“What happened, Marietta?” Jeremy asked. “The men were adamant, refused to give me so much as a crumb, said we must leave the village immediately. How did you convince her to help us?”
As we stood there beside the sleigh, waiting for Johanna to return, I told him all that she had said, and Jeremy listened with a grim expression, drumming the fingers of his left hand on the back of the sleigh.
“They must have guessed we’d take the back road,” he told me. “They must have taken shelter during the blizzard, then, as soon as it was over, traveled the rest of the night.”
“They—they would have passed right by our hut.”
“Before dawn, obviously. Wouldn’t have seen it in the dark and in the snow.”
“If—if they had—”
“They didn’t,” he said tersely. “Here comes our friend.”
Johanna came toward the sleigh carrying our two bags and a third, smaller bag of rough brown sack filled with oats for the horse. Jeremy took the bags from her and put them on the floor of the sleigh. I folded two blankets and handed them to her. Johanna held them against her breast, her eyes still hard and defiant as the villagers stared in silent disapproval.
“You must not take this road,” she told us. “It is the one they took. When they do not find you, they will turn back, and you would run right into them. You must cut through the woods and return to the main road.”
“We can get through the woods with the sleigh?” Jeremy asked.
“A mile or so back down the road, there is a pathway. You probably did not notice it before. Turn there. The path should be wide enough for your sleigh. It twists and winds through the woods but will eventually take you to the main road.”
“I—I don’t know how to thank you, Johanna,” I said quietly. “If you hadn’t come to our aid—”
“It is a pleasure for me to defy this Pulaski and the demon he serves,” she replied. “Go in safety.”
Jeremy and I climbed into the sleigh. He arranged the three remaining blankets and the rug over our knees and gathered up the reins. We circled around the fire and turned back onto the road. When I looked back, Johanna was still standing near the fire, alone in the center of the clearing, her head held high, her back straight, arms folded around the blankets more precious to her than gold. A mere peasant she was, unlettered and living with livestock in a stinking hut, yet one of the most remarkable women I had ever met. For me, Johanna would always represent the true spirit of Russia.
We soon located the path she had told us about and turned into the woods. The pathway was rough, winding between tree trunks, but we were able to navigate by driving slowly and carefully. Frozen branches hung low, so low Jeremy had to push them aside, but eventually the pathway grew wider, more like a road. I was depressed, and, sensing it, Jeremy reached over and squeezed my hand.
“I don’t think we have anything to worry about, Marietta. Once they realize they passed us during the night, once they turn back, we’ll already be miles ahead of them on the main road.”
“I—I wasn’t thinking about that. I was thinking about Johanna.”
“We’d have been in a sad plight without her,” Jeremy said.
“She lost her husband, her son—all because of Pugachev. How many women have been widowed because of him? How many have lost their sons? It’s hard to believe that one man can cause so much grief.”
“Pugachev’s a man with a mission. He’s not concerned with human life.”
“Everyone believes he’s a madman,” I said, “but he isn’t, Jeremy. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He may adorn himself in barbaric splendor and carry a scepter and pretend he’s the reincarnation of Peter III, but every move he makes is carefully calculated.”
“I reckon so. The man’s a military genius. He’s managed to launch one of the most successful campaigns in recent history almost single-handedly, and all the might of the Imperial Army hasn’t been able to put him down. They’ve underestimated him from the first.”
“He plans to take St. Petersburg before the month is out.”
“Not much likelihood of that. He hasn’t nearly enough men, and as soon as we get to St. Petersburg I intend to give the army a detailed map showing them exactly how to reach his secret camp.”
“He has more men joining him,” I said, “three different groups, thousands of men.”
Jeremy was silent for a moment, concentrating on the reins, the road, a deep crease between his brows. I could see that my last words had disturbed him. When he spoke, his voice was casual, much too casual.
“How do you know this, Marietta?”
“He told me—when I was in his tent.”
