Andrea Pickens - [Lessons in Love 03]

by The Storybook Hero

  Alex nodded.

  "I... I didn't think you would come." His toe kicked at the fringe of the thick rag rug. "And now I fear it is for nothing," he added in a wavering tone. "The French army is fast approaching. You will be trapped here as well."

  Alex moved to where the boy stood and placed an arm around his shoulders. "I have managed, against all odds, to find you here. I daresay I shall figure out a way to get us safely to St. Petersburg."

  Nicholas looked up, hope kindling in his eyes. "You... really think so, sir."

  "Indeed I do. Oh, and I would take it kindly if you will dispense with 'sir' and call me Cousin Alex."

  The old woman could no longer restrain herself and began to speak in a rush. Riasanov stooped to whisper something in her ear. A rush of color came to her broad cheeks and she set to preparing tea and a platter of thick sliced rye, radishes and smoked fish. Above the clinking of the glasses and the rattle of cutlery, the steward gestured for the three of them to be seated at the table. Natasha joined them shortly, with profuse apologies for her lack of hospitality. She placed the food in front of Alex and clucked at him until he had piled enough onto his plate that not a bit of the brightly painted pattern showed.

  Satisfied that he would not expire from hunger in the next few minutes, she took a seat herself and began where she had left off. "...and Radischev says that our troops have been thrown back at Tver, which means the French cannot be far from here. What are we do?" She looked first to Riasanov, then to Alex.

  The steward scratched at his beard. "You will return with me to Polyananovosk, of course. I don't believe they will push that far east." He slanted a look at Alex. "But as for the young master and Mr. Sheffield..."

  "I will need horses and a sleigh."

  Riasanov pulled a face. "It will not be easy, especially now."

  "I can pay very well."

  The old woman thought for a moment, then thumped her glass down on the table. "My nephew Igor may be persuaded. If not, I will take a broom to his backside."

  * * *

  Some time later, as Alex surveyed the two mismatched nags and ancient vehicle, he couldn't refrain from thinking that not only had he paid very generously, he had paid through the nose. At least the animals looked to have some stamina despite their ugly appearance, and the sleigh, on further inspection, did not seem in imminent danger of falling apart at the first bump. And no doubt the other two were right—he had precious little choice.

  He handed over the exorbitant sum and climbed into the creaky seat. Though accounted a dab hand with the ribbons, he soon found that handling a vehicle on runners over slick ice and snow was an entirely new experience. Well, he though wryly, he would undoubtedly have plenty of practice at it before he reached St. Petersburg. Somehow, he arrived back at the cottage without serious mishap. After he and Riasanov had put the horses away, they returned to the kitchen where Natasha had laid out yet another meal.

  Alex stared for a moment at the tumbler of vodka that the steward offered him, then waved it away. "We will need warm clothing and extra blankets." His fingers drummed on the table. "I suppose it would also be wise to take a supply of provisions, in case we must avoid the main roads."

  "Or in case the villages have been looted and burned," added Riasanov in a grim voice. "You will also need to take a pistol."

  A ghost of a smile came to Alex's lips. "You may be sure I have already thought of that. A brace of Manton's best have been in my satchel since I stepped off the ship."

  Though he had no idea of who Manton was, the steward understood the gist of the reply and nodded in approval.

  "I have plenty of spare blankets, and a thick fur robe which will serve well to protect you as you drive, sir," piped up the old woman. Her face screwed up in thought as she slanted a glance at her pantry. "I shall fix an ample supply of food—"

  "Just remember, we do not need to feed an army—at least, we hope not," interrupted Alex with short laugh. "The horses must be able to pull the sleigh."

  Natasha cast an aggrieved look at the grins around her. "You must be able to keep up your strength. It is a long journey, and who knows what awful dangers will be lurking behind every tree."

  "Let's have no talk of Baba Yagar sweeping down to carry off the young master and his English cousin in her mortar and pestle," admonished the steward. "We have enough real concerns without you frightening the boy with your lurid folk tales of ravenous wolves and evil witches."

