From Governess to Countess

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘We should not. Not here. We are working, we agreed we need strict demarcation lines,’ Allison said.

  ‘We did.’

  His hand smoothed down the back of her gown to rest lightly on her waist. He did not urge her to step closer, but she did anyway. ‘Yes,’ she said, tilting her head and closing her eyes.

  ‘Yes,’ Aleksei whispered, before his mouth covered hers.

  The most fleeting of kisses, too little and far too much. They sprang apart.

  ‘Time is marching on,’ Aleksei said, ‘we need to concentrate on the matter in hand.’

  ‘Yes,’ Allison agreed, refusing to meet his gaze. ‘We should inspect the herb garden before the children return.’

  * * *

  ‘These are fabulous,’ Allison exclaimed, standing on the terrace which overlooked the formal gardens at the rear of the Derevenko Palace. ‘How fortunate you are.’

  Aleksei had only ever considered the gardens of Derevenko Palace a vast playground, when he was a boy. Now, he had no interest in them whatsoever, and while he could see that the expanse of green manicured lawn, the formal flower beds, symmetrical paths interspersed with small fountains and statues were pleasing to the eye, he could see little in the vista to elicit the rapturous look in Allison’s eyes. ‘Not so very different from many gardens I’ve seen in England. Or France. Or even Italy, for that matter. In Spain, the climate is arid. There is less greenery,’ he said vaguely.

  ‘Gardens are not really your cup of tea, I take it,’ Allison said, eyeing him with amusement.

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Then I will explore them at my leisure, or with the children. Let us concentrate on the herb garden.’

  Aleksei led the way down the steps and on to the path leading to the walled area. Opening the wooden door set into the high wall surrounding the herb garden, he stood back to permit her to enter first.

  ‘Oh!’ Allison gazed about her with delight. A wide paved path split the garden into two halves. Low, neatly trimmed box hedges set in groups of four formed planting areas, and smaller gravel paths ran between each. Against each of the four walls, other borders were planted, and the walls themselves had been used to support a huge variety of small trees and shrubs. Aleksei could not put a name to a single plant, but even he could see that the riot of late summer colour was pretty enough, the perfumed scent heady.

  ‘Oh, how wonderful,’ Allison breathed ecstatically, before setting off down the path to the first box enclosure, grabbing his hand and forcing him to accompany her. ‘Here are some of the most common herbs,’ she said. ‘Mint, peppermint, and skullcap. Various forms of thyme. Lemon verbena. Comfrey. Parsley. Chervil. Lovage. All fairly hardy, and so in the most exposed location, do you see?’

  He saw only lots of plants, but fortunately Allison either expected no response, or else took his silence for acquiesce. ‘Here we have fennel, dill, comfrey. Angelica. Oh, and St John’s wort, valerian, and you don’t need me to tell you that is lavender,’ she added, gesturing at the silvery line of plants which marched along one long border. ‘Rosehip here, and rosemary too, in the sunniest part of the garden.’ On she dragged him. ‘Those flowers that look like daisies are echinacea, and over here we have the various berries, and there—’

  She broke off, making a wry face. ‘But you’re not interested in a lesson in horticulture, are you? You want to know whether any of these plants could have poisoned your brother. And the answer is—oh, Aleksei, I wish the answer was straightforward, but it’s not. Many of these plants, in the correct combination, could be lethal. Yet in a different combination they can act as curatives. The problem is though, that constructing the correct combination, of dried leaves or fresh, seeds or flower parts, roots—it requires a great deal of knowledge and skill.’

  ‘Which neither of our suspects possess, you mean?’

  ‘Which very few people possess, I mean. I think we must look for something simple and easily obtained. If your brother was poisoned, given what you have said of the risk and the consequences, then the murderer would have to ensure that he committed as near the perfect crime as possible—no one else involved in making a poison, no one suspicious of any poison purchased, and a poison which produced something which looked enough like an apoplexy to fool a very well-respected doctor.’

  ‘A perfect crime, or a perfectly natural death. You think I am—what is the phrase, jumping up the wrong tree?’

