Both of them agreed about its attractions, and the girl spoke of society there as both gay and civilised; but they had been talking for only a few moments when the coach pulled up behind a line of others and, shortly afterwards, set them down.
The French Embassy was a miniature palace with a fine entrance hall, now thronged with dominoes slowly making their way up a broad, shallow staircase towards a landing where the Marquis and Marquise de Pons were receiving their guests. They were masked and made no attempt to probe the identity of the men and women with whom they formally exchanged bows and curtsys at the stair-head; so Roger passed on with his new friends into the ballroom.
The fiddles were just striking up for the second dance, and Roger seized the opportunity to lead the girl out to a gavotte, during which, from politeness more than interest, he at once began to flirt with her. He soon found that she was an adept at the art and her green eyes gave him ample encouragement as he whispered pretty nothings in her ear each time they came together in the movements of the dance.
When it was over he led her into the next salon and endeavoured to find out who she was; but she would not give him a hint and said that he must wait until after midnight to find out. He begged her to give him the first dance following the removal of masks, but she told him that it was already promised and that, much as she would have liked to oblige him, she was already committed to a score of beaux from midnight onwards. On his pretending the most bitter disappointment she laughingly consoled him by saying that Stockholm was such a small place that he would be certain to have many opportunities of seeing her in the future if he wished.
A tall domino then came up and asked her for the next dance. As the newcomer offered his arm to lead her away Roger noticed that his left hand was encased in a black kid glove, suggesting that it was either malformed or injured in some way.
Left to his own devices Roger amused himself for a little by making a tour of the fine run of reception rooms. Then he asked half-a-dozen ladies to dance; but none of them particularly intrigued him. He had as yet had no opportunity to judge if the green-eyed girl was really good-looking, but all that her mask left revealed of her features suggested that she was, and the fact that she had refused him a dance for after midnight because she was already promised to a string of beaux gave strong support to the assumption. Looks apart, she certainly had personality and wit, as was borne in upon him more sharply from contrast with the comparative insipidity of the other young women that he led out on to the floor.
As the evening wore on he realised that she had possessed a certain subtle attraction, of which he had not been fully conscious until he began to think about her after she left him; so he decided to try to find her again. But it proved no easy matter to pick her out among the scores of women, all of whom were masked and most of whom had flowers and feathers in their high-dressed powdered hair. All the dominoes were of plain colours and the fact that she had been wearing one of lilac was of no great help, since all the ladies were in pastel shades of blue, pink or mauve.
Once, he felt certain he had identified her, but she was taking part in a minuet at the far end of the ballroom, and as the crowd of dancers left the floor he lost sight of her again. It was now nearing midnight so he gave up the attempt and consoled himself with the thought that she had definitely encouraged him to develop their acquaintance during his stay in Stockholm. No doubt she had refused to commit herself later that night only for the purpose of leading him on; her tantalising smile had certainly conveyed that impression.
Roger decided that this must be his lucky night. Within a bare twelve hours of his landing in Sweden he had been received at the French Embassy, and by a fortunate accident, had the prospect of developing an affaire with an unusually intriguing young woman. He was not of a type to take no for an answer, and made up his mind that as soon as the company removed their masks he would find her again, and by hook or by crook, persuade her to give him another dance.
The pre-midnight dance ended and the throng swarmed out to shed its dominoes in the ante-chambers, returning still masked but in all the splendour of silk, velvet, satin and brocade, to line the sides of the ballroom four deep. A file of footmen entered carrying silver salvers loaded with glasses of champagne, which they handed to the guests. The Ambassador and his wife emerged from the crowd at one end of the room, leading deferentially between them a regal-looking woman; a little cortège of older men and women wearing the stars and sashes of orders formed up behind them, someone called for silence and in a high, precise voice their host made a short speech.
