The Firebird

by Susanna Kearsley

  The captain on this day, as ever, made a most attractive figure, with a face most women did find handsome and compelling. His black suit had been tailored to the very latest fashion, like the thick white wig tied neatly with a ribbon at his collar, underneath a fine, expensive hat. He was quite tall, and strongly built, and straight of back, and gave the full appearance of a man of all accomplishments and power, one whom others would do very well to follow.

  And his smile, as always, showed teeth of a perfect, even whiteness.

  Like a wolf’s, thought Anna. For although there was no outward cause to fault the captain, there was something she found wanting in his eyes, a strange detachment mixed with cunning that put her in mind of the gray beasts that prowled the untamed forests just outside St. Petersburg, and sometimes came within the city’s streets to seek their meals.

  And wanting Edmund, now, to see it, too, she did not hide her feelings when Deane greeted her, for well she knew his mask slipped much more easily when he did not receive the adulation that he took to be his due.

  “I should imagine, sir, you find St. Petersburg more welcoming than you did find it when you left,” she said.

  His smiled stayed, although his eyes grew colder. “Yes,” he answered, in his smoothly English voice, “I do.”

  “It is a shame that you did not return while yet the tsar was living, for I should expect your welcome then would have been even warmer.”

  He dismissed her with a glance, and would have said something to Edmund had not Anna drawn him back with, “Tell me, when do you take up your new position?”

  “What position do you speak of?”

  “Why, as consul, sir.”

  The smooth voice showed a sharp edge. “Mistress, you are misinformed. It was, in good measure, my private affairs that induced me to come. Though of course, if I can be of any assistance to those of my countrymen here in the Factory, by virtue of my own connections, I’ll offer it gladly.”

  “That is very kind of you, Captain,” she said, “for I hear your connections are most high, indeed.” She left it there, and looked at Edmund to discover that his eyes were not on Deane’s face, but her own, as Mrs. Hewitt interjected with, “I’m sure our men would all be pleased to have the benefit of your advice and prudence, Captain Deane. ’Tis sure you’ve lived a wide and varied life.”

  He gave a gracious half-bow of his head, to show acceptance of her compliment, then turned as he had done before, to Edmund. “And what of yourself, Mr. O’Connor? What is your own background?”

  “Varied and wide, to be sure.” Edmund smiled. “I was lately in Spain, but have been here in Petersburg now several months.”

  “Doing what, may I ask?”

  “Very little of anything, Captain. The general has offered to find me a place as lieutenant in one of his regiments, but ’tis a junior position and one I’m not sure suits my temperament.”

  Anna, who’d heard nothing of this till now, glanced at Edmund, her brow furrowed faintly.

  Deane asked him, “And what would you otherwise do?”

  “I had thought of returning to Spain,” Edmund told him, in serious tones that revealed he was telling the truth, “for if I am bound to live ever in exile, ’tis better to be where the weather is warmer, and living is not so expensive.”

  “You’ve just missed your passage then, surely,” said Deane, “for when I came past Sweden I saw three ships, Russian ships, just coming out of the Baltic, and word was they might have been destined for Spain.” Then he said, “The Pretender’s affairs are quite highly supported in Spain, are they not?”

  Anna bristled, as she always did, at the disrespect shown by anyone calling King James “The Pretender,” as though the king’s enemies, sitting in parliament, could with one dishonest vote so subvert God’s design and the natural order of things to deny James the throne that was his right by birth. If anyone was to be called “The Pretender,” Anna reasoned, it must surely be the foreign prince who’d taken James’s place by such deceit, and dared to style himself “King” George.

  She might have even said as much had Edmund’s hand not lightly touched her back as he replied to Deane, “I do not take much notice, sir, of politics.”

  “You’re kin to General Lacy, I believe you said?”

  “I am.”

  “The general,” Deane said, “always did impress me as a man who threw his whole self into service of the country that employed him, and did not let foreign influences meddle with his purpose.”

