by Sandra Heath
They dragged John to the rear of the bathhouse, where a narrow doorway gave into an area to which only a very few had ever been admitted. Here was to be found a torture chamber of chains, whips, knives, and other implements for the infliction of pain. There was a deep plunge bath with chains and manacles set into the marble around it. Water dripped steadily into it—no, not merely steadily, but relentlessly....
For a moment John thought the two men were going to commence his punishment, but he thought again almost immediately. Paul wasn’t present, and there was no doubt that he would be there to watch every agonizing blow, twist, or stab of John Arbuthnot Billersley’s atonement for the past.
The men hauled John to a cupboard and bundled him roughly inside. Then the cupboard was locked, as was the door of the chamber itself, and he heard the men leave the building. Silence ensued, except for the subtle dripping of water into the plunge bath, and the muffled noises of the macaw beyond the locked doors.
* * *
At the Imperial Stables, in the meantime, Gwilym was asleep in the stall with the Griffin mare and colt. He stirred suddenly as it seemed he was drowning, and then with a frightened cry he sat up. He wasn’t in water after all, but lying on warm dry straw with the horses. His heart was beating swiftly, and he could smell lavender oil. Danger. There was danger. Beware the spotted dog, beware the spotted dog....
* * *
At English Quay Ellie also awakened with a start. She gazed up at the hunting scene on the bed canopy, wondering what had disturbed her. The moments passed, and all was quiet. She could hear a balalaika on the Neva, and the clatter of a carriage driving slowly past along the quay, but there wasn’t a sound in the house.
With a sigh she snuggled closer to Athan, slipping her arms around his warmth, and putting her lips to his bare shoulder. He turned and pulled her into his arms, pressing her body to his. They found each other’s lips in a long sleepy kiss that sent rich feelings through them both, such rich, wonderful feelings....
* * *
It was the following morning, the feast of Saints Peter and Paul, before John’s disappearance was finally discovered. The capital awakened to the sound of bells as the city celebrated its saints’ day, and the Neva was crowded with fishing boats, Saints Peter and Paul being patrons of fishermen as well. But no matter what the excitement outside, John did not come down to breakfast, and Ellie, Athan, and Louise believed that in spite of the noise of the bells, he was sleeping in after so many restless nights at sea. It was a natural enough assumption, and the last thing they thought was that something might have befallen him under their very roof.
The smell of rich dark coffee was in the warm air, and a dish of exotic fruit stood in the center of the damask tablecloth: melons from Astrakhan, grapes from the Crimea, apples from Georgia. Ellie tried not to think of what might happen to Athan and her uncle at the grand supper that night, especially her uncle, for whom Prince Paul had formed a very particular hatred. She had made an effort to appear relaxed and unconcerned, and to this end had chosen a yellow-and-white striped muslin gown that was particularly light and cheerful, but her stomach churned with nerves, and her hand trembled so her cup rattled softly when she replaced it in the saucer.
Athan wasn’t exactly unconcerned about the coming night, but gave no sign of unease. His cup did not rattle, nor did he appear to be anything but his usual self as he entertained Louise with amusing anecdotes about mutual acquaintances back in Britain. He wore a maroon coat and cream cord breeches, and his dark hair shone in the brilliant sunlight streaming through the conservatory panes.
Suddenly Gwilym burst in unannounced, bringing a sobbing Tatiana with him.
Athan rose from his chair in astonishment. “What is the meaning of this, Gwilym?”
“My lord, Mr. Bailey has been taken!”
Ellie’s cup clattered. “Taken? What do you mean, Gwilym?”
“He has been kidnapped, Miss Ellie!” Try as he would, Gwilym found it impossible to address her by her new title.
Tatiana’s sobs became more distraught. Guilt had driven her to tell Gwilym everything, and now she was terrified that Prince Paul would learn of her betrayal.
Athan left the table to go to Gwilym. “Kidnapped? How? When?” he demanded, and Louise fled from the conservatory calling for Vladimir to go to John’s room immediately.
