by The Countess
Alexandreya began to make plans to return to Bratz, but the weeks slipped by and still she remained. Her sister hesitated to leave St. Petersburg, giving as an excuse Andre's confinement to the barracks, which was only one of the restrictions the new ruler imposed on the army. Until she saw him again and they were able to discuss Alexandreya's offer in detail, Natasha refused to budge. It was almost two months before she was able to meet him again for any length of time.
Natasha had spent three hours with her lover that afternoon, but Alexandreya had been forced co hold back her questions until dinner was over and Vladimir had left the house to play cards with some fellow officers.
"Well, when can we leave?"
"Not yet, Alexa." Natasha had been dreading this moment. "Andre thinks it would be too dangerous. He says the Czar suspects everyone of plotting against him. Soldiers, his servants, even his own wife. His spies are everywhere and hundreds of people have already been arrested."
Alexandreya's heart grew cold.
"The Secret Chancellory," she whispered, and was filled with apprehension that the young lieutenant might come under their scrutiny.
"What is that?"
"Oh, nothing, it was just something Colonel Varanov said to me once." Alexandreya sighed and took up her needlework again. Natasha would not leave without him and that was that.
Alexandreya curbed her impatience for another two weeks, then three. She rarely ventured from the house alone for fear of encountering Dmitri Varanov or, worse still, the bands of nobles and courtiers who daily roamed the streets, hunting down any animals they could find, even passers-by who were unfortunate enough to get in their way.
Czar Peter's decree permitting nobles to hunt in the streets was at first taken as a joke by the people. However, one sight of the wild-eyed Peter galloping past their windows and screaming with delight as he bore down on his unlucky victim, was more than enough to make them hurry indoors at the first sound of hoofbeats.
They became convinced that they were under the rule of a madman. Only someone with a deranged mind could order the arrest of hundreds of men, women and even children, and sit calmly in his state rooms playing with toy soldiers while his followers tortured them to death.
Desperate appeals were sent to Catherine by wives who had seen their husbands cut down before their eyes; mothers, whose sons had been torn from their arms, but she was helpless to intervene lest Peter's unstableness caused him to turn on her. So far she had escaped unscathed from his attempts to humiliate her.
Forced to live beneath the same roof as his mistress and the treacherous Count Munnich, deported to Siberia by Elizabeth for treason and promptly returned to power by Peter upon his ascent to the throne, Catherine gathered a close circle of important officers about her. Among them was Count Alexei Orloff, an Admiral in the navy and his brother, General Count Gregory Orloff, who was also her present paramour, and of course the man in whose hands her life rested day and night, her faithful Dmitri. With these men and half-a-dozen more of lesser ranks, she knew control of the army was almost hers. A worthwhile deterrent against any future plans her husband might have to be rid of her.
The frightened whispers of the people became an angry murmur of discontent rumbling up and down the country when it was discovered that the Czar had made a pact with Frederick of Prussia agreeing not only to send twenty thousand men into Silesia to aid the one-time enemy of Russia, but to accept a commission in the Prussian army. Soon Colonel Peter was proudly strutting through the palace in his new uniform and promptly earned himself the enmity of every officer in his army by adopting it for the troops, instead of the easy-going Russian style which no one disliked.
From Natasha's bedroom window, where there was a clearer view of the square, the two sister often sat for hours watching the soldiers drilling. There was little else to do. Vladimir Krylenko spent a great deal of time away from the house. Natasha said she thought he had been promoted and was glad because it meant she saw less of him. It also meant however, that there was no man to escort them to the opera or the ballet, and to undertake such a venture alone, as they had attempted once, invariably meant they would be accosted by the roving groups of Holsteiners who roamed the city at night, drinking incessantly and making a general nuisance of themselves. These soldiers now made up the Czar's Personal Guard. He had dismissed good Russian fighting men to put them in such an honourable position, thus proving to everyone how deeply he hated Russia and loved Holstein.