  Anna knew that he had cast that out as careful bait, to see if Edmund could be lured to disagree and so provide an insight into General Lacy’s thoughts, but she could do no more than hold her breath and wait to see if Edmund had observed the ploy.

  Without a change of tone, still sounding friendly, Edmund answered, “Aye, ’tis sure the general always knows exactly whom he serves.”

  “I would that I could say as much,” said Deane, “for many of the merchants here. I have been speaking to their chaplain, and he tells me he is heartily abused here. Mrs. Hewitt, is it true one of the members of this Factory even threatened once to have the chaplain caned, on learning he had sworn the Oaths to serve His Majesty our King?”

  The merchant’s wife confirmed it. “Yes, and there are several in the congregation, Captain, I’m ashamed to say, who spit during the service when King George’s name is mentioned.”

  Captain Deane shook his head in disbelief. “I observe things are still as they were when the tsar lived, with Jacobites being caressed here upon all occasions, while good, honest Englishmen are forced to bow and cringe off at a distance.”

  “Can Jacobites never be good, honest men, Captain?” Anna asked.

  Deane said, “I’ve never yet met one. Indeed, had more care been put into the choice of our Factors, things would not have come to that miserable state they are now. We might have had a set of sober thinking men, who would have added something to the credit of their native country, instead of men sadly debauched both in morals and principles. Generally speaking,” he qualified, smiling toward Mrs. Hewitt. “Your husband and others excepted, of course.”

  “Of course. You are coming tonight to my supper, I hope?”

  “I would not wish to miss it. But I first must attempt again to get my goods and baggage entered at the Custom House, for that is all my business at the present. And after that,” he told her, “Mr. Nye has very kindly said he’ll tour me through the shipyards, where he says they are now building several pinnaces. But after that, I’ll surely come to you.”

  The merchant’s wife was clearly flattered by his smile, and his attention. “As a navy man yourself, I’m sure the shipyards will prove most diverting. Truly, there has been so much activity of late upon the river, I believe our squadron may be setting out to sea at last.”

  “It would appear so.” Deane looked out across the river to the Admiralty, and his keen eyes narrowed slightly with an aspect Anna did not like.

  She said, “I take it you no longer do command a ship yourself, then, Captain Deane?”

  His cold eyes angled downward to her own. “I have acquired other interests, Mistress.”

  Mrs. Hewitt said, “The captain told us, Mistress Jamieson, that he is writing a new and complete account of his heroic rescue of his crew upon Boon Island. I’m sure it will be most exciting.”

  “I’ve no doubt.” This time she paid no heed to Edmund’s warning hand upon her back, but said, “I will be glad to read it, Captain, for I’ve heard such differing accounts of that adventure.”

  There, she thought, she had succeeded in her purpose. Edmund surely could not help but see the captain’s nature now, for Deane’s annoyance with her plainly showed behind his icy smile.

  “I have been ever plagued by enemies,” he said, “whose only purpose is to slander my good name.”

  And there, thought Anna, was the venom, plainly evident. She met his gaze directly with her own. “A good name, Captain Deane, must first be earned, before it c
an be slandered.”

  And not bothering to curtsey as a proper lady would, she just as frostily excused herself and carried on her way toward the colleges.

  ***

  “She never did!” The general laughed, and leaned back in his chair behind the heavy desk that sat before the windows of his offices within the College of War.

  “She did indeed,” said Edmund. “I was there, and had the very devil of a time making excuses for her afterwards.”

  From where she stood beside the window looking to the square below them, Anna said, not turning, “I’ve no need of anyone to make excuses for me.”

  General Lacy shared a look with Edmund before folding up the letter he’d just written. “Here, then, take this to Sir Harry, if you will. And are you going, then, to Mrs. Hewitt’s supper, Edmund?”

  “Sure I’d rather swim with sharks. I told them I did fear that I was otherwise engaged.” He paused, and asked, “Have you sent ships to Spain?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Deane said he saw three Russian ships, just heading out as he was coming in the Baltic. He believes they might be on their way to Spain.”

  The general asked, “What else has Deane been noticing about our ships?”

