Lord Buckingham’s Bride

by Sandra Heath

  Alison straightened again, a confusion of thoughts milling around in her head. Irina despised Francis, for what reason could only be guessed, and so perhaps he was the last person who should approach her. Perhaps, just perhaps, this was a matter that should be conducted woman to woman. Alison’s gaze moved to the little table and the wallet, lying there just waiting to be taken. Her pulse, already swift, now quickened almost unbearably. Should she do it? Should she act upon her intuition? What if she was wrong? What if she delivered the documents into the hands of the enemy? Her heart pounded like a hammer in her throat. She wasn’t wrong! Irina was the answer! Snatching up the wallet, she hurried toward the door.

  Behind her, Francis stirred a little in his sleep. A single word escaped his lips, a name, Pamela. It was a word that finally and irrevocably said everything to Alison. There were tears in her eyes as she closed the door softly behind her. By the fire, Francis slept on, unaware that she had even been there.

  Alison hurried back to her own room, where Katya was waiting. The maid looked at her in surprise on seeing the flush on her cheeks and the nervousness that pervaded her.

  ‘Miss Clearwell?’

  ‘Katya, do you know how to get to the Countess Irina von Strelitz’s residence on Krestovsky Island?’

  The maid stared at her. ‘Why, yes, everyone in St Petersburg knows her house, but—’

  ‘I want you to take me there.’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But, Miss Clearwell, it’s dark outside and so very late!’

  ‘I must see the countess without delay, Katya. If you will not take me, perhaps you can tell me how to get there. Do I take a boat?’

  Katya hesitated and then gave a small smile. ‘I will take you, Miss Clearwell. There are always boatmen waiting before the Admiralty,’

  As Alison dressed in a long-sleeved gray velvet gown, she was afraid that at any moment Francis would awaken and realize that the wallet was gone. Katya combed and pinned her hair as quickly as possible, and shortly afterward both maid and mistress were tiptoeing down through the silent house in warm cloaks, the hoods raised over their heads.

  They left through the gardens, which were in darkness now, silently opening and closing the wrought-iron gate in the wall. It wasn’t until they stepped outside that Alison suddenly remembered the man watching and waiting by the carriage. She remembered as she saw the shadowy silhouette of the vehicle opposite, and without explaining, she swiftly caught Katya’s hand and hurried her on. She glanced back over her shoulder and was just able to see the man’s startled reaction. She heard his brief order and the clatter of hooves as the carriage began to follow.

  The mist eddied around as she and Katya reached the corner of St Isaac’s Square, and she almost made the maid lose her footing by catching her cloak suddenly and drawing her back into the shadows of a doorway. They pressed back against the cold marble columns, listening as the carriage approached. Katya’s eyes were wide and frightened, for she didn’t under-stand what it was all about, but she knew enough to remain absolutely silent as the silhouette of the vehicle emerged from English Quay, reining in as the coachman tried to listen for the sound of their fleeing footsteps.

  In the carriage Sergei was cursing beneath his breath. He had been thinking about Nikolai’s decision to replace him with Bragin during the day. If the overseer captured her, then the estate at Novgorod would go to his nephew; if he Sergei, succeeded, then his IOUs would be returned. The thought of Bragin winning had distracted him, and he had allowed his concentration to lapse for a moment. He lowered the window glass and leaned out.

  ‘Well?’ he snapped.

  The coachman leaned back to speak to him. ‘They’ve gone, sir. I can’t hear them at all. I think they must have gone into one of the houses.’

  A thousand and one bitter curses trembled on Sergei’s lips, then he realized that if the Englishwoman had left, then sooner or later she would have to return. All he had to do was wait and seize her as she tried to reenter the gate. ‘Go back,’ he said to the coachman, ‘go back to where we were, but a little farther down the street this time, to be out of sight in the mist. I’ll wait near the gate, and the moment I call, you are to bring the carriage, is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Sergei raised the window glass again, sitting back as the carriage turned slowly to make its way back toward the Clearwell residence.

