by Peter Watt
He frowned. ‘You mean Larkin’s wife, Marie,’ he said.
She nodded.
‘Bloody hell, I think I now understand what you mean. You know it’s my job to protect members of the public,’ he said lamely. ‘So, if you need any kind of help you only have to ask. I am only a phone call away.’
The young woman looked at him with just the hint of tears in the corners of her eyes. ‘I can handle it,’ she said. ‘But thank you for your offer.’
Morgan knew instinctively that it was time to lay off. In a sense he would still leave with the information he had come for. ‘I have to go back to the station now,’ he said. ‘Just remember my offer.’
As he drove away Morgan pondered what he strongly suspected: that Monique Dawson might be the great-granddaughter of the last princess of Russia. And that had dangerous ramifications from what Joshua had read in Joshua Larkin’s journal.
Morgan logged onto the net as soon as he got back to the station. He needed to conduct his own research on the Princess Marie. He was surprised to find some evidence by modern-day scientists in Russia that two bodies had apparently been missing from the mass grave outside Ekaterinburg where the Bolshevik executioners had disposed of the remains of the Royal family and their servants. He was intrigued by a report he read that in the early 1990s a Russian forensic team came to the conclusion that the bones and DNA of the young Prince Alexis and his sister Maria were absent from the communal grave. All others had apparently been identified. A disclaimer in the article also warned that there was a dispute among the scientific community surrounding the DNA results. What was most intriguing was that Joshua Larkin had mentioned an incident related to him of how Maria had been held hostage but escaped in the confusion during the fight for the city. How could Larkin have made up such a story? It was only now that modern science was revealing the possibility of the missing pair.
Morgan was soon aware of the fraudulent impersonation by a woman known as Anastasia in the pre–World War Two period in Europe. DNA had proved the impostor to be a Polish peasant girl but it had not stopped people at the time swearing she was the Princess Anastasia. There had been numerous best-selling books claiming her as the lost Russian princess and inevitably a Hollywood movie.
When Morgan had completed his research on Princess Maria he was amused to think how the world had been led down the garden path by this Polish impostor when the truth was most likely in the pages of Joshua Larkin’s journal all along. If what Morgan had read was true, then he had a sneaking suspicion that Monique Dawson just might be the sole claimant to the Russian throne should the monarchy be re-established in the new Russia. But he also knew the possibility of that happening was about as probable as winning the lottery.
FOURTEEN
The taiga
South-east of Archangel
August 1919
Joshua could see that the major was suffering from his injuries. He had trouble keeping up and stopped often to ease the pain in his chest. Sweat beaded his brow in the cold air.
‘You want to go back, sir?’ Joshua asked.
‘No, sergeant,’ Locksley answered, doubled over with the pain. ‘According to my calculations we should not be far from our destination. Just keep going. I will keep up.’
Joshua shrugged, eyeing the pocket in which he knew the major kept the scribbled details of the mission. But he turned and continued walking among the tall trees of the silent forest. Cold, sleeting rain bit at his face as they slowly trudged east.
Joshua heard it first. A rhythmic sound to their front. He halted, listening to identify the sound. It seemed like an axe chopping timber.
‘Must be close,’ Locksley wheezed, stumbling up to join Joshua. ‘At least close to some form of habitation. Go on, sergeant.’
Obeying, Joshua continued, moving cautiously in the direction of the wood chopping. Could it be a Bolshevik military section cutting firewood? He felt for the pistol tucked in his coat pocket.
The chopping sound ceased when Joshua calculated they were around a hundred yards away. He wiped the rain from his eyes and peered into the semi-gloom of the forest ahead but could see nothing. When he turned to speak with the major he was startled to see he was lying on the earth, doubled over in agony.
‘You go ahead,’ the major said through gritted teeth. ‘Make a recce of what is up ahead and return with a report.’
Joshua’s instinct was to remain with the British officer but he was also a soldier conditioned to obeying orders. For a moment he was tempted to leave his revolver with the stricken officer but realised he was in better condition to use it. He stepped out to investigate the source of the activity ahead but had only gone a dozen yards when he came across a well-worn track.