  “He has observed the squadron is preparing to set out, and that the shipyards have been busy building pinnaces.”

  The general nodded and looked faintly satisfied, though Anna could not see it was in any way remarkable. The Russian squadron always sailed to sea, this time of year.

  So she was puzzled when, a few days later, Captain Hay and Gordon were again discussing ships.

  “Deane did observe you at the shipyards, though?” asked Gordon.

  Captain Hay said, “He’d have had to be a great fool not to.”

  Gordon nodded. “Good. That’s very good, then. Mr. Elmsall tells me he and several others of the Factory were called to the College of Foreign Affairs last night, to answer questions about whether Deane had been their choice for consul, and whether they’d known he was coming. Apparently, they answered no, on both counts.”

  Captain Hay grinned. “So then that’s an end to it?”

  “Hopefully, aye. Count Galovkin has little affection for English spies, and quite a lot for King James, so I should not be very surprised to see Deane told to pack his belongings and leave, very soon.”

  “That will be a relief to me,” Captain Hay said, “for he’s been like a hound on my trail these past weeks.”

  The next morning, the College of Foreign Affairs ordered Deane to depart, and the news spread like fire through the Admiralty and the Exchange. He’d been given a week to arrange his affairs, and still made himself visible in the community, only he now was less likely to show charm to anyone, and much more likely to find fault with those whom he claimed had so bitterly wronged him.

  When Anna had pointed this out at the table to Edmund, she’d found Father Dominic nodding agreement.

  “St. Francis would teach us,” the monk said, “that we cannot know a man’s nature when all does go well with him, but when those people he thinks will assist him oppose him instead, then we know, for a man has the patience and humility that he shows then, and no more.”

  General Lacy agreed. “He is at his most dangerous now, William,” he had advised Captain Hay, “so you keep your head down.”

  The vice admiral had gone a step further, and sent Captain Hay with Sir Harry to Cronstadt.

  “To what end?” the captain had asked.

  “When he does leave St. Petersburg,” Gordon had told him, “he’ll head first to Cronstadt to make his complaints to Apraxin, and when he arrives, I want you and Sir Harry to inspect as many ships as you’re both able to. Make sure Deane sees you do it.”

  And with a nod, Captain Hay had agreed. “But it will be for nothing,” he’d warned, “if the empress remains out of reach.”

  Anna saw the vice admiral’s frustration at that.

  He’d been trying for weeks, since the day Captain Hay had arrived, to arrange for an audience with Empress Catherine. He’d had such a cordial relationship with the late tsar that, a year ago, he’d have had only to ask and the audience would have been granted. But since the tsar’s death, the whole court had closed in round the empress—some said to protect her, some said to control her, and those who would speak to her had to first pass by Prince Menshikov.

  Gordon was still in high favor with Catherine, that much was made plain, but her mourning was deep, and she showed little interest in meeting with anyone.

  Vice Admiral Gordon tried once more that week, going all on his own to Prince Menshikov’s palace to make his petition, but when Anna, making her way to the College of War with a letter for Lacy, and Edmund again as her escort, came over the river, she found the vice admiral just leaving the palace, and frowning.

  “She’s in there,” he told them. “She’s in there right now, but he says she’ll not see me.”

  “You cannot just send in the letter alone?” Edmund asked.

  Gordon withered him with a look Anna knew well, for it meant the vice admiral was nearing the end of his patience. “This letter,” he said, speaking low, “does come straight from the hand of King James. Captain Hay has risked much to come north, for this purpose alone, and the king does depend upon us, upon me, to fulfill his request and deliver it into the hands of the empress. The fate of a nation does ride on these words, and the way they’re received. So no, sir, I cannot ‘just send in the letter alone.’” Drawing breath, he collected his temper and lowered his head, with his hands on his hips in a posture of utter disgust.

  Anna looked at him for a long moment. And then she said, “Give it to me, then.”

  The vice admiral lifted his head. “What?”

  “I’ll take it. The empress is mourning the loss of a husband and child,” was her reasoning. “Men and their matters of politics may not hold interest for her, but I’m no man. She’ll see me, I think, if I ask.”

