“Aren’t all marriages arranged, Aunt?” Patricia asked.
“Not all,” Anna said. “Some women are fortunate enough to marry for love.”
Dmitri was back, bowing in the doorway. “Count Pobrebski is here, Your Excellency.”
CHAPTER 8 - THE CONSPIRATOR
Patricia got to the door as Pobrebski arrived, gave him a quick curtsey, and sidled past him. Pobrebski entered the room, and bowed; Dmitri closed the door behind him. “Countess Anna,” Pobrebski said. “You have made me the happiest of men.”
“Already, Count?”
He advanced towards her, seized her hand, and before she could protest, had pulled off the glove. Then he kissed her knuckles, before turning the hand over, pulling the fingers straight, and kissing her palm. She stood absolutely still, not quite sure what he intended next. He kissed her wrist and her forearm, pushed up her sleeve to kiss her biceps. “I love you,” he declared. “I adore you. I knew from the moment I laid eyes upon you, dearest Anna, that I had to have you.”
“My dear Count,” she said, and he took her in his arms to kiss her lips. His hands roamed over her bodice. He caressed, but she could sense the lust that was being carefully controlled — at this moment. When she ran out of breath she pushed him away. “You will smother me,” she protested.
“Your legs,” he said. “Show me your legs.”
“My dear Count,” she said, “a lady does not show a gentleman her legs.”
“But we are betrothed,” he reminded her, and to her consternation, slipped from the settee to kneel before her and lift her skirts. Anna caught the skirts and made to pull them back down, but his head was already beneath, and he was kissing her knee through the stocking, and then the inside of her thigh, and moving higher, past her garter, to find naked flesh.
This was clearly the decisive moment, or he would have her right there on the floor. Anna reached for the vase on the table beside her chair and brought it down on the head concealed beneath the material. Pobrebski gave a gasp and subsided to the floor, and Anna stood up and stepped over him. “Why, Count,” she asked. “Are you dead?”
He gave a groan, and rose to his knees, rubbing his head. “You struck me, madame.”
“With an expensive vase,” Anna pointed out. “Which is now shattered beyond repair.”
“That is no way to treat your betrothed,” he grumbled.
Anna rang the bell. “There is a world of difference between being betrothed and being married, Count,” she said. “Ah, Dmitri, we will have champagne.” Dmitri bowed, and withdrew.
“I came here to pledge my troth,” Pobrebski complained.
“I would have supposed you came here to rape me.”
“Well, I am on fire for you. I must have you.” He got up, and Anna selected another vase. “Madame,” he protested. “I am aflame.”
She realised that he probably was, and at that moment Dmitri returned with the tray of drinks. “Dmitri,” she said. “Put that down and send me Li-su.” It was time for the Chinese girl to earn her keep.
*
Patricia walked across the inner courtyard to the stables. She was a mass of conflicting emotions, a sense of triumph that Aunt Anna was at last going to get her comeuppance combined with a feeling of freedom that the old dragon would no longer be able to control her life. But overlaying both of those was a burst of romantic fervour. She remembered the way Joseph Fine had looked at her, his eyes seeming to be burning holes in her bodice. Duncan had never looked at her like that. Of course Joseph was a Jew...but he also represented adventure. And perhaps more than that. All she needed to do was establish contact with him. “Where is Rurik?” she asked the stableboys.
“He is attending to the Countess Anna’s horse, Your Excellency.”
Patricia walked between the rows of horses until she came to the last stall, where Rurik was curry-combing a gray mare. Patricia leaned on the stall gate. “Are you imagining you are doing that to Aunt Anna?” she asked.
Rurik straightened with a jerk, turning as he did so. “You startled me, Your Excellency.”
“You haven’t answered my question.”
“How could one use a curry-comb on a human being, Your Excellency?”
“I’m sure it would be rather amusing. Do you know what Aunt Anna is doing now, Rurik?” Rurick licked his lips, uncertain where his young mistress intended the conversation to go. “I shall tell you,” Patricia said. “She is in the small parlour with Colonel Count Pobrebski, and he is proposing marriage, which she will accept. I imagine, once she has done that, they will do a lot more.”