Careful to stay off the track, Joshua followed it on a parallel course until he came to a cleared area carefully concealed among the tall stands of the taiga. He crouched in a thicket of ferns from where he could observe the log hut. Smoke hovered over the sod roof of the cabin and firewood was piled in great stacks outside. There was clearly much more than required for use by the inhabitants and Joshua guessed that he had stumbled on a woodcutter’s hut. Confirming his suspicions, he noticed a broad-shouldered and heavily bearded man dragging a heavy log towards one of the stacks. He was unarmed. Joshua quietly slipped from his place of concealment to make his way back into the forest.
‘Looks like a log cutter’s cabin ahead,’ he said, kneeling down beside Locksley who he had helped prop against the trunk of a tree. Joshua’s description appeared to brighten the expression on the officer’s face.
‘It sounds promising,’ Locksley gasped. ‘All you need to do now is return and see if you can spot a young woman in the vicinity. If you do, you are to return to me. Hopefully I will be able to get my strength back and join you.’
Joshua accepted the command and made his way back to the hut where he resumed his hiding position. He had a clear view of the front entrance. The rain soon eased, making the task of sitting and watching less miserable, but the biting cold did not go away. Joshua remained in his hide for a good hour, listening to the wind swishing through the wet branches around him. After some time the door opened and a young woman stepped out. Joshua was only twenty yards from the cabin entrance and could clearly see her features. He was struck by her large blue eyes and fine profile. She did not seem to have the slightly Asiatic features that he had noted in many of the Russian women he had seen. She was much more European in appearance and beautiful too. He guessed the girl to be around twenty years of age. She wore a long dress and was bare headed, her long tresses piled into a bun on her head. Her rosy cheeks looked pinched, by either hunger or possibly some inner pain. Was this the girl the major had wanted him to find?
The young woman walked to the wood pile and selected an armful of cut timber. She appeared to carry herself with some grace, and Joshua found himself admiring the young woman. When the girl had returned inside the cabin, he once again left his observation point to return to the major and report.
‘She was rather tall, brown hair, blue eyes and not a bad looking sheila,’ he said.
Locksley closed his eyes for a moment. ‘That sounds like her,’ he finally said with a wince, followed by a hacking cough. He muffled a yelp of pain. ‘Our mission is almost complete. All we have to do now is get to her.’
‘I didn’t see anyone other than the woodcutter,’ Joshua offered helpfully. ‘What is it that is so important about the girl?’
‘If she is identified as the person I seek,’ Locksley said, ‘there is no reason for you to ask, sergeant. All you have to do is obey my commands. Then we can make our way back to Archangel and you will be able to rejoin your regiment and steam home to London.’
Joshua was even more mystified. Why would a senior British officer and two soldiers risk their lives behind enemy lines only to find and identify some Russian girl? None of it made sense and he felt irritated by being kept in the dark.
‘What happens if we identify her?’ J
oshua asked.
‘No questions, Sergeant Larkin,’ Locksley snapped. ‘Just help me to my feet and we will pay a visit to the woodcutter’s cabin. Just have your pistol ready.’
Joshua slipped the revolver from his jacket and placed an arm around the British officer’s shoulders to support him. Half walking and half stumbling, Joshua led the major towards the cabin. When he reached the front entrance the major pushed Joshua away and stood unsteadily before the door. Although he knew that the Englishman spoke the language fluently, Joshua was stunned to hear the British major suddenly break into what he felt was Russian as only a native could speak it.
After a pause, a male voice from within the cabin answered, spurring more Russian words from the major. Gripping the pistol, Joshua stood to one side as the door creaked open slowly to reveal the bearded face of the woodcutter. A wicked-looking axe dangled at his side. The major said something further and the door fully opened to reveal the pretty young woman Joshua had seen before. She entered the conversation and both the young woman and the woodcutter stepped outside to assist the British officer into the cabin.