  She fell silent, but the expression on her lined face showed that she considered such threats very real indeed. With a warning waggle of her finger, she stood up and shuffled off to get the supplies ready.

  "I have been thinking," said Riasanov as he listened to the dark muttering coming from the pantry with an amused shake of his head. "It makes more sense for me to take the horses and sleigh that you purchased today, while you and the young master take ones from Polyananovosk."

  Alex made to protest, but the steward held up his hand. "No arguments, Mr. Sheffield. You have a much greater distance to travel. Besides, they belong to Master Nicholas."

  The sense of such reasoning made further discussion unnecessary. "Very well." He turned to the boy seated by his side, who looked to be a bit dazed by all that was going on. "Perhaps you might see if you can locate an extra lantern or two, then help Natasha gather the blankets while I have a word with Nicholas."

  The steward nodded in understanding and left the room.

  Alex took a deep breath, trying to figure out how to begin. He had little experience in speaking to children—with a prick of conscience, he realized he had never even met William's two boys, who must be at least seven and five by now, or Thomas's brood of three toddlers. How did one avoid sounding pompous, or worse, condescending?

  The luminous dark eyes that looked up at him in expectation settled things quickly. He would just have to say what he honestly felt, and hope it was good enough.

  "I won't insult you by claiming I know how terrible things have been for you these past months," he said gently. "Nobody but you can truly fathom the depths of your hurt. But I, too, know what it is like to lose someone very close to you. My oldest brother died in a boating accident and I... I still miss him very much. My family and I can never replace the one you have lost, but we should like to offer you our love and a home where you may be safe."

  He bent lower, so that his eyes came level with those of the boy. "You may count on me as a friend, Nicholas. We have a difficult journey ahead of us, if you choose to make it. One that may even be dangerous at times, but I'll do my best to see us through it unscathed. What say you? Shall we make a go of it together?"

  Nicholas blinked several times. "When do you wish to leave, Cousin Alex?"

  He ruffled the boy's dark hair. "You're top of the trees, lad. We should be off at first light."

  "Top of the trees?" asked Nicholas in confusion. "Must we also climb trees?"

  Alex laughed. "It's an expression. It means you are a great fellow."

  "Oh, I see." The boy appeared to be making a mental note of it. "I imagine there will be many peculiar English sayings I will not understand."

  "Don't worry, I'll be able to teach you more than a few before we reach St. Petersburg." He grinned. "I shall try not to introduce too many unacceptable words into your vocabulary. No doubt my sisters-in-law will be boxing both our ears if I don't watch my tongue."

  Nicholas gave the first hint of a smile. "Like what?"

  Alex lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Well, to begin with, you are on no account to say 'bloody bastard' in proper company, especially if a lady is present."

  "What is 'bloody bastard'?"

  "The worst sort of evil fellow you can imagine."

  "Ah." The boy fiddling with his knife. "Like Uncle Vasili?"

  "Exactly like Uncle Vasili." He pushed his chair back from the table. "Now, I think both of us had better get some rest if we are to leave at dawn."

  Nicholas got up as well.

&nb
sp; Alex extended his hand, but the boy ignored it, gesturing instead for him to lean down. He did as he was bade and suddenly found himself enveloped in a hug, "Good night, Cousin Alex."

  Alex felt his throat constrict as he gave an awkward squeeze to the boy's thin shoulders. "Good night, Nicholas."

  * * *

  Octavia undid her the strings to her fur hat and laid the thick muff on the table. "The snow is starting again," she said to the butler, who, aside from Mrs. Renfrew's lady's maid was the only other English servant in the house. "There appears to be a an unusual amount of activity in the streets, and from what I can gather, a number of disturbing rumors going around as well. Have you heard any further news from the embassy?"

  He shook his head. "No, but when I was out this morning, I also noticed a number of carriages leaving by the northern route. Perhaps I should go and make some inquiries?"