“I see. Uh—what else did he tell you?”
“He told me they’d be joining him within the next ten days. That’s why he’s remained in one place so long—he’s been waiting for the others. He’s had his men strike at random all over this part of the country, first in one spot, then another, fifty miles away, deliberately confusing the army. Catherine’s men are scattered about in small battalions, searching for his camp. When the others join him, Pugachev will have a mighty force—”
“And before the Imperial Army can regroup, he’ll march on the capital,” Jeremy said. “I told you the man was a military genius.”
Jeremy manipulated the reins, guiding the horse between icy tree trunks, and when the pathway straightened out, he turned to me, his expression grave. I felt a terrible foreboding.
“You realize what this means, don’t you?” he asked. His voice was level. “You realize how important this information is?”
“I—I didn’t before, not really. I—yes, I suppose I do.”
He said nothing more. It was with a sinking heart that I realized that the fate of thousands, of the entire country, might rest on this information we had, that delivering it to the proper authorities was much more important than our individual safety. I knew Jeremy, knew the kind of man he was, and the sense of foreboding grew as we continued to drive through the icy woods. And only this morning I had been filled with such joy, celebrating the happiness that … that might now be taken from me. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps he would wait until we reached St. Petersburg to notify the government and not become personally involved. It was a small hope. I clung to it as the silence continued, as Jeremy frowned, immersed in thought.
After what seemed an eternity, we reached the main road and turned onto it, leaving the woods behind. Jeremy urged the horse to trot faster, clicking the reins smartly. He still didn’t speak, was still immersed in thought. He might have been alone in the sleigh, seemed to have forgotten me completely. I understood, but that didn’t make it any easier. We sped along, and I stared at ice and snow, disturbed, depressed, trying to control the emotional storm growing inside. I wasn’t going to give way. I was going to accept whatever came. I wasn’t going to cry and … and make it even more difficult for him.
I have no idea how much time passed before I felt him tense and saw his strong, capable hands tugging on the reins, guiding the horse to the side of the road. Perhaps sixty yards ahead of us, the road made a wide curve, disappearing beyond the trees. Jeremy’s face was hard as he stopped the sleigh and picked up one of the rifles.
“What—Jeremy, what is it?”
“Get out of the sleigh,” he ordered. “Get behind it. Here, take this rifle.”
“But—”
“Do as I say, Marietta!”
I climbed out of the sleigh and took the rifle, and as he joined me behind the sleigh with the other two rifles, I heard the horses, hooves pounding on the road, beyond the curve, the riders still out of sight. They must have cut through the woods themselves, I thought. Instead of turning around and heading back toward Johanna’s village, Pulaski and the others had decided to cut through the woods and search for us on the main road. Jeremy didn’t have to tell me what to do. Gripping the rifle firmly, aiming it at the spot where the road curved abruptly, I waited, curiously calm, curiously resigned.
“I—I love you, too.”
The pounding of horse hooves grew louder, louder, much too loud for only eight riders, I thought. It sounded like a whole battalion. Beside me, his body poised, his blue eyes full of lethal determination, Jeremy waited, finger curled on the trigger of his rifle, shot bag and powder horn at hand. The black sheepskin coat hanging open, the red scarf flaring, hat pulled low over his brow, he was in perfect control. Tightening my finger on the trigger, staring down the length of the barrel, waiting, I wondered if these were the last moments we would ever spend together. I prayed silently as horse hooves thundered, and then the first riders came around the curve and charged toward us.