He said how greatly they all regretted that His Majesty King Gustavus was still detained by his labours at Carlscrona, but how highly they were honoured by having his august consort, Queen Sophia Magdalena, in their midst. At this point, the regal-looking lady unmasked, disclosing the handsome but rather sad features of a woman in her late thirties. Everyone else then unmasked and made her a deep obeisance.
She smiled graciously round on them and gave the Ambassador her hand to kiss; after which he continued his speech, asking them to drink long life and happiness to his sovereigns, King Louis XVI and Queen Marie Antoinette, in this, the opening of the fifteenth year of their reign.
When the health had been drunk and the cheers subsided the Queen was led to a canopied chair on a low dais; and on her having signified that the merriment should continue the richly dressed crowd began to mingle, friends greeting one another gaily and the men who had met attractive partners while masked endeavoured to identify them again.
As soon as Roger could get near enough to do so he made himself known to the Marquis de Pons, and thanked him for having so kindly invited him to the ball. The Ambassador was a dapper, alert-eyed little man of about forty. He inquired after la Houze, asked Roger to come to breakfast two days later to give him the news from Copenhagen, then presented him to the Marquise.
She was considerably younger than her husband, not strictly beautiful, but extraordinarily soignê, and possessed a rather roguish mouth and eyes. Roger was keeping a sharp look-out for his charmer of the coach but he knew that he was now on duty, and although his rank was hardly sufficient to warrant it, he boldly asked his hostess for the dance that was just starting.
Taking her lower lip between her pretty teeth she gave one swift look at the elderly group surrounding the Queen, then smiled into Roger’s deep blue eyes, and whispered: ‘I shall lose my reputation by treading a measure with a handsome young gallant instead of devoting myself to those stupid old Generals.’
He returned her smile. ‘Rather, Madame, will your reputation be enchanced, from your charity in taking pity on a fellow-countryman who is a stranger in a strange land.’
‘Ah, yes; we are both exiles,’ she sighed. ‘And what would I not give to be back at Versailles! Lead me out then, Monsieur; talking to you will remind me of its gaieties, and make me forget this poor unhappy Queen.’
During the dance Roger whispered the same sweet nothings into the ear of the Ambassador’s wife that he had in that of the green-eyed girl some hours earlier, and she responded with even greater finesse. When the music stopped he sought to lead her away to one of the sitting-out places, but she shook her head. ‘Alas, Monsieur, I must return to my duties; but ’twas a pleasant interlude. I pray you come often to see us while you are in Stockholm and lighten the ennui of my lot here by talk of our fair France.’
‘Madame; to be with you is to lose all regret that I ever left it,’ he replied gallantly; thinking once more what a lucky evening it was for him; since the friendship of the charming woman at his side might prove not only delightful in itself but of considerable value in his mission.
As they were moving back towards the end of the room where the Queen sat surrounded by a little court, Roger suddenly caught sight of the green-eyed girl. She was, as he had supposed, very slim, and definitely good-looking in a queer, unusual way.
‘Can you tell me, Madame?’ he asked quickly. ‘Who the tall fair lady is, over
there? The one wearing the splendid emeralds and in a primrose dress covered with little silver stars.’
The Marquise shot him a sideways glance from her chinablue eyes and asked in a slightly piqued voice: ‘Are you attracted by her?’
‘Nay, Madame,’ he lied. ‘I could not be attracted by anyone while in your company. ’Tis only that on the way here her coach broke down, and I carried her and her elderly cavalier here in mine.’
‘You are forgiven,’ smiled the Marquise. ‘But even had you been, I would have been charitable enough to warn you to beware of her. She is a young widow with a curiously malicious turn of humour. ’Tis said that her favours can be won, but when she tires of her beaux she has a most unpleasant trick of making fools of them afterwards. Her name is Natalia Andreovna Stroganof and she is the daughter of the Russian Ambassador, Count Razumofsky.’
