Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 03]

by The Storybook Hero

  Though she was exhausted as well by the dizzying turn of events, Octavia found her mind was in too much of a whirl to allow any sleep. She couldn't help but wonder whether her decision, made on the spur of the moment, would prove to be a rash mistake. What if the threat had been nothing but exaggerated rumor, and the Renfrews were to return to the capital to find their governess had gone haring off with their young ward? She grimaced. It didn't do to think about it, especially considering the purse of gold coins tucked inside the bodice of her gown. No doubt she could be charged with robbery as well as kidnapping.

  A glance around served to calm such anxieties. It was clear that the danger was hardly imagined. Conveyances of every description jostled past the plodding wagon, haggard expressions on the faces of the drivers and their passengers. On more than one occasion, a mud-spattered officer, his once resplendent uniform in tatters, his horse lathered with sweat, galloped past, shouting curses at the slow moving vehicles to move aside. Even now, far back in the distance, she thought she detected a thin haze of smoke rising from the direction of the city.

  The wagon stopped long enough for Shiskov to dismount and come around to hand up a wedge of sour rye and a jug of cider. "I'm sorry, but there is no time to step down and stretch your legs. We had best keep going until nightfall," he murmured, trying to ignore the disapproving glare of his wife.

  Octavia nodded as she gratefully accepted the food. "Of course. Do not give it a second thought. You have been more than kind already."

  Emma stirred and looked up, blinking sleepily as the wagon started up again. "Are we there yet?"

  Octavia couldn't help but smile, despite her own gnawing worries. "My little lamb, I'm afraid it will be many more stops and starts before we are there."

  The girl sat up and rubbed her eyes. "Oh—of course. What a silly goose I am." She looked around at the dense forest of larch and spruce, nearly black in the fading light of late afternoon, with great interest. "It's very unlike England, is it not, Miss Hadley?"

  "Very." Octavia passed her a piece of the bread.

  Emma wrinkled her nose at the sight of the plain crust. "I'm not that hungry. I shall wait for teatime."

  "Emma," counseled Octavia in a low voice. "There will no such thing as teatime or the sort of meals you are used to at home while we are on this journey. In fact, there may be times when we have little or no food at all. You must get used to accepting what there is."

  "But it's dry. Is there not some butter or jam?"

  "There is not." At the sight of the mouth turning downward into a pout, she tried a different tack. "If the hardships seem too great, we can always turn back and wait meekly for what Fate has in store for us in Moscow. I would certainly understand such a decision—adventure and danger are not the thing for most young ladies."

  Emma reached for the bread and ate it without further complaint.

  It was past dark when the wagon finally pulled into a clearing by the side of the road where the snow was only a dusting on the stubbled grass. Shishkov and his son began to unharness the horses while his wife set down several iron pots, taking care to make her displeasure with the situation known through series of loud bangs. She stalked off to gather wood, leaving Octavia to help Emma down by herself.

  "Come, let us try to be of some help," whispered Octavia as she led the girl toward the edge of the woods. "Pick up whatever small branches you can manage."

  They both returned with an armful, earning a brief smile from their erstwhile cook.

  "I think it best that you leave us off at the first place where we might catch a coach going in the direction of St. Petersburg," said Octavia in a low voice as she dropped the wood by his side. "We do not wish to be any more of a burden on you and your family than necessary."

  Shishkov pulled a face. "You must excuse my wife. It is the shock of being uprooted from her—"

  "Of course. She has good reason to be upset. All the more reason why we should not impose on your hospitality past tomorrow."

  He flashed her a look of gratitude, though it was quickly replaced by one of concern. "How will you manage the... expense?"

  "I have funds enough," she assured him. Her lips quirked upward. "You were not the only one to, er, explore for what items might be of use."

  He nodded in approval. "Well, I see I shall not have to worry overly for you, Miss Hadley."