“Thank God,” I whispered. “Oh, thank God—”
I put down my rifle and started to tremble, and Jeremy put his down too and curled his arm around my shoulders as more and more soldiers came around the curve, black boots shining, white breeches snug, scarlet tunics vivid in the sunlight, gold epaulettes shimmering. Orders were barked out in a rough voice and the whole platoon halted. Soldiers dismounted rapidly, rushing toward us with sabres drawn. In moments we were completely surrounded, blades glittering, faces hostile, dark with suspicion. Our rifles were seized. We were bombarded with questions. Confusion prevailed as harsh voices babbled, as sabres waved threateningly, slicing the air around us. It was only natural they be so hostile, I told myself—they round a curve and find two people crouched behind a sleigh, rifles aimed at them—but what if they didn’t accept our story? Catherine’s army wasn’t noted for its compassion.
They seemed ready to cut us to ribbons.
Amidst the chaos and confusion, Jeremy tried his best to explain who we were, why we were here, but his voice was drowned out by the babble and his Russian really wasn’t up to it. He kept making horrendous errors, kept forgetting words. They were going to kill us! I stared at the belligerent faces. I shook my head. The hood fell back, uncovering my hair, and one voice rose louder than the others, laced with harsh authority. The soldiers fell back. The man who had shouted the order stepped forward, and his face seemed vaguely familiar. He was very tall, very stern, with silver-gray hair and steel gray eyes and lean, hawklike features.
“Miss Danver,” he said. “Captain Khitrov. I dined at the Marble Palace six weeks ago with you and Count Orlov.”
“Cap—Captain Khitrov—yes, yes, I remember now. You were with Countess Golovkin. I—I’m so glad to see you. Your men—”
“You can imagine our dismay when we came round the bend and saw the two of you aiming rifles at us. I apologize for the misunderstanding. I didn’t recognize you until I saw your hair.”
“We—we thought you were peasants. We’ve been—”
I cut myself short, too distraught, too relieved to go on. Captain Khitrov was all courtesy and suggested I sit down in the sleigh and ordered one of his men to bring some brandy and Jeremy helped me into the sleigh and began to talk with Captain Khitrov in a low voice, leading him away so that I wouldn’t overhear. A soldier handed me a small crystal glass with a golden rim and I sipped the exquisite brandy as horses whinnied and soldiers milled about and Jeremy and Khitrov stood talking across the road, their faces grim indeed. Several long minutes passed. I finished my brandy. Khitrov nodded his head in agreement to something Jeremy had said and then went to speak to his men. Jeremy came over to the sleigh then, and I knew. Before he spoke, I knew, and a bright world vanished for me, a dream died.
“You’re going with them,” I said.
“I must, love. I’m the only one who knows where the camp is. Khitrov is sending men off to contact the various battalions scattered about. They will all assemble at a designated place, and then we’ll hit Pugachev’s camp and find out about the other three groups and head them off.”
“I see,” I said. My voice sounded strangely hollow.
“He’s dispatching a group to round up Pulaski and his men immediately. Ten of his best soldiers are going to take you on to St. Petersburg, to the British embassy. You’ll be perfectly safe.”
“And you? Will you be perfectly safe? There’ll be battles and bloodshed and—oh, Jeremy.”
“It’s something I have to do, Marietta. You know that.”
“Yes, I know. I understand.”
“Time is of the essence. We can’t afford to lose a single day.”
“I understand, Jeremy.”
He took both my hands and held them tight and looked into my eyes, and I held back the tears and put on a brave face and felt my heart breaking.
“Soon,” he promised. “Soon it will all be over.”
I nodded, and there was much activity as men rode off on their various missions and others assembled. Jeremy and Khirov conferred again and Jeremy came back to kiss me goodbye and then swung himself up onto a horse Khirov provided. An amiable, strapping soldier climbed into the sleigh beside me and took up the reins and nine horsemen assembled around us as he pulled into the middle of the road, their saddlebags heavy with provisions. Jeremy nodded at me as we started down the road, toward the curve.
