by The Countess
Madeleine went white. She stared into his angry face, her lips trembling. His usefulness as a pawn was momentarily forgotten. He preferred this pink-cheeked girl to her and the insult was unforgivable. He would pay dearly for it. With a supreme effort she bit back a volley of malicious words which rose in her throat. He was too dangerous an adversary for her to tackle in a hasty moment, but the Countess Alexandreya Romanova was a different proposition.
"Will you be coming back to St. Petersburg tonight?" She tried to make it sound like an invitation.
"No, I shall stay overnight at Peterhof. Perhaps in a day or two-"
"And I will make you forget she ever existed," Madeleine promised. With luck, by that time the life's flame of that accursed woman would have been extinguished.
That afternoon Dmitri rode out of the palace at the head of the Cossack Imperial Guard escorting the gold carriage carrying Catherine on her journey to Peterhof. He looked in vain for a sign of Alexandreya as he passed the house and felt oddly deflated she had chosen to ignore his departure. At least she could have watched him go, even if it was only as a last defiant gesture to prove how safe she felt now they were never to see each other again.
The cavalcade passed down the main street and turned a corner out of sight. Alexandreya moved back from the window, dried her eyes and went to finish her packing.
At seven-thirty that evening, Captain Shvorin and two soldiers entered the room of Lieutenant Andre Bruckner in the palace barracks. Two more Holstein guards watched the door, another couple remained with the horses at the rear entrance.
Despite fierce protests, the unfortunate scapegoat was stripped and subjected to search. When nothing incriminating was found on his person, the contents of the room came under rigid inspection. The letters Vladimir Krylenko had planted were found in a notebook. One of them contained Natasha's name.
In the struggle which ensued, Andre was rendered unconscious, dragged outside and tied on to a horse. Under cover of darkness the long ride was made to the ill-famed prison fortress of St. Peter and St. Paul, on the island bearing that name some twenty miles outside the city. There he was given into the tender mercies of the Czar's chief inquisitor.
Early next morning Madeleine de Veaux received Captain Shvorin in her private sitting-room and listened with growing satisfaction to his report.
"You have done well, Major Krylenko will be pleased," she said. "How soon before the man breaks?"
"He is strong, but he will not last out the day." "Good. Repeat the rest of your instructions."
"I am to post men on the road to Minsk to wait for the coach containing the woman Natasha Krylenko. They will have orders to kill her out of sight of her companion and make it look like an accident. The other woman is to be brought back here to St. Petersburg. I shall return to the fortress and obtain a confession from the traitor Bruckner and then ride to Peterhof to the Major."
"Excellent." Madeleine rose from her chair, studying the face of the slightly-built man before her. She had been told he obeyed orders without question; now she would find out if this was true.
"There is a minor change in our original plan, Captain. I have since discovered the Countess Romanova is far more dangerous than the Major realised. It was she who first suggested her sister should spy on her own husband. However, to have her arrested and tortured -" she shrugged her shoulders meaningly. "She bears an honoured name and there are those who would make unnecessary trouble over it. But should she also have an unfortunate accident- Do you understand me?"
"You wish me to have this woman killed too?" Captain Shvorin asked slowly.
He was in Major Krylenko's confidence to a certain extent and he knew of Madame de Veaux's activities. A job well done for her could mean a word of praise in the right ear and the chance of promotion, perhaps. He was a married man with eight children - who was he to have a conscience?
"An unfortunate accident," Madeleine repeated. "Dress a couple of your men as peasants and have them lie in wait for the coach. The road runs through the forest and they will be able to choose a desolate spot. Soldiers in uniform are too conspicuous and we want no questions asked, do we? No one must remain alive. Strip the bodies of all valuables so that it will appear they were murdered by robbers. That way two enemies of our Czar will have been eliminated without the finger of suspicion ever falling on us. Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly, Madame."
Madeleine gave him her hand with a smile.
"Do this to my satisfaction and I shall speak highly of you to the Major."
"I shall not fail you, Madame."