  Edmund nodded, when Gordon looked doubtful. “’Tis possible, sir, for I’ve seen Empress Catherine speak privately with Mistress Jamieson, and she paid little heed then to Prince Menshikov’s counsel.”

  The vice admiral stood for a moment, and looked down at Anna with much the same look he had given her those years ago in Calais. Then he nodded, and gave her the letter. “Take Mr. O’Connor as escort,” he told her. “As far as I know, Captain Deane has no spies in Prince Menshikov’s house. But if you do encounter one,” he said to Edmund, “I trust you will know how to serve him.”

  Edmund gave a nod of understanding, but already Anna was a step ahead of him, and heading for the great doors of the palace, and the guards who stood outside it.

  Chapter 40

  Rob stood behind me, his hands in his pockets, not pushing me.

  “Rob, I just can’t.” I looked up at the brilliant dark yellow façade of the Menshikov Palace, restored to perfection, the multiple panes of its old wooden windows reflecting the clouds drifting over the Admiralty dome on the opposite side of the river. The palace, which had in its time been the finest in all of St. Petersburg, stretched like a great sleeping lion along the south shore of the island, with two grand wings lying like paws to each side of the three-storied, most ancient part at its center, its pediments topped by imperial crowns.

  We were standing in front of the four massive pillars supporting the porticoed front entrance, while traffic raced at our backs up and down the long road that now ran between us and the water, and women clicked by in high heels on the pavement.

  “I can’t,” I repeated.

  He said, “It’s your choice. Seems a waste, though. We know Catherine’s in there, and every time Anna meets Catherine it might be the time.”

  “Yes, I know.” I looked up at the deep yellow walls and felt something of Gordon’s frustration. “I know, but I can’t do it now. I’m supposed to meet Yuri and Wendy Van Hoek here at three. That’s in barely an hour. And besides, there are people inside, Rob. It isn’
t like walking around on the sidewalks, or sitting outdoors on a bench, this is…” Helplessly, I shook my head. “This is different.”

  He gave me no argument. Only repeated, “It’s your choice.”

  I sighed. “Maybe we could come back here tomorrow…” But even as I spoke the words, I could hear the futility of them, for even tomorrow this palace would still be a public museum, with people inside it, and with or without the time pressure that I felt today, my core problem would still be the same.

  “I’m not saying I will,” I said slowly, “but if I did want to, could you pull us out before Yuri and Wendy arrive?”

  “Aye.”

  “You’re sure of it?”

  “Aye.”

  I bit down on my lower lip, thinking. I tried to remember the layout, inside, of the Menshikov Palace, to think of a place where we might sit or stand without anyone noticing. “Maybe,” I said, “if we stayed in the entrance hall, under the stairs. There are big columns there, and we wouldn’t be quite so conspicuous. What do you think?”

  “It’s your choice.”

  “Will you stop saying that, please?”

  “Well, what would ye wish me to say? Aye, it’s worth the small risk you’d be taking?” he offered, in level tones. “Aye, you should stop wasting time and go in?”

  “That’s exactly what I wish you’d say. Thank you.”

  “Happy to help,” was his final reply, as he followed me round to the actual entrance.

  We paid the full fee, both because I had never liked freeloading on my position, and because I wasn’t too keen to announce my arrival to anyone upstairs who might know my name, or know Yuri Stepanovich might be expecting me.

  “Rob,” I said, “when Yuri does come, I haven’t… that is, I think he thinks I’m here on my own, and…”

  “I’ll blend with the tourists,” he promised. “You’ll no ken I’m here.”

  There were several groups of tourists here to blend with. We slipped the shoe protectors on that everyone who visited the palace had to wear, to keep from ruining the floors, and made our way through the enticements of the gift shop with its prints and reproduction drawings and the ever-present amber jewelry, and up the back stairs to the ground floor rooms, where we moved quickly past the reconstructed kitchen, through the turnery, the sailors’ room, the chamber full of tapestries—and came into the graceful vaulted space of the Large Corridor.