Chapter Sixteen.Incognita!Shortly after eleven o’clock that same evening I was strolling with Hartwig up and down the deserted platform at Victoria Station, my intention being to take the eleven-fifty p.m. train back to Brighton.For a full hour we had pressed the informer to explain the real reason of his visit to Brighton on the previous day. But beyond assuring us that it was not with any evil intent—which I confess we could scarcely believe—he declined to reveal anything.He only repeated his warning that Natalia was in grave personal danger, and entreated me to be careful. The refugees in that house, all of them Russians, seemed filled with intense curiosity regarding us, and especially so, perhaps, because of Hartwig’s declaration that he was bearer of a message from that mysterious leader who was believed to live somewhere in Moscow, and was known throughout the Russian Empire as “The One.”No doubt after our departure Danilovitch had told them of some secret message he had received from the mysterious head of the organisation, who was none other than himself.But his confession had held both of us practically silent ever since we had left that dingy house in Lower Clapton.“Markoff believes that Her Highness is aware of the contents of those letters,” Hartwig said as we strolled together in the great, well-lit station. Few people were about just at that hour, for the suburban theatre-goers had not yet arrived. “For that reason it is intended that her mouth shall be closed.”“But this is murder!” I cried in hot indignation. “I will go straight to the Emperor, and tell him.”“And what benefit would that be? His Majesty would declare it to be an effort by some of the General’s enemies to disgrace him,” my companion said. “Such damning statements have been made before, but, alas! no heed has been taken of them!”“But His Majesty shall hear—and he shall take notice! I will demand in inquiry into the arrest and exile of Madame de Rosen.”“I thought you told me that you had already mentioned her name to His Majesty,” Hartwig said quietly.I had forgotten. Yes. His words recalled to me my effort on her behalf, and the futility of my appeal. I sighed, and bit my lip. The two innocent ladies were on their way to that far-off dreaded penal settlement of Yakutsk. From the time which had elapsed since their arrest I calculated that they were already in Siberia, trudging that long, never-ending post road—that wide, deeply-rutted track which runs across those boundless plains between Tobolsk and Tomsk—on the first stage of their terrible journey of over six thousand miles on foot.A sudden suggestion flashed across my mind. Should I follow, overtake them and hear the truth from Marya de Rosen’s lips?Yet before doing so I should be compelled to apply for a passport and permits at the Ministry of the Interior at Petersburg. If I did this, Markoff would at once suspect my intention, for travellers do not go to Siberia for pleasure. And if he suspected my intention a way would quickly be found by which, when I arrived at my destination, neither of the ladies would be alive. In Siberia, where there is neither law nor inquiry, it was, I knew, very easy to close the lips of any person whose existence might be prejudicial to the authorities. A word from General Markoff, and an accident would certainly occur.No. I realised that to relax my vigilance over the safety of Natalia at that moment would be most injudicious. Besides, was not Natalia herself aware of the contents of the letters? If not, why had her enemies made the firm determination that she should meet with a sudden and mysterious end?I mentioned to my companion my inclination to travel across Siberia in search of the exiles; but he only shook his head gravely, saying:“You are, no doubt, under very close observation. Even if you went, you might, by so doing, place yourself in grave personal peril. Remember, Markoff is desperate. The contents of those letters, whatever they may be, are evidently so damning that he cannot afford exposure. The pains he took to secure them, and to send Madame de Rosen into exile, plainly show this. No,” he added, “the most judicious plan is to remain here, near Her Highness, and watch Markoff’s operations.”“If Her Highness would only reveal to me the secret of those letters, then we should be in a position to defy Markoff and reveal him before the Emperor in his true light,” I said.“She has refused—eh?”“Yes. I have questioned her a dozen times, but always with the same result,” was my answer.“But will she refuse, if she knows that her father’s tragic end was due to the wild desire of Markoff to close her lips?”“Yes. I have already pointed that out to her. Her reply is that what she learnt was in confidence. It is her friend’s secret, and she cannot betray it. She is the very soul of honour. Her word is her bond.”“You will tell her now of Danilovitch’s confession; how the letters were stolen and handed back to the General by the man whom he holds so completely in his power?” Hartwig said.“I shall. But I fear it will make no difference. She is, of course, eager to expose the General to the Emperor and effect his downfall. She is fully aware of his corrupt and brutal maladministration of the department of Political Police, of the bogus plots, and the wholesale deportment of thousands of innocent persons. But it seems that she gave a pledge of secrecy to poor madame, and that pledge she refuses to break at any cost. ‘It is Marya’s secret,’ she told me, ‘not mine.’”As we were speaking, a tall, straight, good-looking young man in crush-hat and black overcoat over his dinner-clothes had strolled along the platform awaiting the train.My eyes caught his features as he went, when suddenly I recognised in the young man Richard Drury, whom Her Highness had told me she had known in her school-days at Eastbourne. I glanced after him and watched his figure retreating leisurely as he smoked a cigarette until he came beneath a lamp where he halted. Then, producing an evening paper, he commenced to while away the time by reading. He was evidently returning to Brighton by my train.Apparently the young fellow had not recognised me as Miss Gottorp’s companion of the previous night, therefore standing near, I had an opportunity of examining him well. He was certainly a typical specimen of the keen, clean-shaven young Englishman, a man who showed good-breeding, and whose easy air was that of the gentleman.Yet I confess that what Her Highness had revealed to me both alarmed and annoyed me. Madcap that she was, I knew not what folly she might commit. Nevertheless, after all, so long as she preserved herincognitono great harm would be done. It was hard upon her to deny her the least suspicion of flirtation, especially with one whom she had known in the days before she had put up her hair and put on her ankle-frocks.Hartwig and I were undecided what our next move should be, and we were discussing it. One fact was plain, that in view of the assertion of Danilovitch, I would now be compelled to keep constant watch over the skittish young lady whom the Emperor had given into my charge. My idea of following and overtaking Madame de Rosen in Siberia was out of all question.“Are you remaining long in London?” I asked the police official, just as I was about to step into the train.“Who knows?” he laughed. “I am at the ‘Savoy.’ The Embassy is unaware I am in England. But I move quickly, as you know. Perhaps to-morrow I may have to return to Petersburg.Au revoir.”And I wished him adieu, and got into an empty first-class compartment just as the train was moving from the platform.I sat in the corner of the carriage full of grave and apprehensive thoughts.That strange suspicion which the Emperor had revealed to me on the afternoon before the last Court ball recurred to me. I held my breath as a sudden idea flashed across my brain. Had it any connection with this foul but cunningly-conceived plot to kill an innocent girl whose only offence was that she was in possession of certain information which, if revealed, would, I presumed, cause the downfall of that camarilla surrounding the Emperor?The thought held me in wonder.Ah! if only the Emperor would listen to the truth—if only he would view Markoff and his friends in their true character! But I knew, alas! that such development of the situation was impossible. Russia, and with her the Imperial Court, was being terrorised by these desperate attempts to assassinate the Emperor. Hence His Majesty relied upon Markoff for the safety of the dynasty. He looked upon him as a marvel of astuteness and cunning, as indeed he was. But, alas! the burly, grave-eyed man who led a life haunted by the hourly fear of death—an existence in armoured rooms and armoured trains, and surrounded by guards whom he even grew to suspect—was in ignorance that the greater part of the evidence of conspiracies, incriminating correspondence and secret proclamations put before him had been actually manufactured by Markoff himself!At last, after an hour, the express ran slowly into the Brighton terminus, and as it did so, I caught sight of a figure waiting upon the platform, which caused me to quickly draw back. The figure was that of a young girl neatly dressed in black with a small black hat, and though she wore a veil of spotted net I recognised her at once as Natalia! She was smiling and waving her tiny black-gloved hand to someone. In an instant I knew the truth. She was there, even though it were past one o’clock in the morning, to meet her lover, Richard Drury.I saw him spring out, raise his hat and shake her hand warmly, and then, taking care not to be seen, I followed them out as they walked side by side down the hill in the direction of King’s Road.This action of hers showed her recklessness and lack of discretion. Apparently she had walked all the way from Hove in order to meet him, and as they strolled together along the dark, deserted road he was evidently explaining something to her, while she listened very attentively.Surely it was unsafe for her to go forth like that! I was surprised that Miss West allowed it. But, in all probability that worthy lady was in bed, and asleep, all unconscious of her charge’s escapade.I had not followed very far before I became aware of a footstep behind me, and, turning, I saw a small, insignificant-looking man in dark clothes, who came quickly up to me. It was one of the police-agents employed at the house in Brunswick Square.“Well, Dmitri!” I exclaimed in a low voice in French. “So you are looking after your young mistress—eh?” I asked, with a laugh, pausing to speak with him in order to allow the lovers to get further off.“Yes, m’sieur,” replied the man in a tone of distinct annoyance.“This is hardly wise of Her Highness,” I said. “This is not the hour to go out for a stroll.”“No, m’sieur,” replied the shrewd agent of police, who had been for years employed at the palace of the late Grand Duke Nicholas in Petersburg. “I tell you I do not think it either safe or proper. These constant meetings must result in scandal.”“Who is that young man?” I asked quickly. “You have made inquiry, no doubt?”“Yes, m’sieur, I have. But I can learn very little. He seems to be a complete mystery—an adventurer, perhaps,” declared the suspicious police-agent in a low, hard voice; adding: “The fact is, that man who calls himself Richard Drury is, I feel sure, no fit companion for Her Imperial Highness.”“Why not?” I demanded in eager surprise.“Because he is not,” was the man’s enigmatical reply. “I do hope m’sieur will warn Her Imperial Highness of the danger,” he said reflectively, looking in the direction of the retreating figures.“Danger!” I echoed. “What danger?”“There is a grave danger,” he asserted firmly. “I have watched, as is my duty, and I know. Her Highness endeavours all she can to evade my vigilance, for naturally it is not pleasant to be watched while carrying on a flirtation. But she does not know what I have discovered concerning this stranger with whom she appears to have fallen so deeply in love. They must be parted, m’sieur—parted at once, before it is too late.”“But what have you discovered?” I asked.“One astounding and most startling fact,” was his slow, deliberate reply; “a fact which demands their immediate separation.”
Shortly after eleven o’clock that same evening I was strolling with Hartwig up and down the deserted platform at Victoria Station, my intention being to take the eleven-fifty p.m. train back to Brighton.
For a full hour we had pressed the informer to explain the real reason of his visit to Brighton on the previous day. But beyond assuring us that it was not with any evil intent—which I confess we could scarcely believe—he declined to reveal anything.
He only repeated his warning that Natalia was in grave personal danger, and entreated me to be careful. The refugees in that house, all of them Russians, seemed filled with intense curiosity regarding us, and especially so, perhaps, because of Hartwig’s declaration that he was bearer of a message from that mysterious leader who was believed to live somewhere in Moscow, and was known throughout the Russian Empire as “The One.”
No doubt after our departure Danilovitch had told them of some secret message he had received from the mysterious head of the organisation, who was none other than himself.
But his confession had held both of us practically silent ever since we had left that dingy house in Lower Clapton.
“Markoff believes that Her Highness is aware of the contents of those letters,” Hartwig said as we strolled together in the great, well-lit station. Few people were about just at that hour, for the suburban theatre-goers had not yet arrived. “For that reason it is intended that her mouth shall be closed.”
“But this is murder!” I cried in hot indignation. “I will go straight to the Emperor, and tell him.”
“And what benefit would that be? His Majesty would declare it to be an effort by some of the General’s enemies to disgrace him,” my companion said. “Such damning statements have been made before, but, alas! no heed has been taken of them!”
“But His Majesty shall hear—and he shall take notice! I will demand in inquiry into the arrest and exile of Madame de Rosen.”
“I thought you told me that you had already mentioned her name to His Majesty,” Hartwig said quietly.
I had forgotten. Yes. His words recalled to me my effort on her behalf, and the futility of my appeal. I sighed, and bit my lip. The two innocent ladies were on their way to that far-off dreaded penal settlement of Yakutsk. From the time which had elapsed since their arrest I calculated that they were already in Siberia, trudging that long, never-ending post road—that wide, deeply-rutted track which runs across those boundless plains between Tobolsk and Tomsk—on the first stage of their terrible journey of over six thousand miles on foot.
A sudden suggestion flashed across my mind. Should I follow, overtake them and hear the truth from Marya de Rosen’s lips?
Yet before doing so I should be compelled to apply for a passport and permits at the Ministry of the Interior at Petersburg. If I did this, Markoff would at once suspect my intention, for travellers do not go to Siberia for pleasure. And if he suspected my intention a way would quickly be found by which, when I arrived at my destination, neither of the ladies would be alive. In Siberia, where there is neither law nor inquiry, it was, I knew, very easy to close the lips of any person whose existence might be prejudicial to the authorities. A word from General Markoff, and an accident would certainly occur.
No. I realised that to relax my vigilance over the safety of Natalia at that moment would be most injudicious. Besides, was not Natalia herself aware of the contents of the letters? If not, why had her enemies made the firm determination that she should meet with a sudden and mysterious end?
I mentioned to my companion my inclination to travel across Siberia in search of the exiles; but he only shook his head gravely, saying:
“You are, no doubt, under very close observation. Even if you went, you might, by so doing, place yourself in grave personal peril. Remember, Markoff is desperate. The contents of those letters, whatever they may be, are evidently so damning that he cannot afford exposure. The pains he took to secure them, and to send Madame de Rosen into exile, plainly show this. No,” he added, “the most judicious plan is to remain here, near Her Highness, and watch Markoff’s operations.”