Goodbye, my darling, I said silently. I didn’t look back. There was no point. The dream was over.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Vanya had come to visit me several times during the past three and a half weeks, and I was sad as I realized this would be his last visit, that tomorrow he would be leaving for Moscow where he would join the personal guard of a nobleman. His new job would be much like the old, but Count Solveytchik was in his sixties and known for his conservatism and compassion, as unlike Orlov as a man could be. I was glad Vanya had found employment that pleased him, glad, too, that his shoulder wound was finally completely healed and he no longer had his arm in a sling. We stood in the courtyard of the British embassy now, the day so bright and sunny I had come out without a cloak, wearing one of the simple frocks I had bought soon after I arrived. Snow and ice were beginning to melt everywhere. Spring was definitely in the air.
Natasha whinnied, arching her neck, looking at me with large, luminous eyes full of affection. I curled my arms around her neck and rested my cheek against her silky skin. Three nights ago, as soon as his arm was out of the sling, Vanya had slipped into the Orlov stables in the dead of night, stealing the mare he felt rightfully belonged to him, and Natasha would be going along to Moscow with him. I was relieved to know she would have a gentle, loving master and receive gentle, loving care. I hugged her, rubbing her cheek with mine, and Natasha let out another ecstatic whinny, tapping one hoof on the pavement.
“She will miss you,” Vanya said.
“And I will miss her—and you, Vanya.”
The cossack scowled, looking quite savage in his scuffed black boots, baggy brown trousers and belted brown jacket with full skirt hemmed with gray fur. A wide-brimmed gray fur hat slanted atop his head, and a long sabre dangled from his belt. His fierce demeanor couldn’t quite conceal the unmanly emotions inside. Scowl he might, but his eyes were perilously tender as I squeezed his hand. He had been badly wounded the night he helped Lucie elope with Bryan, but friends had taken him in, had fetched a doctor and tended to him during the following weeks. When he learned Orlov had taken me to his estate in the north, Vanya had been full of anxiety and had planned to come for me as soon as it was physically possible. Hearing I had returned to St. Petersburg and was safely domiciled at the British embassy, he had been vastly relieved, making the first of many visits.
“They have been good to you here?” he asked gruffly, implying he was ready to lay waste with his sabre were that not the case.
“Sir Reginald has been very kind—so have most of the others. Some of the wives still consider me a bold, reckless adventuress and look the other way when I pass them in the foyer, but I’m quite used to that sort of thing. I fear I’ve never been quite respectable as far as the good ladies are concerned.”
“Vanya will scare
them with his sabre!”
I smiled, amused at the vision of Vanya running through the halls of the embassy with half a dozen pompous, officious wives shrieking ahead of him, taffeta skirts flying. My lengthy visits in the courtyard with “that barbarous ruffian” caused their tongues to clatter all the more. I would have enjoyed taking him upstairs to my humble but comfortable rooms on the third floor, but Vanya had refused to come inside the embassy, deeming it “unseemly.” He was far more concerned about my reputation than I.
“Oh,” I said, “I meant to tell you earlier—Sir Reginald received a letter from Bryan this morning. It arrived in the diplomatic pouch. Bryan has almost finished his new play. Lucie is studying acting with a marvelous coach who is thrilled with the progress she’s making. They’ve just purchased a small town house in London.”
“This is good to hear,” Vanya said. “The necklace you give them makes it possible for them to live most comfortably.”
“I’m very happy for them,” I said pensively.
Vanya scrutinized me with fierce brown eyes. “And you?” he asked. “It is going to end happily for you, too? Pugachev has been captured and taken to Moscow in a steel cage. His followers have been routed. Most of the soldiers have returned to St. Petersburg. The Englishman—he comes with them?”
“He returned to St. Petersburg three days ago,” I replied, “but—I haven’t seen him.”
I gazed across the sun-washed courtyard. The huge wrought-iron gates stood open. A carriage came through and pulled up in front of the embassy steps. Two women climbed out, chatting busily, their arms laden with packages after a shopping spree on the Nevsky Prospekt. Vanya frowned as the carriage drove away.
“He does not come to see you? Something is wrong?”
When Love Commands Page 57