Roger saw that the green-eyed lady had also recognised him, and was now regarding him with a seductive little smile. As he smiled back he could hardly believe his good fortune in having so swiftly and effortlessly acquired an entrée into the heart of both the French and Russian camps. It seemed indeed a lucky evening; but had he been able to foresee the future he would have fled the ballroom there and then.
9
The Uncrowned Queen
When they reached the outer fringe of the Queen’s circle, Madame de Pons told Roger to remain where he was, and went forward herself to speak to her Royal guest. After a moment she returned to say that she had obtained permission to present him, then led him forward to make his bow.
The Queen smiled wistfully at him and beckoned to him with her fan. As he advanced, bowing again with each step, he wondered why she looked so sad and had been referred to by the Marquise as ‘this poor, unhappy Queen.’ He knew nothing about her except that she was the sister of Christian VII, the mad King of Denmark, and had been married to Gustavus of Sweden for some twenty years.
On learning that he had just arrived from Copenhagen she inquired after her brother and her nephew the Prince Regent, then, after a few minutes of not very inspiring conversation she said she hoped that Roger would enjoy his stay in Sweden, and gave him her hand to kiss as a sign that the audience was over.
As soon as he was free Roger went in search of the green-eyed lady, now more determined than ever to pursue his acquaintance with her, not only from pleasure but as the best possible line for gaining information which would be useful to him in his task.
He found that she was dancing with a tall fair man of about thirty, and after a moment, noticed that his left hand was encased in a black kid glove; so he was evidently the masked gallant who had claimed her earlier in the evening. Roger waited patiently for the dance to end, then followed the couple as they left the ballroom with the intention of learning where they meant to sit out, and giving them ten minutes or so together before making another attempt to persuade the young widow to give him a dance.
Green-eyes and her escort went down the grand staircase and entered a salon on its right, where a handful of people were partaking of refreshments from a long buffet. As Roger followed he saw a fat elderly man, who was standing by himself, set down his glass of wine, bow to the girl and say something to her cavalier; upon which both men bowed to her, evidently asking her permission to have a word apart; she nodded to them and went on alone through a doorway into a further room.
Seeing his opportunity Roger hastened his pace, passed the two men, who were now conversing earnestly together, and followed his quarry into the next room. In one glance he saw that it was a small library and empty except for the girl, who had advanced to the window and was standing with her back towards him. With a wicked little smile he softly closed the door behind him and shot the bolt.
On hearing his footfall she turned and gave an exclamation of surprise at seeing Roger instead of her cavalier.
As he stood there smiling at her he had his first opportunity of really taking in her features. Natalia Andreovna was twenty-five years of age. Her bust was small, almost flat for that period when abundant curves were the fashion, and this gave the impression that she was even thinner than was in fact the case. Above her green eyes, narrow, darkish eyebrows slanted upwards towards her temples in strange contrast to her ash-blonde hair. Her cheekbones were high; her face a long oval. Her nose was short and her mouth thin, but her head was beautifully set on a long swan-like neck. Her physical charms were unusual but strongly compelling.
Raising the tapering eyebrows she said with feigned hauteur: ‘What means this, Monsieur?’
Roger retained his impudent grin and bowed. ‘Merely the claiming of the promise you made me, Madame.’
‘I made you no promise.’
‘By inference you did. ’Twas at your suggestion that we retained our incognito until midnight. And the reason you gave for that was that it would be more romantic to do so. No romance could flourish in a crowd, so I assumed that I had your permission to seek you out alone.’
Her eyes held no anger but a faint amusement as they ran over his tall, muscular figure, his healthily-bronzed face, strong white teeth and long, well-made hands.
‘Permit me to make myself known to you,’ he went on. ‘I am the Chevalier de Breuc, of Strasbourg, and your most humble servant. Nay, more. If you would have it so, I am already your adoring slave.’
She smiled. ‘And I am the Baroness Stroganof, but ….’
The door handle rattled sharply; then there came a swift knock on the door.
