The sky above her was indigo blue, peppered with stars dimmed by the brightness of the full moon. On the opposite bank, a party of late-night revellers were singing something that sounded like a sea shanty. And in front of her, his legs braced, oars set, Aleksei smiled.
Allison smiled back. ‘What are you waiting for, oarsman?’ she said, with an imperious wave of her arm. ‘Show me your city.’
He gave a little bow, then began to row with the seemingly effortless strokes of an expert, past two stone supports which were being constructed on either bank. ‘The newest bridge, to be made of iron, and it’s reputed it will be the biggest in St Petersburg,’ he explained. ‘When Peter the Great built the city, there were hardly any bridges. He imagined us as Venetians in the summer, making our way about the city in boats.’
‘And sleds in the winter. I wish I could see that, but it’s not to be unfortunately.’
‘We’re passing under the Red Bridge now. And the next one we come to is officially the Police Bridge, but everyone knows it as the Green Bridge.’
It was a beautiful night. She had forgotten how soothing the sound of oars dipping into water was, the rhythmic tug of the small craft easing forward with each pull. Though it was late, there were lights twinkling in the windows of some of the majestic buildings lining the quays. They passed numerous boathouses, large and small, any number of little jetties, boats nodding at their moorings.
‘It is magical,’ Allison said softly. ‘It feels as if we are the only people in the city, as if it is laid out like this just for us, like some sort of dream world.’
Aleksei pulled the oars in, and let the little boat drift idly, holding out his hand to invite her to sit beside him. ‘When I was a boy, I used to come out here at night to escape. I’d row for hours up river, all the way into the countryside. When you see it from there, the city is like a mystical island rising up from nowhere. It looks—I don’t know, impossible that it could exist. Like a dream world, exactly as you said.’
‘I’d love to see that. It’s a shame we don’t have time.’
‘Another night, perhaps.’
The bench was narrow. His arm was clasped loosely around her waist. The night air was salty, fresh. Aleksei was warm, one leg pressed against hers, the other braced on one of the rowing boat’s ribs. ‘I used to negotiate the many canals with ease. I’d probably get lost now, there has been so much building since I was last here.’
She turned slightly, the better to see his face. ‘Don’t you miss it at all?’
‘I miss this. It feels so familiar, as if I was born with a map of it engraved on my heart. Despite what I said, I don’t for a moment think I’d ever get lost. I expect you think that sounds ridiculously fanciful.’
‘No.’ Allison let her head rest on his shoulder. ‘I feel the same about Strachur, the village where I was raised, and the whole network of drovers’ roads and ferries around that part of Argyll. I could find my way through the forests with my eyes closed, even after seven years away. It is in my blood.’
Aleksei pulled her closer, resting his chin on her head. ‘Don’t you ever think of returning?’
‘There is nothing for me there now that Seanmhair has gone.’
‘Shen-a-vair,’ Aleksei pronounced carefully. ‘Is this Scottish?’
‘Gaelic.’
‘In Russian we say babushka. I never knew any of my grandparents. Your babushka sounds like a very wise woman.’
‘You must not be imagining some fluffy, white-haired, apple-cheeked old lady, you know.’
‘Nor a witch, even?’
Allison chuckled. ‘No, though my grandmother would most likely have found that description flattering. She was, as the saying goes, as hard as the stag’s horn and as prickly as a thistle. She had a heart of gold too, but she kept it very much hidden from view.’
‘And was there never anyone in this little Scottish village, who wished to claim you from this dragon of a grandmother?’
She lifted her head to meet his eyes. ‘An admirer, you mean? Youthful flirtations, nothing more. Though in London, there was a man.’
She turned away from him to stare out at the water. She had never discussed Robert with anyone, rarely thought of him at all, once she had cut him from her life. She had no obligation to explain herself to Aleksei, but she wanted to. She had not permitted herself to imagine that their liaison would lead to making love but the possibility was there, and now she did think about it...
