The Shadow of Tyburn Tree

by Dennis Wheatley

  Suddenly he paused. A footfall had sounded on the top step of the spiral stairs. Next moment there came the voice of the Empress. ‘To whom are you talking? Who is that with you down there?’

  The footfalls came again, almost at a run. They were both staring up from under the canopy of the bed at the dimly-lit corner of the ceiling. Before they had time to move apart, the white blob of a face showed, peering down at them over the carved banister-rail.

  With a cry of fear Natalia wriggled off the bed. Roger drew the sheets up round him. Like the knell of doom the Empress’s footfalls echoed hollowly as she descended the remaining stairs. As she approached the bed Natalia floundered into a trembling curtsey.

  ‘So!’ said Catherine coldly. ‘ ’Tis the Baroness Stroganof who thinks fit to pay midnight visits to the chamber in which her mistress lodges her own chosen friends.’

  She swung upon Roger. ‘And you, Chevalier! It seems that you have made a remarkably quick recovery, that you are well enough so soon to wanton with one of my ladies!’

  Thrusting aside the clothes, Roger slipped out of the far side of the bed. Picking up his cloak, that was lying on a chair nearby, he drew it round him; then he came round the foot of the bed and bowed to her.

  He had seen at once that the only course now was to make a clean breast of matters, so he said gravely: ‘Your Majesty has less cause than you can realise for anger. This is no spontaneous amour of the moment in which you have surprised us. I told you, Madame, of my love-affair in Sweden that led to Count Yagerhorn’s attack on me. The Baroness Stroganof was the lady then concerned. I accompanied her to Russia and for the past two months we have been lovers here. ’Twas but natural that, hearing of my condition, the Baroness should come to see for herself how I fared.’

  The Empress looked down at Natalia and said coldly: ‘I recall now that ’twas you who first presented the Chevalier to me, at Count Orlof’s reception. Is what he says the truth? Do you love him?’

  ‘With all my heart, Madame,’ she whispered. ‘I had meant to seek a favourable opportunity of pleading with you to exercise your mercy, and give him his freedom.’

  The clothes that Roger had been wearing that evening were lying on a couch at the foot of the bed. Taking the two parchments from the pocket of the coat and picking up the star of St. Vladimir, he bowed again and offered them to Catherine, with the words:

  ‘Here, Madame, is the title to the estate and the Order that you so generously gave me. Here, too, is the pardon which I fain would have kept. But I pray you take them all. I surrender my future into the keeping of God and your Majesty.’

  Catherine could have annulled all three by a word, but it was a splendid gesture, and she was not the woman to be outdone. With a regal sweep of her hand she cried: ‘ ’Tis not our habit to give a thing one moment and take it back the next. Had the Baroness come to us with the truth she could have had your pardon. As for the other things we are not so poor that we cannot afford to pay well for a good evening’s conversation. Keep them as mementoes of your visit to our Court.’

  As Roger went down on one knee she turned to Natalia.

  ‘Rise child, and go to your room now. Your sovereign has loved enough to know the pains of it, and she still comes by lovers with too great an ease to wish to spoil your romance. You may tell your companions that they may aid your preparations; for ’tis our pleasure that you should be married to the Chevalier tomorrow morning.’

  Natalia and Roger came abruptly to their feet. She gave a cry of joy; he a gasp of dismay. But Catherine had not yet shot her final bolt. Her voice becoming a shade colder she went on:

  ‘We have no desire to be reminded of this episode, so will dispense with the further attendance of either of you upon our person. ’Tis our will that after the ceremony you should depart forthwith, to take up your residence in any town of your choice—provided it be situated in Siberia.’

  19

  Like a Sheep to the Slaughter

  Roger sat on the edge of the bed, a prey to the most shattering emotions. The Empress and Natalia had gone. He had joined his bride-to-be, with apparent sincerity, in rendering thanks for mercy to the arbitress of their fates because he had seen no other course to take. He supposed that, as a lady-in-waiting and the appointed lover of the Empress caught in one another’s arms, they had got off very lightly by merely being sent to reside where they liked in Arctic Russia. And Catherine had no means of knowing that he had grown to hate Natalia Andreovna, so her decree that they should marry had, in the circumstances, been a most humane and generous gesture.