‘It is all right, Sergeant Larkin,’ the major said over his shoulder. ‘You can enter.’
Joshua slipped the pistol back into his pocket but retained his grip on the butt in case he needed to use the weapon. Inside the cabin was a strong odour of wood-smoke and smoked meat. The small hut was lit by a single kerosene lantern. Its pallid light cast shadows on a rough wooden table and two rustic chairs. A couple of hams hung from the ceiling and in the corner was a bed covered by thick fur blankets. Quickly Joshua scanned the dark nooks of the room but saw that the woodcutter and the girl he presumed was his daughter were the only occupants.
The girl assisted the major to the bed where she lay him down gently. She turned and said something to Joshua, which he did not understand but guessed meant that the British officer was very sick. She placed her hand over her mouth and pantomimed a cough.
Joshua stared into the girl’s beautiful serene eyes. ‘Could be he is coming down with pneumonia?’ he asked, hoping that his meaning was understood. ‘Do you speak English?’ he added hopefully, but she shook her head and replied in Russian. Her expression suddenly brightened however and Joshua realised that she was asking if he understood French. His tough face broke into a smile.
‘Oui, mademoiselle,’ he said warmly and apologised that his French was not very good. She seemed to relax and with her own wistful smile explained that sadly her French was not much better. But at least they had found common ground. Stumbling over her words Joshua learned that the major had identified himself – and that he was expected. The girl told him too that she had nursing experience and that the major required immediate medical help as he appeared to be on the verge of pneumonia. Hence she had ordered him to the bed to rest.
When Joshua glanced over at the bed where the British officer lay he could see that he was sweating profusely and lapsing into some kind of fever. The woodcutter was already pouring water into a battered mug for the very ill British soldier.
‘I am Sergeant Joshua Larkin from Australia,’ Joshua said in his fractured French by way of introduction. ‘What is your name and is the woodcutter your father?’
‘I am Maria,’ the girl said. ‘And the woodcutter is not my father. He is a brave man who has risked his life providing me with a place to wait for help.’
‘Why are you waiting for help?’ Joshua asked bluntly.
‘I am to be taken to England to my relatives,’ Maria answered in a somewhat guarded manner. ‘I cannot say anything more. I wish I could so please do not ask any further.’
‘You must be a person of great importance,’ Joshua commented. ‘But I will respect your wishes.’
‘Merci,’ Maria answered.
Locksley had drifted into a fevered sleep. No doubt he had developed something akin to pneumonia as a result of his injuries. Serving in the trenches of the Western Front Joshua had witnessed many cases of soldiers falling to the dreaded disease and knew its symptoms well. There was a good chance that Locksley would not pull through, leaving Joshua as the senior man of the mission to make decisions on what would happen next. The question as to the task they had undertaken seemed to be the location and retrieval of this pretty Russian girl so she could be escorted back to England to be reunited with relatives there. This did not make much sense however; there were thousands of Russian refugees seeking asylum in England. She had to be of some vital importance to British interests. For a moment, Joshua was tempted to rifle through the British officer’s coat pocket. But he refrained; as long as the semi-conscious major was still alive he knew he was bound by duty to respect his commanding officer’s wishes.
‘What are we going to do?’ Maria asked at his elbow.
Joshua thought about the situation. As far as he knew his friend, George Littleton was probably dead by now, having given his life to draw off the Bolshevik soldiers hunting them. The mad major was also probably dying.
‘We will give Major Locksley forty-eight hours to see if he is well enough to travel,’ Joshua replied. ‘If not, I will carry on as outlined in papers he has in his possession.’
Maria looked at Joshua with fear in her eyes. ‘It is dangerous remaining here,’ she protested. ‘Every day I am here increases the chances that the kind woodcutter may be found by the Bolsheviks and executed for harbouring me. We would also be killed.’
‘I am sorry, but I am a soldier,’ Joshua said. ‘I must think like a soldier and undertake my responsibilities in that manner. My responsibility is not only to why we are here but also to protecting a comrade.’