‘When I first came to London, after my grandmother died, I was very lonely,’ Allison said. ‘This man and I, we became friends. And then...’ She forced herself to turn back to Aleksei, hoping that the darkness would hide her blushes. ‘You see I thought he felt as I did,’ she continued awkwardly, ‘that when we became lovers, it was simply a—a natural progression, though not one I wished to take further.’
‘But he did not think the same way, I take it?’
‘No,’ she agreed sadly. She hated herself for having, albeit inadvertently, caused such hurt. ‘He wanted us to marry, but for me that was out of the question. I was but a year in London, my list of patients expanding, but I was still nowhere near established. In the end it was an easy choice for me, but he took it badly, and I regret that.’
‘Though not the decision.’
‘No. He told me I was cold-hearted, but it’s not that. I have a heart, but it is reserved for my patients, there is nothing left over for anyone else. My vocation means everything to me, Aleksei. And for a woman, a calling and a family are quite incompatible.’
‘For a soldier too.’
‘I hadn’t thought of that. Is that why you have never married?’
‘Because I’m married to the army, that old chestnut?’
‘Well, is it true? There has never been anyone—you’ve never been in love?’
‘I’ve never been in one place long enough.’
‘So you don’t believe in love at first sight, then?’
‘A coup de foudre? The only fatal blows I am familiar with come from a sabre or a cannon ball. As to love—I’ve enjoyed numerous affaires.’ Aleksei frowned down at the river. ‘Lovemaking is the perfect antidote to making war—an unpalatable thought perhaps, though true none the less. But for me that’s all it has ever been, an idyll between battles, I’ve never wanted more. Like you,’ he said, ‘my passion has been for my vocation, to serve my country.’
‘And now?’
‘I have no idea, and until we have resolved the mystery—but there you see, I’ve brought the conversation back round to the subject we said we would avoid.’
‘Then we’ll stop talking, and simply enjoy the view.’
‘It is a very enjoyable view,’ Aleksei said, angling himself towards her.
‘I was thinking the very same myself,’ Allison agreed with a teasing smile, ‘when I was watching you clamber into the boat.’
‘Miss Galbraith, were you admiring my rear?’ He pulled her into his arms. ‘If so, I should confess that I have, from the moment I first set eyes upon you, been very much an admirer of yours.’
‘Aleksei!’
‘Allison.’ The way he said her name made her mouth go dry. ‘You can have no idea how very, very worthy of admiration your rear is since it is quite literally behind you,’ he said, sliding one hand down her back to cup her bottom, ‘but believe me, it is.’
‘If that is an attempt at a compliment, it is a novel one.’
She felt the rumble of his laughter. She felt the soft whisper of his breath on her face. ‘It is not a compliment, it is the truth.’
Her heart began to pound. He was going to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her. Ached for him to kiss her. She slipped her arms around his neck and angled her head in mute invitation. And he accepted it with alacrity.
The taste of him made her head spin. A hunger she had never experienced before ravened her as their lips met. She wanted to savour him, and at the same time to devour him. She felt torn, her body clamouring for release, but at
the same time demanding deliciously protracted pleasure. She had never felt like this. She didn’t want to feel like this. She wanted nothing more.
They clung to each other, their mouths locked, tongues touching, darting, thrusting, and hands, feverish hands seeking skin where there was only clothing. Aleksei’s breathing was ragged. Hers was shallow. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes heavy-lidded. She didn’t doubt his desire was as strong as her own as he cupped her breasts, stroked her back, the curve of her bottom.
Only when he tried to lift her closer, and the boat rocked wildly, one of the oars falling into the water, did they come to their senses. Flailing for the oar, Allison would have toppled in, had Aleksei not caught her.
‘I think,’ he said ruefully, pulling her back to safety before reaching for the oar, ‘that someone somewhere is trying to tell us something.’
‘By dousing us with cold water, you mean?’