  Yet, for him, her orders amounted to a savage double sentence. The thought of Siberia was, in itself, bad enough. Its terrible desolation; the incredible cold which was said to hold all life there in its grip for eight months of every year; the miserable little towns composed solely of wooden buildings; the lack of cultured society; its uncouth, fur-clad, bear-like inhabitants; the vast distance that it lay from all the capitals of the civilised world. And, in his case, the hardship of exile to this remote and barren land was to be accentuated a hundredfold by being permanently tied to a cruel and violent woman to whom he was hardly even physically attracted any longer.

  Had he been himself, the moment the two women had left him he would have pulled on his clothes and made his bid to escape. As it was he was still feeling sick and giddy, and his mind was half-stunned by the succession of violent shocks that it had sustained. He lost several precious moments before he began, to dress, wondering if he dared beg the Empress to rescind her order that he should marry Natalia, and he had only just finished dressing when the chance to get away was suddenly reft from him.

  Old Katerina Ivanovna suddenly walked in, slammed the door behind her, then stood there for three whole minutes, cursing him for the idiotic way in which he had allowed an intrigue with a lady–in–waiting to ruin his golden prospects with the Empress.

  He was too tired to attempt any explanation; and when the old harridan told him to leave his things where they where and come with her, he obediently followed her out into the corridor.

  She led him past the entrance of the Court theatre and up some stairs to a landing on which two sentries were pacing to and fro. Opening a door, she led him into a comfortably furnished bedroom; then she said:

  ‘You will sleep here. Your marriage will take place at Her Majesty’s usual chapel-hour tomorrow, and she will honour you with her presence. On peril of your life you will say nothing to anyone of what has taken place tonight, or that you have been ordered into exile. The Empress is always most averse to any scandal in connection with her love-affairs, and has forbidden her ladies to mention the matter. The public ceremony is designed to counteract any rumours that she threw her cap at you and you threw it back at her. Had it been myself that you had so insulted I would have had you beaten with the battagues until your backbone was a pulp.’ Having delivered herself of these malicious sentiments, she left him.

  Going to the window he saw that it looked out on a small interior courtyard to which there was no exit, and that it was a twenty-foot drop to the flagstones below. Even if he could have accomplished the descent without breaking his neck he now had neither his money nor his sword with him, so he was forced to abandon as hopeless any further thought of escape.

  Wearily pulling of his clothes he tumbled into bed and lay there turning over wildly impossible schemes for evading the hateful marriage that had been arranged for him. After a while the sleeping-draught took effect and he fell into a troubled slumber, in which he dreamed that he had fallen through a hole in the ice of a frozen river, and that the Natalia Andreovna was standing on the bank laughing at his futile efforts to save himself from drowning.

  He was awakened by two footmen, one of whom drew back the curtains and began to tidy the room while the other brought him breakfast. He ate it in a half-dazed state while grimly going over in his mind the nerve-racking events of the preceding night. No sooner had he finished than the German doctor came in. Havin
g examined Roger and pronounced him fit to resume his normal activities, he spent some time in questioning him as to what he had eaten the day before, in a fruitless effort to trace the cause of the attack. When he had gone the two footmen returned with Roger’s baggage and offered to help him dress. Only then did he realise that he had been left to sleep late and that it was already half-past nine. A quarter of an hour later a barber arrived to do his hair, and on the completion of his toilette the two Chevalier guards who had escorted him from Schlüsselburg appeared.

  Whether or not they knew of the great elevation that had been planned for him they said nothing of it; but they smilingly congratulated him on having received his pardon and on his forthcoming marriage. A tray with wine, vodka and pastries stuffed with caviare was then brought in and his visitors drank his health.