  In the doorway, Alison and Katya hadn’t been able to quite hear what had been said, and as the carriage drove away once more, they emerged from the shadows. ‘Did you understand anything they said, Katya?’ Alison asked.

  ‘No, Miss Clearwell, they weren’t speaking loudly enough.’

  They hurried on past the square and the pontoon bridge and on toward the magnificent fire-damaged façade of the Admiralty, which was in the process of being rebuilt. Steps led down to the water, and a number of small boats were moored at the jetties. The boatmen were standing in groups, talking in low voices, and they fell silent as the two women descended the steps.

  Katya spoke to one of them, and he nodded immediately, beckoning them toward a slender rowing boat of some age. He handed them both into the little craft, steadying it as best he could because it rocked alarmingly from side to side, and then he cast off and stepped in himself, taking up the oars to push the boat away from the jetty. As they slid away on the shining dark water, the lights of the embankment disappeared in the mist, then the jetty was lost from sight as well, and they were out on the Neva.

  The boatman rowed strongly, not seeming to need landmarks to guide him. He was a burly man, wearing a coarse gray linen shirt beneath one of the ubiquitous blue caftans that so many of the Russian men favored. Bearded and rough, he rowed with a strength that was almost fearsome, making the boat skim across the water.

  The pontoon bridge was far behind them now and they were moving around the spit of Vassily Island, where the Neva was at its widest before parting into two of its main channels. The Peter-Paul Fortress was invisible to their right as the rowing boat moved north-west along the channel known as the Little Neva. Vassily Island was to their left now and Peterburg Island to their right. Nothing was visible in the mist, but the boatman still seemed to know exactly where he was, for suddenly he turned the boat to the right, rowing directly toward Petersburg Island. He was unerringly accurate, for the boat entered a narrow canal and then turned northward again, rowing between high embankments that were so close that they could be seen towering out of the water. Then, quite suddenly, they emerged from the narrow waterway into a broad channel. It was the Little Neva, another of the four main arteries of the Neva. On the northern side of this, bounded to the west by the Gulf of Finland and to the east by Kamenny Island, where Czar Alexander had a private residence, lay Krestovsky Island.

  As the rowing boat slid across the Little Neva toward a jetty that protruded into the water, voices drifted out through the mist.

  Katya gave a quick gasp. ‘There are guards, Miss Clearwell.’

  ‘Can’t we go ashore somewhere else? The island is surely as flat as all the others.’

  The maid nodded and spoke swiftly to the boatman, who immediately maneuvered the boat to the west. The sound of the voices died away into the mist again, and they heard nothing more. Alison could hear the water lapping against the shore, and then she saw the island, a tree-dotted silhouette that was barely above sea level. There was a small creek, and the rowing boat entered it, nudging the shore close to some barberry bushes.

  The boatman grinned at Katya in the darkness and muttered something as he jumped ashore to make the boat fast.

  ‘What did he say?’ asked Alison.

  ‘That he knows the island like the back of his hand because he comes here to steal hares.’

  As the boatman handed them both on to the land, he spoke again.

  Katya turned to Alison. ‘He wishes to know if he is to wait for us, Miss Clearwell.’

  ‘Tell him that if we are not b
ack in two hours, he is to tell Lord Buckingham where we are. He will be rewarded for his trouble.’

  Katya did as she was asked, and the man nodded, but then pointedly held out his hand.

  Katya was a little embarrassed. ‘He wishes to be paid now, Miss Clearwell.’

  ‘But he will still wait?’

  ‘Oh, yes, Miss Clearwell.’

  Alison gave him some coins from her reticule, and then he pointed through the mist.

  Katya followed the direction he was indicating. ‘The countess’s house is that way, Miss Clearwell. He says that there is a path of sorts and that it will bring us to the edge of the countess’s park. There are guards since robbers broke in last summer and stole some of the countess’s jewels. We must watch out for them.’