’Tis my partner, Count Yagerhorn!’ she exclaimed.
Roger put his finger to his lips to enjoin silence, tiptoed quickly forward, took her by the hand and turning her about pulled her gently towards the window.
‘Monsieur!’ she whispered. ‘What—what are you about to do?’
‘Why, carry you off,’ he whispered back with a low laugh. ‘Is not climbing in and out of windows the very essence of romance?’
The knocking came again, louder and more imperative.
‘But Count Yagerhorn!’ she protested quickly. ‘I cannot leave him thus. And your having locked the door compromises me sadly. Unless you let him in at once and make him an apology he may challenge you to fight.’
Roger had thrust up the lower half of the window. It was only a four foot drop to the broad stone terrace that overlooked the bay.
‘ ’Tis against my religion to apologise to any man,’ he declared gaily. ‘But if the Count wishes to fight let me at least rob him of more than two minutes’ converse with you as a cause for shedding his blood. Come, I will go first, and catch you as you jump.’
Suiting the action to the word he scrambled out on to the terrace and, turning, held up his arms to her.
She leaned forward, her green eyes narrowed in. a speculative look. ‘You seem mightily cocksure of a victory, Monsieur. I wonder are you truly as bold as your words imply?’
‘Try me, and see,’ he laughed, stretching up to take her hand. ‘I’d fight half-a-dozen men for a kiss from you.’
‘If I’ve ever a mind to test you as a champion I’ll take you up on that,’ she smiled. Then, suddenly deciding that this tempestuous new beau offered more prospect of amusement than her recent partner, she stepped up on to the low sill and jumped lightly down.
As Roger caught her in his arms he drew her body swiftly against his own and kissed her firmly on the mouth. She made no attempt to stop him and for a full minute they clung together mouth pressed to mouth.
‘La! Monsieur,’ she exclaimed breathlessly as they drew apart. ‘I had no idea that any man other than a Russian could make so bold with a woman on so short acquaintance.’
‘Nor I,’ he countered, ‘that any woman not of French blood had the temperament to lend her lips so well to a first kiss.’
She smiled at him. ‘Then you have never visited my country, Monsieur, Russian men have no opinion of a woman who pretends to get the vapours at a peck.’
‘ ’Tis most fitting that our countries should now be allies, then, fo
r our minds on that are of a kind.’ As he spoke he threw his right arm round her waist and gave her another, even longer, kiss.
‘Enough!’ she gasped. ‘Enough! And now, Monsieur; having got me out here what is it your intention to do with me?’
‘Were it high summer I could suggest a score of things,’ he said lightly, ‘but I fear for you the chill of the night air in that thin dress. Having separated you from the Count my first objective is achieved; so I can but take you indoors again by another route, and hope to find a secluded corner where I can tell you how ravishing I find you.’
She shrugged. ‘I vow you say that to every woman that you meet.’
‘Nay, Madame. Only to those who make my heart beat faster, and if you have a single doubt that you do that, I pray you give me your hand that I may place it on my pulse.’
‘Maybe I’ll apply the test on some other occasion,’ she laughed. ‘But you are right about it being too cold to dally here tonight. Take me within and you shall tell me all about yourself.’
With their arms round one another’s waists they strolled along the terrace, and reaching some shrubberies at the side of the house embraced again in their deep shadow. For a few moments she let him caress her then, with an eel-like movement wriggled away, exclaiming: ‘Nay, nay! ’Tis not the time or place for such familiarities. Nor am I the woman to permit them.’
Her last statement was so much at variance with her first that Roger had difficulty in preventing himself from laughing; but the darkness enabled him to conceal his amusement. The slim Russian’s temporary complaisance had given ample promise that she held fire enough to melt one of her native icebergs, and he was well content to have made such swift progress with her. So soothing her pretended indignation with appropriate phrases of contrition he led her back into the house by a side door.
The Shadow of Tyburn Tree Page 21