  After two glasses of wine he felt somewhat better; but, rack his brains as he would, he could still think of no way to escape making the green-eyed Baroness Stroganof into Mrs. Roger Brook; and now there was no further time to do so, as one of his companions remarked that the hour had come for them to proceed to the chapel.

  As they left the room Roger placed himself between them and they took him through the covered passage that led to the parent palace, then along several corridors till they reached a pair of doors that opened into the Imperial basilica.

  A huge painting of God the Father occupied the whole ceiling and a row of gilt Ionic columns soared to it on either side, but an incongruous note was struck by the walls being covered with tawdry and ill-executed pictures of Russian saints. A gilt rail ran across its far end, in front of the great gilded doors of the sanctuary, and the body of the chapel was already filled with the Empress’s brilliantly-clad household.

  On Roger’s entrance the ceremony opened with solemn vocal music, no other being permitted in the Greek church, but two double lines of richly-robed choristers made up amply for the deficiency. His companions conducted him to the rail and he had scarcely reached it when a stir behind him caused him to turn his head. Followed by half a dozen young women of her own age, Natalia Andreovna was advancing towards him. She was dressed in white brocade, the figuring of which was outlined in gold thread; on her head she wore a big hooped headdress sparkling with gold and jewels.

  Despite all his bitter thoughts of her Roger felt his breath catch at the sight of her loveliness.

  As he bowed to her the voices of the choristers swelled to a might paean and the Empress entered. On reaching the rail she passed through it by a gate and took her place alone under a richly-decorated canopy to the south side of the holy doors. They swung open displaying the penetralia of the temple; a picture of the descent from the Cross and an altar covered with golden tissue. A number of venerable, long-bearded priests, wearing vestments and bun-like mitres that blazed with precious stones, then appeared. By the Greek ritual no one is allowed to sit in church, so there were no seats, even for the Empress; but as the ceremony proceeded, the congregation seemed in a state of almost constant genuflexion as it responded to the prayers and loud ejaculations of the priests.

  Roger found himself dipping with the rest. Someone had given him a long candle to hold and produced a ring. Crowns were held over their heads; as in a dream he repeated a number of phrases after the most gorgeously-clad priest was given a Bible to kiss and placed the ring on Natalia’s finger.

  He wondered if he was now really married to her or if he could regard this alien service as not binding upon him. But he recalled the Reverend William Tooke having told him how he had once stood sponsor at the christening of a Roman Catholic child, and feared that his having gone through this ceremony with apparent willingness must make it as legal as any other.

  Nevertheless these thoughts gave him an idea, and while the chanting and genuflecting continued he swiftly developed it. At last the priests retired within the temple and the holy doors swung to behind them. As the Empress left her place Roger watched her anxiously. He had a boon to ask, but having observed the air of devout humility that she had affected during the service, he feared that she might take it ill if he threw himself on his knees before her while she was still in church.

  When she walked past him with downcast eyes, a Chamberlain made a sign to him to follow her; so he gave his arm to Natalia Andreovna and they fell into step in the wake of the Sovereign, the rest of the congregation forming a procession behind them.

  On leaving the chapel Catherine crossed the hall and entered a reception-room. At its far end there was a gilt armchair on a low dais. Seating herself upon it, she gave an affable smile to the advancing couple, and extended her hand for them to kiss. It was Roger’s opportunity and, on rising from a deep obeisance, he said:

  ‘I cannot thank your Majesty sufficiently for all you have done for us; yet I still have one favour that I would beg.’

  ‘You may proceed,’ she replied, non-committally.

  ‘ ’Tis in connection with my marriage,’ he told her. ‘Not being of the Greek Orthodox faith I must confess that as yet I do not feel properly wed. As I had the honour to tell your Majesty, I have an English godmother, and strange as it may seem for a Frenchman, I was baptised into the Church of England. Would your Majesty therefore graciously permit the Baroness and myself to go through a second ceremony to be performed by the Reverend Mr. Tooke, the Chaplain to the English Factory, before we set out on our journey?’

