by Sandra Heath
“So do I. Duns are an unseemly breed.” Athan gave a faint smile, then proceeded. “I also accept that you are unaware of how your name—or that of another man named John Arbuthnot Billersley, which seems highly unlikely— comes to be associated with this business at the Unicorn.”
Ellie fumbled with the teapot, and then put it down with a resigned clatter. “I do not think it can possibly be chance that my uncle’s full name should turn up in this dreadful matter of my father’s finances. I think someone at the bank knew they were brothers-in-law, and chose to use the fact.”
“Who?” John demanded. “This deceased Forrester-Phipps person? But I’ve never heard of him before.”
Athan drew a heavy breath. “I think Ellie is right,” he said, forgetting to be formal. “Someone deliberately used your name. The late Forrester-Phipps was clearly as much of a slippery rogue as his son, with whom I had the misfortune to go to school.”
And the misfortune to share Fleur Tudor, Ellie couldn’t help thinking.
John buried his head in his hands suddenly. “Everything is falling in around me,” he said brokenly. “I was a fool all those years ago to plunge in over my head and end up pursued by the duns, but running away from them is the only wrong thing I’ve ever done. Yet I’ve paid the price over and over. All this time I’ve tried to make up for that sorry lapse by leading an honest life, devoting everything to creating the finest soft-paste porcelain in Europe, possibly the world, but each tiny step forward results in a blow that sends me reeling again.”
Ellie hurried to kneel beside him, and put her arms around his shoulders. “Don’t despair, Uncle, for I am sure Athan will expose the villains at the bank, and your name will be kept out of it.” She looked beseechingly at Athan, who nodded to signify that he would do all in his power.
Neither of them had yet noticed their slips of the tongue with first names, but John began to do so when he looked up in time to see their exchanged glances. Bachelor he might be, but he was not a stranger to love; nor was he fool enough to believe in a single passing encounter a couple of years ago on the Isle of Wight.
They obviously knew each other far better than that, although he couldn’t imagine why Ellie hadn’t said anything to him before now. For the moment, however, his own personal problems still weighed upon him like millstones. “These baleful influences upon my life cannot all be due to the finger of fate. There has to be something—or someone—behind it all.”
Athan thought he was still referring to Freddie’s father.
“Look, John, if there is anything to be discovered about Forrester-Phipps, my man will worm it out; of that you may be sure. But it may take a little time, and—”
John held up a hand. “No, it’s not his name that I fear. Athan, when you were in St. Petersburg, did you by any chance encounter a nobleman named Prince Paul Dalmatsky?”
Athan was surprised. “Why yes, as it happens, for he owns the house in which my sister and brother-in-law live. He also happens to be Prince Valentin Andreyev’s uncle.”
John, already pale with stress, now became quite ashen. “Dalmatsky is Prince Valentin’s uncle?” he repeated.
“Indeed so. Why do you ask about Dalmatsky? Are you acquainted with him?”
“Not really. He and I met once in St. Petersburg.” John’s gaze, almost anguished, went to the portrait.
Once again Athan was aware of not being told the entire truth. “Come now, John. There is clearly much more to this. What exactly is the situation between you and him?” Apart from similar sexual preferences ... The silent addendum had to be added, if only because of the portrait looking down at them all from the mantel.
John got up, but Ellie continued to kneel by his rocking chair. “Very well, I admit to being less than truthful. There is enough ill feeling and downright loathing between Prince Paul Dalmatsky and me for it to be certain to me now that this so-called order for the czar is no more than a wicked trap to lure me back to St. Petersburg in order to kill me.”
“To ... to kill you?” Ellie whispered.
John gave a heavy sigh. “I now believe that Dalmatsky has been searching for me as assiduously as the duns. He is behind this business.”
Athan got up from the settle. “Well, he is involved, although he was at pains to request me not to mention his name. He said it was because he didn’t wish to steal any of his nephew’s thunder.”
“There you have it then—this is all Dalmatsky.” John closed his eyes for a moment. “That’s why I’ve been so specifically requested to accompany the finished tureen to St. Petersburg. I fooled myself into hoping it was all due to your good offices.”