“If Her Highness would only reveal to me the secret of those letters, then we should be in a position to defy Markoff and reveal him before the Emperor in his true light,” I said.
“She has refused—eh?”
“Yes. I have questioned her a dozen times, but always with the same result,” was my answer.
“But will she refuse, if she knows that her father’s tragic end was due to the wild desire of Markoff to close her lips?”
“Yes. I have already pointed that out to her. Her reply is that what she learnt was in confidence. It is her friend’s secret, and she cannot betray it. She is the very soul of honour. Her word is her bond.”
“You will tell her now of Danilovitch’s confession; how the letters were stolen and handed back to the General by the man whom he holds so completely in his power?” Hartwig said.
“I shall. But I fear it will make no difference. She is, of course, eager to expose the General to the Emperor and effect his downfall. She is fully aware of his corrupt and brutal maladministration of the department of Political Police, of the bogus plots, and the wholesale deportment of thousands of innocent persons. But it seems that she gave a pledge of secrecy to poor madame, and that pledge she refuses to break at any cost. ‘It is Marya’s secret,’ she told me, ‘not mine.’”
As we were speaking, a tall, straight, good-looking young man in crush-hat and black overcoat over his dinner-clothes had strolled along the platform awaiting the train.
My eyes caught his features as he went, when suddenly I recognised in the young man Richard Drury, whom Her Highness had told me she had known in her school-days at Eastbourne. I glanced after him and watched his figure retreating leisurely as he smoked a cigarette until he came beneath a lamp where he halted. Then, producing an evening paper, he commenced to while away the time by reading. He was evidently returning to Brighton by my train.
Apparently the young fellow had not recognised me as Miss Gottorp’s companion of the previous night, therefore standing near, I had an opportunity of examining him well. He was certainly a typical specimen of the keen, clean-shaven young Englishman, a man who showed good-breeding, and whose easy air was that of the gentleman.
Yet I confess that what Her Highness had revealed to me both alarmed and annoyed me. Madcap that she was, I knew not what folly she might commit. Nevertheless, after all, so long as she preserved herincognitono great harm would be done. It was hard upon her to deny her the least suspicion of flirtation, especially with one whom she had known in the days before she had put up her hair and put on her ankle-frocks.
Hartwig and I were undecided what our next move should be, and we were discussing it. One fact was plain, that in view of the assertion of Danilovitch, I would now be compelled to keep constant watch over the skittish young lady whom the Emperor had given into my charge. My idea of following and overtaking Madame de Rosen in Siberia was out of all question.
“Are you remaining long in London?” I asked the police official, just as I was about to step into the train.
“Who knows?” he laughed. “I am at the ‘Savoy.’ The Embassy is unaware I am in England. But I move quickly, as you know. Perhaps to-morrow I may have to return to Petersburg.Au revoir.”
And I wished him adieu, and got into an empty first-class compartment just as the train was moving from the platform.
I sat in the corner of the carriage full of grave and apprehensive thoughts.
That strange suspicion which the Emperor had revealed to me on the afternoon before the last Court ball recurred to me. I held my breath as a sudden idea flashed across my brain. Had it any connection with this foul but cunningly-conceived plot to kill an innocent girl whose only offence was that she was in possession of certain information which, if revealed, would, I presumed, cause the downfall of that camarilla surrounding the Emperor?
The thought held me in wonder.
Ah! if only the Emperor would listen to the truth—if only he would view Markoff and his friends in their true character! But I knew, alas! that such development of the situation was impossible. Russia, and with her the Imperial Court, was being terrorised by these desperate attempts to assassinate the Emperor. Hence His Majesty relied upon Markoff for the safety of the dynasty. He looked upon him as a marvel of astuteness and cunning, as indeed he was. But, alas! the burly, grave-eyed man who led a life haunted by the hourly fear of death—an existence in armoured rooms and armoured trains, and surrounded by guards whom he even grew to suspect—was in ignorance that the greater part of the evidence of conspiracies, incriminating correspondence and secret proclamations put before him had been actually manufactured by Markoff himself!
At last, after an hour, the express ran slowly into the Brighton terminus, and as it did so, I caught sight of a figure waiting upon the platform, which caused me to quickly draw back. The figure was that of a young girl neatly dressed in black with a small black hat, and though she wore a veil of spotted net I recognised her at once as Natalia! She was smiling and waving her tiny black-gloved hand to someone. In an instant I knew the truth. She was there, even though it were past one o’clock in the morning, to meet her lover, Richard Drury.
I saw him spring out, raise his hat and shake her hand warmly, and then, taking care not to be seen, I followed them out as they walked side by side down the hill in the direction of King’s Road.
This action of hers showed her recklessness and lack of discretion. Apparently she had walked all the way from Hove in order to meet him, and as they strolled together along the dark, deserted road he was evidently explaining something to her, while she listened very attentively.
Surely it was unsafe for her to go forth like that! I was surprised that Miss West allowed it. But, in all probability that worthy lady was in bed, and asleep, all unconscious of her charge’s escapade.
I had not followed very far before I became aware of a footstep behind me, and, turning, I saw a small, insignificant-looking man in dark clothes, who came quickly up to me. It was one of the police-agents employed at the house in Brunswick Square.
“Well, Dmitri!” I exclaimed in a low voice in French. “So you are looking after your young mistress—eh?” I asked, with a laugh, pausing to speak with him in order to allow the lovers to get further off.
“Yes, m’sieur,” replied the man in a tone of distinct annoyance.
“This is hardly wise of Her Highness,” I said. “This is not the hour to go out for a stroll.”
“No, m’sieur,” replied the shrewd agent of police, who had been for years employed at the palace of the late Grand Duke Nicholas in Petersburg. “I tell you I do not think it either safe or proper. These constant meetings must result in scandal.”
“Who is that young man?” I asked quickly. “You have made inquiry, no doubt?”
“Yes, m’sieur, I have. But I can learn very little. He seems to be a complete mystery—an adventurer, perhaps,” declared the suspicious police-agent in a low, hard voice; adding: “The fact is, that man who calls himself Richard Drury is, I feel sure, no fit companion for Her Imperial Highness.”
“Why not?” I demanded in eager surprise.
“Because he is not,” was the man’s enigmatical reply. “I do hope m’sieur will warn Her Imperial Highness of the danger,” he said reflectively, looking in the direction of the retreating figures.
“Danger!” I echoed. “What danger?”
“There is a grave danger,” he asserted firmly. “I have watched, as is my duty, and I know. Her Highness endeavours all she can to evade my vigilance, for naturally it is not pleasant to be watched while carrying on a flirtation. But she does not know what I have discovered concerning this stranger with whom she appears to have fallen so deeply in love. They must be parted, m’sieur—parted at once, before it is too late.”
“But what have you discovered?” I asked.
“One astounding and most startling fact,” was his slow, deliberate reply; “a fact which demands their immediate separation.”
