The pencil snapped in Wojtkiewicz’s hands. ‘How much do I owe you?’
‘One moment, let me just work it out.’ Killigrew scribbled some figures at random on the back of a game card. ‘Nine out of fifteen tricks at fifty roubles a trick, plus thirteen for the queen of spades, multiplied by the number of players and divided by the number I first thought of… let’s see… that comes to… seven hundred and ninety-eight roubles and thirteen kopecks. You know, I much prefer round numbers. Shall we call it eight hundred? It seems petty to quibble over a few kopecks.’
Wojtkiewicz raised a hand, and one of his flunkeys standing behind him put a chequebook and pen in it. He started to write out a cheque. ‘Payable to John Bryce esquire, I presume?’
‘I’d prefer cash,’ said Killigrew.
Wojtkiewicz tore up the half-written cheque. ‘Then my secretary will present you with the money at the door. Good evening to you, Mr Bryce. I dare say we’ll meet again before you leave St Petersburg.’
‘I’m counting on it.’ Killigrew rose to his feet. ‘Thank you for such a sterling service,’ he said, tipping the case-keeper generously, and nodded to the other punters sitting at the table. ‘Gentlemen…’
He made his way downstairs to the salon. There was no sign of Countess Vásáry. He helped himself to another glass of champagne as he passed, carrying it downstairs to the entrance hall and sipping it while he waited for his winnings. He had to wait the best part of ten minutes before a handsome young man with something of the air of a dandy about him – as far as his plain black frock-coat would allow – arrived. ‘M’sieur Bryce?’
‘That’s me.’
‘I’m Czcibor Jedraszczyk, M’sieur Wojtkiewicz’s secretary.’ Despite the elegant cut of his clothes, there was a hardness in Jedraszczyk’s eyes that suggested the duties he was accustomed to carrying out for his employer extended beyond taking letters for him.
He handed Killigrew a bulky manila envelope. This was not the time or the place to take the money out and count it. Killigrew stuffed the envelope in one of the pockets of his swallowtail coat and tossed the empty champagne flute to a footman standing nearby. The flunkey caught it awkwardly, and another appeared with the commander’s greatcoat and hat. He helped the commander shrug it on, and Killigrew gave the brim of his wideawake a snap before stepping through the door the flunkey held open for him.
Darkness had fallen, yet although the white nights of St Petersburg had ended a couple of weeks earlier, the city was close enough to the Arctic Circle for some ambient light to remain on the northern horizon even at midnight. Even though it was nearly eleven o’clock, it was still twilight, the sky above the rooftops a warm orange shading through pastel pink to a deep purple in the velvet firmament above. As much as Killigrew loved the Tropics, you could not beat the northern latitudes for long evenings with beautiful sunsets; it was so lovely, one could almost turn a blocked nostril to the stench of the canals. The lights of Vasilyevsky Island were reflected on the cold, black waters of the Neva, and a chill wind blew in from the Gulf of Finland. It stung his face, helping to clear his head after the champagne he had drunk and the stuffy atmosphere of the faro room. That was just as well: he was expecting trouble.
It did not take long to find him either, even if the form it came in did not immediately appear to be directed at him. He had not gone a hundred yards up the embankment before a woman’s scream shattered the quiet of the night somewhere off to his right.
The mouth of an alleyway was just up ahead. He ran around a corner to see a woman in a fur coat backed against the wall in the shadows, while a man menaced her with a knife.
Killigrew smelled a rat the way a man with a piece of Limburger stuck up one nostril could smell cheese. He glanced over his shoulder, but there was no one behind him. Thrusting his hands in his pocket, he sauntered unhurriedly over to where the man had the woman backed against the wall. He took his time, so that the man seemed to run out of things to do, except flourish the knife repeatedly in the woman’s face.
‘Dear, oh dear, oh dear!’ said Killigrew. ‘Extemporisation obviously not your strong suit, is it?’