Rurik swallowed; his cheeks were red. “I am sure the Countess Anna does whatever she thinks best, Your Excellency.”
“Oh, indeed she does. However, as she has decided to marry, one is bound to wonder where that leaves you, Rurik.”
“Me, Your Excellency?” Now he was breathing hard as well.
“Well,” Patricia said. “It seems to me you are getting the short end of the stick. You are my aunt’s lover, are you not?”
“Your Excellency...” Rurik looked left and right.
“I know all about you, Rurik,” Patricia said, softly.
“What do you think would happen if I were to tell Colonel Pobrebski? He cannot harm Aunt Anna. He would not dare. He would harm you, Rurik. And there would be nothing Aunt Anna could do about that, because her husband would be entitled to do whatever he thought necessary to his wife’s lover, especially if he were only a groom.” Rurik stared at her. “So it would pay you to be my friend, and do what I ask of you, Rurik,” Patricia went on.
Rurik swallowed. “What is it you wish of me, Your Excellency?”
Patricia smiled. “Do not look so alarmed. I merely wish you to carry out a mission for me, and never to tell anyone that you did it. Nor is the mission a crime. Two men came to the house this morning. Two Jewish men. A David Fine and his son. I wish you to find them for me. I wish to find out where they live, and what they are doing for a living, in St Petersburg. I wish you to do this immediately, and report back to me. Do you understand me?”
“I understand you, Your Excellency.”
“And then,” Patricia said, enigmatically, “we shall be friends.”
*
Patricia was so excited she hardly slept. She was dying to confide in Sophie, but Sophie she knew would react badly and perhaps even tell Aunt Anna. Sophie was in a very confused state. But Patricia felt sure that once it became known that she had been hobnobbing with Jews and returned exiles, there was no man of suitable rank in all Russia would wish to marry her. Papa, as she recalled the story, had tried to solve the dilemma of Alexandra’s persistent association with known criminals by marrying her off to the American sea captain, Charles Cromb, in the hopes of getting her out of Russia and therefore the hands of the Okhrana.
But if Peter decided she also had to be got rid of by marrying her to an American, then she would be more than content. The right American, of course. She had in fact already made up her mind to tell Peter of that liaison, and the result. But not while Aunt Anna was there to influence his every thought. That would have to wait until Anna was safely the Countess Pobrebski. Left to himself, she had an idea that Peter would happily get rid of her just as quickly as possible, and to the man of her choice — even if he was a cousin. In the meantime, there was no reason why she should not amuse herself; Joseph Fine was a very handsome young man.
*
Dinner was a disappointing affair. Colonel Pobrebski stayed, but appeared in a thoroughly bewildered and even angry state, while Anna looked more dominant than Patricia had ever known her.
“Whatever do you suppose happened?” she asked Sophie.
Sophie had no answer, but Grishka burst into a fit of giggles. “They are saying in the pantry that when the Colonel made advances the Countess hit him on the head with a vase, Your Excellencies.”
“Oh, really, Grishka,” Sophie said. “Not even Aunt Anna would do that.”
“Monsieur
Dmitri showed me the pieces of the vase, Your Excellency,” Grishka protested.
“You don’t know Aunt Anna very well, Sophie,” Patricia said.
Next morning she was up at dawn, and hurrying down to where Rurik was waiting for her. “Well?” she demanded.
“The Fines are presently living in the ghetto, Your Excellency. As to what they are doing for a living, I have been unable to find that out.”
“The ghetto? Where is that?”
“The Jewish quarter. It is the custom of the Jews to live in colonies. That way they can practice their religion with less risk of interference from the police, and they know who are their friends and who are their enemies.”
“I would like you to take me there.”
“Your Excellency?” He was startled.
“It is possible to walk through this ghetto, isn’t it?”
“Well, of course it is, Your Excellency. But...young ladies are not seen there.”
Patricia raised her eyebrows. “Are there no young Jewish women?”