“I didn’t need to mention you to either of them, for they commenced this tureen business before I met them.”
“Then I would even hazard a guess that Dalmatsky is behind my real name being raised at the Unicorn Bank. Nothing would surprise me where that monster is concerned, and implicating me in my brother-in-law’s tragic case would be typical of him. A little blackmail here, a little bribery there, and he soon gets what he wants. I tell you, he’s evil through and through.”
Again he looked at the portrait, and Ellie saw how he struggled not to reach up to the painted face. She had not led so sheltered an existence that she couldn’t guess about the handsome sitter, and although she’d never viewed her uncle in that light, she realized that such leanings would explain a lot about him.
Athan watched him too. “Why would Dalmatsky go to such lengths?”
“Revenge. I stole the heart of someone he loved, and his cruel pride will never be satisfied until I have breathed my last.”
Athan’s eyes cleared. So that was it: a bitter quarrel about a beautiful young man. Such a circumstance was just the sort of thing to stir a man like Dalmatsky into devising an intricate reprisal. No wonder the slippery Russian had been so anxious to keep his name out of it. He spoke gently to John. “Are you able to tell us about it?”
John glanced down at Ellie, then at Athan. “Perhaps not,” he said.
Ellie smiled. “Please tell us, Uncle, for I’m sure I have guessed much already, and I am not a wilting violet.”
John hesitated, then decided to unburden himself of a story that had darkened his days for far too long.
Chapter Eighteen
John took a deep steadying breath before speaking. “Well, it was four years or so ago, after I left Royal Worcester in the middle of the night and before I came here. I didn’t spend all the intervening time in St. Petersburg, for I was some time in Berlin, and in Vienna, but the months I was in St. Petersburg meant only one thing to me ... Nikolai Trepov. He was twenty years old, and I loved him at first sight.”
John’s voice was soft, low, and redolent of sweet memories. “He was such a gentle boy, kindly and warmhearted, but I did not know he was someone whom Prince Paul Dalmatsky regarded as his personal property, for the entire Trepov family were his serfs.
“Dalmatsky and I were acquainted, quite well so, actually, for we had a number of shared interests. We were never ... er, well, you know, we simply got on. I liked him enough to foolishly confide about my debts, the duns, and my decision to change my identity on returning to Britain. Oh, how bitterly I now regret my lack of caution, for such things would have been far better left unsaid.”
“You weren’t to know, Uncle,” Ellie said.
“Simple common sense should have tied my tongue,” he replied wryly. “Anyway, I never saw the darker side of him, and neither of us was aware that we had Nikolai in common, but I was soon to discover that Dalmatsky was not only besotted with Nikolai, but secretly kept him in great splendor at his palace on Dalmatsky Island. It was something Dalmatsky was anxious to keep very quiet, because although a noble may use a serf as he pleases, to actually set him up in luxury was another matter. Dalmatsky would have been treated with scorn.” He hesitated. “Am I embarrassing you, Ellie, my dear?”
“No.” It was the truth, for even though it was not of a young woman that he spoke
so tenderly, she could still understand his feelings. Besides, he was her uncle John, and as deserving of happiness as anyone else. She got up and went to hug him again, and he held her tightly.
“You’re a good girl, Ellie, a credit to my dear sister, and a joy to me.”
She kissed his cheek, then looked at him. “What happened to Nikolai?” she asked gently.
He paused, then moved from her to go to the shelf on which stood examples of his porcelain. He pretended to study them as he spoke of Nikolai. “He ... died,” he said, the catch in his voice expressing only too eloquently the anguish he still felt.
“Dalmatsky found out about us and was so furious that he took a horsewhip to Nikolai. It was winter, and the Neva had just begun to freeze when Nikolai fled from Dalmatsky Island in fear for his life. Dalmatsky set his pack of savage guard dogs after him. They were Dalmatians, naturally, half-starved, maltreated brutes, and Nikolai had almost reached the next island when the ice gave beneath him. There was nothing he could do to save himself; he slipped beneath, and the current of the river carried him away. Dalmatsky blamed me for the tragedy, even though he was the one who’d beaten Nikolai and had him pursued over unstable ice by a murderous pack of dogs.”