"You will pay for any mistakes with your life," Madeleine answered softly and dismissed him.
She spent the following hour in her bedroom searching methodically through the closets for a dress to wear when Dmitri visited her. It would, after all, be an occasion for celebrating, and she wanted to look her best.
Natasha stared out of the carriage window at the road winding behind them, her face drawn and anxious. They had left St. Petersburg over two hours ago, yet there was still no sign of Andre Bruckner.
"Something is wrong, I can feel it," she said.
"Give him a little more time, dear. Remember he has to leave unnoticed and he must ride hard to catch up with us." Alexandreya did her best to sound reassuring, although she herself was growing worried by his absence.
"Could we not stop for a while?" Natasha looked at her pleadingly, but she shook her head.
"Not here, we are still too close to the city. In another hour, perhaps."
Alexandreya turned to look out of the window at the trees flashing by. They were on the forest road and,she realised they must be close to the hunting-lodge. How she wished Dmitri would come riding out to bid her farewell. Soon the carriage would leave the main track and head across country, away from the lodge and the man she loved.
Natasha grew more agitated as the minutes slipped by. After only a short silence she spun round on Anya, dozing in a corner, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"Anya didn't deliver the message. She lied, otherwise
Andre would be here by now. He knows how I worn about him."
"Natasha, for goodness' sake be sensible. He'll come, but your continual worrying won't give his feet wings. Anya has never lied to me and I don't believe she would start now. He has the message and we must just be patient." Alexandreya's sharp tones quietened her sister momentarily.
The sound of a shot rang out, followed by a muffled cry. Anya screamed as a dark shape fell past the window.
"My God," Alexandreya cried. "Who is shooting at us?" Anya was kneeling up at the window, a horrified expression on her face.
"They look like robbers, my lady. Heaven preserve us, we shall all be killed."
The carriage lurched and rolled, throwing them all to the floor. There came a terrible rending noise and the whole world seemed to spin before Alexandreya's eyes. The sound of screaming echoed and re-echoed through her brain as she hurtled down into a black, bottomless pit.
The murmur of voices reached Alexandreya's dulled brain, then coarse laughter and the agony of a woman's screams again. She tried to move, but her limbs were too weak. She at last managed to raise her head and found that she was no longer in the coach, but lying on muddy ground a few feet away from it. Of the driver and the manservant Michael there was no sign, and she knew instinctively that they were dead. All the baggage had been taken down and opened. Dresses were strewn for yards around. There was no sign of Natasha.
Her eyes came to rest on the two men bending over something on the ground. They were dressed like peasants, rough-shaven and unkempt. She shuddered and tried again to rise. Anya - where was her maid? They had to escape from these men before they slit their throats.
One of them straightened and wiped the blood-streaked knife he held against the leg of his breeches with a laugh. Alexandreya, who had managed to sit up, gave a dreadful cry which sent them wheeling around in her direction. Before her on t
he ground lay Natasha, her face and hair covered in blood, and beyond, little Anya. Both were undoubtedly dead.
She dragged her gaze from the pathetic huddle that had once been a pretty, cheerful girl and stared into the leering faces confronting her.
"Murderers! Swine!" she cried.
"So one of the fine ladies is still alive," one of the men chuckled.
"What do you want? Money, jewels? I have both. Take them, but for pity's sake, leave me alone. Haven't you enough on your conscience with the death of that innocent girl - and my servants?"
"We have your money, lady, and the jewels."
"Not quite all."
The second man, with a thin face and cruel mouth, leaned over her as she cowered back and tore the necklace from her throat and then the rings from her fingers. He ripped the diamond brooch from her gown with such violence that he tore it completely from the shoulder.
"Let me go," Alexandreya pleaded. "I will pay you well. I have a great deal of money."
The two men exchanged smiles and she knew they had no intention of allowing her to live. Her fingers closed around a jagged stone behind her; stealthily she gripped it tight. She saw in the leering expressions that she was not to be spared any humiliation.
