Bertrice Small

by Unconquered

  “Not really,” came the reply. “You see, Mandy, Jared has not been allowed—for security reasons, of course—to write to me. I have not been allowed to communicate with him because, in the eyes of the world, he is here by my side, waiting out this silly war between England and America. Lord Palmerston refuses to give me any information. Do you know what he said to me the last time I saw him? ‘When I know, madam, you will know’! He is an unfeeling beast!”

  “Miranda!” Amanda’s soft blue eyes were round with distress. “Oh, Miranda! You have been sleeping with a man not your husband!”

  Miranda’s hands clenched into little fists, and her nails dug into her palms. Taking a deep breath to still her irritation, she said, “Mandy, dearest, there have been no improprieties between Jon and me. It is true we share the same bed, but there was always a rolled quilt between us, a makeshift bundling board if you will.”

  “How did Mr. Dunham get here?” questioned Amanda. “The American coast has been blockaded since last June.”

  “It was arranged by Mr. Adams’ people and Lord Palmerston. When it became apparent that Jared would be forced to remain in Russia over the winter, Jon was sent for.”

  “But how did he explain it to his wife? He could hardly disappear for so long without offering her a reasonable explanation.”

  “Charity was drowned in a boating accident last summer. Jon left his children with his parents. They know the truth, but as far as the rest of Plymouth is concerned, Jon has gone off whaling to ease his grief.”

  “The poor man! How brave he is to have put his own grief aside to help his brother,” cried Amanda feelingly. “When Jared returns and Jon may be himself again I shall introduce him to a number of fine young women, any of whom will make him a fine second wife.”

  Miranda giggled. “You are too late, Mandy. Jon wed again by special license several days ago, and who do you think his bride is? Mistress Anne Bowen! The real reason he delayed his fishing trip with Adrian was so that he might have a few days with her.”

  “Oh! Oh!” Amanda fell back against the soft cushions. “My vinaigrette, Miranda! Oh, I feel faint. This is too shocking! The gossips will have a field day!”

  Miranda’s patience snapped. “Amanda!” she said, and her voice had a sharp edge to it. “Amanda, stop this missish nonsense at once! I have only told you these things because I am going to St. Petersburg to find Jared, and I will need your help.”

  “Ohhh!” Amanda’s eyes fluttered shut, but Miranda knew she hadn’t really fainted, so she continued without a pause.

  “I have been without my husband for ten months now, Mandy. He does not even know he has a child! I do not know if Jared is alive or dead, but I will not sit here in England playing Palmerston’s game any longer. We are not English, and we owe no loyalties to England. I want my husband back and I intend to go get him!

  “You must be responsible for my Tom, dearest, for I cannot possibly take him with me. You do understand that?”

  Amanda’s eyes flew open. “You can’t do this, Miranda! You can’t!”

  “I can, Mandy, and I will.”

  “I shall most certainly not aid you in this folly!” Amanda sat up, her curls bouncing indignantly.

  “I aided you, Mandy. If I had not gone against my husband’s wishes last year you should not be Lady Swynford now, nor have your perfect little Neddie. If I had not aided you last spring, Amanda, I should be safe in my own home on Wyndsong Island with my husband and son, not caught in England, forced to accept your hospitablity, alone, without Jared.

  “I am taking Dream Witch, and going to St. Petersburg to find my husband, and you, little sister, are going to cooperate with me! How can you deny me my own happiness when I sacrificed so much to give you yours, Amanda?”

  Amanda’s firm resolution melted away in the face of her sister’s potent argument. She bit her lip anxiously, then looked directly at Miranda. “What must I do?” she whispered.

  “Not a great deal really, darling,” soothed Miranda. “Your mother-in-law has gone back to her friend in Brighton for the summer, Adrian and Jon will not return from Scotland for at least a month. You will be perfectly safe here, and no one will ask you embarrassing questions. By the time the gentlemen return I shall be in St. Petersburg. You may tell them the truth. I am sure Jared will be ready to return by the time I get there. We will be back quickly and no one else will know. All I ask is that you look after my Tom while I fetch his father.”

  “You make it sound so simple,” said Amanda.