The man whirled, jabbing his knife towards Killigrew. Countess Vásáry – for the woman was none other – had a perfect opportunity to whack the knife-man around the head with her reticule, but she did not. Somehow Killigrew suspected it was not feminine frailty that caused her to hold back.
‘Stand back!’ snarled the man. ‘Or I’ll cut her!’
‘Now, we both know that’s a lie, don’t we?’ said Killigrew. ‘We also know that after a vicious scuffle, I’m going to disarm you and you’re going to run off into the night. The only problem is that these clothes I’m wearing are bound to get damaged in the fight, and since they cost me sixty dollars, I’d prefer it all round if we could forgo that particular formality.’
Bewildered, the man looked to the countess for a lead. She rolled her eyes in exasperation.
‘Oh dear,’ said Killigrew. ‘You really aren’t much good at this, are you?’ He tapped the man on the jaw with his fist.
The man fell down obligingly. Killigrew kicked the knife from his hand, then grabbed him by the lapels and hoisted him to his feet. Before the man had a chance to realise what was going on, Killigrew spun him around and gave him a kick up the backside. The man staggered a short distance down the alleyway. He decided it was time to get out while the going, if not good, was a lot better than it might have turned out. Picking up his heels, he fled from the alley.
Killigrew dusted his hands off and turned to the countess. ‘Was he the best you could get at such short notice?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, I’m sure!’
‘I’m sure you do,’ Killigrew said sourly. ‘Never mind, have it your way. What happens now? I walk you back to where you’re staying, and you invite me inside so you can look at my cuts and bruises?’
‘I suppose it’s the least I can do.’
‘Sorry to disappoint you, ma’am. I haven’t got any cuts or bruises. Still, we can’t stand here talking all night. There are all kinds of suspicious characters about on a night like this. Next time we might run into some genuine cutthroats.’ He gestured back down the alleyway.
‘It’s this way.’ She indicated the other direction.
‘Lead on.’
As she started walking, Killigrew took out his revolver and thumbed back the hammer. She jumped, startled by the sound, and eyed the gun unhappily.
‘If this is a trap, you’ll be the first to die,’ he told her.
She shook her head. ‘You wouldn’t kill a woman. You couldn’t.’
‘Let’s find out, shall we?’ He followed her through the alley, keeping eyes and ears open in case any of her confederates tried to leap out at him.
‘I suppose Wojtkiewicz’s ruffians are waiting for us at your house?’
‘Wojtkiewicz? You think I work for him?’
‘Are you trying to tell me you don’t?’
She shrugged. ‘You seem to have your own ideas about who I am and what I want to achieve. Far be it from me to contradict you.’
Killigrew frowned. Either she had suddenly learned how to act, or this time she was telling the truth.
It was a five-minute walk through the unlit streets to the house. If not on the same scale as Wojtkiewicz’s, it was still fairly grand. ‘Your house?’ asked Killigrew.
She shook her head. ‘Prince Polyansky’s. I’m just borrowing it while he’s with his regiment in the Crimea.’
‘Does he know that?’
She did not deign to reply, but led the way up the steps to the imposing portico, where she took out a bunch of keys and unlocked the door. He followed her inside. The gas lamps in the hallway were on, but turned down low.
‘No butler?’
‘I gave the servants the night off’
‘How very convenient!’
‘For you or for me?’
‘That all depends on what you were planning to d
o with me once you’d got me in your clutches.’
She smiled archly. ‘You may never know now you’ve decided to take things into your own hands.’ She started to ascend the staircase, leaving him gaping in astonishment below her.
He recovered himself with a shake of the head and bounded up the stairs after her, catching up with her just as she was about to open one of the doors on the landing. He caught her by the wrist with his left hand and twisted her arm up into the small of her back, pressing the muzzle of the revolver to her temple with his right.
‘Ow! You’re hurting me!’
‘Just remember what I told you earlier. If this is a trap…’ he hissed in her ear. ‘Now, open the door.’
She reached out and turned the handle, pushing the door open to reveal an opulently appointed withdrawing room. He marched her into the room ahead of him. A fire crackled in the hearth, and a bottle of champagne stood in an ice bucket on a silver salver on one of the tables, next to a couple of crystal flutes. There were no assassins hiding behind the drapes or under the chaise longue.