“Well, yes, Your Excellency. But they are hardly ladies.”
“Well, I shall not look like a lady. You and I will go for a walk together, Rurik. You will be my beau. Would you not like to be my beau?” Rurik flushed. “Don’t worry, Rurik,” she said. “Aunt Anna will never know.”
“Then we cannot go this morning, Your Excellency. The Countess Anna has informed me that she requires my services before lunch.” Patricia raised her eyebrows. “She wishes to ride in the park, Your Excellency.”
“Hm,” Patricia said. “Very well. This afternoon. That will actually be better. Safer.” She knew it was her aunt’s invariable custom to take a nap after lunch. “I will come here at three, and we will go for a walk, you and I. Understood?”
“Yes, Your Excellency.” He was in for a busy day.
*
“Did you enjoy your gallop, Aunt Anna?” Patricia inquired at lunch.
Anna shot her a glance. She had had a bath since coming in, and exuded a pleasant glow. “What makes you suppose I galloped?” she asked.
“You looked so flushed, and happy, when you came in.”
“I enjoyed the fresh air,” Anna said. “Now, I have been speaking with Prince Peter. As you must realise, time is short, in view of my new arrangements. The Prince is coming here tonight for dinner, and bringing a gentleman with him. This gentleman is...” she looked at the card she had taken from her reticule, “Captain Lewitski of the Forty-Fourth Regiment. He is thirty-two years old, comes from a good family, and has never been married. He is coming to see you, Sophie.”
“Me?” Sophie was aghast.
“What is his title, Aunt?” Patricia asked.
“He has no title. His family has never been ennobled.”
“You expect Sophie to marry a commoner?” Patricia sounded as aghast as her sister, who remained speechless.
“Captain Lewitski will go far. I may say that he has been recommended to us by Her Majesty herself.”
“Was Count Pobrebski recommended by Her Majesty, Aunt Anna?” Patricia asked.
Anna shot her another glance. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
“Will the Count be coming to dinner?”
“Yes, he will. Now, I wish both of you to have a good rest so that you are in your best form tonight. I certainly intend to.”
*
“I shall not attend dinner,” Sophie declared in the privacy of her bedroom.
“If you do not, Aunt Anna will probably cane you,” Patricia pointed out.
“She would not dare! Peter will be in the house.”
“He will probably support her. Anyway, he’ll be going again tomorrow. Why not meet this Lewitski fellow. You might like the look of him.”
“I do not like the look of any man,” Sophie declared.
Patricia raised her eyebrows. “Well, then, you had better find a good woman with whom to elope. I am going to lie down.”
She was so excited she really was not all that interested in Sophie’s problems at the moment; she was more concerned with her own plans. She dismissed Grishka and then took off her dress and replaced it with one of those she had brought back from Port Arthur. This was both old and shabby and had been darned in one or two places, and it was perfect for this occasion. She added the plainest hat and coat she possessed, debated whether or not to wear gloves and then decided against it. She felt quite naked without them, but she was sure an ordinary woman would not necessarily wear them.
Then she tiptoed down the stairs, and gained the stable without seeing anyone. Rurik was waiting for her, wearing street clothes, and looking anxious. “Are you sure you wish to do this, Your Excellency?” he asked.
“Of course I am sure, Rurik. But we cannot walk the streets of Petersburg pretending to be lovers with you calling me Your Excellency. I am Trisha.”
“That is not a Russian name, Your Excellency.”
“Then make it Trishka. I like that, Trishka. Say it.”
“Trishka,” Rurik repeated.
“Capital. Now, let’s go.” There was a side gate in the wall by the stable, and they used this to gain the street. “Take my arm,” she commanded. Hesitantly, Rurik obeyed. The side street was empty, but at the corner they joined a main thoroughfare which contained several shops, and here there were a great many people. “Talk to me,” Patricia whispered. “Tell me that you love me.”
“I would find that very easy to do, Trishka,” he said.
She gave him a delighted glance. “Would you, Rurik? Tell me more.”