The month of May brought forth some of the first flowers in the garden of the Krylenko house. The beautiful hue of colours, red, yellow, white and pink made Alexandreya think more and more of Bratz. The flowers would be out there too, in their thousands and she was not there to wander through the grounds and pick them in handfuls to decorate her room. The old, gnarled tree outside her bedroom window would be covered in pale pink blossoms and she was not there to sit beneath its shade. How much longer before Natasha made up her mind?
Alexandreya knew she was taking advantage of Vladimir's prolonged absences to meet her lover again and had warned her of the possibility of being discovered. With apparently no thought to gossip, Natasha had begun visiting Andre Bruckner at the house of a friend, not two streets away from her own home, often remaining out until the early hours of the morning. On frequent occasions, Alexandreya was forced to he blatantly to Vladimir by pretending her sister had retired to bed early. To allay his suspicions, she often found it necessary to have supper with him or a glass of wine before she went to her own room. Her position became increasingly more difficult, for he showed little or no concern over the wife supposedly ill in bed, and began to seek the company of his sister-in-law with disturbing regularity.
Natasha entered her sister's room one night, scarcely a few minutes after the front door had closed behind Vladimir. She was dressed to go out.
"Alexa, I must speak with you before I go."
Alexandreya put aside the book she was reading and looked up, somewhat surprised to find her sister's earlier good humour had vanished. She looked quite pale and worried.
"What is it?"
"About returning to Bratz with you. I shall be able to tell you tonight when we can leave."
"Lieutenant Bruckner is to come with us?"
"I think so. He isn't sure." Natasha bit her lip. "He thinks Vladimir knows about us."
Alexandreya tensed in her chair. Oh, no, she thought, anything but that.
"Why, what has happened?"
"Nothing definite, it's just his attitude," Natasha answered, her eyes clouding. "Andre is sure Vladimir has planted spies in the barracks, because two of his friends were arrested the other day. He feels he is under constant observation and is afraid to trust anyone. Vladimir keeps giving him extra duties and talks about sending him to the garrison at Molinsk at the end of next month to keep the peasants in order. What if it is a trick? Alexa, Vladimir could have him killed or worse, sent to Siberia. No one would ever know."
"I am sure he would not do such a thing," Alexandreya protested. "After all, Andre is not the first rival, he has had. That is not meant unkindly, 'Tasha, but he didn't kill any of the others, did he?"
"It was different then and he knows it," Natasha answered. "Besides, he cares little how many men I have as long as I stay here. It would be another matter if I left him and came home with you. Once it was obvious Andre had followed me, he would be the laughing stock of St. Petersburg. To prevent it, I know he would kill Andre - and me too."
Alexandreya felt an icy hand of fear clutch at her heart.
If it was true, Vladimir might be making plans at that very moment.
"Don't go out tonight," she appealed to her sister. ''Send Anya with a note. Arrange to meet again soon at the hunting-lodge, then we can go together to avoid .suspicion."
"Dmitri has asked us not to use it while he is away. He has to be careful now, too. His friendship with Andre has been questioned."
"By whom?"
"The Czar Peter, I believe. I heard him talking to Andre about it before he left for Moscow. The Grand Duchess was sending him out of harm's way for a few weeks. Didn't you know he had gone?"
"No, no, I did not." Alexandreya rose quickly to her feet, not wanting to get involved in a discussion of her personal affairs. "Is there somewhere else you could meet Andre? A safer place perhaps?"
"It will be better if I make this our last-meeting for a while. He will understand, but if I don't go, he will worry." Natasha smiled and kissed her sister affectionately. "Bless you for being such a dear, I don't know how I would manage without you. Don't wait up for me. Andre has the whole evening off, and so I shall stay with him until quite late."
After she had gone, Alexandreya returned to her book, but found it impossible to concentrate. The thought of Vladimir knowing the truth frightened her considerably, but overshadowing this was an even greater fear - that the Czar had at last found a reason to have Dmitri's head on a spike. He had joked over it, believing it could not happen, yet Catherine had thought it advisable to send him away from St. Petersburg as a safety measure.