As the thin-faced man bent over her again, his hand fastening in the front of her bodice, she lashed out at his head with the stone, using the last of her strength. He gave a groan and toppled to the ground, blood welling down over his face. She was not allowed to use her weapon a second time. The other murderer threw himself upon her, wrenched it from her grasp and flung it aside.
His hands clawed frantically at her dress, ripping it open. She felt his foul breath on her cheek, her bare skin. She wanted to scream, but his mouth was on hers and he was laughing, enjoying her pathetic attempts to free herself. He had no scruples about killing servants - or a fine lady - he was obeying orders after all, and if he managed to get a few minutes' pleasure from his unfortunate female victims, it was his good fortune. It made no difference to them in the end. It was a pity that the other one had had her head split open when the coach overturned.
He was too engrossed with Alexandreya to notice the horseman who reined in behind him, watching the scene with contemptuous feelings. He first knew of his presence when a whip cut across his back and the voice of his commanding officer ordered,
"Release her at once, you dog! None of you can be trusted to carry out orders. I knew I should have to take care of this myself."
"Captain!" The man sprang to his feet, silently cursing. "It was only a little fun. What does it matter?"
"Nothing, to you. Your orders were to attack and kill, not rape and kill." The whip cut across the solder's face. "Get back to the others. I'll finish her off. What about Dubinsky? Where is he?"
"Here. The bitch hit him with a stone."
Captain Shvorin dismounted and knelt to examine the fallen man.
"He's dead. You'll wish it was you before I'm through. We'll leave him here, it will make the whole thing look more convincing. Rejoin the others."
"Yes, Captain."
Captain Shvorin watched him ride away, his face dark with anger. Slowly he took out his revolver. Alexandreya lay unconscious at his feet, her dirt-streaked face half covered by the mass of loose red hair. If she recovered from this ordeal, she could wander for days without being found. The forest was full of wild animals; alone and unprotected, she would not survive a single night. He knew he should kill her as Madeleine de Vaux had ordered, but he could not, for Captain Shvorin not only had a conscience, but a heart. She looked no older than his eldest daughter. If she lived despite everything, it was God's will - not his.
He fired two quick shots into the air, remounted his horse and rode off.
The forest was unusually quiet. Nothing stirred in the leafy branches of the trees, or by the wrecked coach. Alexandreya had covered the bodies with a cloak before stumbling off into the forest. She had no sense of direction, and for a long while after the painfully slow return to consciousness, had been out of her mind with the shock and terror of what had happened.
Clutching the front of her bodice together with one hand, she pushed her way through the bushes, calling for help until her throat grew sore. No one answered, no help came. She tried to find a path which would lead her back to the road, but only managed to get herself completely lost. The trees seemed to close in around her, the tall branches over her head entwining to shut out the light.
Thought of Natasha spurred her on when her strength failed, but soon her legs gave way beneath her and she sank to the ground, exhausted and crying.
Something scurried through the undergrowth at her side. She glimpsed a dark, furry shape and cried out, not knowing if it were a harmless animal or perhaps a wolf. As she tried to gain her feet, panic-stricken, a tall figure loomed up before her and her wrist was caught in a grip of steel. Immediately she thought that one of the robbers had tracked her down to finish what he had started. She almost fainted when a familiar voice demanded,
"By all that's holy, what are you doing out here?" Dmitri's face grew pale as he moved closer and saw the state of her clothing. "My God, have you been attacked? Was it you I heard calling for help?"
"Let me go!"
Alexandreya kicked and struggled against his powerful grip. The last thread had snapped and in her terror-stricken mind she was unable to recognise him as a friend.
"Be still, you little fool, I won't hurt you."
A hysterical scream broke from her lips. She fought like a tigress until Dmitri struck her across the face. The blow almost rendered her senseless, and it certainly knocked the last resistance from her weakened body. She began to cry incoherently as he lifted her up in his arms and carried her towards the lodge, calling urgently for Sergei.
