Diamond Dreams

by Sandra Heath

  Gwilym stepped swiftly forward and faced the stallion, speaking softly to it in Welsh, which, of course, sounded like a magical intonation to the watching Russians. The stallion became a little calmer, but still wouldn’t obey its rider’s commands. It was too close to the edge of the canal for comfort, and capered and tossed its head alarmingly.

  The groom cried out for help, but Gwilym silenced him with a single gesture, then went closer to the stallion, speaking quietly all the while. There was no one else within yards, just the motionless but compelling figure of the young Welshman. The stallion continued to caper, but its ears twitched forward, and Gwilym knew he had its attention. He took another step forward, still whispering gently, and slowly the capering died away until the stallion was standing right at the very edge of the canal. If it should move backward even a single step, it would fall into the waiting water below.

  A hush had descended over the crowd, during which the arrival of the czar’s carriage was clearly heard. Gwilym stepped closer, speaking to the horse as if to a lover. At last he was close enough to reach out and touch the trembling black coat. The stallion tossed its head and rolled its eyes, drawing some gasps from the onlookers, but Gwilym took no notice. He smiled and murmured gently, going closer still until he was able to breathe into the horse’s nostrils.

  The stallion still shook visibly with fear, but gradually the quivering stopped, and suddenly it nudged Gwilym gently, as if he were someone it had known and loved all its life. More gasps of wonder spread through the crowd, and the groom seized his moment to alight from the saddle, looking on in awe as Gwilym led the Griffin horses into the stables and the stallion followed behind like a tame dog.

  Athan knew nothing of events outside the stable entrance, for he had been preparing for the czar to receive him. He wore court dress because even in a stable it was necessary to show full formality in Alexander’s presence. Ellie had not been able to accompany him because protocol demanded she had to be presented to the czarina before she could be presented to the czar, so she stayed behind at English Quay with Louise and John.

  Athan’s audience with Alexander was cordial, although blighted here and there by the czar’s deafness, which required a raised voice to be properly understood. But nothing could have been more genuine than the pleasure with which Mr. Pitt’s letter and the Griffin mare and colt were received. Gwilym had groomed them to perfection, and it was doubtful if any other horses in the world could have appeared to better advantage.

  Alexander, blond and stately, if a little chubby, in the tight-fitting blue uniform of the Semeonovsky Regiment, was delighted with his new acquisitions, although at first it was of John and the commemorative tureen that he spoke.

  “I am informed, Lord Griffin, that you are now married to a lady whose uncle, John Bailey, has made a most wonderful item of ceramic ware for me?” he inquired in French.

  Athan bowed. “I have that honor, Your Imperial Majesty,” he answered loudly.

  “You must see that she is presented to the czarina, so that she may in turn be presented to me.”

  “You are most kind.” Athan bowed again.

  “I am intrigued about the tureen, which I believe has come from a very small enterprise.”

  “Very small indeed, sir, but I think you will soon see that it can produce the finest soft-paste porcelain in the world.” And the most fragile, Athan thought, remembering what John had said about any attempt to remove what was hidden in the lid.

  “Such praise intrigues me more and more. I look forward to seeing it. I believe it is to be presented to me at Prince Paul Dalmatsky’s grand supper tomorrow night?”

  “I believe so too, sir.”

  “I also believe that should I wish to extend my appreciation to Mr. Bailey, he is here in St. Petersburg?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Alexander nodded in that faintly absentminded way of his. “And where is the tureen now?” he inquired.

  “It has already been sent to the Dalmatsky Palace, sir, and I believe Prince Valentin Andreyev will actually perform the presentation.”

  Alexander’s good mood evaporated. “That had better not be so, Lord Griffin, for Prince Valentin gravely offended me some time ago, and remains in disfavor to this day.”

  “Then clearly I am in error,” Athan said quickly, not wanting to irritate the czar in any way. It was the first he had heard of Valentin being in disgrace.

  At last Alexander came to the matter of the horses. “I was not misinformed about the quality and beauty of your stud, Lord Griffin,” he said in French.