‘Do you treat all ladies this way?’ she demanded.
‘You’re no lady.’ Kicking the door shut behind him with a heel, he spun her around and pushed her into one of the plush easy chairs. She glowered up at him angrily.
‘Whoever trained you didn’t do a very good job, I’m afraid. In polite society, a lady always goes behind a man going up stairs, never in front of him. Even a Hungarian countess. Now who are you, and what do you want?’
She sighed. ‘All right. My name isn’t Apollónia, it’s Ilonka. I changed it when I went on the stage.’
‘Ilonka?’
She smiled wanly. ‘Now, can you really blame me for changing it?’
He did not return her smile.
‘But I truly am a countess, even if I wasn’t brought up as one!’ she insisted. ‘I had an affair with Count Vásáry; he fell in love with me. After his first wife died of consumption, we waited a year, and then got married.’ She smiled at the recollection. ‘All of Budapest society was scandalised by the match. The scion of one of the noblest families in Hungary marrying an actress? But he did. And now I am Countess Vásáry.’
It sounded convincing enough. ‘Oh-kay. That’s who you are. But it doesn’t explain what you’re doing in St Petersburg; nor why you tried to waylay me in a dark alley with a fake assault.’
‘When the Hungarians rebelled against the Habsburgs, my husband supported Louis Kossuth’s Liberal parliament. He fought in many battles against the Austrians and we won many victories, as I’m sure you know.’ A bitter tone entered her voice as she continued. ‘But then Tsar Nicholas sent his troops to support the Habsburg monarchy. We could not hold out against the Austrians and the Russians. When General Görgey surrendered to the Austrians at Vilagos, Kossuth fled to Turkey. My husband refused to leave the country of his birth. He was arrested by the Austrian secret police and executed for treason. I was sent into exile.’
Killigrew nodded. Araminta and he had attended a public meeting addressed by Kossuth at Copenhagen Fields in Islington, and they had both been impressed by the Hungarian’s oratory, as well as by the justice of his cause, and the injustice of its cruel repression. But one part of the countess’s story did not ring true. ‘So, you came to Russia: the country that helped the Habsburgs destroy the Hungarian Republic?’
‘Not everyone in Russia supported the Tsar’s actions; nor do they support them now, in this war with Britain, France and Turkey.’
‘The serfs?’
She laughed. ‘The serfs are like cattle. They will put up with any amount of oppression their masters choose to cram down their throats. Not that they are less than the men of any other country in the world; but centuries of brutal treatment have cowed them. Have you ever been south of the Mason-Dixon line in your own country, M’sieur Bryce? I think you will find the blacks raised in slavery are little different.’ She indicated the bottle of champagne. ‘Would you?’
He eased the cork out of the bottle with the aid of a napkin while she continued.
‘If Hungary is to be free, then Russia must be freed first; and in Russia, revolution must come from the top. Tsar Nicholas crushed many members of the liberal aristocracy when he smashed the Decembrist uprising on his accession; but there remain a few powerful and influential people in St Petersburg who are working behind the scenes to make Russia a more liberal country, in spite of the efforts of men like Count Orloff, and the Third Section.’
Killigrew poured them each a glass of champagne. ‘But Nicholas died five months ago. Isn’t Tsar Alexander supposed to be more liberal than his father was?’
‘Yes… but he is a young man, unprepared for the responsibilities of being the ruler of such a vast empire. He leans heavily on the men who advised his father.’
He handed her one of the flutes. ‘Reactionaries like Count Orloff, you mean.’
She nodded, putting the glass to one side while she continued to speak passionately. ‘It is not too late for Russia, but we must act quickly, while the government’s attention is focused on the war with Britain and France.’
Killigrew took a sip of champagne. ‘Exactly what is it you’re planning to do?’
‘You think I would tell you? For all I know, you could be an agent of the Third Section.’
‘Do I look like an agent of the Third Section?’