For how long, she wondered - a week - a month? She might well be on her way back to Bratz before he returned and perhaps it would be as well. Despite his attitude, particularly the forceful half of his nature which greatly alarmed her, she had become dangerously attracted to him. She retired to bed early and lay worrying in the four-poster bed for many hours before sleep claimed her.
The sound of doors being slammed noisily rudely awakened her. She sat up in bed, reaching for her wrap and listening for the sound of her sister entering the adjoining room. Instead she heard Vladimir's voice raised in anger, and Natasha's, shrill with pain, followed by the unmistakable crashing of furniture.
Alexandreya slid out of bed and flung herself at the communicating door, knowing instantly the worst had happened. A terrible scene met her eyes. Her sister lay sobbing on the floor, her loose, hair scattered around her face in wild disorder. One sleeve of her dress had been torn completely away and on her shoulder, red weals were already beginning to show where her husband had struck her.
Vladimir swayed drunkenly over her prostrate form, clutching a riding-whip.
"Stop it." Alexandreya screamed as he raised it to hit Natasha again. "Stop it!"
"This is between husband and wife," Vladimir shouted, and gave Alexandreya a violent push as she caught at his arm, sending her reeling back against the door.
"Alex, don't, he's mad drunk!" Natasha was struggling to pull herself upright. There was blood at the corners of her mouth. "No one can stop him."
"Shut your mouth, you treacherous bitch." Vladimir lashed out at her with the whip, almost losing his balance in the process.
"I'll go for help." Alexandreya ran to the bell-rope and tugged at it frantically. Vladimir barred her escape through the door.
"The servants have orders not interfere. They will not leave their quarters," he sneered. "They know better than to come between a husband and his erring wife." He thrust his face close to Alexandreya's and the vile smell of liquor on his breath made her feel sick. "Do you know what this sweet-faced little sister of yours has done, do you?" he demanded.
"Whatever it is you have no right to beat her like an animal," she retorted. "Get out of this room, or I swear I'll fling wide the windows and scream for help."
Vladimir's small brown eyes darted over the angry face defying him, and even in his drunken state he knew she was not afraid of him. He wanted her to be afraid; to go down on her knees and crawl on the floor, begging for mercy as her sister had done.
"I am waiting for you to leave, Major Krylenko," Alexandreya said in a more authoritative tone of voice.
A look of intense hatred flashed across Vladimir's eyes as he looked from one woman to the other.
"Your sister and I have a slight matter to settle, Countess. I prefer we do so without an audience."
Natasha screamed as she saw her sister seized by the shoulders and propelled forcibly into her own room. Vladimir came out again, locking the door behind him and retrieved his fallen whip from the floor.
"Now, my dear wife, where were we?"
When Anya brought hot milk for her mistress the following morning, she found the door locked from the outside. Muttering, she turned the key and went in, to find Alexandreya not in bed, but fast asleep against the communicating door. She put down the milk, spilling some on the carpet in her hurry to be rid of it, and stretched out a tentative hand to touch her mistress's shoulder.
"My lady, are you all right?"
Alexandreya opened heavy-lidded eyes. She had not been dozing long and was still exhausted from the all-night vigil. Memory flooded back. She started up, clutching at Anya's outstretched hand to gain her feet.
"What time is it?"
"Eight o'clock, my lady."
"Has Major Krylenko left for the palace yet?"
"Yes, some while ago. He left instructions that there would only be two for lunch. Mrs. Krylenko will be having all her meals in her room today."
"Of that I am sure." Alexandreya tried the door. It was still locked; there was no answer to her insistent knocking.
"I heard shouting in the night," Anya said, "and I wanted to come and see if you were all right, but the others would not let me leave my room. They said the Major was in a drunken temper and no one was to go near him." She was tempted to ask why all the doors seemed to be locked, but tactfully declined. Her mistress looked tired and worried.
"Come with me," Alexandreya said.