  His wife was slightly mollified on hearing that the unwanted guests would soon be leaving them. She unbent enough to offer a thin smile as she passed a bowl of bean soup to Octavia, and even went so far as to pat Emma on the cheek. "You and the child may sleep in the back of the wagon for tonight." The family's bedding had already been spread out on top of a thick felt pad by the fire, leaving a small sliver of space by the high wooden sides.

  Octavia made to protest, knowing it was where the woman would normally have slept herself, but was waved to silence. "Take it and be happy," she said in a doleful voice. "It will likely be the best spot you have for some time to come."

  The next morning Octavia couldn't help but think that if such a prediction were true, she might indeed wish that she had stayed in the city and suffered whatever the French had to throw at her. Her back ached from the hard planks and every joint seemed stiff with cold. With movements as jerky as those of a marionette, she tried to tidy her gown, then bring some semblance of order to her unruly hair. Shishkov had fetched a pot of water from a nearby stream and offered her what was left from brewing a kettle of tea to wash up. It was only lukewarm, but a quick splash at least took away the dust of yesterday's travel, leaving her feeling somewhat better.

  Emma peeked out from under her blankets. Displaying no adverse effects from a night on the hard boards, she scrambled up and bounced to the ground. "Did you see the stars, Miss Hadley? Every time I opened my eyes, the sky was aglitter with countless points of light!"

  In truth, Octavia had been too tired to notice much of anything, but she nodded anyway. "Yes, quite magnificent, wasn't it."

  "I like sleeping outside," she announced. "I hope we can do it every night."

  Octavia shuddered at the thought.

  Breakfast was a quick affair, but the plate of hot bacon and cup of steaming tea did much to restore her flagging spirits. By the time the fire had been put out and the wagon repacked, she was feeling more herself again. After traveling several versts down the main road, Shishkov turned off to the west.

  The steady stream of carts and carriages all but disappeared, bringing a frown of concern to Octavia's face. Seeming to sense her dismay, the cook turned around. "Though we are now heading for Gzhatsk, in a few hour's time we intersect another road leading north. My wife's family knows the innkeeper. There it will be easier to arrange for your passage to St. Petersburg."

  Octavia was not unhappy to finally climb down from their perch on the sack of grain. Much as she appreciated the cook's kindness, every bone in her body ached from the rough jarring of the lumbering wagon. Surely even the worst sprung coach must be a vast improvement over such a means of travel. She stamped her feet on the frozen ground, trying to restore some circulation, then reached up to help Emma over the jumble of crates and boxes. While Shishkov went to speak with the innkeeper, his son tossed down the two small valises.

  The thought that soon they would be truly alone, without any friend, however casual, to turn to made Octavia swallow hard. Her fingers crept of their own accord to touch the reticule looped on one wrist. During the morning, while Emma napped, she had taken the precaution of removing the loaded pistol from its case and placing it within easy access. She was not unaware of what sorts of dire things might befall a lone women, traveling with only a child for a companion. It didn't do to dwell on them, but at least she was not totally unprepared for whatever might happen.

  The cook appeared at the door of the inn and motioned for her to approach. "Miss Hadley," he said in a low voice, before taking her inside. "There is a fellow here willing to hire himself to you for the entire journey. It woul
d be vastly more comfortable than traveling by public conveyance." He paused before adding," And no doubt safer for you and the child. However, it will cost you."

  "How much?"

  He named the price.

  Octavia took a moment to consider. The sum was high, but not outrageously so. She should still have enough left for their passage to London, if need be. And as her friend suggested, it offered a number of advantages. "That is acceptable."

  "Good. Let us go make the deal." His voice dropped even more. "I will haggle, of course. You do not want him to see you as an easy mark. I have also not mentioned you are English. Just mutter an occasional answer in Russian and you should be able to manage. He won't expect any more from a woman."

  She nodded her understanding.

  "Another thing, he will want an advance. Take it out now, so you do not show him your entire purse."

  She had already thought to transfer several of the gold coins into her pocket and gave them a jingle. The sound elicited a thin smile of approval. "As I said, you have a good head on your shoulders."