Chapter Seventeen.Her Highness is Outspoken.“Now, Uncle Colin! It’s really too horrid of you to spy upon me like that! I had no idea you were behind us! I knew old Dmitri was there—he watches me just as a cat watches a mouse. But I never thought you would be so nasty and mean!” And the girl in her fresh white gown stood at the window of the drawing-room drumming impatiently upon the pane with the tips of her long, white fingers, for it was raining outside.“My dear Natalia,” I said paternally, standing upon the white goat-skin hearthrug, and looking across at her; “I did not watch you intentionally. I travelled by the same train as your friend, and I saw you meet him. Really,” I laughed, “you looked a most interesting pair as you walked together down Queen’s Road. I left you at the corner of Western Road and went on to the ‘Métropole.’”“Oh! you actually did have the decency to do that!” she exclaimed, turning to me her pretty face clouded by displeasure. “Well, I say quite frankly that I think it was absolutely horrid of you. Surely I may meet a friend without being spied upon at every turn!” she added resentfully.“Dmitri only does his duty, remember,” I ventured to remark.“Oh, Dmitri’s a perfect plague. He shadows me everywhere. His crafty face irritates me whenever I see it.”“This constant surveillance is only for your own protection,” I said. “Recollect that you are a member of the Imperial family, and that already six of your uncles and cousins, as well as your poor father, have met with violent deaths at the hands of the revolutionists.”“I know. But it is perfectly absurd ever to dream that they want to kill me—a girl whose only object is to live quietly and enjoy her life.”“And her flirtations,” I added, striving to make her laugh.I was successful, for a smile came to her pretty, pouting lips, and she said:“Well, Uncle Colin, other girls may flirt and have men friends. Therefore I can’t see why it is so actually sinful for me to do the same.”“But think for a moment of your position!”“Position!” she echoed. “I’m only plain Miss Natalia Gottorp here. Why should I study my family?”“Ah!” I sighed. “I know how wayward you are. No amount of argument will, I fear, ever convince you of your error.”“Oh, yes,” she sighed, in imitation of the sadness of my tone, saying: “I know what a source of trouble and deep anxiety the wicked, wayward child is to you.” Then, next moment, she burst out into a merry, mischievous laugh, adding:“It’s really too bad of me to tease you, poor old Uncle Colin, isn’t it? But there, you’re not really old. I looked you up in ‘Who’s Who’ only yesterday. You’re only thirty-two next Thursday week. And if you are a very good boy I’ll give you a nice little present. Shall I work you a pair of slippers—eh?” she asked, with sarcasm, “or a winter waistcoat?”“Thanks. I hate girls’ needlework,” I replied frankly, amused at her sudden change of demeanour.“Very well. You shall have a new cigarette-case, a solid gold one, with our grand Imperial arms engraved on it and underneath the words ‘From Tattie.’ How will that do—eh?” she laughed.“Ah! now you’re only trying to tease me,” I said. “I wonder if you tease Mr Drury like that?”“Oh! Dick knows me. He doesn’t mind it in the least,” she declared, looking at me with those wonderful eyes that were so much admired everywhere. “Have a cigarette,” and she handed me a box of Petroffs, and taking one herself, lit it, and then threw herself negligently into an armchair, lazily displaying a pair of neat silk stockinged ankles and patent-leather shoes.“I certainly think that Mr Dick is a very lucky young fellow,” I said, “though I tell you openly that I entirely disapprove of these constant meetings. Remember your promise to me before we left Petersburg.”“Well, I’ve been a very wayward child—even an incorrigible child, I suppose—and I’ve broken my promise. That’s all,” she said, blowing a cloud of smoke from her red lips. Like all Russian ladies, she enjoyed a cigarette.“I certainly think you ought to have kept your word,” I said.“But Dick, I tell you, is an old friend. I couldn’t cut him, could I?”“You need not have cut him,” I said. “But I consider it unnecessary to steal out of the house after Miss West has gone to bed, and meet him at the station at one o’clock in the morning.”“Then upon that point we’ll agree to differ. I’m old enough to be my own mistress, and if you continue to lecture me, I shall be very annoyed with you.”“My dear Natalia, I do not blame you in the least for falling in love. How can I?” I said in a changed tone, for I knew that the young lady so petted and spoiled by her earlier training must be treated with greatest caution and tact. “Why, shall I confess a truth?” I asked, looking her straight in the face.“Yes, do,” she said.“Well, if I were ten years younger I should most certainly fall in love with you myself,” I laughed.“Don’t be so silly, Uncle Colin!” she exclaimed. “But would that be so very terrible? Why, you’re not an old man yet,” she added, her cheeks having flushed slightly at my words.“Now you’re blushing,” I said.“I’m not!” she cried stoutly. “You’re simply horrid this morning,” she declared vehemently, turning away from me.“Is it horrid of me to pay you a compliment?” I asked. “I merely expressed a devout wish that I were standing in Drury’s shoes. Every man likes to be kissed by a pretty girl, whether she be a shopgirl or a Grand Duchess.”“Oh, yes. You are quite right there. Most men make fools of themselves over women.”“Especially when their beauty is so world-famed as that of the Grand Duchess Natalia!”“Now, there you are again!” she cried. “I do wish you’d change the topic of conversation. You’re horrid, I say.”And she gave a quick gesture of impatience, blew a great cloud of smoke from her lips and put down her half-consumed cigarette upon the little silver ashtray.“Oh, my!” she exclaimed at last. “What a funny lover you would make, Uncle Colin! You fancy yourself as old as Methuselah, and your hide-bound ideas of etiquette, your straitlaced morality, and your respect ofles convenancesare those in vogue when your revered Queen Victoria ascended the throne of Great Britain. You’re not living with the times, my dear uncle. You’re an old-fashioned diplomat. To-day the world is very different to that in which your father was born.”“I quite agree. And I regret that it is so,” I replied. “These are surely very lax and degenerating days, when girls may go out unchaperoned, and the meeting of a man in the early hours of the morning passes unremarked.”“It unfortunately hasn’t passed unremarked,” she said, with a pretty pout. “You take jolly good care to rub it in every moment! It really isn’t fair,” she declared. “I’m very fond of you, Uncle Colin, but you are really a little too old-fashioned.”“You are comparing me with young Drury, I suppose?”