  "I think that might be wise." She paused for a moment. "I had thought that Kutusov was accorded to be a competent general. Even though he had to fall back from Smolensk, it was said he inflicted severe casualties on the French army. Do you really think he has allowed the French to march on his country's capital unopposed?"

  The butler's expression didn't hide his opinion of foreigners in general. "Who knows what sort of cowardice these barbarians are capable of. Now, if Wellington was in command, he would drive those Frogs—"

  "No doubt, but he is not. So let us try to discover exactly what is happening."

  He fetched his overcoat, still grumbling under his breath, and stepped out into the frigid air. Octavia's brow furrowed in concern as she watched the door fall shut. She had not liked the mood of fear she had sensed in the streets. A number of people had brushed past her, arms loaded with staples like flour and potatoes, as though preparing for the worst. Certainly, the news from the front had not been good. Each skirmish or battle had ended with a retreat by the Russian forces. If it was true that the French were moving slowly, inexorably, to within striking distance of Moscow, there was good reason for her to be worried.

  Not for a moment did she think the Renfrews would give a thought to their being trapped in the capital. For all she knew, they might stand to come into Emma's inheritance if anything happened to the child, and so would welcome any attack by the enemy.

  No, if anyone was to look out for their safety, it would have to be her.

  She quickly climbed the stairs to Emma's attic quarters. The girl was reading a book in the schoolroom, but immediately laid it aside on seeing Octavia's grave expression.

  "Is something amiss, Miss Hadley?"

  "I am not quite sure, Emma, but it appears that the French army may be closer to the city that any of us thought."

  The girl remained silent for several moments, then asked in a tentative voice, "What will happen to us?"

  Octavia had no idea. But she was sure she did not want to find out. Though she had no firsthand experience with the ravages of war, she had read enough of both past and present conflicts to know that there would be terrible destruction and chaos if the enemy forces marched on Moscow. Perhaps it would be possible to take refuge at the embassy, but as England was also at war with the French, it seemed likely that would offer little real protection.

  Emma was still looking at her, eyes clouded with apprehension.

  "I'm not sure," she admitted frankly. "However I think it best to be prepared for any emergency. I would like you to pack a small bag and have your warmest garments ready in case we must leave in a hurry. Can you do that, Emma, while I make some inquires downstairs?"

  A slight smile came to the girl's lips. "I'll not throw a fit a vapors, if that is what you mean."

  "Good girl."

  Octavia hurried toward the kitchen. The Russian cook had taken a liking to her on account of her interest in learning the language. As he had spoke some English as well, they had enjoyed a number of pleasant conversations over a steaming cup of tea. With friends and family in the city, surely he would have some idea of what was going on.

  Her hand flew to her throat as she regarded an empty room, pots in disarray, the stove nearly cold. "Mr. Shishkov?" she ventured.

  A grunt came from the pantry. He emerged a moment later, dragging a sack filled with turnips and onions. He added it to a growing pile of staples near the scullery door, then turned and wiped the sweat from his brow.

  "Is the news that dire, then?" she asked.

  "Miss Hadley, rumors are swirling everywhere, but from the best I can make out, our troops have suffered a grievous defeat at the village of Borodino. If that is true, the French may enter the city in a day's time, if not sooner."

  She went very pale.

  "Already there are fires breaking out in parts of the city, whether by chance or by Count Rostopchin's orders, I don't know, but it's a very dangerous situation. Already there was a near riot at the market near the Kremlin when bread ran out. If I were you, I would not stay here in Moscow."

  Her jaw tightened. "Where might one have a chance of catching a coach for the north?"

  The cook's face betrayed his surprise. "The master has made no provisions for you and the little one to leave?"

  She shook her head.

  He muttered something in Russian she didn't understand, which was probably just as well. "I suppose it should not surprise me. He and his lady are as cold as our Siberian steppes." He hesitated as he placed several sharp cooking knives on top of the other items he had gathered. "My son will come around with our wagon in an hour. We are leaving the city to stay with my wife's family in Gzhatsk. If you wish, you may travel with us for a way. It will be easier to find transportation to St. Petersburg once you are away from Moscow."