Ellie was conscious of her racing heartbeats as they waited for the manservant to return. When he did, it was plain from his face that what Gwilym said was true. Tears welled from Ellie’s eyes, although she did her best to prevent them. Where was her uncle now? Was he still alive?
“What happened, Gwilym?” Athan demanded.
“It was last night, when you were asleep, my lord. The spotted dog sent his men, and Tatiana was forced to help.” Gwilym explained what the maid had told him. “It wasn’t her fault, my lord,” he finished urgently, “for she is a serf and her family was threatened.”
Athan nodded. “Cravenly issuing threats to his victims’ families seems to be one of Dalmatsky’s favorite ploys.”
Louise was trying to comfort Ellie, and looked stoutly at her brother. “We must do something, Athan. I don’t care how important Prince Paul is here in St. Petersburg; he can’t be allowed to simply abduct an Englishman because he feels like it!”
Athan gave a rueful smile. “Right now it rather seems a fait accompli, sis.” He went to embrace Ellie. “Don’t fret, my darling, for we’ll rescue him.”
“But we don’t even know if he’s still alive!” she cried, clinging to his lapels and wetting his neckcloth with her tears.
Gwilym spoke in the ensuing silence. “Mr. Bailey is alive, Miss Ellie, and still will be tonight when Lord Griffin goes to the grand supper.”
They all looked at the lanky youth, and he gave a shy little smile. “He’ll be rescued, have no fear of that,” he said simply. “I know it as surely as I know that Tatiana will come home to Wales with me and become my wife.”
Chapter Thirty-two
Dressed in his most formal clothes, a black corded silk coat, white satin waistcoat, white silk pantaloons, lace-trimmed shirt, and a three-cornered hat tucked beneath his arm, Athan took his leave of Ellie in the entrance hall at English Quay. It was time to go to the grand supper, and neither he nor Ellie knew what the evening ahead held, although both had complete faith in Gwilym’s promise that John was still alive and would be rescued. Ellie didn’t want to remain behind; indeed, she’d pleaded with Athan to take her with him, but this time he was adamant that she would stay with Louise, where it was safe.
Vladimir was to row him to Dalmatsky Island. Ellie watched from the doorway as the immense Russian led the way across the quay to the river steps, at the bottom of which were kept two rowboats belonging to Louise’s absent husband, Charles. The Neva was still thronged with fishing vessels of all shapes and sizes, and the city bells had commenced their evening clamor. The strange light of the White Nights was beginning to settle across the sky, robbing the sun and withholding from the moon. There were no stars in the off-white sky, and St. Petersburg seemed to be tinted with silver.
It was all so unearthly, Ellie thought as she stood unhappily in the doorway, watching Athan and Vladimir go down the steps and out of sight. She was a forlorn figure in a blue taffeta gown and pink-and-silver cashmere shawl, and her eyes, already red from weeping for her uncle, stung again as fresh tears had their way. She felt as if she were asleep and in a nightmare, except that she knew it was all only too real. Louise came to put a gentle arm around her shoulder and drew her back inside.
“Come, Ellie, for there is nothing more you can do, nothing either of us can do, come to that.”
Ellie looked ruefully at her. “Forgive me for being so selfish, Louise.”
“Selfish?”
“Well, he’s your brother as well as my husband.”
“And you have your uncle to worry over as well. As for Athan, well, I’ve known him for longer than you. He’ll be all right, truly he w
ill. He’s unconquerable, and don’t forget that the czar is his friend.”
“I pray so, oh, how I pray so,” Ellie whispered.
“You must simply be a good wife and do as you are told.” Louise gave her a brave smile. “Mind you, that is not what I usually advocate, for I believe a wife should show her spirit, but on this occasion, I think Athan is right to make you stay here with me.”
But Louise was about to change her mind on that particular point, for Gwilym and Tatiana accosted the two ladies in the entrance hall.
Gwilym was agitated and apologetic. “Begging your pardon, Miss Ellie ... I—I mean, my lady—but I’ve seen where Mr. Bailey is being held.”
“Seen?” Ellie looked urgently at him. “In your head, you mean?”
“Yes, Miss Ellie.”
“Where is he, Gwilym?”