  “It is simple, Mandy!”

  “You make it sound like you are running up to London to pick him up after a minor business trip,” remarked Amanda irritably. “How long will it take you to get to St. Petersburg?”

  “Probably two weeks, depending on the winds.”

  “Then you will be gone well over a month! Two weeks there, two weeks back, and however long it will take you to find Jared.”

  “Oh, I expect the English Ambassador will know where Jared is,” said Miranda lightly.

  “I have a premonition,” said Amanda.

  “You?” Miranda laughed. “You never have premonitions, dearest, I do.”

  “I don’t want you to go, Miranda! Please! Please! Something is dangerous about this trip,” pleaded Amanda.

  “Fiddlesticks, twin! You are making a cake of yourself! It is a simple journey, and I shall succeed! I know I shall!”

  Chapter 10

  CAPTAIN EPHRAIM SNOW LOOKED DOWN AT HIS EMPLOYER’S wife from his six-foot-six-inch height. “Now Miz Dunham,” he said slowly. “I ain’t letting you go ashore until we find out where Jared is. These Russkies are tricky folk. I’ve dealt with ’em before.”

  “I’ll send a message to the British Ambassador, Captain,” said Miranda. “I expect he’ll know where my husband is.”

  “Very good, ma’am. Willy! Where are you, boy?”

  “Here, sir!” A young sailor ran up and saluted.

  “Miz Dunham’s going to have a note for you to take to the English Embassy in a few minutes. Stand by.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Miranda returned to the salon of the yacht and scribbled a quick message asking for news of her husband. The simple, direct message was then taken to the embassy by young Willy, who was told to wait for a reply. Miranda did not intend being fobbed off by a wily diplomat. Her messenger returned within the hour with an invitation to take supper at the embassy. The ambassador’s carriage would be sent for her at seven.

  “Oh, Lord! I have nothing to wear,” cried Miranda.

  Ephraim Snow grinned. “Seems I’ve heard my Abbie make that same complaint many a time.”

  Miranda laughed. “In my case it’s lamentably true. Not only have I traveled without a maid, I’ve also traveled without any evening clothes. After all, I didn’t come to socialize, Eph. You know the city. Is there someplace I can obtain a decent evening gown and shoes?”

  “Levi Bimberg’s Emporium is the place, but I’ll take you, Miz Dunham. Wouldn’t be right for you to go unescorted.”

  A one-horse carriage was hailed and Miranda and Captain Snow climbed in. He gave directions in careful French, which all the drivers understood, and they headed toward the Nevski Prospeckt, the city’s main avenue. Miranda was quite fascinated with St. Petersburg on this beautiful summer day. The boulevards were wide and tree-lined. There were vast green parks, and pretty flower-planted squares. Along the Neva River ran a lovely long promenade where even now in early afternoon well-dressed couples strolled leisurely.

  “Why, it’s beautiful!” cried Miranda. “St. Petersburg is as fair as Paris or London.”

  “Aye, it’s just what the Tzar wants visitors to see,” commented Captain Snow bitterly.

  “Why, Eph, what do you mean?”

  “It’s clear, Miz Dunham, that you don’t know much about Russia. There’s basically two kinds of people here—the Tzar and his nobles, and the serfs. Serfs is like slaves. They ain’t got no rights except what their master
s give ’em. They exist for the sole convenience and pleasure of their masters, living in incredible poverty ’cause if one dies it don’t matter much since there are so many left to take his place.

  “Oh, there’s a small middle class. This world just don’t work without shopkeepers, and the few free farmers who feed ’em, but if you could see the congestion of the inner-city slums it would make yer blood run cold. They got shipyards here, big metalworks, and textile mills. They pay the workers a pittance, and those who don’t live in the slums live in barracks near the factories, which ain’t much better.”

  “That’s terrible, Eph!”

  “Makes you kinda glad to be an uncivilized American, don’t it?” remarked the Yankee captain drily.

  “I can’t believe in any human being treating another badly. I detest slavery.”