Maria sighed and turned away to say something to the woodcutter who cast Joshua a hostile look. It was obvious that he was not all that happy providing a roof over the heads of foreign soldiers deep in Bolshevik territory. Joshua ignored him. The woodcutter at least had provided hot soup made from turnips. Maria fed some of the soup to Locksley, gently spooning it into his mouth while Joshua dried his clothing by the open fire.
When night came, the woodcutter fed them slabs of ham and cheese with a coarse, black bread on wooden plates. He took his meal and sat by the fire while Joshua and Maria used the only two chairs to sit at the rough-hewn table.
‘What is Australia like?’ Maria asked, chewing on a corner of cheese.
‘Not like here,’ Joshua answered. ‘It’s warm and friendly.’
‘I have learned of Australia in my geography lessons,’ Maria continued. ‘But I was not a good student. My sisters said that I was more interested in the young soldiers of the palace.’
‘Palace,’ Joshua repeated. ‘What palace?’
‘Oh, I spent some time in a palace,’ Maria answered evasively. ‘There are many palaces in Russia.’
‘Was your family members of a palace staff?’ Joshua persisted gently.
‘Yes,’ Maria replied, staring directly into Joshua’s eyes. ‘We were members of the Czar’s personal staff.’
Maybe this was so, Joshua thought. If so, then she must have some further knowledge of the fate of the Czar and his family. The Bolsheviks were not forthcoming on the Russian royal family’s current status although there were rumours that they had murdered the Czar himself. So it would make sense to transport a member of the royal staff to England for intelligence gathering.
‘I understand,’ Joshua said, a little clearer on why he was in this cabin deep in the taiga.
‘Have you been a soldier very long, Sergeant Larkin?’ Maria asked, changing the course of the conversation.
‘It feels like a lifetime,’ Joshua sighed, biting into a slab of smoked ham.
‘Do your family miss you?’ Maria continued.
‘I do not have any family to miss me,’ Joshua answered glumly. ‘My wife in Australia died from the epidemic not long ago.’
‘I am sorry for you,’ Maria said sympathetically, at the same time impulsively placing her hand on Joshua’s arm. ‘I understand your pain.’
‘D
id you lose a husband or someone else close?’ Joshua countered.
Turning away, Maria nodded her head. ‘Not a husband, my family,’ She wiped away tears with the sleeve of her dress.
Joshua guessed that she had suffered this great loss only recently and was not surprised. The Bolsheviks were slaughtering their own citizens by the thousands. ‘I am sorry,’ he said gently. ‘This war raging in your country should not be happening.’
Maria turned back to Joshua, tears rolling down her cheeks. She was so vulnerable, Joshua thought, realising that his heart was going out to her. In any other circumstances he might have taken his interest further. It had been a long time since he had felt anyone touch his heart. Yet he felt a little guilt for the memory of his dead wife for as much as he tried to remember her face he found that it grew harder with every passing day. It was as if continuing his life as a soldier had helped erase the memories of his past. After all, had he not volunteered with this hope in mind?
‘You are a kind and gentle man, Sergeant Larkin,’ Maria said. ‘You are the first Australian I have ever met.’
‘Well,’ Joshua smiled weakly. ‘You are the first Russian girl I have met who speaks French and has lived in a palace.’
This time, Maria reached for Joshua’s arm and her hand remained. ‘You have the look of a man who is wise and strong. I feel a little safer for staying. I admire that you would not desert your sick friend, regardless of the fact that you may be risking your life by lingering here.’
‘He is my commanding officer – not my friend,’ Joshua said, glancing over at the bed where Locksley lay sleeping fitfully. ‘But I swore my duty to him when we took this mission to find you. We will get out of here and I will ensure that you are returned to your relatives in England.’
‘I pray that you are right, Sergeant Larkin,’ Maria said, withdrawing her hand. That night Joshua was given a fur skin blanket to use as a bed by the fire while the woodcutter selected a corner of the cabin to sleep. Maria placed her blanket by the fireplace a short distance from Joshua. He gazed at her face as she slipped into a troubled sleep.