“Oh, Dick isn’t a bit old-fashioned, I assure you,” she declared. “He’s been at Oxford. He doesn’t dream and let the world go by. But, Uncle Colin,” she went on, “I wonder that you, a diplomat, are so stiff and proper. I suppose it’s the approved British diplomatic training. I’m only a girl, and therefore am not supposed to know any of the tremendous secrets of diplomacy. But it always strikes me that, for the most part, you diplomats are exceptionally dull folk. In our Court circle we always declare them to be inflated with a sense of their own importance, and fifty years behind the times.”I laughed outright. Her view was certainly a common-sense one. The whole training of British diplomacy is to continue the traditions of Pitt and Beaconsfield. Diplomacy does not, alas! admit a new and modernrégimeaffecting the world; it ignores modern thought, modern conditions and modern methods. “Up-to-date” is an expression unknown in the diplomat’s vocabulary. The Foreign Office instil the lazy, do-nothing policy of the past, the traditions of Palmerston, Clarendon and Dudley are still the traditions of to-day in every British Embassy throughout the world; and, unfortunately for Britain, the lesson has yet to be learned by our diplomacy that to be strong is to be acute and subtle, and to be dictatorial is to be entirely up-to-date. The German diplomacy is that of keen progress and anticipation; that of Turkey craft and cunning; of France, tact, with exquisite politeness. But Britain pursues her heavy, blundering “John Bull” programme, which, though effective in the days of Beaconsfield, now only results in the nation’s isolation and derision, certain of her ambassadors to the Powers being familiarly known at the Courts to which they are accredited as “The Man with the Gun.”“What you say is, in a sense, quite true,” I admitted. “But I’m so sorry if I’m really very dull. I don’t mean to be.”“Oh! You’ll improve under my tuition—and Dick’s—no doubt,” she exclaimed reassuringly.Her Highness was nothing if not outspoken.“The fact is, Uncle Colin,” she went on seriously, “you’re far too old-fashioned for your age. You are not old, but your ideas are so horribly antiquated. Girls of to-day are allowed a freedom which our grandmothers would have held as perfectly sinful. Girls have become independent. A young fellow takes a girl out to dinner and to the theatre, and even to supper nowadays, and nobody holds up their hands in pious horror—only you! It isn’t fair,” she declared.“Girls of the people are allowed a great deal of latitude, I admit. And as far as I can see, the world is none the worse for it,” I said. “But what other girls may do, you, an Imperial Highness, unfortunately may not.”“That’s just where we don’t agree,” she said in a tone meant to be impertinent, her straight nose slightly raised as she spoke. “I intend to do as other girls do—at least, while I’m plain Miss Gottorp. They call me the ‘Little Alien’—so Miss West heard me called the other day.”“No,” I said very firmly, looking straight at her as she lolled easily in her chair, her chin resting on her white palm as she gazed at me from beneath her long, dark lashes. “You really must respect theconvenances. If you take a stroll with young Drury, do so at least in the daylight.”“And with Dmitri watching me all the time from across the road. Not quite,” she said. “I like the Esplanade when it is quiet and everybody is in bed. It is so pleasant on these warm nights to sit upon a seat and enjoy the moonlight on the sea. Sounds like an extract from a novel, doesn’t it?” and she laughed merrily.“I fear you are becoming romantic,” I said. “Every girl becomes so at one period of her life.”“Do you think so?” she asked, smiling. “Myself, I don’t fancy I have any romance in me. The Romanoffs are not a romantic lot as a rule. They are usually too mercenary. I love nice things.”“Because you are cultured and possess good taste. That is exactly what leads to romance.”“I have the good taste to choose Dick as a friend, I suppose you mean?” she asked, with an intention to irritate me.“Ah, I did not exactly say that.”“But you meant it, nevertheless. You know you did, Uncle Colin.”I did not reply for a few moments. I was recalling what Dmitri had told me—that strange allegation of his that this young man, Richard Drury, was an enigma, an adventurer. He had told me that he was no fit companion for her, and yet when pressed he apparently could give no plain reason. He had been unable to discover much concerning the young fellow—probably because of his failure it seemed he had become convinced that the object of his inquiry was an adventurer.Suddenly rising, I stood before her, and placing my hand upon her shoulder, said:“I came here this morning to speak to you very seriously, Natalia. Can you really be serious for once?”“I’m always serious,” she replied. “Well—another lecture?”“No, not a lecture, you incorrigible little flirt. I want to ask you a plain question. Please answer me, for a great deal—a very great deal—depends upon it. Are you aware of what was contained in those letters which Madame de Rosen gave you for safe-keeping?”“I have long ago assured you that I am. Why do you ask again?”“Because there is one point which I wish to clear up,” I said. “I thought you told me that they were in a sealed envelope?”“So they were. But when I heard of Marya’s exile, and that Luba had been sent with her, I broke open the seal and investigated the contents.”“And what did you find?”“Ah! That is my business, Uncle Colin. I have already told you that I absolutely refuse to betray the secrets of my poor dear friend. You surely ought not to ask me. You have no right to press me to commit such a breach of trust.”“I ask you because so much depends upon the extent of your knowledge,” I said. “I have already solved the secret of the disappearance of the letters from the place where you hid them in the palace.”“Then you know who stole them!” she gasped, starting to her feet. “Tell me. Who was the thief?”“A man whom you do not know. He has confessed to me. He was not a willing thief, but a wretched assassin, whom General Markoff holds as his catspaw, and compels to perform his dirty work.”“Then the General has secured them! My suspicions are confirmed!” she gasped, all the colour dying from her beautiful face.“He has. The theft was committed under compulsion, and at imminent risk to the thief, who most certainly would have been shot by the sentries, if discovered. The letters were handed by him back to General Markoff.”My words held her dumbfounded for a few seconds. She did not speak. Then she said in a hard, changed tone:“Ah! Markoff has destroyed them! The proof no longer exists, therefore I am powerless! How I wish I were permitted to speak—to reveal the truth!”Her teeth were set, her face was white and hard, and the fingers of both hands had clenched themselves into the palms.“But you know the truth!” I cried. “Will you not speak? Will you never reveal it? It is surely your duty to do so,” I urged.But she only shook her head sadly, saying:“I cannot betray her confidence.”“Remember,” I said, “by exposing this secret which Markoff has been at such infinite pains to keep, you can perhaps obtain the release of poor Marya and her daughter! Is it not your plain duty?” I urged in a low, earnest voice.But she only again shook her head resolutely.“No, I cannot expose the secrets of my lost friend. It was her secret which I swore to her I would never reveal,” she responded in a harsh, strained voice. “Markoff has secured the proofs and destroyed them. I suspected it from the first. That brute is my bitterest enemy, as he is also Marya’s. But, alas! he is all-powerful! He has played a clever double game—and he has won—he has won!”
“Now, Uncle Colin! It’s really too horrid of you to spy upon me like that! I had no idea you were behind us! I knew old Dmitri was there—he watches me just as a cat watches a mouse. But I never thought you would be so nasty and mean!” And the girl in her fresh white gown stood at the window of the drawing-room drumming impatiently upon the pane with the tips of her long, white fingers, for it was raining outside.
“My dear Natalia,” I said paternally, standing upon the white goat-skin hearthrug, and looking across at her; “I did not watch you intentionally. I travelled by the same train as your friend, and I saw you meet him. Really,” I laughed, “you looked a most interesting pair as you walked together down Queen’s Road. I left you at the corner of Western Road and went on to the ‘Métropole.’”