Dmitri laid Alexandreya down on the long, low couch before a blazing log fire, where not long before he had been reclining, enjoying a peaceful rest after his ride from the palace. He had stayed overnight at Peterhof, drinking with Catherine and the Orloff brothers well into the early hours of the morning.
His eyes, blazing with anger, raked the girl from head to toe. The bodice of her gown had been ripped open from neck to waist and the shift beneath almost completely torn away to expose her breasts. Already dark bruises were beginning to show on her wrists and the upper parts of her arms. There was blood on her hands and around the long, narrow scratches on her shoulders.
"What devilry had happened here?" he muttered.
As he took the blanket Sergei brought him and tucked it around her, Alexandreya's eyes flickered open. He was never to forget the stark fear in her eyes as she recognised her surroundings and the man who bent over her, demanding,
"Who did this to you?"
"The coach was stopped by robbers. Dear heaven, they killed Natasha and Anya - murdered them."
Her voice was hardly audible. Dmitri uttered a savage expletive. He had feared reprisals from Vladimir Krylenko, and this seemed to prove him right. No robber bands had been operating in the forest area for over five years. His Cossacks had made sure of that.
"Alexandreya." He knelt at her side, cupping her face between his hands. "Don't faint, little one. I must know where this happened to you."
The urgency in his voice dragged Alexandreya back from the threatening realms of unconsciousness.
"We were on our way to Bratz - robbers stopped the coach, shot my driver . . . the coach overturned." Slowly, falteringly, often breaking off for long intervals, she related what had happened. When she came to the attempted rape, her eyes filled with tears and she could not look at Dmitri.
"I hit one of them with a stone. I think I killed him." The awful thought chilled her. "What if I have? What will happen to me?"
"Nothing, child, I swear it, but I wish you had left him for me. No matter, there are others I can bring to account for this day's work. I shall gain satisfaction from killing the swine who have inflicted this torture on you."
Drawing her up i
nto the crook of his arm, he made her swallow a little vodka. Alexandreya was silent for some time, then with a stifled sob she turned her face into his shoulder and wept. It was the release of a multitude of emotions which had gathered inside her since she had recovered consciousness; now she was too weak and wretched to control them. When she was calmer, Dmitri laid her back on the couch, pressing her hand reassuringly as her eyes opened in alarm.
"Lie still and rest. I will leave you for a moment only."
"Where are you going?" In Alexandreya's confused mind, she no longer trusted even him.
"You are in no danger here. I will send Sergei to find the man you knocked out and identify him if possible. I am anxious to know who gave him his orders." He smiled, as if understanding her suspicions. "Rest, mala koska."
He found Sergei outside the stables, a horse saddled and waiting.
"You heard what the Countess told me?" The Tartar nodded. "Then go - find this man, he cannot be far from here. She may have killed him, but perhaps, in her fear, she only thinks she did. If he is in the woods, dead or alive, bring him to me."
"And if he was only stunned? Shall I follow his tracks?"
"To Moscow and back, if necessary." Dmitri's face was like granite. "I want to know who is responsible for this outrage. Someone is going to pay. Go - quickly."
He turned abruptly and went back into the lodge. At the sound of his footsteps on the stone floor, Alexandreya started up, clutching the blanket nervously against her.
"I heard a horse ..." she began.
"Sergei." Dmitri halted by the couch, his expression thoughtful. She was still afraid and he could not blame her for that, but it angered him to know that her fear was mainly because of him. "Believe me, you have nothing to be afraid of. Come, you must sleep."
Instinctively she shrank back from him, but he ignored the movement. Lifting her up, he carried her into his bedroom and had laid her on the massive bed before realising she had fainted.
For the next hour, Dmitri remained within calling distance, but Alexandreya did not stir. When the sound of hoofbeats heralded Sergei's return, he hurried outside. His eyes were drawn immediately to the lifeless body tied over the second horse. The blood-streaked features meant nothing to him, but as the Tartar pointed out, was it not odd for a robber peasant to be wearing new issue army boots?