  He pushed the door open and they went inside. It reeked of stale beer and the air was thick with the smoke from the iron woodstove and a number of Turkish cheroots. Three rough looking men drinking kvass at one of the small tables stopped fell silent as she walked by. One of them made a lewd comment, and the others snickered, adding their own coarse remarks. She ignored them.

  Shishkov led her to where a heavy fellow with greasy blond hair and a spiky beard to match was sitting with his hands outstretched to the stove. Though his person could have done with a bit of soap and water, he had a cheerful countenance and clear blue eyes that crinkled in good humor as he got to his feet. Octavia found herself warming to him already.

  "This is my... relative, who wishes to join her husband in St. Petersburg," began Shishkov. "While she is interested in your services, only a drunken donkey would be foolish enough to consider such a price...."

  A heated negotiation followed, accompanied by dark mutterings, expressions of outrage and injured shrugs. A price was finally arrived at, with each party assuring the other that he had gotten the best of the deal. On Shishkov's signal, Octavia passed the gold Imperials to the newly hired driver.

  "I wish to leave as soon as possible," she said.

  He smiled, revealing a wide gap between his front teeth. "I shall see to having the horses harnessed. Best have a bite to eat here, ma'am. There's no telling what we may find ahead."

  "Well, he seems a decent enough fellow," she whispered, once he had left the room.

  Shishkov nodded. "The innkeeper says he is trustworthy, so I think you will not regret engaging his services."

  They went back outside. Emma left off tossing pebbles into the brook that skirted the stableyard and came running to Octavia's side. The cook crouched down and touched her cheek. "Take care of yourself, Miss Emma," he said. "I wish you godspeed on your journey."

  She gave him a big hug. "Thank you, Mr. Shishkov. I shall miss your apple tarts and your blinis with sour cream."

  He got to his feet and held out his hand to Octavia. "And godspeed to you, Miss Hadley. You are a good woman, to look after the child. And a brave one."

  She felt a sudden constriction in her throat as she made her own thanks. It was not easy to part with the only acquaintance she had in this part of the world. Still, she kept on a brave face as he mounted the seat of his wagon, then turned for a final wave as it lurched around a stand of silvery birches and towering Sitka spruce.

  Emma's hand tightened in Octavia's. "What are we going to do now Miss Hadley?" she inquired in a small voice.

  "We are going to have a nice hot meal," she answered with a rather forced gaiety. "And then we will set off in grand style, in our own private carriage, traveling just as any grand heroine would."

  The little girl's eyes lit up. "We are?"

  "Yes. Mr. Fetisov is going to drive us all the way to St. Petersburg, so we will not have to sleep on a sack of grain again. Or spend the night under the stars. No matter how much you enjoyed it, I, for one, do not fancy being out in the open when the snows begin." She looked up as another flake fell on her cheek. "For it seems that a Russian winter is fast approaching."

  Though loath to go back into the fetid public room, Octavia forced aside any lingering hesitation. They would have to get used to rude remarks and bold stares from now on. It was best to get it over with. Taking Emma's arm, she walked purposefully through the creaking door and chose a little table in the far corner of the room. The trio of men fell silent when she reappeared, but their attention soon returned to their tumblers of kvass, and their conversation slowly picked up again, to her considerable relief.

  The innkeeper quickly brought over two bowls of thick borscht, along with a wedge of dark pumpernickel bread liberally studded with caraway seeds. Chiding herself for being so apprehensive, Octavia let their two valises and her reticule settle to the floor, then slid her coat off onto the back of her chair. They began to eat, Emma peppering her with all manner of questions about the coming journey around mouthfuls of soup. More than once, Octavia had to remind the girl to keep her voice to a low whisper, for to announce that they were foreigners on top of being women traveling unescorted could only bring even more unwanted attention. Still, the hot food and the warm room were a welcome respite from the rigors of the journey so far....

  A slurred shout suddenly interrupted their meal.

  "Is that man speaking to us?" asked Emma, twisting in her chair to stare across the room.