“Oh! you actually did have the decency to do that!” she exclaimed, turning to me her pretty face clouded by displeasure. “Well, I say quite frankly that I think it was absolutely horrid of you. Surely I may meet a friend without being spied upon at every turn!” she added resentfully.
“Dmitri only does his duty, remember,” I ventured to remark.
“Oh, Dmitri’s a perfect plague. He shadows me everywhere. His crafty face irritates me whenever I see it.”
“This constant surveillance is only for your own protection,” I said. “Recollect that you are a member of the Imperial family, and that already six of your uncles and cousins, as well as your poor father, have met with violent deaths at the hands of the revolutionists.”
“I know. But it is perfectly absurd ever to dream that they want to kill me—a girl whose only object is to live quietly and enjoy her life.”
“And her flirtations,” I added, striving to make her laugh.
I was successful, for a smile came to her pretty, pouting lips, and she said:
“Well, Uncle Colin, other girls may flirt and have men friends. Therefore I can’t see why it is so actually sinful for me to do the same.”
“But think for a moment of your position!”
“Position!” she echoed. “I’m only plain Miss Natalia Gottorp here. Why should I study my family?”
“Ah!” I sighed. “I know how wayward you are. No amount of argument will, I fear, ever convince you of your error.”
“Oh, yes,” she sighed, in imitation of the sadness of my tone, saying: “I know what a source of trouble and deep anxiety the wicked, wayward child is to you.” Then, next moment, she burst out into a merry, mischievous laugh, adding:
“It’s really too bad of me to tease you, poor old Uncle Colin, isn’t it? But there, you’re not really old. I looked you up in ‘Who’s Who’ only yesterday. You’re only thirty-two next Thursday week. And if you are a very good boy I’ll give you a nice little present. Shall I work you a pair of slippers—eh?” she asked, with sarcasm, “or a winter waistcoat?”
“Thanks. I hate girls’ needlework,” I replied frankly, amused at her sudden change of demeanour.
“Very well. You shall have a new cigarette-case, a solid gold one, with our grand Imperial arms engraved on it and underneath the words ‘From Tattie.’ How will that do—eh?” she laughed.
“Ah! now you’re only trying to tease me,” I said. “I wonder if you tease Mr Drury like that?”
“Oh! Dick knows me. He doesn’t mind it in the least,” she declared, looking at me with those wonderful eyes that were so much admired everywhere. “Have a cigarette,” and she handed me a box of Petroffs, and taking one herself, lit it, and then threw herself negligently into an armchair, lazily displaying a pair of neat silk stockinged ankles and patent-leather shoes.
“I certainly think that Mr Dick is a very lucky young fellow,” I said, “though I tell you openly that I entirely disapprove of these constant meetings. Remember your promise to me before we left Petersburg.”
“Well, I’ve been a very wayward child—even an incorrigible child, I suppose—and I’ve broken my promise. That’s all,” she said, blowing a cloud of smoke from her red lips. Like all Russian ladies, she enjoyed a cigarette.
“I certainly think you ought to have kept your word,” I said.
“But Dick, I tell you, is an old friend. I couldn’t cut him, could I?”
“You need not have cut him,” I said. “But I consider it unnecessary to steal out of the house after Miss West has gone to bed, and meet him at the station at one o’clock in the morning.”
“Then upon that point we’ll agree to differ. I’m old enough to be my own mistress, and if you continue to lecture me, I shall be very annoyed with you.”
“My dear Natalia, I do not blame you in the least for falling in love. How can I?” I said in a changed tone, for I knew that the young lady so petted and spoiled by her earlier training must be treated with greatest caution and tact. “Why, shall I confess a truth?” I asked, looking her straight in the face.
“Yes, do,” she said.
“Well, if I were ten years younger I should most certainly fall in love with you myself,” I laughed.
“Don’t be so silly, Uncle Colin!” she exclaimed. “But would that be so very terrible? Why, you’re not an old man yet,” she added, her cheeks having flushed slightly at my words.
“Now you’re blushing,” I said.
“I’m not!” she cried stoutly. “You’re simply horrid this morning,” she declared vehemently, turning away from me.
“Is it horrid of me to pay you a compliment?” I asked. “I merely expressed a devout wish that I were standing in Drury’s shoes. Every man likes to be kissed by a pretty girl, whether she be a shopgirl or a Grand Duchess.”
“Oh, yes. You are quite right there. Most men make fools of themselves over women.”
“Especially when their beauty is so world-famed as that of the Grand Duchess Natalia!”
“Now, there you are again!” she cried. “I do wish you’d change the topic of conversation. You’re horrid, I say.”
And she gave a quick gesture of impatience, blew a great cloud of smoke from her lips and put down her half-consumed cigarette upon the little silver ashtray.
“Oh, my!” she exclaimed at last. “What a funny lover you would make, Uncle Colin! You fancy yourself as old as Methuselah, and your hide-bound ideas of etiquette, your straitlaced morality, and your respect ofles convenancesare those in vogue when your revered Queen Victoria ascended the throne of Great Britain. You’re not living with the times, my dear uncle. You’re an old-fashioned diplomat. To-day the world is very different to that in which your father was born.”
“I quite agree. And I regret that it is so,” I replied. “These are surely very lax and degenerating days, when girls may go out unchaperoned, and the meeting of a man in the early hours of the morning passes unremarked.”
“It unfortunately hasn’t passed unremarked,” she said, with a pretty pout. “You take jolly good care to rub it in every moment! It really isn’t fair,” she declared. “I’m very fond of you, Uncle Colin, but you are really a little too old-fashioned.”
“You are comparing me with young Drury, I suppose?”
“Oh, Dick isn’t a bit old-fashioned, I assure you,” she declared. “He’s been at Oxford. He doesn’t dream and let the world go by. But, Uncle Colin,” she went on, “I wonder that you, a diplomat, are so stiff and proper. I suppose it’s the approved British diplomatic training. I’m only a girl, and therefore am not supposed to know any of the tremendous secrets of diplomacy. But it always strikes me that, for the most part, you diplomats are exceptionally dull folk. In our Court circle we always declare them to be inflated with a sense of their own importance, and fifty years behind the times.”
I laughed outright. Her view was certainly a common-sense one. The whole training of British diplomacy is to continue the traditions of Pitt and Beaconsfield. Diplomacy does not, alas! admit a new and modernrégimeaffecting the world; it ignores modern thought, modern conditions and modern methods. “Up-to-date” is an expression unknown in the diplomat’s vocabulary. The Foreign Office instil the lazy, do-nothing policy of the past, the traditions of Palmerston, Clarendon and Dudley are still the traditions of to-day in every British Embassy throughout the world; and, unfortunately for Britain, the lesson has yet to be learned by our diplomacy that to be strong is to be acute and subtle, and to be dictatorial is to be entirely up-to-date. The German diplomacy is that of keen progress and anticipation; that of Turkey craft and cunning; of France, tact, with exquisite politeness. But Britain pursues her heavy, blundering “John Bull” programme, which, though effective in the days of Beaconsfield, now only results in the nation’s isolation and derision, certain of her ambassadors to the Powers being familiarly known at the Courts to which they are accredited as “The Man with the Gun.”