  “I am flattered by your praise, sir, and I wish to give them to you, as a mark of my respect.” Athan glanced around, suddenly realizing that Gwilym was no longer there.

  “A gift?” The czar’s unexpectedly gentle blue eyes were thoughtful. “It may not be the thing to query such a generous gesture, but I cannot think you do not have something to ask of me in return.”

  “I would be dishonest if I pretended otherwise,” Athan replied frankly.

  Alexander appreciated the sincerity. “You are a man after my own heart, sir, as indeed is your entire nation, with which I am happy to say Mr. Pitt’s letter clarifies the final points in the treaty we have been negotiating for so long. It was unfortunate that progress was held up by the regrettable theft of the diamond from the Tower of London, but I am now assured that my country is no longer suspected of involvement.”

  The last thing Athan had expected was for the czar to actually mention the diamond, and for a moment his composure was rattled. Should he tell Alexander the truth? Was this the perfect moment to have done with everything?

  But Alexander had already turned away as a senior courtier approached to whisper in his ear. He nodded, and then looked apologetically at Athan. “Others await an audience, Lord Griffin, so I fear I must go. I can give you one minute more in which to ask your favor.”

  “I humbly request your gracious intervention to gain the freedom of a family that is presently in serfdom.”

  “They are my serfs?” Alexander inquired.

  “I fear not, sir. Their name is Trepov, and they are the property of Prince Paul Dalmatsky.”

  Alexander drew a heavy breath. “It is not the thing, even for a czar, to meddle in matters concerning a nobleman’s serfs, least of all a man of Prince Paul’s standing. What are these Trepovs to you?”

  “They are the family of a man for whom John Bailey, my wife’s uncle and the maker of the tureen, had the greatest affection and respect. Mr. Bailey wishes to honor his dead friend’s memory by winning freedom—and your protection—for the remaining relatives.”

  Athan hoped he had chosen his words with sufficient care, for he wished to flatter Alexander into agreement, but not arouse his suspicions about the nature of John’s past friendship.

  “Mr. Bailey is here in St. Petersburg, I understand?”

  “Indeed so, sir.”

  “Then might it not be better if Mr. Bailey had made this request to me himself?” Alexander waved the increasingly agitated courtier away. “Well, Lord Griffin? Do not tell me that Mr. Bailey could not have been with you here this evening.”

  Athan had to think quickly. “Indeed he could, sir, but he is a humble man, and would not presume to place himself in your presence without invitation. So I, who love and respect him, and regard him as virtually my father-in-law, have approached you instead. I trust my boldness has not caused offense.”

  “Offense?” Alexander beamed suddenly. “Why no, Lord Griffin, for I think you—and Mr. Bailey—have shown great delicacy and consideration. I will make an exception and intercede with Prince Paul on your behalf tomorrow night at the grand supper. Better than that, I will mediate between Mr. Bailey and the prince. See that Mr. Bailey attends at Dalmatsky Island tomorrow evening, and you as well, of course. My aide-de-camp will see that you receive passes.”

  The czar gestured vaguely toward a rosy-faced young officer who hovered nearby, then nodded a last time at Athan and le
ft the stables.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  While Athan was at the Imperial Stables, Ellie, John, and Louise were seated in the conservatory at the rear of the house on English Quay, enjoying pleasant conversation and one another’s company. Outside, the sky remained pale and clear and the streets in no need of lighting, even though the hour was advanced. Fashionable ladies and gentlemen strolled along the quay, where musicians played tambourines and zithers beneath the trees.

  There were many pleasure boats out on the Neva, and from several came the gentle notes of balalaikas. The Russian winter was long and unbelievably harsh, so the short summers, especially the enchanted period of the White Nights, were enjoyed to the full.

  One pleasure boat came to the foot of the steps where earlier the trio from the Good Intent had stepped ashore. Prince Paul Dalmatsky, hat low over his forehead, ascended to the quay and then crossed to the Brasier residence. He slipped around to a secluded side door, where trees and shrubs overhung the path.

