The Ravishing of Lady Mary Ware

by Dennis Wheatley

  ‘But you! How come you to be in St. Petersburg?’

  He shook his head and put a finger to his lips. ‘I’ll tell you later. But by what extraordinary coincidences we meet. Last summer in Richmond Park when I did not even know that you were back in England, and now here, of all places.’

  ‘There was nothing extraordinary about our happening upon each other outside your home, but to do so here is, I agree, passing strange.’ Suddenly Mary’s pretty face became very grave and she went on, ‘Oh, Roger, I cannot say how pleased I am to see you. I am in trouble; most grievous trouble.’

  He smiled. ‘Then you must tell me of it. I doubt not that I can find a remedy and would be most pleased to do so.’

  ‘Not here. We can’t talk here, and I’d prefer not to take you to the place where I am dwelling.’

  ‘We’ll go to the hostelry where I am lying, then, the Laughing Tartar. ‘Tis one of the best in St. Petersburg.’

  Roger collected his twenty-four pounds of marzipan, gave his free arm to Mary and they walked to his inn. In those times no hotelier ever dreamed of questioning the use a gentleman made of the chamber he had hired; so Roger took Mary straight upstairs to his bedroom.

  Throwing his heavy parcel on the bed, he settled Mary in an elbow chair, poured for them both glasses of rabinowka—a liqueur made from blackberries, to which he was partial—and said, ‘Now, tell me the worst, and we’ll see in what way I can help you.’

  She gave a heavy sigh. ‘Roger, I am in desperate straits. I am marooned here, and cannot get home because I have no money.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘I thought your husband was a rich merchant. But let that wait, and start at the beginning. How in the world do you come to be in Russia at all?’

  ‘I, too, believed Mr. Wicklow to be a rich man,’ she replied sadly. ‘And, until a few years ago, he was. But, as is the case with many other merchants, Bonaparte’s Continental System brought about his ruin. When I married him he was already heavily in debt. It was not until later that I learned that. At the time he had hopes of mending his fortune; but, alas, they did not mature. His principal trade had always been with Russia. This spring his creditors were pressing him so hard that he feared to be made bankrupt and thrown into the Debtors’ Prison. He then decided on one last, desperate venture. Secretly, he sold our house and all its contents to a Jew, on condition that the man should not take possession until we were gone from London.

  ‘With the money Mr. Wicklow bought a cargo of such goods as are always easily saleable on the Russian market. He told me nothing of all this, but said I must accompany him on the voyage. As I have ever delighted in sea voyages, and seeing foreign parts, I made no objection. All went well until we entered the Gulf of Finland. There was still much ice about. In the night a storm blew up, and our ship was driven into an iceberg. It was not a large berg, but must have had a big, jagged point below the water. It holed the ship. The sea gushed into the hold and she listed dangerously. The men worked desperately at the pumps; but it was of no avail. Within an hour the ship, with all our cargo, went down.’

  ‘Oh, my dear,’ Roger shook his head. ‘What evil fortune for you.’

  ‘Alas, I have not told you the worst. Half-frozen from the icy water, we succeeded in getting ashore. Some fisher-folk succoured us most generously and did what they could for us in their poor huts. We were no great distance from St. Petersburg, and when we were somewhat recovered made our way here. The people at the English Factory—that is the great, enclosed area with many warehouses in which our merchants store their goods—took us in.’

  ‘I know the place. When I first came to St. Petersburg, I lived there for a while with the chaplain, a delightful and most erudite man, the Reverend William Tooke. But he is long since returned to England.’

  ‘Well, they allotted us a lodging and Mr. Wicklow made a last attempt to restore his shattered fortunes. He had saved his bag of guineas and added to the sum by requesting me to let him sell the few small trinkets I possessed; which, by then knowing his circumstances, I willingly agreed to do But he went about this last endeavour in a most ill-advised manner. He began to frequent a gaming house.’

  ‘The fool! Any merchant should have known better.’

