to you without compromising the embassy, you may tell him he has my permission.” The ambassador hesitated, then went on, “You know, you are accredited to the embassy and I can get you out of the country without great difficulty. Ah, no, I see that it is out of the question.” He stood up and shook John’s hand. “She’s a nice child, Danville. I wish you well.”
That was poor consolation, John thought bitterly as he straightened his wig in the hall mirror before venturing back into the streets. Here he was dressed as a clown while Rebecca...But that did not bear thinking about.
Instead, he concentrated on Lord Cathcart’s cautious suggestions. If Kolya could obtain papers authorizing Rebecca’s release, then they must spirit her out of the country before the fraud was discovered. Esperanza and Annie and Rowson would have to go with them. Crane might be useful as liaison with Rowson in Peterhof, which was unlikely to get him into trouble.