  ‘Barking,’ Allison corrected, smiling, ‘and no, I don’t. I think you need to be sure, one way or another. I will do my best to help you, and hopefully by the time you have found Madame Orlova, I will have something definitive to tell you.’

  ‘I plan to head first for the Orlova family home and pick up the trail from there. You must not worry, Michael—dammit, Nikki’s man of business will look after things.’

  ‘It’s the children I’m worried about. I am a complete stranger to them.’

  ‘You know that I’m not really expecting you to teach them, only to ensure that they are taken care of? They have been perfectly content with their nanny and an escape from the schoolroom these last months. Time enough for them to return to their normal routine when this is over.’

  ‘Yes, but I would like to help them in any way I can. My heart goes out to them.’

  ‘I thought that you would be happy to be spared teaching duties, but you must do as you see fit. I trust you.’

  ‘You do?’

  He drew her closer. ‘I do. I have every faith in you.’

  She smiled up at him. ‘Thank you.’ Her fingers clutched his tightly. ‘You have no idea how much that means to me.’

  ‘Allison, before I leave I need to ask you if you regret last night.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ A blush stole up her throat, but she met his gaze fully. ‘I am thirty-one years old. I will not pretend to innocence, though my experience is limited, for my vocation matters more to me than any man, and always will. But I am sick of the double standards which require a professional woman to be beyond reproach. I am tired of suppressing my feelings and I’m weary of having to disguise my looks. Last night was...’

  She was blushing furiously now. ‘I think it was perfectly obvious how I felt about last night, but for the sake of clarity, since we have no time to dance around the subject, then let me tell you that I would be more than happy to—to carry on from where we left off on your return, on the strict understanding that it doesn’t interfere with our task.’

  She looked so adorably flustered he wanted to kiss her. Which was the thing she’d asked him not to do. ‘Then for the sake of clarity, let me reassure you that I am similarly more than happy to continue on those terms.’

  ‘Then we have a deal.’ She held out her hand, the gesture of an English gentleman, intending to shake his, but that was a step too far for Aleksei. He kissed her fingertips lightly. And she exhaled sharply. And despite their agreement, his resolution weakened. She stepped towards him. He moved towards her.

  ‘Your Illustrious Highness. Forgive my interruption.’ The servant’s voice made them leap apart ‘You asked to be informed immediately His Serene Highness Duke Nicholas returned.’

  ‘Who?’ Allison asked bemusedly.

  Aleksei grinned. ‘Nikki, and presumably his two sisters. Come, Madam Governess, it is time for you to meet your charges.’

  Chapter Five

  Aleksei had been gone almost three weeks, during which time Allison had made limited progress with her investigations and even less with the children. Which hurt. She knew she was being foolish, she had known they would view her as an interloper and what’s more Aleksei had made it clear that he did not expect her to launch any sort of charm offensive, yet she opened the schoolroom door each morning with a sinking heart.

  Nikki stood to attention at his desk, looking as if he was about to salute her. Catiche and Elena rose reluctantly, dropping
the most grudging of curtsies and sank back on to their chairs before Allison had even reached hers. Nikki’s nascent smile faded as Elena yanked him unceremoniously back into his seat, hissing something at him in Russian.

  ‘Good morning.’ Allison’s smile was fixed. She knew it was too wide and too rigid. She also knew it would not be returned.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Galbraith,’ the three children chorused in perfect and perfectly expressionless English.

  Allison made a show of shuffling the papers and books stacked on her desk, studying her charges from beneath her lashes. She had been prepared for reserve, expected tantrums, these were troubled orphans after all, but this sullen display of outward compliance, she was finding very difficult to penetrate.

  Catiche, at thirteen, was coltish, at that awkward stage between girl and young woman. She seemed to be tangled in legs grown too long, both embarrassed and proud of her burgeoning curves. Her features were maturing from childhood cuteness, too raw to be beautiful as yet, though with all the signs of beauty to come. As the eldest, it was to be expected that she would be most affected by the loss of her parents and governess, but Catiche hid it inordinately well, doing her crying in private, and refusing point blank to acknowledge any redness in her eyes when Allison had gently raised the subject. For the most part her expression was taciturn. Her eyes were disconcertingly Baltic blue, exactly like Aleksei’s and every bit as icy. The only emotion she made no attempt to disguise was a contempt for the English intruder.