  ‘There I agree, and I became greatly worried. ’Tis not, though, a wife’s place to tell her husband how he should endeavour to increase his capital; and, to begin with, he was very lucky. When I learned that he had amassed quite a considerable sum, I endeavoured to persuade him to take me back to England. But he could not, for he owed so much money there that he would have been lodged in Newgate. Then his luck turned. For three nights in succession he lost heavily. On the fourth morning he confessed to me that he had not a kopek left. We were reduced to beggary.’

  ‘Oh, my poor Mary! When I come face to face with this criminal oaf, I’ll horsewhip the hide off him for having landed you in such an awful situation.’

  ‘No, Roger, you will not. Though he deserves it for having abandoned me.’

  ‘What! Do you mean the villain has made off and left you penniless in a foreign city?’

  ‘He has, indeed, if “made off” is the right expression. But he has gone to a place from which there is no return. Having borrowed from his cronies and in particular an elderly, pockmarked Russian merchant named Suslov, until they would lend him no more, six weeks ago he put a pistol to his head and blew out his brains.’

  ‘Mary! Mary!’ Roger exclaimed in distress. ‘This is the end. No woman could have been cursed with more dire misfortune.’

  ‘But it is not the end.’ Mary was almost weeping. ‘When Mr. Wicklow died, he owed the equivalent of a hundred and sixty pounds to Mr. Suslov. Believing him to be a good friend, in my desperation I have since borrowed from him a further sum upon my note of hand. To do so I must have been out of my wits, but I had not a penny and knew not which way to turn. And now … now, this Mr. Suslov … oh, Roger, he has turned out to be a horrid man, and is physically most repulsive. He has recently demanded that I pay all that is owed to him or he’ll have me sent to prison. That … that is, if I continue to refuse to marry him.’

  ‘God’s death!’ Roger roared. ‘I’ll cut his ears off! I’ll skin the bastard!’

  Mary was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. After a moment she murmured, ‘’Twould serve him right, but that would not get me home.’

  Roger leaned forward and patted her hand. ‘Mary, my dear, I beg you, do not cry. Now I am here your troubles are over. I have ample money and will see to it that you lack for nothing.’

  She sniffed and gave him a pathetic smile. ‘Oh, Roger, ’tis wonderful. I had believed God deaf to my prayers, but He must have sent you to me. I can scarce believe it true. ’Tis little short of a miracle that you should be living in St. Petersburg.’

  Her words suddenly reminded him that, within a few hours, he should be on his way to Moscow. Gravely he said, ‘I can pay your passage home, but would be loath to let you make the voyage without a woman companion, or some honest man known to you who would act as your protector. Do you know anyone at the Factory who is shortly leaving for England, and could act in such a role?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, and you are right, of course. Women are infrequent passengers in ships that ply the Baltic trade, and I’d be frightened to travel unaccompanied. Without conceit, I’d be surprised if the Captain or some other man aboard did not fancy me; and, maybe, tamper with the lock on my cabin door. But if you will pay my debts and make me a small allowance, I’d be happy to stay on here until you are ready to go home yourself.’

  ‘My dear, I am not going home. I have to go to Moscow.’

  ‘Moscow! Can you really mean that? ’Tis in the hands of the French.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I have to go there, and must set out not later than tonight.’

  Her eyes grew wide and her face crumpled. ‘Oh, Roger, no! Please! Only a moment since, I thought myself saved and safe. I implore you, do not desert me.’

  ‘I
’ll not do that,’ he reassured her quickly. ‘I mean, I’ll not leave you stranded. I can give you ample money to pay off this brute Suslov, and to stay on here for some weeks, until you can find someone suitable with whom to return to England.’

  ‘But, Roger dear, old Mr. Suslov is not the only one from whom Mr. Wicklow borrowed money. And they hold me responsible for his debts. Hardly a day passes but one or other of them pesters me. Recently, several of them have hinted that I am cheating them by refusing to marry; for Mr. Suslov has told them that, if I’ll have him, he’ll pay them off. If you must go to Moscow, cannot I come with you?’

  ‘No, Mary. That is out of the question. When we were in Lisbon I concealed it from you; but I have lived for so many years in France that I can pass as a Frenchman, and have often done so in the service of our country. I’ll come to no harm in Moscow, but how could I possibly take an Englishwoman with me?’