  ‘You can stay here if you wish, Katya, for it isn’t fair that you should be put in danger as well.’

  ‘You are my mistress now, Miss Clearwell, and so I will go with you.’

  ‘If you’re sure …’

  Katya smiled. ‘I am sure, Miss Clearwell. Come.’

  They followed the path through the misty darkness, their cloaks brushing against the barberry bushes that were so prolific on the island. Tall lime trees rose in the gloom, their trunks covered with moss, and from time to time they heard the call of a peacock from the estate that lay unseen in the night ahead.

  Doubts beset Alison now that she was close to her destination. What if the countess wasn’t alone? What if Nikolai was with her? The determination that had swept her along when first she had thought of her plan now began to falter, and she could only think of the many dire consequences that might result if this all went wrong. She was British, and she carried on her person some plans and other documents containing highly sensitive and secret Russian military and naval information.

  The sea mist swirled and eddied, and briefly they glimpsed the lights of a large house a short way ahead. They walked more slowly, straining to hear any guards who might be near. Gradually the house became more discernible and Alison could make out a Roman portico of white columns, a green cupola, and a particularly handsome conservatory built against the wall. The conservatory was lamplit, the warm light shining through the abundance of tropical foliage inside.

  They halted by some lilacs, from which they could observe the nearby house for a moment. As Alison gazed at the conservatory, she could hardly believe her eyes when she saw Irina herself enter it from the house. Nikolai’s beautiful sister wore a flimsy, revealing, low-necked white muslin robe, and her magnificent red-gold hair tumbled freely about her creamy shoulders. She walked alone through the conservatory toward a secluded corner where a white wrought-iron table and chairs had been set out. There she picked up a small dish and began to feed tidbits to a monkey on a perch.

  Alison stared at her. Would there ever be a more opportune moment than this? Irina was all alone, without even so much as a maid.

  Katya touched her arm. ‘I do not know why you wished to come here, Miss Clearwell, but if it is to speak to the countess, then you must do it now. I will wait here.’

  Alison’s heart had quickened disagreeably and she felt very cold suddenly. Was it madness to proceed now? There was still time to turn back. She could return the document wallet to Francis and all would be well again … All would be well? No, it wouldn’t be well, for Nikolai would still be an undetected traitor and Russia would still be in grave danger from Bonaparte.

  Taking a deep breath, she slipped from the shelter of the lilacs, crossing the lawn toward the conservatory. She paused, listening again for any sign of the guards, but there was nothing. She reached the conservatory door, and as she put her hand on the handle, it turned easily. The door opened softly and the warm, humid air breathed over her. Then she stepped inside, closing the door quietly behind her.

  17

  The atmosphere in the conservatory was almost oppressive after the coldness of the night, and Alison could hear the gentle splashing of water. Moths fluttered among the leaves, and the scent of earth and exotic plants filled the air.

  From the door it was impossible to see as far as the secluded corner where Irina was feeding the monkey. The light from a number of lamps cast leafy shadows in all directions, and high above, the glass reflected all the foliage, as if there was another conservatory stretching out into the night.

  Tossing back her hood, Alison hesitated, unsure of how to approach Irina, but then she heard footsteps coming from the house, and with a gasp she hid among the leaves. A maid entered the conservatory, her starched white apron crackling as she walked. She passed within a foot or so of Alison as she went toward the private corner where her mistress was to be found. She paused respectfully before presuming to enter Irina’s presence.

  ‘Begging your pardon, my lady,’ she said in the French of a true-born Parisienne.

  ‘What is it?’

  The maid entered the secluded little area and passed out of Alison’s sight, but she could still hear what was said.

  The maid spoke again. ‘Begging your pardon, my lady, but a messsenger has been sent from his imperial majesty.’

  ‘A messenger?’

  ‘Yes, my lady. His imperial majesty will be yet another hour.’

  ‘Very well.’

  ‘Do you require anything, my lady?’

  ‘No, I will take supper when his imperial majesty arrives.’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  ‘You may go.’