John drew a long, shuddering breath. “Then I was the one who had to escape for my life. I left St. Petersburg like a felon, traveling night and day to Riga, where I managed to take passage on a ship bound for London. Even in England it soon became clear that Dalmatsky was still in pursuit, so I began calling myself John Bailey, and did my best to disappear. That was when I happened to be snowbound at that inn on the Pennines, and met you, Athan. The rest you both know.”
Ellie had tears in her eyes. “It’s a very sad story, Uncle John.”
“Indeed so, indeed so,” he murmured, then composed himself again. “And now I must forget all about soup tureens for Russia, since the entire order is obviously spurious and has nothing whatever to do with the czar himself.”
Athan spoke up quickly. “John, you may indeed be right about Dalmatsky and Andreyev, for I wouldn’t trust either of them an inch, but I believe the order for the soup tureen is genuine. Oh, Dalmatsky may have prompted it, there is no way of knowing that or not, but I do think the czar is aware of and approves the order for the tureen.”
“You do?”
“Yes, because he himself mentioned it to me during an audience I was privileged enough to be granted. He’s a little deaf, you know, and inclined to speak softly and quickly. I didn’t understand him sometimes, but looking back, I realize now that he did mention a soup tureen. At the time he seemed to be talking about ordering a British flute and tambourine, which really didn’t make sense at all, but there was an orchestra playing during the audience, and we had been discussing music a few minutes earlier. Anyway, that is beside the point, because if you abandon the order, you may be cutting off your nose to spite your face. Don’t you owe it to yourself—and your china—to complete the tureen and reap the benefit? I think you should proceed.”
Ellie was horrified. “And be murdered when he reaches Russia? Oh, no, that is too much of a risk. Nothing is worth his life!”
John smiled at her. “Your alarm for my old hide is warming but unnecessary, my dear, for I will not go, a fact for which I must apologize to you.”
“To me? But—”
“I promised you would see St. Petersburg, and now I renege upon that promise. Forgive me, my dear.”
He turned to Athan. “Athan, I know you are trying to bolster my flagging courage, and I am indeed reassured by what you say of the czar, but I cannot and will not return to St. Petersburg now that I know Dalmatsky is involved.” His tone was flat and uncompromising.
“That is up to you, of course. I have to return myself with my horses, and I’m perfectly willing to deliver the tureen for you. I intend to make the journey sometime in May. Will the tureen be ready then?”
“Yes, most certainly, for that was when I would have left. The czar is to have the tureen early in July, when they celebrate the feast of Saints Peter and Paul.”
“Then I will deliver it for you,” Athan said, “but you will serve your cause far better if you accompany it yourself and see it personally into Alexander’s hands.”
“You do not know Dalmatsky as I do, Athan. If I return to St. Petersburg, I will die there.”
Athan gazed down at the floor for a few moments, then looked at John again. “Do you really and honestly believe that this whole thing, all the plotting, expense, trickery, and subterfuge, is done simply and solely to satisfy Dalmatsky’s thirst for revenge upon you?”
“What else can I think?” John spread his hands.
“Nothing, I suppose,” Athan conceded, “except ... well, I have a hunch that there is still more to it, something that actually has nothing to do with you at all.”
“Such as?”
Athan shrugged. “I really don’t know, but no matter how bitter the rancor between you and Dalmatsky, involving Andreyev as well seems unnecessary. Why bother with dragging him into it? Letters alone would have enticed you back to St. Petersburg with the tureen. Am I right?”
John thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“So why Andreyev’s journey to Britain?” Athan paused. “He didn’t continue here to Nantgarth with me because of some business or other he had to conduct in the capital. He declined to confide the nature of this business, but it seemed to have him in a lather, so its importance cannot be doubted.”
John looked at him. “The Dalmatsky spider spins a vast and complicated web. Andreyev’s purpose here could concern just about anything you care to mention, anything at all.”