  Round-eyed, she stared at him. ‘Do you … do you mean that you are a spy?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes. Do you find such an activity despicable?’

  ‘No. Oh, no. To risk his life in such a fashion a man must be very brave. But I’ve always known you to be that.’

  ‘Thank you, my dear. The fact is that I am here only on a visit. I have been in Moscow ever since the French captured the city, and am expected back there. But you can see for yourself that, if I returned accompanied by an England lady, I should seriously jeopardise my position.’

  ‘I think you wrong in that. I have a gift for languages and my best friend at my seminary was a French girl who, is a small child, had arrived in England as a refugee from the Revolution. To please her, we always talked together in French and, although I could not pass as a French woman, I feel sure no-one would suspect me of lying if I said that I was Flemish, or from the Netherlands.’

  Roger smiled. A sudden memory of Georgina had come into his mind. She had passed herself off in that way on their journey with Augereau from the Moselle to Paris. He then remained thoughtful for some moments.

  Many women had accompanied the Grand Army on its march to Moscow; in a few cases even officers’ wives, who refused to be parted from their husbands. That was also the case in the English and other armies. All Generals were most averse to the practice, but it was a custom that had come down through the centuries, so they could do no more than set a limit to the number of women that the troops should be allowed to take with them on a campaign.

  He could say that he had met Mary in Brussels two years ago. That she had married a Russian who had taken her to St. Petersburg, but her husband had turned out to be a brute; that she loathed the Russians, was French at heart and worshipped the Emperor, so had begged him to take her to Moscow.

  Everyone there would assume she was his mistress. That would not matter; but what did matter was the sort of life she would be forced to lead. Staff officers, such as himself, never took women to war with them. In fact, the only officers who did were men of junior rank who came from the poorer classes. When following the army she would find no companions with a similar upbringing to hers, and would have to live rough. Knowing her to be his property, no other man would dare lay a finger on her, but he thought it certain that the other women, realising that she was an ‘aristo’, would boycott her; and that he could not prevent.

  He told her all this, adding that for the greater part of the time, his duties would prevent him from being with her, and that when the army marched, the women would follow far in the rear; so they might not even see each other for weeks at a stretch.

  Tears starting to her eyes, she pleaded with him. It might be months before she could get a passage back to England, even if she could find an English couple who would act as her protectors; because Captains did not like to have unattached women on board, as the presence of an eligible female often led to trouble with the crew. Even if she could be with Roger only occasionally, and however hard the life, she was prepared to face it. She was also afraid of Mr. Suslov, Even if Roger gave her the money to pay her debt, she would not be rid of him, He was well-off and many people were under obligations to him. She would hardly dare leave her lodging, lest some of them helped him to lay a trap for her. In Russia rich men and nobles often had girls carried off for them. That Suslov had not already attempted something of the kind was, she felt sure, only because he was hoping that she would marry him.

  For once, Roger could not make up his mind what to do. He felt that he could not possibly leave her. On the other hand, he knew far better than she could even imagine the hardships and misery that she would have to endure if he took her with him.

  Then an idea came to him. It was due to his recalling the lovely little ‘Captain of Hussars’ who had been living with Soult at his headquarters in Seville. No-one would have taken her for a young man. She had not even attempted to disguise her sex, but still wore her dark hair long, and rouged her face. But if Mary cut her hair short she could, with her piquant eyebrows and slightly retroussé nose, pass for an impudent lad. She had such small breasts that, if bound flat, they would not give her away, and breeches that were too large for her would disguise her plump little bottom.

  Standing up, he took her by the hand and, with a laugh, pulled her to her feet. ‘Come along, Mary. We’re going shopping. That will cheer you up.’

  Mystified, she accompanied him downstairs and out into the street. Returning to the covered bazaar, they went to the stalls where every kind of clothes was on sale. There he bought her an outfit resembling those worn by the footmen of the Russian nobility. Next, they went to a horse dealer, where she tried out several mounts and settled on a sturdy little chestnut. He also bought suitable saddlery and two large panniers to hold Mary’s belongings, then told the man to send his purchases round to the Laughing Tartar.