“It is down here,” he said, squeezing his hand.
“What would you like to do to me most, Rurik?” she asked. He gave her a startled glance. “I bet you’d like to make love to me, like you do with Aunt Anna,” she said.
Rurik licked his lips. “It is down here,” he said again.
Now they were well away from the Prospect, and definitely in a part of the city Patricia had never seen before. They walked beside a canal, and Patricia was delighted to see that no one gave them a second glance. “Well,” she said, “perhaps I shall reward you, in due course, for helping me. Would you like that?”
Another quick circle of his lips. “I should like that very much, Trishka.”
Patricia squeezed his arm, her excitement growing with every moment. He led her across a bridge, and the streets began to grow meaner. Ragged urchins stared at them, and some ran beside them, begging. Adults stood in doorways, also to stare. Patricia realised that even in her shabbiest clothes she was too well dressed for this neighbourhood. “Why aren’t those men working?” she asked.
“There is no work for them to do,” Rurik explained. Patricia was astounded. “If they do not have work,” she said, “how do they get the money to live on?”
“By begging or stealing,” Rurik explained. “If they cannot beg, or are caught stealing, their families starve.” Patricia clutched her reticule tighter, and looked from left to right in a mixture of consternation and horror. She had had no idea people lived like this. Of course, they did in China — she had seen them in Port Arthur. But in Russia? “They call them the proletariat,” Rurik added. “Do you wish to go on?”
Patricia didn’t, really. But she wasn’t going to admit it. “Of course I wish to go on. Where is this ghetto?”
“It is round the next corner,” Rurik said. “May I ask what you intend to do when we get there?”
“I am going to visit Mr Fine. You have the address?”
“Yes. But Trishka, ladies do not call on gentlemen.”
“Ah,” she said. “Today I am not a lady.” She bit her lip.
“Or would you expect to be walking out with a lady?”
“I am content to be walking out with you, Trishka.”
She had made a complete conquest. “Well, then,” she said, “walk out with me. I am quite entitled to call on Mr Fine, as he has obtained permission to return to Bolugayen.”
Rurik escorted her into the ghetto. Here there was the same evid
ence of over-crowding as in the quarter they had just left, but the whole area was much more prosperous and busy. The children were well dressed, as were their parents, and there was no begging. But there were the same hungry, questioning eyes. Rurik led Patricia down a side street, and stopped before a tall, narrow-fronted house. Here there were less people, but outside the house two young men lounged. “This is the address.”
Patricia looked it up and down, and then looked the two young men up and down as well. “Do you live here?” Patricia asked.
“What is that to you?” asked one of the men.
“That is exceedingly rude of you,” Patricia told him. “I am looking for Mr David Fine. Or Mr Joseph Fine.”
“Does Mr Fine know you?” asked the second man.
“Of course he does.”
The two young men exchanged glances, and then looked at Rurik. But he was bigger than either of them, and was clearly in the best of health and strength, where they both looked somewhat under-nourished. “What is your name?” the first man asked.
“Just tell Mr Fine that Patricia is calling,” Patricia said. The young men looked her up and down, then one of them opened the door and went inside.
“These people do not like us,” Rurik remarked.
But the man was back in a very few minutes, accompanied by Joseph Fine. “You’re...” Joseph would have begun, but Patricia interrupted him.
“Trishka,” she said. “You remember me, Joseph.”
He gulped, and glanced at the two men. “Of course I remember you...Trishka. And I am delighted to see you. Will you not come in?” He looked at Rurik, questioningly.
“This is my friend, Rurik,” Patricia explained.
“Then he is welcome also,” Joseph said.
They followed him into a narrow, dark hallway, and the young men closed the door behind them. Patricia looked around her, at the potted plants and the faded photographs in silver frames, and through the doorway at a sitting-room in which equally faded upholstery was covered in antimacassars. But the place smelt clean, and there was no dust. “Is this your house?” she asked.
“No, no. It is the house of a family who are friends of my father. They have offered us lodgings until we can get down to Bolugayen,” Joseph explained.
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