  Tatiana Demidova was waiting. Terrified, she flung herself to her knees before him, for she was not only his serf, but related to the Trepovs, and thus in fear of bringing his wrath upon her own family if she displeased him.

  He looked contemptuously down at her, as he always had upon every serf, with the singular exception of Nikolai Trepov. “You have the information I require?” he demanded in halting Russian.

  “Yes, Highness. As you instructed, Mr. Bailey has that room up there.” She pointed up to closed French windows on a balcony above the door. The balcony was shaded by so many branches and leaves that it was impossible to see except from directly below.

  “I trust the French windows are unlocked?”

  “No, Highness. He has turned the key and now keeps it in his pocket, and he is most insistent that on no account are the bolts to be left open.”

  “One might almost think he feared abduction,” Paul murmured wryly to himself in French. Well, it would take more than a bolt and a key to save John Arbuthnot Billers-ley from his fate. “There are spare keys,” he continued in Russian. “See that you get one. As for the bolts, make sure they are not pushed across. Is that clear?”

  “But—”

  “How you do it is up to you, Tatiana Demidova, but if you wish to protect your relatives, I suggest you put your pretty mind to the problem.”

  “Highness.” She was close to tears.

  “Is there anything I should know?” he asked.

  “Lord Griffin is with the czar at this moment,” she offered, hoping to please him.

  “The czar?” Paul stiffened. “Where? How?”

  She explained about the meeting at the Imperial Stables. “I do not know much, Highness, but I overheard Lord Griffin say he intends to enlist the czar’s assistance.”

  “Concerning what?”

  “I do not know, Highness, but the Trepovs were mentioned.”

  Paul was silent, his sixth sense stirring uncomfortably. Had he underestimated his opponents?

  “What am I to do next, Highness?” Tatiana asked.

  “Just see that the laundry basket is down here where we are now, and that the French windows are unlocked and unbolted when Bailey sleeps tonight. Then all you have to do is admit my men to the house.”

  “But I cannot go into Mr. Bailey’s room when he is there, Highness!” she protested.

  “You’ll do whatever is necessary!” he breathed, almost bending forward to strike her but thinking better of it.

  “Forgive me, Highness!” she cried, pressing her forehead on the ground to indicate complete servility. “I wish only to please you, Master,” she whimpered, hating herself, but hating him more.

  “You will have pleased me only when I have Bailey on the island.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “I beg of you, Highness, do as you will with me, but do not punish my family.”

  “Do not presume to advise me, for I do not grant favors to serfs,” he replied, and with the toe of a polished shoe pushed her until she sprawled on the ground.

  She lay like a mouse, not daring to move, and did not know she’d been holding her breath until she heard his soft tread as he walked away. Still terrified, she sat up on her heels. She did not want to help him. She liked her English mistress, and had been treated kindly, but like all serfs she went in dread of the nobility, especially men like Prince Paul. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she hid her face in her hands.

  “Don’t cry, Tatiana, cariad,” a young male voice said kindly.

  With a gasp she took her hands away and looked up to see Gwilym standing where the prince had been only moments before. Their eyes met again, as they had done on the Neva earlier in the day, and when he smiled, she smiled too. She spoke enough English for them to understand each other, but when he held out his hand to her, there was no need for words.

  Love was a new experience for Gwilym, and it dulled the edges of his perception. Something had drawn him to the house, a feeling so strong that he had run all the way. He had felt her fear and had come to seek her out, but he had not seen Paul, nor did he realize why she was crying. All he knew was that Tatiana Demidova needed him, and he had adored her at first sight.

  Much later that night, when Gwilym had returned to the Imperial Stables to watch over his equine charges, Ellie and Athan slept naked in each other’s arms on the green quilt of their bed. It was warm, the sky outside was ivory in color, and the bed canopy above them was made of silver silk embroidered with a stag-hunting scene, with spotted hounds that could only have belonged to one master. Even the bed itself was carved with a hunting scene, reminding them that the house was Prince Paul Dalmatsky’s property.