A clock chimed in the distance. ‘Or reminding us that tomorrow is rapidly approaching, and that our sightseeing expedition must end, for the time being.’
‘You’re right.’ She settled herself reluctantly on the rear bench.
He leaned over, cupping her face and their cold lips met once more. ‘I earnestly wish I was not.’
‘So do I.’ She pulled him closer, kissing him fiercely. ‘So do I.’
* * *
Morning broke too quickly for Allison. Having lain awake for hours reliving their kisses, her body thrumming with frustrated anticipation, she had fallen into a deep sleep just as the sun rose, only to be awakened what seemed like a mere five minutes later, by Natalya bringing her tea.
The children were fretful, Catiche sullen, Elena determined upon mischief, finally succeeding when she deliberately tore the ear from Nikki’s favourite knitted rabbit, resulting in an epic tantrum and a storm of tears which summoned the almost-deaf nanny from her room.
By now extremely relieved to surrender her charges to the old woman’s care, Allison resisted the temptation to return to her chamber and, with more than two hours to spare before she was due to open up her dispensary, decided to explore the succession houses again. She was in the first of the glasshouses, a fernery, eyeing the incongruous statue of a completely naked Aphrodite set under a palm tree, when the creak of the door alerted her to another presence.
‘I saw you from the study window, and followed you here.’ Aleksei was dressed in his formal uniform, freshly shaved, and looking ridiculously, sinfully attractive.
‘Good morning. The children were...’ She bit her tongue. He wasn’t in the least bit interested in the children’s mood. ‘I thought I’d take another look to see if I’ve missed anything.’
‘I am going to miss you.’ He took her hand, made to kiss it, then changed his mind, pulling her suddenly into his arms and kissing her lips instead.
‘Aleksei! You must not—what do you mean, you will miss me? Where are you going?’
‘I’ve been thinking. Since I couldn’t sleep last night, my—my mind being over-stimulated...’
‘Aleksei!’
He held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘I was thinking about my next move, and I came back to the question of possible motive. It is a long shot, but I thought it was worth trying to find out a bit more of Michael’s activities in the period before he died. I thought I could take up some of those invitations I keep receiving, attend the court, ask a few pertinent questions, reconnoitre the lay of the land, so to speak. If I’m very, very lucky, I might even find someone who knows where the Orlova woman might be hiding.’
‘That’s an excellent idea.’
‘Yes, it’s brilliant,’ Aleksei agreed sardonically. ‘Endless meetings and dinners and parties fuelled by gossip and speculation. All my favourite activities.’
‘But well worth it if it flushes out a new suspect, or more importantly, helps you to flush out our prime suspect.’
‘Indeed. I will be paying a call on my cousin, our only available suspect too. So I should warn you that I will require to be away from the palace a good deal in the next week or so.’ He took her hand again, saluting over it and pressing the lightest of kisses to her fingertips. ‘I hope it will not be too long before Aleksei and Allison can meet in more congenial circumstances.’
* * *
Watching him walk purposefully away, and hoping that the congenial circumstances were not too many days away, Allison reminded herself that Miss Galbraith had a fee to earn.
She began to wander through the fernery, enjoying the rich, loamy aroma of the compost, the slightly bitter scent of the larger ferns, testing herself to see if she could name them all. A fish pond lay at the centre of the succession house, stocked with colourful carp. A little woodland grove planted along one wall caught her attention. Here was yellow-leaved meadowsweet, which was good for the digestion. A late-flowering knotweed. Blowsy chrysanthemum in autumn gold and copper. The dried crimson spikes on this one suggested it was the lily known as red-hot pokers. This one, with its plumes of tall white flowers, she didn’t recognise, but beside it was a clump of delphiniums, one of the flowers Lady Hunter favoured for her vases. Allison had fond memories of trailing through the garden in her ladyship’s wake, carrying the trug.
Suddenly, she recalled the salutary lesson Grandmother had taught her when she had brought back a bunch of the blowsy blooms to the cottage as a surprise.