‘No… but then you do not look much like my idea of an American reporter, either.’
‘And what does your idea of an American reporter look like?’
‘Fat, self-satisfied… besides, how many reporters carry guns, M’sieur Bryce?’
‘In America? All of us!’
She thought about that, and nodded.
He took another sip of champagne. ‘Oh-kay, so you know what I am, and I know what you are. Where does that leave us? Where do I fit into your plans… if at all?’
‘As an American newspaperman, you must hold a considerable amount of influence in your own country. In Hungary I learned the hard way that carrying out a bloodless revolution is one thing; maintaining it is another matter altogether. A new government will need the support of other nations. The United States is still a young country, but she is growing fast. Already she is stronger than many people in Europe are prepared to give her credit for.’
‘You figure our President Pierce would be ready to go to war in Europe to support a coup d’état in Russia?’
‘I know there is a great deal of sympathy in the States for Kossuth’s cause. The same could be true of the cause here in Russia, if the Americans perceived that the new Russia was to be based on the same principles of your own founding fathers. Were Congress to announce its support for the new regime at an early stage, then war might not be necessary. None of us wants a bloodbath; but if the reactionaries prove harder to dislodge than we hope, that’s just what we might have.’
‘President Pierce don’t always listen to what the New York Herald says. Heck – pardon my French, ma’am – but Mr Bennett – that’s my editor – he don’t often listen to what I tell him.’
‘You can try, can’t you?’
‘It’d be my pleasure, ma’am. But there’s still one thing you ain’t explained to me. If all you wanted was to ask me that, why the charade in the alleyway, with that phoney robbery? Why not just ask me?’
‘You think the Third Section would approve of my speaking of such things to a member of the American fourth estate? They have spies everywhere, M’sieur Bryce. It was necessary to make it look as if your coming to this house was entirely innocent.’
He drained his glass and put it down on the table. ‘Entirely innocent, huh?’
Smiling, she rose to her feet and slipped her arms around his neck. ‘That depends, M’sieur Bryce, on how you feel about mixing business with pleasure.’
He grinned. ‘When a feller like me gets to interview a woman as lovely as yourself, ma’am, business is a pleasure.’
She kissed him, and he parted hi
s lips to feel her tongue slip between them. He allowed himself to enjoy it at first, but then memories of Araminta flooded into his brain, and he felt suddenly ashamed that he could have forgotten her so quickly, even if only for a few seconds. It was not that he had consciously sworn a private vow of celibacy until he had avenged her. But he did not want to cheapen her memory by jumping into bed with the first attractive woman who made advances towards him. Besides, she thought he was an American journalist; she did not even know his real name. He had never seduced a woman under false pretences, and he was in no hurry to start now.
He felt a wave of dizziness sweep him, and for a moment he thought his old sickness had come back to haunt him, but it passed. A little too much champagne, he told himself.
He pushed her away.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘It ain’t you. It’s me. I… I guess I ain’t used to having Hungarian countesses… I mean to say, I just ain’t used to it, that’s all.’
She smiled. ‘Does my nobility offend your republican sentiments, M’sieur Bryce?’
‘Let’s just say I ain’t used to my interviews going in this particular direction.’
‘Interview…’ she mused. ‘I had not thought of it like that. Do you think this has been a satisfactorily penetrating interview, M’sieur Bryce?’
‘I don’t know. I figure I could go a heap deeper. Depends how much more you’ve got to reveal.’
She looked up at him, her eyes and moist lips shining in the firelight. ‘Surely you want to cover the story properly?’
‘Come at it from every conceivable angle, you mean?’
‘You should really get to grips with your subject matter.’
Killigrew was starting to feel light-headed. The devil take it, he decided. Araminta would have wanted him to get on with his life, to live every moment of it and not waste a single minute. Perhaps a year’s mourning was appropriate for some people, but the countess might not be available in seven months’ time. Hell, he might not be around in seven months’ time. Tomorrow he might be in front of a firing squad.
Killigrew and the Sea Devil Page 20