  ‘My lady.’

  The maid’s footsteps sounded again, and she reappeared through the greenery, retracing her path past Alison and returning to the house. Silence fell over the conservatory, and then Alison heard Irina’s soft voice. ‘Well, Mischa, I must wait another long hour before I am with my love. I am unfortunate, my little monkey, but you are not, for now you can have more strawberries.’

  The monkey chattered, and Irina laughed.

  Alison remained hidden among the leaves, her nerve almost deserting her again. The czar would be here in an hour, which meant that it was possible for the documents to be given to him then. Oh, please, please let all this be the right thing to do.

  Summoning the vestige of her courage and crossing her fingers, Alison emerged from her hiding place, stepping firmly on to the barely discernible brick path and walking slowly toward Irina.

  The monkey stopped chattering suddenly, and as it did so, Alison’s steps were plainly heard.

  Irina turned, her green eyes raking the crowding leaves. ‘Who’s there?’

  Alison walked more quickly, pushing the overhanging branches aside and standing at the edge of the light from the lamp on the wrought-iron table. Irina stared at her and then became alarmed, reaching out for a little silver hand bell on the table.

  Alison hurried forward to stop her, putting her hand over the bell. ‘Please, don’t, for I mean you no harm,’ she said in English. Then she repeated it in French, for she didn’t know if Irina spoke English.

  Irina froze, her eyes luminous in the light from the lamp. ‘You’re English?’ she asked in that language.

  ‘Yes, but I still mean you no harm.’

  ‘I’ve seen you somewhere.’

  ‘At the opera house, in Count Vorontzov’s box,’ replied Alison.

  The green eyes hardened. ‘Ah, yes, you were with Lord Buckingham.’ Francis’s title was uttered with loathing.

  ‘I must speak with you, my lady.’

  ‘I have nothing to say to you, for I know that you are to marry Lord Buckingham.’

  ‘Why do you hate him so? What has he done to you?’

  ‘Come now, my dear, don’t let’s play games. You know perfectly well why I despise him, for he was at the Battle of the Nile and was on the very ship that sank the L’Orient, killing my husband.’

  Alison stared at her. ‘That isn’t so,’ she breathed. ‘It simply isn’t so.’

  ‘How very innocent you look, my dear. I can see why my brother thinks you are so desirable.’

  Alison drew back. ‘I am n
ot interested in your brother, my lady, for I love Lord Buckingham.’

  ‘I wish your handsome lord in perdition, my dear, and if you insist upon loving him, then you may go to perdition as well. I don’t know why you’ve come here, unless it is to plead for your lord to be allowed an audience with the czar. You are wasting your time, for I have seen to it that Lord Buckingham is soon forced to leave St Petersburg altogether.’

  ‘Why? Because your brother told you a lie?’ Alison asked quietly, suddenly knowing that it was from Nikolai that Irina had heard the tale of Francis’s so-called part in the sinking of the L’Orient.

  Irina was cold. ‘Have a care, my dear, for I love my brother very much.’

  ‘More than you love the czar?’

  Irina’s eyes flashed. ‘You are impertinent. Leave immediately, before I have you thrown out.’

  ‘Please, my lady, I am here because I believe you love the czar above all else, and because I think you will wish to do all you can to help and protect him. He is in the gravest danger, I promise you, and not from Britain.’

  ‘What nonsense is this? Do you honestly expect me to believe that you, a woman, would be sent on such an errand?’

  ‘I haven’t been sent, my lady. I’ve come on my own accord, because I know that you love the czar. I know the risk I’m taking, because you might not be what I believe you to be, but for Russia’s sake and the sake of all Europe, I must try to convince you. Lord Buckingham is here in St Petersburg to give certain documents to the czar, documents that came into our hands from a British agent in Paris. Now that the audience with the czar is to be denied, he can’t give him the documents himself, so I’ve taken them and brought them here to you. You must give them to him, my lady.’