  Elena, on the other hand, was less troubled but more troublesome. The middle child, angelically fair and very much aware of her charm, it was she who pulled her siblings’ strings. If Allison wasn’t so set upon being charitable, she’d have labelled Elena a precocious brat in need of a good setting down. A true child of St Petersburg was Elena, a consummate machinator who would baulk at nothing to achieve her objectives. And her objective was clearly to have their new governess dispatched back to England, the sooner the better.

  Allison was no teacher, but she had dedicated her life to caring, and had always considered herself empathetic, yet she had signally failed to engage with her charges. She was most horribly aware that her overtures were becoming increasingly desperate and therefore increasingly transparent. The harder she tried, the more the children responded with what seemed to be contempt. Only Nikki seemed inclined to succumb to her attempts at friendly engagement, but Elena always made sure this weakness in her brother was short-lived, her sotto voce threats in Russian clearly intended to remind him of where his loyalties lay.

  And then there was the dog. Allison shuddered with distaste. As if on cue, a noxious smell which was becoming revoltingly familiar wafted across the schoolroom, and Ortipo the bulldog gave a self-congratulatory bark. She knew it was ridiculous to think that an animal could be in cahoots with three children, but she was nevertheless sure that this was, somehow, the case. She didn’t like dogs, though she had learnt to keep her feelings on the subject to herself, for the English, she had discovered, were inordinately fond of the creatures. Wives neglected by their husbands, and children neglected by their parents found, in the family lapdog, a comfort and companionship that Allison found odd but comprehensible.

  Ortipo, however, was by no stretch of the imagination a tame lapdog. He didn’t like to be petted, and took to growling menacingly at the least provocation. With the face of a failed pugilist, the breath of a dedicated drunkard, and a digestive system which would put an incontinent sow to shame, as far as Allison was concerned, Ortipo was as endearing as a decaying rat. Needless to say, the Derevenko children were besotted with him.

  Ortipo, his expression impassive, extruded another noxious emission. Nikki giggled, holding his nose, and Allison only just managed to suppress a retch. ‘Do you not think,’ she said, trying not to breathe through her nose, ‘the animal would be happier in the fresh air, rather than cooped up in the schoolroom?’

  Catiche responded with a haughty look. ‘Ortipo is not an animal, he is a bulldog with a very impressive pedigree. What is more, Ortipo is a Derevenko, and therefore does no one’s bidding. Especially not an Englishwoman’s.’

  ‘Miss Galbraith is not English, she is from Scotland.’

  Allison whirled around. Aleksei stood in the doorway, clad in riding clothes. His boots were dusty, he had obviously just arrived back for he was still carrying his gloves and whip, and judging from his expression, his search had been fruitless. ‘Children, bid your uncle good morning.’

  The request was unnecessary. All three were already on their feet, the girls dropping into careful curtsies, Nikki making a stumbling bow. Even Ortipo rolled upright from his bed with a welcoming yap to sit alert at Aleksei’s feet, his stumpy tail thumping on the floor.

  ‘What,’ Aleksei said, wrinkling his nose, ‘is that disgusting smell.’

  ‘It is Ortipo,’ Nikki said shyly, gazing up at his uncle with reverence.

  Aleksei ignored the child, turning to Catiche. ‘Get him out of here.’

  ‘No!’

  Aleksei turned his attention to Elena. ‘I beg your pardon?’

  The child, ignoring her big sister’s warning look, held her ground under his steely gaze, much to Allison’s admiration. ‘Uncle Aleksei,’ she said, ‘Ortipo is our friend. He will be sad if he can’t be with us.’

  ‘Dogs cannot be sad,’ Aleksei said, frowning down at his niece. ‘And dogs as noxious as this have no place in the schoolroom.’

  ‘But...’