  By then it was time for the midday meal. Afterwards they drove down to the docks in a drosky. Having been told that she must take only things she could not do without, Mary went into the English Factory to collect her bits and pieces. She was a long time doing so, and Roger became a little impatient; but when she came out, she told him that she had been giving away to needy people the clothes she could not take, and had had to talk to each of them for a while, giving as her reason for leaving that she was going to marry a rich Finnish gentleman who intended to buy her an entire new outfit, then take her to Helsinki. She had also had to say good-bye to the Factor who, since her husband’s death, had let her have their lodging free of rent, and had made her a small allowance from a fund to succour stranded British seamen.

  By the time they got back to the Laughing Tartar, dusk was falling. Having decided that it was too late to start for Moscow that night, Roger said, ‘I’ll see the landlord and get him to have a room prepared for you.’

  With a little laugh, Mary replied, ‘I don’t think that’s necessary. In Russia it is customary for footmen to sleep outside their master’s door. Although I’d prefer to sleep inside.’

  He gave her a quick look. ‘My dear, you must not think you owe me anything for what I am doing. I’ve not forgotten that I took from you something which I can never repay. And, anyway, I’d do the same for any English girl who was in your wretched position.’ Then he added, on a lighter note, ‘The leopard does not change his spots, you know; and if you do sleep in my room, it will be at your peril.’

  She laughed again. ‘I can’t say you did not warn me, but I’m agreeable to risk it.’

  The dining room of the hostelry was not crowded, and he secured for them a corner table. Over a meal of grey caviar, borsch, bear steaks and jam omelette, washed down with Caucasian sparkling wine and old, hay-scented vodka, they reminisced about their time in Portugal and mutual friends. Toward the end of their dinner, they fell silent and, after a few minutes, Mary said, ‘I think I will go up to our room.’

  Roger ordered himself another vodka and gave her twenty minutes, then he too went upstairs, his heart beating decidedly faster than usual. He had expected to find her in his bed, and felt much di
sgruntled when he saw that she had collected the cushions from two easy chairs and one of the pillows from the bed, then wrapped herself in the eiderdown and was curled up, apparently already asleep, beside the porcelain stove.

  Frowning and greatly disappointed, he undressed, got into bed and blew out the candle. For a few minutes he lay there, unhappily considering this new development. As Mary had been married since their affair in Lisbon, and had refused his offer of a separate room, he thought it mean of her to deny herself to him. Contemplating the future made him still more unhappy, for with Mary in the role of his personal servant he would see a great deal of her, and she would prove a constant temptation to him.

  Suddenly there was a rustle that came from near the stove. Fumbling hands grasped his bedclothes and pulled them aside. Next moment Mary had slipped into bed with him, her arms went round his neck and she kissed him hard on the mouth. When she lifted her head to draw breath, she gave a low laugh and whispered:

  ‘Darling Roger, were you very angry with me? I fooled you beautifully, didn’t I?’

  ‘You little devil,’ he retorted. ‘You don’t deserve to be made love to. Now get out of my bed. Go on, and be quick about it.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ she cried in protest. ‘I want you, Roger, I really do. You warned me that I’d be in peril. I’ve got all my courage up ready to face it. You promised, so you can’t disappoint me.’

  ‘Ah, well, as I’m a man of my word, I suppose I must,’ he conceded. Then, as she pressed herself to him, he exclaimed, ‘Oh, Mary, what a beautiful little body you have! But damn it, girl, stop tickling me, or you’ll spoil everything.’

  When he woke in the morning, he found her snuggled up against him, warm and sweet-smelling, like an overgrown child. Looking down at her dark eyelashes, spread like fans on her rosy cheeks, he thought her still asleep. But she was already awake. As he moved, she opened her eyes and asked:

  ‘Roger, do you know something?’

  ‘Yes, dearest,’ he murmured. ‘Believe it or not, this is Christmas Day. You were made in heaven and Father Christmas brought you to me in the dark from out of the porcelain stove.’