“Then why not let him get on with it on his own? Why is he involved at all in the order for the tureen? Dalmatsky tried to pretend that the order was all Andreyev’s idea, but I could tell that it wasn’t. If I’m not mistaken, there are two things happening in this. One is Dalmatsky’s plot to be revenged upon you, John; the other is something else entirely. It merely suits Dalmatsky to link the two together through the tureen.”
Ellie looked at them both. “Two birds with one stone?” she asked.
What their answer might have been was never known, because suddenly the raised voices of Mrs. Lewis and another woman were heard in the passage outside; then the parlor door burst open and Fleur entered in a flurry of red riding habit. Her lovely green eyes were sparkling, her lips parted in an overjoyed smile, and she totally ignored Ellie and John as she ran to fling her arms around Athan’s neck.
Athan hesitated, and then put his hands to her waist, neither holding her close nor pushing her away. “Fleur? I ...”
Fleur clung to him. “I was just returning from a ride along the bank of the Taff when I saw your carriage! I couldn’t believe my eyes! Oh, this is the most wonderful surprise, truly it is. We didn’t expect you for weeks yet!”
Athan couldn’t speak. His gaze was torn to Ellie, who had to look away from the guilt and torment in his eyes. She longed to accuse Fleur of playing him false with Freddie Forrester-Phipps, but in the absence of proof she did not dare. Proof. Such a small word, but of such immeasurable importance.
Fleur knew she had the initiative and was determined to make the most of it. Ellie’s refusal to bow to threats, and her complete disregard of the post with Lady Brecon, had persuaded Fleur she was definitely an adventuress as skilled as herself, so seeing Athan’s traveling carriage outside Nantgarth House hadn’t been the delight she claimed, but a horrid jolt. Now here he was, as cozy as could be in this poky little parlor, glancing at the china maker’s daughter as if at his precious Caroline returned!
The fact that he’d left St. Petersburg far earlier than expected, and so couldn’t have received the agent’s letter, meant Fleur could now tell him to his face about the incestuous goings-on she’d invented for the residents of Nantgarth House. Not here and now, of course, for she wished him to be alone for such a revelation, and she had to prepare herself to weep co
pious anguished tears at having to speak so ill of his friends. What she could do now, however, was make it abundantly clear who was going to be the next Lady Griffin.
“Oh, Athan, my dearest, most darling love, you’re home again at last!” she breathed, and kissed him on the lips, casting propriety to the four winds because they weren’t alone. It was a calculated kiss, a declaration of war, and Ellie knew it.
Fleur drew back, managing to look blushing and overcome by her own temerity. “Forgive my forward conduct, but you cannot possibly know how I have longed for this moment. Being apart from you for so long has taught me that I adore you, Athan, and that our marriage cannot come soon enough.” The performance was consummate, conveying such an utterly angelic air that she all but sprouted wings and a halo.
John was sharply conscious of the charged atmosphere now Fleur was among them, and belatedly understood why Ellie and Athan had been so secretive about knowing each other. Why hadn’t it been the first thing he’d thought of? They were rightly ill at ease on being confronted by the third party they wronged with their clandestine love.
He didn’t much care for Fleur, and nothing would have delighted him more than a true romance between Ellie and Athan, but Fleur had prior claim upon Athan’s wedding ring. That was the heart of the matter, and as soon as Athan departed, John had every intention of instructing Ellie to discontinue whatever it was that was going on. If anyone knew the consequences of having three when there should only be two, it was John Arbuthnot Billersley.
Fleur gazed adoringly at Athan, her lovely eyes sparkling like stars. “Life has been utterly dull in your absence.”
“I’m sure you amused yourself, Fleur,” he replied lamely, and glanced again at Ellie.
The glance provoked Fleur. “Do you not think Miss Rutherford is like your late wife?” she inquired.
A shocked silence descended over the parlor, and this time Athan couldn’t bring himself to look at Ellie, to whom he had yet to confess everything about the portrait. He answered, but very uncomfortably, “Er, yes, I suppose there is a certain likeness.”