  Catherine nodded. ‘Your devotion to your own communion is fully understandable. We will send for Mr. Tooke and you may arrange for him to remarry you in Petersburg tomorrow morning.’

  Heartened a little by the successful initiation of his new plan, and having secured a temporary postponement of his departure into exile, Roger bowed his thanks, and with Natalia, took his stand beside the Empress to receive the congratulations of the assembled company.

  The first to approach was Natalia’s crotchety old grandfather, the ex-Hetman Cyril Razumofsky, who, with numerous of her other relatives, had been hastily summoned from St. Petersburg. None of them appeared to think that there was anything queer about the wedding taking place without previous announcement, as it was carried out under the auspices of the Empress, and they were all accustomed to accept her sudden whims about such matters without question. They assumed that as Roger was the Imperial choice of a second husband for Natalia the match must obviously be a suitable one, and in consequence, treated him with the utmost politeness. It was from their conversation he gathered that the estate in the province of Tula was now supposed to be the Empress’s wedding-gift, and that they believed him to be taking Natalia there for the honeymoon.

  After half-an-hour spent in introductions and receiving compliments, a Chamberlain rapped three times with his staff on the parquet floor and the Empress led the way into an adjoining room where a wedding-breakfast had been prepared. She took her seat a little apart at the top of the table and the bridal pair were conducted to its bottom, so they were not embarrassed by having to make further conversation with her. At two o’clock she rose, and as she passed out she paused to say to Natalia:

  ‘Remain with your friends as long as you wish, child. Since your husband desires a reformed ceremony, you can hardly consider yourself fully married as yet, and your departure for your honeymoon must be postponed until tomorrow. For tonight you had best occupy your old chamber. The breath of St. Nicholas be upon you.’

  When the Empress, her immediate entourage, and such court officials as had duties to perform, had left the room, the remainder of the company resumed their seats; fresh dishes were brought to the table and the wedding feast continued.

  Between toasts and friendly badinage Roger sought to grasp the full implications of his position. For no particular reason Georgina’s vision of their future came into his mind. On the last day of March she had seen a wedding-ring for one of them, but could not determine which. Well, there it was, shining on Natalia Andreovna’s finger. He was married now, and his wife was very far from being the woman of his heart’s desire.
He did not see what he could have done to avoid going through the ceremony but on one thing he was determined; he was not going to allow himself to be packed off to Siberia without a struggle.

  At half-past three they left the table; but only to return to the reception-room, where the company could move about with greater freedom while the footmen offered them more drinks and silver salvers loaded with a cold collation. By midday the news of the wedding had spread all over St. Petersburg and scores of people were driving out to Peterhof to pay their respects to the newly-married couple; so that, instead of there being any signs of the party breaking up, the big room was becoming ever more crowded.

  It was close on five when Roger caught sight of the Reverend Mr. Tooke threading his way through the crowd. Greeting the clergyman eagerly, he presented him to Natalia, secured him a glass of wine, and as soon as he decently could, led him away into a corner.

  ‘Tell me, I beg,’ said Roger, almost breathlessly. ‘Is a ceremony of marriage gone through in the Greek Church binding upon an English Protestant? ’

  ‘Why, yes; indeed it is, young Sir,’ replied Mr. Tooke, with a smile. ‘I am happy to relieve your anxieties on that score. But I received a message from Her Majesty that you had expressed a wish to have the benefit of the Protestant rites, and if you still desire it, I will willingly perform them for you.’

  ‘I thank you. I—er—shall be greatly your debtor, Sir,’ Roger muttered awkwardly. Then, after a quick look round, he added: ‘The truth is, this marriage was none of my seeking, and I am in grave trouble. Not only has the Empress decreed this union for me but she has ordered my wife and I to take up our residence in Siberia. That is not generally known, and the company here believe that after you have performed your kind offices for us tomorrow we shall be setting out on our honeymoon. I used my religious scruples to delay our departure and as an excuse to get a word with you. I beg you, Sir, to devise some means of helping me to escape.’