“In a cupboard in a bathhouse on Dalmatsky Island. I described it to Tatiana, and she knows exactly where I mean.”
“Has he been harmed?”
“No, Miss Ellie, not yet, but we need to free him. There is not much time. Prince Paul means to end him tonight.”
“End him?” she repeated faintly.
“He is to be drowned in the Neva, at the very place where someone called Nikolai died.”
Ellie stared at him in horror, then looked at Louise. “I have to stop Athan from actually attending the supper. If we can find him, rescue my uncle, and simply come back here ... ? Maybe we could all flee St. Petersburg and get back to Britain somehow ... ?” She was babbling, hardly knowing what she was saying, but then Gwilym made so bold as to put a calming hand on her arm.
“All will be well, Miss Ellie. I will go to the island, and Tatiana will accompany me. She knows the way there, and where everything is on the island.”
Ellie looked swiftly at him. “I’m coming too,” she said flatly.
“But, Lord Griffin said—”
“I don’t care what he said, Gwilym. I’m coming with you.”
“Yes, Miss Ellie.”
Louise didn’t interfere. In Ellie’s place she would have done the same, and the only reason she did not insist on going as well was that she was mindful of her unborn baby.
Ellie did not dither after that, for her decision had been made, and now she was quite clear about what had to be done. With Gwilym and Tatiana she hurried across the street and down the river steps to Charles Brasier’s remaining rowboat.
Gwilym may have been long and lanky, but he was very strong, hauling surely upon the oars as the rowboat made its way through the crowded waters. There were laughter and merrymaking on the pleasure boats, and, as always, the sound of balalaika music. From time to time an opening through the clutter of vessels permitted them a glimpse of Athan and Vladimir in the other boat.
Vladimir’s size and strength should have made him more than a match for Gwilym, but the young Welshman seemed almost superhuman as he dragged rhythmically on the oars, making the rowboat skim over the water. Tatiana sat at the stern with the tiller, maneuvering the boat between the numerous other craft. Ellie sat in the prow, her pink-and-silver shawl clutched tightly around her shoulders, her face pale and determined. Nothing would be permitted to harm the two men she loved most in the world. Nothing!
Athan watched the lights of Dalmatsky Island draw closer. Every window of the palace was brightly illuminated, and the gardens were ablaze with colored lanterns. Sumptuous private barges, including several royal barges, rocked at the island jetties as what seemed like most of St. Petersburg’s highest society flocked to Prince Paul’s grand supper.
He did not quite know what to do once he arrived, for he had no idea where John might be. All he could think of was an approach to Alexander. But just as Vladimir was shipping the oars for the boat to glide the final yards to the nearest jetty, the huge Russian looked back toward St. Petersburg and saw the other boat. More than that, he recognized the occupants.
He pointed, and spoke urgently to Athan, who turned to look back. For a moment he too saw the second boat, and his brow darkened. Damn it all, hadn’t he made himself perfectly clear? What was Ellie thinking? The last thing he needed tonight was for her to be placed in danger as well!
Vladimir made the boat fast, then clambered up onto the jetty and held out a huge white-gloved hand to help Athan up as well. The sound of orchestral music drifted faintly from the palace’s open windows, and there were ladies and gentlemen everywhere, gentlemen in formal black, numerous officers in gaudy uniforms, and ladies in rich gowns and flashing jewels, with plumes wafting in their hair. Russia’s grandest of the grand had turned out to be seen at the grandest of the grand suppers.
Athan and Vladimir left the jetty and stepped onto the lawns to wait for the second boat to arrive. Athan’s brow darkened more and more as it came toward the island. He could see how frightened Ellie was, and was both fearful for her and angry. He would not be defied in such a matter as this, and she was about to be summarily turned back to English Quay! But as the other boat at last nudged the jetty, and Athan and Vladimir strode up to prevent it from making fast, Ellie looked up imploringly at him.
“Please don’t be angry, Athan. I had to come because Gwilym knows where my uncle is imprisoned! Tatiana can take us to him!”
Tatiana nodded up at Athan. “Yes, I can,” she said.
Athan hesitated, still of half a mind to send Ellie back, but then she begged him again.