“What you say is, in a sense, quite true,” I admitted. “But I’m so sorry if I’m really very dull. I don’t mean to be.”
“Oh! You’ll improve under my tuition—and Dick’s—no doubt,” she exclaimed reassuringly.
Her Highness was nothing if not outspoken.
“The fact is, Uncle Colin,” she went on seriously, “you’re far too old-fashioned for your age. You are not old, but your ideas are so horribly antiquated. Girls of to-day are allowed a freedom which our grandmothers would have held as perfectly sinful. Girls have become independent. A young fellow takes a girl out to dinner and to the theatre, and even to supper nowadays, and nobody holds up their hands in pious horror—only you! It isn’t fair,” she declared.
“Girls of the people are allowed a great deal of latitude, I admit. And as far as I can see, the world is none the worse for it,” I said. “But what other girls may do, you, an Imperial Highness, unfortunately may not.”
“That’s just where we don’t agree,” she said in a tone meant to be impertinent, her straight nose slightly raised as she spoke. “I intend to do as other girls do—at least, while I’m plain Miss Gottorp. They call me the ‘Little Alien’—so Miss West heard me called the other day.”
“No,” I said very firmly, looking straight at her as she lolled easily in her chair, her chin resting on her white palm as she gazed at me from beneath her long, dark lashes. “You really must respect theconvenances. If you take a stroll with young Drury, do so at least in the daylight.”
“And with Dmitri watching me all the time from across the road. Not quite,” she said. “I like the Esplanade when it is quiet and everybody is in bed. It is so pleasant on these warm nights to sit upon a seat and enjoy the moonlight on the sea. Sounds like an extract from a novel, doesn’t it?” and she laughed merrily.
“I fear you are becoming romantic,” I said. “Every girl becomes so at one period of her life.”
“Do you think so?” she asked, smiling. “Myself, I don’t fancy I have any romance in me. The Romanoffs are not a romantic lot as a rule. They are usually too mercenary. I love nice things.”
“Because you are cultured and possess good taste. That is exactly what leads to romance.”
“I have the good taste to choose Dick as a friend, I suppose you mean?” she asked, with an intention to irritate me.
“Ah, I did not exactly say that.”
“But you meant it, nevertheless. You know you did, Uncle Colin.”
I did not reply for a few moments. I was recalling what Dmitri had told me—that strange allegation of his that this young man, Richard Drury, was an enigma, an adventurer. He had told me that he was no fit companion for her, and yet when pressed he apparently could give no plain reason. He had been unable to discover much concerning the young fellow—probably because of his failure it seemed he had become convinced that the object of his inquiry was an adventurer.
Suddenly rising, I stood before her, and placing my hand upon her shoulder, said:
“I came here this morning to speak to you very seriously, Natalia. Can you really be serious for once?”
“I’m always serious,” she replied. “Well—another lecture?”
“No, not a lecture, you incorrigible little flirt. I want to ask you a plain question. Please answer me, for a great deal—a very great deal—depends upon it. Are you aware of what was contained in those letters which Madame de Rosen gave you for safe-keeping?”
“I have long ago assured you that I am. Why do you ask again?”
“Because there is one point which I wish to clear up,” I said. “I thought you told me that they were in a sealed envelope?”
“So they were. But when I heard of Marya’s exile, and that Luba had been sent with her, I broke open the seal and investigated the contents.”
“And what did you find?”
“Ah! That is my business, Uncle Colin. I have already told you that I absolutely refuse to betray the secrets of my poor dear friend. You surely ought not to ask me. You have no right to press me to commit such a breach of trust.”
“I ask you because so much depends upon the extent of your knowledge,” I said. “I have already solved the secret of the disappearance of the letters from the place where you hid them in the palace.”
“Then you know who stole them!” she gasped, starting to her feet. “Tell me. Who was the thief?”
“A man whom you do not know. He has confessed to me. He was not a willing thief, but a wretched assassin, whom General Markoff holds as his catspaw, and compels to perform his dirty work.”
“Then the General has secured them! My suspicions are confirmed!” she gasped, all the colour dying from her beautiful face.
“He has. The theft was committed under compulsion, and at imminent risk to the thief, who most certainly would have been shot by the sentries, if discovered. The letters were handed by him back to General Markoff.”
My words held her dumbfounded for a few seconds. She did not speak. Then she said in a hard, changed tone:
“Ah! Markoff has destroyed them! The proof no longer exists, therefore I am powerless! How I wish I were permitted to speak—to reveal the truth!”
Her teeth were set, her face was white and hard, and the fingers of both hands had clenched themselves into the palms.
“But you know the truth!” I cried. “Will you not speak? Will you never reveal it? It is surely your duty to do so,” I urged.
But she only shook her head sadly, saying:
“I cannot betray her confidence.”
“Remember,” I said, “by exposing this secret which Markoff has been at such infinite pains to keep, you can perhaps obtain the release of poor Marya and her daughter! Is it not your plain duty?” I urged in a low, earnest voice.
But she only again shook her head resolutely.
“No, I cannot expose the secrets of my lost friend. It was her secret which I swore to her I would never reveal,” she responded in a harsh, strained voice. “Markoff has secured the proofs and destroyed them. I suspected it from the first. That brute is my bitterest enemy, as he is also Marya’s. But, alas! he is all-powerful! He has played a clever double game—and he has won—he has won!”