‘By all that is sacred!’ Allison exclaimed.
The drawing in the book which Seanmhair had shown her had looked, to Allison’s uninitiated eyes, exactly like the flowers Lady Hunter had given her to take home. It had the same shape and stature. But the stem and the leaves depicted in the drawing were a much darker green and, her grandmother told her, rough to the touch. Where the delphinium had bell-shaped flowers, the other plant had sinister, cowl-like hoods, a vivid blue in colour, the stamen almost black, glinting with moisture and, to Allison’s childish eye, malignant.
‘Wolf’s Bane. Monkshood. Devil’s Helmet. Aconite.’ She remembered pronouncing the strange words carefully. There were many names for this darkly beautiful and deadly plant, for every single component, from petal, to seed, to root, was poisonous. The roots and seeds were especially dangerous if ingested, but equally lethal if the skin was pierced by an arrow or a dart or a knife.
Allison stared at the delphiniums mesmerised, trying to recall everything she knew about its lethal lookalike. Death could be speedy. A racing heart, a squeezing of the chest or gripe of the stomach, then it was over. But sometimes it took longer. There could be violent sickness. Some victims complained of numbness spreading across their body, some claimed that their bellies were on fire, or that they felt as if ants were crawling under their skin. Some sweated, some shivered, became delirious. Ultimately, breathing became more and more laboured, and always death, when it came, left the victim struggling frantically for air as if they were drowning, or being smothered. Or having an apoplexy.
Could Wolf’s Bane have killed Michael? Without question. But it was the next question Allison asked herself which made her stop in her tracks. She needed to consult her Culpeper’s Herbal Guide. She needed to inform Aleksei...
No! For what she was contemplating was so radical, she had to be certain of her facts. She would bide her time, do some further research. And in the meantime, she thought, hearing the distant clang of the midday bell, dispense her lotions and potions to the waiting sick.
Chapter Seven
Allison awoke with a start, her heart pounding, bathed in sweat. Completely disorientated, she lay staring up at the ceiling, trying to calm her breathing, but the image remained with her, the child’s waxen face, his hands curled tightly around the sheets, his mother staring at him in utter disbelief. There had been the oddest silence for what seemed like eons, before a series of horribly rhythmic high-pitched screams started.
It was the lady’s maid who stopped them by striking her mistress across the cheek. It was she who helped the broken woman to a chair, ringing the bell to
summon a manservant, demanding brandy be brought, the whole time looking at Allison, who was standing stock still in the middle of the room. It had been the lady’s maid who heard Dr Anthony Merchmont’s accusations, who had witnessed Allison flinch at them, bow her head abjectly, visibly wilt under them. She might as well have held up a placard proclaiming herself guilty. Even now, forcing herself to sit up in the bed, pushing aside the tangle of sheets and blankets, she felt a surge of guilt. What had she done? What should she have done?
Staggering out of bed, she drank thirstily from the jug of water left on her night stand. Why had the dream returned to torture her now? She had not forgotten, she would never, ever forget that tragic night, but she was in the process of putting it behind her. She was once again practising her skills, helping people, easing suffering which had been borne stoically, in some cases, for years. Ironically, the free dispensary, which was growing in popularity by the day, was proving more rewarding than her lucrative practice in London.
She pulled back the curtains, leaning her forehead against the cool window pane. For six long months she had withdrawn from society, punishing herself by giving up the thing most precious to her. For six months she had tortured herself by constantly reliving the tragic events of that day, doubting herself, berating herself, making the slurs thrown at her by the medical establishment seem trivial in comparison. She had even managed to convince herself that she deserved the scandalous accusations spread by the press.
She had paid a heavy price. And now she was atoning, through her charitable dispensary. A spark of anger flared inside her. ‘It was not my fault,’ she muttered. ‘It was not my doing,’ she said again, with a new certainty. ‘It was not.’
From Governess to Countess (Matches Made in Scandal) Page 10