  Octavia took only a second to make her decision. "That is most kind of you. Emma and I will be ready."

  There was little time to lose. Her first stop was Mr. Renfrew's study. Heading immediately to his heavy pine desk, she began a careful search of the drawers. On finding one of them locked, she grabbed up the heavy iron poker by the fireplace and, without hesitation, smashed the brass fixture. As she had hoped, there was a leather purse hidden under a sheaf of documents. It was not quite as heavy as she might have wished, but at least the coins were all gold Imperials.

  Tucking it into one of her pockets, she continued to go through the rest of the contents, in case there was anything else that might be useful. Her hand came across a wooden case at the very bottom of the drawer. Opening it, she found a pistol, along with a supply of powder and bullets. She relatched the case and took it under her arm. After a quick look in the rest of the compartments, which turned up a small brass compass as the only other item of interest, she hurried back up to her own room to collect a few extra garments and personal things.

  Emma was seated on the edge of her bed, a small valise at her feet. Her face looked serious, but Octavia was glad to note there was no trace of panic.

  "Mr. Shishkov has offered to take us out of Moscow, to a place where we might more easily catch a coach to St. Petersburg. But we must leave immediately." Octavia crouched down so her eyes were level with those of the girl. "I think it the best decision, Emma. I don't think we can trust that the Renfrews will give a thought to our being trapped here."

  Emma's lips curled slightly at Octavia's frank assessment of her aunt and uncle's character. "I imagine you are right."

  "It may be a difficult journey, and mayhap even frightening or dangerous at times, but I truly believe it is our only choice."

  "If you think it is right decision, Miss Hadley, then you may count on me to do as you say." The girl's eyes took on a decided gleam. "Why, it sounds like we are embarking on some adventure just like out of Mrs. Radcliffe's novels. All we need is a tall, handsome hero to come to our assistance."

  Octavia was secretly relieved that the girl was excited rather than terrified at the idea of setting off alone and unprotected into a strange country. However, she sought to put a damper on such fanciful notions. "Pray, do not count on that, Emma. Real life i
s rarely as romantic as the tales in those horrid novels. I'm afraid that I am all you have got."

  Chapter 7

  The wagon was piled so high with furniture and household goods that there was scarcely room for Octavia and Emma to squeeze in. Shiskov's wife made no comment at the sight of the two foreigners, but the slight narrowing of her eyes as they climbed aboard betrayed what she thought of the additional burden. The son helped his father load the foodstuffs into the back, then went to take up the reins. With an apologetic shrug of his shoulders, Shiskov handed them their meager luggage before joining his family on the high planked seat.

  Despite being wedged between a painted chest and several chairs, Octavia felt nothing but relief as the wheels rolled forward. She shifted a large sack of grain to serve as a seat, and arranged several blankets to create a passably comfortable nook for Emma and herself. Her arm came around the girl's shoulders, and she gave her a reassuring smile, which was returned without hesitation.

  The situation in the streets had become noticeably more tense since morning. Crowds had gathered on a number of street corners, shouting frantic questions at the detachment of Hussars that passed by at a hurried trot. As church bells began to peal, there were signs of incipient panic—the breaking of glass as a stone smashed through a shop window, the clatter of hooves as an elegant carriage raced by, its team galloping at a breakneck speed, heedless of the milling people.

  Despite the confusion, Shiskov's wagon managed to make its way to the outskirts of the city without mishap, and though the road leading north, away from the approaching enemy, was filled with other fleeing vehicles, progress was steady enough. However, even though the sack of grain provided a measure of padding, the constant heaves and jolts were beginning to take their toll. Emma's excited observations had slowly ebbed away, and her lids began to droop. By the time the gilt domes of Novedivichey Monastery had disappeared from view, she had fallen into a fitful doze, slumped against Octavia's shoulder.