“We don’t have much time. Prince Paul means to drown my uncle in the same place that Nikolai drowned.”
Gwilym stood in the rowboat and pointed out into the channel of the Neva that lay between Dalmatsky Island and the next island to the south. “That is where the ice broke and the man drowned,” he said quietly, and for a split second Athan saw the frozen river and Nikolai’s fleeing figure, the furious pack of hounds in pursuit.
The vision was over almost before it began, but the image remained clear. Without another word he bent to hold a hand out to Ellie, whose fingers closed gladly around his. He almost lifted her out of the boat, then assisted Gwilym and Tatiana as well.
Tatiana led them quickly away from the jetty and over lawns that were bathed in ghostly White Night pallor. They followed winding paths where statues cast dark shadows, and a grotto where variegated lanterns illuminated spilling water. At last, Tatiana stopped and pointed toward the bathhouse on the island’s northern shore.
“Mr. Bailey,” she said.
They approached the silent building cautiously, but there did not seem to be anyone around. The outer door opened easily, and then their steps echoed as they entered. Nikolai’s macaw greeted them with loud cries that seemed to split the night, but was soon quieted when Tatiana went to stroke it.
Athan looked inquiringly at Gwilym, who closed his eyes and concentrated hard, before suddenly pointing to the door at the rear of the building. “Through there, my lord!”
But the door was locked, and the key had been taken. Athan would have kicked it down, but Gwilym halted him with a gentle hand. “I need no force, my lord,” he said mildly, and stood in front of the door, his gaze fixed upon the lock. Vladimir crossed himself superstitiously, knowing that he was about to witness something magical.
Seconds passed, and Ellie felt a strange tingle pass down her spine; then she heard the sound of an invisible key turning. Just as always happened at Nantgarth House, the door opened of its own accord, allowing Gwilym to pass through into the room beyond. He halted on seeing what sort of room it was, and turned to put up a hand and shake his head so that Athan prevented the two women from following.
“Stay here, Ellie,” he ordered, and nodded at Vladimir to see they did as they were told.
Tatiana immediately bowed her head meekly, but for a moment Ellie remained defiant. Then she saw the look in his eyes, and she too nodded meekly.
Leaving Vladimir to see the women were safe, Athan followed Gwilym into the other room, where a single uttering of John’s first name brought forth a frantic shuffling and banging fro
m a locked cupboard. Once again Gwilym employed his invisible key, and as the cupboard opened, poor John tumbled out onto the floor.
Within moments he had been freed and helped to his feet. He was very unsteady, stiff, and sore, but otherwise unharmed, and when Athan and Gwilym helped him out to where Ellie was waiting, he was able to smile and hold out his arms to her.
She ran to him and hugged him tightly. “Uncle John! Oh, Uncle John!” she whispered, and burst into tears of relief.
Athan pulled her away. “There’s no time now. The sooner we’re off this damned island, the better. Come on.”
They all hurried out of the bathhouse, but as they slipped along the path between the peonies, two men suddenly hailed them angrily in Russian. The fugitives hesitated, but only John knew the men were those who’d locked him in the cupboard.
“The game’s up, Athan,” he breathed in dismay as the men began to run toward them, shouting all the time to alert Paul’s other servants in the vicinity. The alarm aroused the Dalmatians in the kennels, which set up an unholy racket of savage barking and snapping.
Tatiana suddenly caught Gwilym’s arm and beckoned to the others. “Come! Quickly!” she cried, and began to run toward the palace.
Toward the palace? Ellie, Athan, and John held back, but Gwilym called to them. “It’s safe! Come with us!”
Seeing Paul’s men closing the distance, they didn’t hesitate long, and with Vladimir bringing up the rear, followed Tatiana and Gwilym toward the palace kitchens, which lay beneath the green-and-white splendor of the modern building, in the old wooden world of the original dacha.
Down here fires raged day and night, summer and winter, and a small army of serfs labored to see that those in the palace above them were served nothing but the finest French food. It had to be French, even though Alexander now favored the British politically, because when it came to food, only the French were deemed stylish enough to emulate.