  ‘That is quite enough, Elena,’ Allison said crisply, seeing that the girl was going to remonstrate further. ‘It is inexplicable to me,’ she whispered, drawing Aleksei to one side, ‘but the children are extremely attached to the creature.’

  ‘It is clear that you are not. Why subject yourself...?’

  ‘Because the children love him, Aleksei. Because Ortipo is all they have left. When Elena said Ortipo will be sad, she meant that she will be sad.’

  ‘Fine! On your head be it—or should that be your nose?’ Aleksei said shortly. ‘I have more important things to discuss with you than a dog. Call the nanny, I am anxious to hear how you have been progressing. Better than I, I hope.’

  Allison’s heart sank at the thought of explaining how her time had been spent in his absence while he was in such a foul mood. ‘No need to call Nyanya just yet,’ she said brightly. ‘It is a lovely day. Children,’ she said, turning to her charges before he could question her, ‘we will take Ortipo for a walk in the gardens.’

  * * *

  The children, relieved to be released from another English lesson they didn’t require, needed no encouragement, and ran ahead of them along the paths. ‘I take it you found no trace of Madame Orlova?’ Allison asked, eyeing Aleksei warily.

  ‘As goose chases go it was a particularly wild one.’

  He had discarded his hat and gloves and his greatcoat. In the bright sunlight, she could see the dark shadows under his eyes, his sculpted mouth drawn into a firm line, a frown knitting his brows together as he stared into the distance at the retreating backs of his wards. She wanted to touch him, simply to reassure him, but like the children, she was intimidated. He was not precisely a stranger, but at this moment he felt like one—remote, self-contained and very much the soldier. ‘Her family could shed no light on her whereabouts?’

  ‘None. They deny all knowledge of her, and seem genuinely concerned for her well-being. I believe them too,’ Aleksei said, knuckling his eyes, ‘for they were happy to provide me with a list of her friends, previous employers. Every one of them led to a dead end. The trail is cold.’

  ‘Aleksei, has it occurred to you that she might be...?’

  ‘Dead? Of course I’ve considered it, but if she is, then where is her body? She can’t have buried herself. Though perhaps that is exactly what she has done in order to escape justice,’ he said, grimacing. ‘Or perhaps she is perfectly innocent a
nd simply doesn’t want to be found. I don’t know. I need a hot bath and a sleep.’ He sighed heavily, rolling his shoulders. ‘But first, I’d very much like to hear how your investigations have been progressing. Assuming you have made progress?’

  Allison steered him towards a bench set under a trellis on which the last of the summer’s roses bloomed. Aleksei sank down without complaint, stretching his long legs out in front of him.

  ‘If we assume that a natural poison was used,’ she began, ‘then we can eliminate a great many of the commonly available herbs which grow in this climate. Once matched with Michael’s symptoms, the list of candidates is smaller still. While I could concoct any number of poisons from the contents of this garden and the succession houses, all require considerable expertise. But I did not confine myself to this garden.’

  ‘Please tell me you haven’t been prowling around the gardens of my neighbours.’

  She laughed. ‘Yes, that is exactly what I would have done if I’d wanted to arouse suspicion, but fortunately I had no need. There is a very famous Apothecary’s Garden in St Petersburg,’ Allison said. ‘It was founded by Peter the Great, and from what I could gather when I visited last week, it seems to contain every medicinal species known to man—and a great many utterly unknown to this woman!’ She clasped her hands together, momentarily distracted. ‘You are so fortunate to have such a place right here on your doorstep. What I would give to be able to work there.’ Her face fell. ‘Though here, as in England, my sex prevents me. I was, however, able to speak to one of the apothecary gardeners, a relative of your own head gardener. Sergei, you know?’

  ‘No. I did not.’

  ‘No. Well, of course not.’ Flustered, Allison shied away from explaining why Sergei owed her a favour, and returned to the salient point. ‘In a nutshell,’ she said, ‘there is a plethora of poisonous plants available from the Apothecary’s Garden which anyone could access, if they knew what they were looking for. Obviously, apothecaries sell ready-made potions, but a prospective murder is unlikely to risk discovery by wandering into an apothecary’s shop and asking for a jar of deadly poison!’