  “Not all New Englanders feel that way, Miz Dunham. Plenty of ’em running slaves in from Africa to the Southern plantations.” Miranda shuddered, and Ephraim Snow immediately felt guilty for having distressed her. “Hey now, ma’am, no need for you to worry about such things. Think about Jared, and how surprised he’s gonna be to see you here. Think he’ll be at the embassy tonight?”

  “No. I’m not certain he’s even in St. Petersburg now. I’m sure we would have heard from the embassy if he were.”

  “Probably. Look, ma’am, there’s Levi Bimberg’s Emporium now. If you don’t find what you’re looking for here, then it don’t exist. This is one of the finest shops in the city. He has all the latest imports.”

  The carriage drew to a halt before a large shop as elegant as any Miranda had seen in London. Ephraim Snow stepped down and handed Miranda out. “Wait,” he said to the driver, and escorted her into the emporium.

  Miranda chose a gown of the finest gold Lyon silk, very, very sheer, and shot through with metallic threads. It was sprinkled with tiny silver stars, and the narrow ribbons that ran beneath the bustline were also silver. It fit as if it had been fashioned for her. She would wear it that evening.

  She purchased two other gowns, one of deep rose-pink and silver stripes, and a lavender one tied with gold ribbons. She also bought silk undergarments and stockings, dainty kid slippers in gold and silver, matching ribbons and reticules, and a fringed cream-colored shawl. Miranda had never bought a ready-made gown before; but the shop’s seamstress quickly saw to the minor alterations.

  The ambassador’s carriage was prompt, and Captain Snow escorted her down the gangway and safely into the coach. The gold gown shimmered in the evening sunshine, for St. Petersburg in summer saw only a very brief night. Although she had brought little clothing from England, she had brought her jewelry case, and about her neck was a magnificent necklace of amethysts set in pink gold, with matching oval earrings in her pierced ears. Seated, she smoothed her gown with her gold kid gloves. “I should not be late, Eph,” she said as the carriage pulled slowly away.

  Across the street from the boat basin, Prince Alexei Cherkessky stood in the upstairs window of an import-export house watching as the English ambassador’s carriage drove past below him. “You are absolutely right, Sasha,” he said. “The woman appears perfect for my purposes. But before I act I must find out who she is. Follow the ambassador’s coach back to the embassy, and learn what you can.”

  “Yes, master!” replied Sasha. “I knew she would please you! Do I not always know what pleases you?”

  “Um, yes,” the prince murmured absently, his eyes following the coach. “Hurry along, Sasha!”

  Sasha ran from the room, and the prince languidly descended the stairs to the main floor of the business house, staring curiously at the row of clerks high up at their desks, bent over their ledgers. The owner of the warehouse hurried forward eagerly. “I hope we have been of service, Gracious Highness.”

  “Yes,” said the prince shortly as he departed the building and, without even glancing at the man, climbed into his carriage.

  Sasha hurried down the Nevski Prospeckt, keeping the English coach in view as he went. He was an extremely pretty young man of medium height and slender build. His dark hair was curly, his face that of a naughty cupid, and he had eyes like black cherries. His clothing—an embroidered open-necked white shirt with wide sleeves, and full black pantaloons—were those of a peasant, but the fabrics were rich, and his boots were of the finest leather. About his neck was a thin jeweled gold collar.

  The coach turned off the main avenue, and took several turns down side streets, finally passing through the open iron gate of a large four-storied brick house on the Neva River. Sasha stopped short of the gates, and watched as the carriage drew to a stop. The beautiful lady in the shimmering gold gown was handed from the coach and escorted up the steps and into the embassy.

  Sasha watched as the vehicle moved around to the stableyard. Following it, he slipped onto the embassy grounds. “Hey, you!” the ambassador’s coachman called to him.

  “Good evening,” replied Sasha in his best English. The only child of the late Princess Cherkessky’s favorite maid, he had been educated with his master, the prince, and spoke several languages fluently. It was unusual treatment for even a privileged serf, but it had amused the princess to educate Sasha and the boy had acted as a spur to her son, who found the peasant boy as intelligent as he himself. Sasha’s presence encouraged Prince Alexei to excel at his studies, for it was unthinkable that a mere serf might outdo him.

  The coachman eyed Sasha suspiciously. “What do you want?” he demanded rudely. How he hated duty in Russia, but the ambassador paid extra for it.