  "Ignore him," ordered Octavia in a low hiss. "And turn around this instant."

  Startled by the sharp rebuke, the girl did as she was told. "But why is he yelling?" she persisted.

  "Pay it no mind. He is saying something... improper."

  "Why?"

  "Not now, Emma. I will explain some other time. Put on your coat. We are going to leave."

  "But I haven't finished—" She stopped in mid-sentence on catching the look on Octavia's face.

  Octavia dropped a coin on the table, not caring that it was considerably more than necessary. "Stay close by my side, Emma," she said, reaching for their bags. "And pray, do not stop or say a word as we pass by them."

  "You're a flashy bit of brass, aren't you?" came another loud taunt. "Coming in here passing out a handful of gold. Care to share your favors with us as well?"

  Octavia's cheeks flushed crimson as she made for the door.

  Emboldened by drink, one of them stood up to block her retreat. "Hear now, you hussy, we are talking to you!"

  "I am a respectable woman. Kindly let me leave with my daughter."

  "Respectable!" jeered one of the others. "No respectable woman travels alone." He lurched to his feet as well. "Is the girl included in the fun? She's a pretty little thing, ain't she, Dimitri?"

  The third one smacked his lips. "A tasty morsel, Ilya. Both of them. And the purse will be even sweeter."

  Laughter echoed through the dark space. The innkeeper, on hearing the drunken exchange, slowly backed toward his kitchen and crept behind the door. The bolt slid home with a distinct click.

  Octavia swallowed her rising fear. "Stand aside, sir."

  The one called Ilya narrowed his eyes, an ugly leer twisting his face. "Shut up! You ain't given the orders here."

  Behind the men, the door pushed open to admit her hired coachman. "Ma'am, the horses are ready—" He bit off his words and his jovial face paled as he regarded the scene before him.

  A knife flashed out from the pocket of one of the ruffians. "Be off if you know what's good for you," he snarled. "You've got your share of that fat purse. We mean to have ours—and more."

  "Mr. Fetisov..." Octavia tried to keep her voice level. "Perhaps you might assist us to your carriage."

  He bit his lip. "I... I have a wife and child, Ma'am," he stammered. "I'm... I'm sorry."

  She fell back a step as the door slowly swung shut. Pushing Emma behind her so that she might serve to shiel
d the girl, Octavia reached into her reticule and withdrew the pistol. "I shan't repeat it again—stand aside!" she said, with considerably more bravado than she felt.

  A look of disbelief swept over Ilya's face, quickly replaced by a surge of anger at the prospect that their plans might be thwarted. "Pay the wench no heed," he snarled to his cohorts. Turning back to Octavia, he added, "You probably ain't never aimed one of those in your life."

  "Perhaps not, but at this distance, I am bound to hit one of you," she said levelly as she cocked the hammer.

  Ilya swore under his breath while the two behind him exchanged uneasy glances. They edged back toward their table.

  "We are going to leave now. Any of you who tries to stop us will get a bullet for his troubles." Octavia whispered for Emma to follow close behind and started forward.

  "Don't be idiots!" cried Ilya as the two other stumbled back another several paces. "She's only one bullet and there are three of us!"

  Octavia paused and drew a bead on each of the men in turn. "So who wishes to be the lucky one? You? You? Or you?"

  Ilya snarled a curse at her, then waved his hand at his comrades. "Split up, fools! Come at her from three directions."

  Fear gripped at her heart. The man was right—there seemed to be no way out of this coil. Her mind raced, trying desperately to come up with some plan that might hold them at bay. Fortunately, the two men behind the leader still hesitated in obeying his command, allowing her a few extra seconds to think.

  Then Ilya slowly took a nasty looking knife from his own pocket and spat on the floor. "Afraid of a damn woman? I'll show you how to deal with the bitch." The blade cut through the air in a menacing swipe. "You are going to pay for this!"

  Just as he was about to lunge forward, the front door swung open once again. Ilya's head jerked around. "I told you, coachman, get out of here or you shall have your gut carved up when we've finished with these two."