She went out into the corridor and tried the outside door to Natasha's room; it yielded to her touch. She said a silent prayer as she turned the handle and entered. The room was a shambles. Chairs overturned, torn clothes strewn over the floor, drawers half open, their contents littered everywhere.
"The curtains quickly. Let us have some light in here," Alexandreya ordered. Carefully she picked her way across to the bed. A sudden shaft of light burst into the room and cut across the motionless figure on the coverlet.
"Heaven protect us," Anya muttered and crossed herself.
"Send someone for a doctor, Anya, and then bring hot water and ointment. The brute - the cruel despicable brute-"
Sobbing incoherently, Alexandreya cradled her sister's head in her lap and stroked the matted hair away from her face. Natasha's cheeks were ashen and her hands ice-cold. She lay as if one dead.
Between them, Alexandreya and Anya undressed the unconscious Natasha, washed and smoothed sweet-smelling herbal ointments into her skin and then tucked her up between fresh sheets. By the time they had finished and order had been restored to the room, Alexandreya had great difficulty in restraining an urge to call her carriage and take her sister back to Bratz that very morning. Whatever excuses were offered in the future, she made up her mind to return home before the end of the month. Many things had shocked her since her arrival in St. Petersburg, but none so deeply, or so vehemently, as the inhuman treatment Natasha had received. Her sister's disastrous marriage was so different from the idyllic existence her parents had led.
Alexandreya left her sister's side only once that morning, to bathe and dress ready to face Vladimir when he came back to the house for lunch. Returning to Natasha's room she found her slowly coming out of the shocked stupor that had kept her semi-conscious for most of the time. Instantly she sent down to the kitchen for some chicken broth and would not allow any talk until it had been almost finished.
"I'm sorry, I can't." Natasha pushed away the porcelain bowl containing the broth and lay back amid the pillows. Her fingers strayed to the darkening bruise on one temple and tears sprang to her eyes. "I wish I was a man. I would kill him."
"Don't, my dear. He won't touch you again, I'll see to that."
"You won't be able to stop him. No one can when he drinks. He's had a man watching me this past week, spying on me as if I were a criminal. He was waiting for me when I came in last night." Tears spilled down over Natasha's che
eks at the painful recollection. "He sprang out at me as I crossed the hall and knocked me to the ground. He said terrible things, Alexa, I didn't deserve them and then he dragged me up here-" She broke off, her shoulders heaving and it was several minutes before Alexandreya managed to calm her.
"We must settle matters once and for all," she said gently. "We are leaving for Bratz before the end of the month. I will not listen to any arguments," she added as Natasha opened her mouth to protest. "I will not have you subjected to this kind of treatment any longer. I will see Lieutenant Bruckner myself and tell him of my plans. It's up to him after that."
Natasha nodded agreement; she had no will left to fight anyone. Andre had sworn on the Holy Bible that he loved her. When the right moment came for him to join her, he would do so, she was sure. They would begin a new life together and somehow repay Alexandreya for all her kindness and understanding.
"Whatever you think best," she answered quietly.
Alexandreya left her to rest and went downstairs to supervise the preparation of her sister's luncheon tray. Contrary to expectations, Vladimir did not return and she ate alone in the huge dining-room. Towards early evening, after resting for a few hours herself, she summoned her maid and gave her explicit instructions, then she went in to her sister. The face which smiled at her faintly from the mound of pillows bore the slight traces of returning colour, and Alexandreya breathed a silent sigh of relief.
"Are you going out? Alexa, don't leave me alone." Natasha stared wide-eyed at the sight of her sister attired in cloak and gloves. "You promised."
"It will only be for a short while," Alexandreya assured her. "I am going to see Lieutenant Bruckner and tell him you are leaving." She also wanted to make sure that Vladimir had taken no disciplinary action against his junior officer - or that of a more personal nature. "I have sent Anya to him with a message to meet me at the West Gate. She is the only one I dare trust on such an errand."
"You will not tell him what Vladimir has done to me?"