  Sasha smiled up at the burly servant. How he hated these arrogant foreigners. “The pretty lady you just brought here, who is she?” he asked politely.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “My master, the Prince.” Sasha flipped a silver coin upwards. The coachman deftly caught it. In five minutes, Sasha had all the information the coachman possessed.

  “Thanks, friend,” he said, and walked briskly away from the embassy. Knowing St. Petersburg like the back of his hand, he took several shortcuts in order to reach the Cherkessky palace as quickly as possible. He entered the building through a side door, and hurried upstairs to his master’s private apartments, where he found the prince on his bed dallying with his current mistress. Sasha didn’t particularly care for the woman, a foreigner, but then he was always jealous of the prince’s other lovers, male or female. This one was a particularly irritating bitch, a straw blonde with strange yellow amber eyes. She was wearing a diaphanous negligee, which, thought Sasha sourly, she might as well not have had on at all. The woman lounged against the prince, a smug smile on her lips.

  “Well?” demanded Prince Cherkessky. “What have you found out for me?”

  “Virtually nothing, Highness. The ambassador’s coachman could tell me only the lady’s name. He knew nothing more. He was told to fetch her from her yacht, and bring her to the embassy.”

  The prince’s mistress sat up. “Are you considering replacing me, Alexei?” she said sharply.

  “I wasn’t, my dear,” came the smooth reply, “but if you use that tone of voice with me again, I shall.”

  The woman’s face reflected instant distress, and she wove her plump, white arms about his neck, pouting, “Oh, Alexei, I love you! The thought of losing you drives me to behave indiscreetly.”

  “Give me credit for being a gentleman, my dear. When I tire of you, I shall have the manners to tell you so.”

  “Then tell me why you have Sasha following women in the streets.”

  The prince smiled a wolfish smile, his even white teeth bright in his tanned face. He was an attractive man with an elegant figure, broad shoulders and chest, rapier-slim waist and hips, long legs. His straight black hair was cut short. His eyes were also dark and as expressionless as black agate marbles. His nose was classically flawless, his mouth thin, a trifle cruel. He unwound his mistress from his neck, and said, “There is no reason why you should not know, my dear. When Sasha was at Bimberg’s Emporium
today purchasing those scented kid gloves you set your greedy little heart on, he saw a woman of incredible beauty, the woman I have been seeking for several years now. I have seen the woman. She is just what I want!”

  “Want, Alexei?”

  “For the farm, my dear. I have long sought the perfect mate for one of my prize studs, Lucas. Lucas throws daughters, unlike his brother, Paulus, who throws sons. I have found Paulus several perfect mates over the past five years, and they have produced eighteen sons already—blond, beautiful little boys who will eventually sell for a fortune in the bazaars of the Mid and Far East. Although Lucas himself has several mates there are no women who look like him, and I have long wanted a woman with his coloring. I want to get a clutch of silver-blond daughters. The Turks will pay a fortune for such little girls, and I can sell them as young as five years old.”

  He looked back at Sasha. “Who is the woman?”

  “All I could learn was her name, Gracious Highness. She is Lady Miranda Dunham.”

  “What?!” The prince’s paramour sat up. “What did you say her name was?”

  “Lady Miranda Dunham.”

  “Silver-blond, skinny, green-blue eyes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you know this woman?” the prince demanded eagerly.

  “Yes, I know the bitch,” replied Gillian Abbott venomously. “Thanks to her I can never go home to England. I must wander the earth, an exile, dependent on bastards like you, Alexei. Yes, I know Miranda Dunham!”

  Sasha watched as the prince put an arm around the woman. “Tell me, douceka,” he murmured against her ear, his elegant hand creeping up to fondle one of Gillian’s pendulous breasts. “Tell me.”

  But Gillian was not quite the gullible fool the prince believed. If she told him the whole truth he might be deterred from his purpose, and she would lose her chance for revenge. “Miranda Dunham,” she murmured, “is an unimportant little American with no connections at all.”

  “Unimportant? She travels on her own yacht and has a title, my dear.”

  “Alexei, you don’t understand! She is an American.”