  In another room across the landing, John lay fully dressed and sleepless. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to wear a nightshirt, because he felt safer in his clothes. The bolts were fully across at the French windows, with their double glass panes and terracotta pots containing the luxuriant plants that were to be found in all homes in the Russian capital. He was satisfied the windows were secure, but still he feared the unnatural pallor of the summer night. He was in his old foe’s city, and for one of them retribution was imminent. But for which one?

  He tried to sleep, if only to be sure his wits were sharp the next day, but the restlessness would not relinquish him. He turned over, gazing at the French windows, where leafy shadows moved in the night breeze off the Neva. He heard a man singing in the street, a deep bass voice that defied the night, but he didn’t hear the soft sound of the bedroom door opening as Tatiana admitted two of Paul’s henchmen to take him. He knew nothing of the intruders until an explosion of pain and light occurred as someone struck him ferociously on the head.

  Tatiana, struggling not to sob aloud, unlocked the French windows and then pulled back the bolts John had been so very careful to close. She leaned over the balcony and saw two more men waiting with the large wicker laundry basket that had been brought from the Dalmatsky Palace.

  The two men in the bedroom lowered John’s unconscious body over the balcony, and their companions below eased him gently into the basket, where he was covered with crumpled sheets. One of the basket’s little wheels squeaked slightly as it was pushed along the path toward the street.

  No one paid any attention as it was taken across to the steps, then carried down to a waiting boat from which fluttered Paul’s pennant. Soon John was on his way to his fate on Dalmatsky Island.

  * * *

  The bathhouse was silent and deserted as the laundry basket was rolled toward it through the ghostly paleness of the Russian night. John stirred among the sheets. By now his wrists and ankles were tied, and a cloth had been forced into his mouth. He knew where he was, however, for he recognized the noise of the hungry, maltreated Dalmatians in the kennels, and the croaking call of a macaw. Nikolai had loved that bird, and had often fed it with his own hand.

  The basket jolted as it was dragged up the bathhouse steps, and then the wheels echoed on the marble floor, before suddenly John found h
imself being tumbled out, sheets and all, to sprawl at Paul’s feet. The macaw was disturbed, and shuffled noisily up and down its perch until Paul reached for a golden goblet of wine and hurled it. As the clatter of the goblet died away and the macaw fell wisely silent, Paul looked down at his prisoner.

  “So, here you are at last, Englishman. How sad that you should have to be tricked into facing me after all this time.” Paul nodded at the men who’d brought the basket, and one of them bent to remove the cloth from John’s mouth.

  Still trussed like a roasting goose, John tried to speak, but at first his mouth was too dry. He could smell the lavender oil that had been rubbed into Paul’s body. It was an oil he remembered of old, because Nikolai had used it too. At last he managed to find his voice. “And how sad, Paul, that you are still unable to accept responsibility for Nikolai’s death.”

  Paul’s lips were thin. “Oh, no, I was innocent. You were the canker that destroyed him.”

  “Innocent? Paul, you set your damned dogs on him! How could you have done such a callous and cruel thing? To Nikolai, that sweet boy ...”

  “Hold your tongue!” Paul stepped forward and bent to strike John bitterly across the face. “He would be alive now if you had not interfered!”

  John gazed up at him with loathing. “I wondered if you were mad when last we met; now I see that you definitely are. Is revenge all you have thought of these past years? Have you punished and tortured me so many times in your head that I have excluded everything else?”

  Paul’s eyes were bright. “You must pay for what you did.”

  “Kill me then.”

  “Oh, not just yet. First I will toy with you.”

  “Nothing you do to me now can be worse than the grief I felt on losing Nikolai.”

  “He was not yours to lose, Englishman,” Paul breathed, “and if you really think you have suffered all you can, then you know nothing.” Again he nodded at the two men who’d brought the basket; then he strode out of the bathhouse and left them to carry out his orders.