Chapter Eighteen.Shows Hartwig’s Anxiety.Her Highness’s firm refusal to reveal to me the contents of those letters, the knowledge of which had caused Madame de Rosen and her daughter to be sent to Siberia, while the Grand Duke Nicholas, her father, hid lost his life, disappointed me.For a full hour I remained there, trying by all means in my power to persuade her to assist me in the overthrow of the fêted Chief of Secret Police.She would have done so, she declared, were it not for the fact that she had given her solemn word of honour to Marya de Rosen not to divulge anything she knew concerning the contents of those mysterious letters. That compact she held sacred. She had given her faithful promise to her friend.I pointed out to her the determination she had expressed to me in Petersburg that she intended to reveal to the Emperor his favourite in his true light, and thus avenge the lives of thousands of innocent persons who had died on their way to exile or in the foetid, overcrowded prisons of Moscow, and Tomsk, and the vermin-infestedétapesof the Great Post Road.But in reply she sighed deeply, and, looking straight before her in desperation, declared that she had now no proof; and even if she had, she had not the permission of Marya de Rosen to make the exposure. “It is her secret—her own personal secret,” she said. “I vowed not to reveal it.”Then for the first time I indicated her own peril. Hitherto I had not wished to alarm her. But I now showed her how it would be to the advantage of the General, cunning, daring and unscrupulous as he was, that some untoward incident should occur by which her life would be sacrificed in his desperate attempt to conceal the truth.In silence she listened to me, her beautiful face pale and graver than I had ever before seen it. At last she realised the peril.“Ah!” she sighed, and then, as though speaking to herself, said: “If only I could obtain Marya’s consent to speak—to tell the Emperor the truth! But that is now quite impossible. No letter could ever reach her, and, indeed, we have no idea where she is. She is, alas! as dead to the world as though she were in her grave!” she added sadly.I reflected for a moment.“If it were not that I feared lest misfortune might befall you during my absence, Highness, I would at once follow and overtake her.”“Oh, but the long journey to Siberia! Why, it would take you at least six months! That is quite impossible.”“Not impossible, Highness,” I responded very gravely. “I am prepared to undertake the journey for your sake—and hers—for the sake of the Emperor.”“Ah! I know, Uncle Colin, how good you always are to me, but I couldn’t ask you to undertake a winter journey such as that, in search of poor Marya.”“If I go, will you, on your part, promise me solemnly not to go out on these night escapades? Indeed, it is not judicious of you to walk out at all, unless one or other of the police-agents is in close attendance upon you. One never knows, in these present circumstances, what may happen,” I said. “And as soon as Markoff knows that I have set out for Siberia, he will guess the reason, and endeavour to bring disaster upon both of us, as well as upon the exile herself.”For some minutes she did not reply. Then she said: “You must not go. It is too dangerous for you—far too dangerous. I will not allow it.”“If you refuse to reveal Marya’s secret, then I shall go,” was my quiet response. “I shall ask the Emperor to send you Hartwig, to be near you. He will watch over your safety until my return.”“Ah! his alertness is simply marvellous,” she declared. “Did you read in the London papers last week how cleverly he ran to earth the three men who robbed the Volga Kama Bank in Moscow of a quarter of a million roubles?”“Yes. I read the account of it. He was twice shot at by the men before they were arrested. But he seems always to lead a charmed life. While he is at your side, I shall certainly entertain no fear.”“Then you have really decided to go?” she said, looking at me with brows slightly knit. “I cannot tell—I cannot—what I read in those letters after giving my word of honour to Marya.”“I have decided,” I said briefly.“I do not like the thought of your going. Something dreadful may happen to you.”“I shall be wary—never fear,” I assured her with a laugh. “I intend to secure the release of Madame and Luba—to set right an unjust and outrageous wrong. I admire your firm devotion to your friend, but I will bring back to you, I hope, her written permission to speak and reveal the truth.”Five minutes later I rose, and we descended to the hall, where patient Dmitri was idling over his French newspaper.Then the weather being fine again, we passed out together into the autumn sunshine of the Lawns, at that hour of the morning agog with well-dressed promenaders and hundreds of pet dogs. And a few moments later we came face to face with Richard Drury, to whom she introduced me as “Mr Colin Trewinnard, my uncle, Mr Drury.” We bowed mutually, and then all three of us strolled on together, though he seemed a little ill at ease in my presence.I had made a firm resolution. In order to learn the secret of those letters and to place Her Highness, who so honourably refused to break her word, in a position to expose the unscrupulous official who was the real Oppressor of Russia, I intended to set out on that long journey in search of the exile, now, alas! unknown by name, but only by number.Drury struck me as a rather good fellow, and no doubt a gentleman. We halted together, and, when near the pier, he raised his hat and left us.Before leaving Brighton I had yet much to do. I was not altogether satisfied concerning the young man, my object being to try and learn for myself something more tangible regarding him.“Well,” she asked, when he had gone, “what is your verdict, Uncle Colin?”“Favourable,” I replied, whereat she smiled in gratification.An hour later I succeeded in obtaining a short confidential chat with the hall-porter of the Royal York Hotel, whom I found quite ready to assist me. As I had suspected, Dmitri had failed and formed utterly wrong conclusions, because of his lack of fluent English. It is always extremely difficult for a foreigner to obtain confidential information in England.The hall-porter, however, told me that their visitor was well-known to them, and had frequently stayed there for several months at a time. He had, he believed, formerly lived with his invalid mother at Eastbourne. But the lady had died, and he had then gone to live in bachelor chambers in London. From the bureau of the hotel he obtained the address, scribbled on a bit of paper—an address in Albemarle Street, Piccadilly, to which letters were sometimes re-directed.“And he has a friend—a doctor—hasn’t he?” I asked the man.“Oh, yes, sir. You mean Doctor Ingram. He was down here with him the other day.”Having obtained all the information I could, I telegraphed to Hartwig at the Savoy Hotel, asking him to make inquiries at Albemarle Street and then to come to Brighton immediately, for I dared not leave until I could place my little madcap charge in safe hands. I knew not into what mischief she might get so soon as my back was turned.That afternoon we strolled together across the Lawns, and presently sat down to listen to the military band.She looked extremely neat in her dead-black gown, which, by its cut and material, bore the unmistakablecachetof the Rue de la Paix, and as we passed up and down I saw many a head turned in her direction in admiration of her remarkable beauty. Little did that crowd of seaside idlers dream that this extremely pretty girl in black who was so much of a mystery to everybody was a member of the great Imperial House of Russia. She was believed to be Miss Gottorp, whose father had been German and her mother English, both of whom were recently dead.Seeing her so often walking with me, everyone, of course, put me down as the lucky man to whom she was engaged to be married, and I have little doubt that many a young man envied me. How strange is the world!When in a tantalising mood she often referred to that popular belief, and that afternoon, while we rested upon two of the green chairs set apart from the others on the Lawn, she said:“I’m quite sure that everybody in Hove is convinced that I am to be Mrs Trewinnard;” and then, referring to her English maid, she added: “Davey has heard it half a dozen times already.”I laughed merrily, saying:“Well, that’s only to be expected, I suppose. But what about Drury—eh?”“They don’t see very much of Dick. We only meet at night,” she laughed, poking the grass with her sunshade.“And that you really must not do in future,” I said firmly.“Then I can go about with him in the daytime—eh?” she asked, looking up imploringly into my face.“My dear child,” I said, “though I do not approve of it, yet how can I debar you from any little flirtation, even though the Emperor would, I know, be extremely angry if it came to his ears?”“But it won’t. I’m sure it won’t, Uncle Colin, through you. You are such a funny old dear.”“Well,” I said reluctantly, “for my own part I would much prefer that you invited your gentleman friend to the house, where Miss West could at least play propriety. But only now and then—for recollect one fact always, that you and he can never marry, however fond you may be of each other. It is that one single fact which causes me pain.”Her hard gaze was fixed upon the broad expanse of blue sea before her. I saw how grave she had suddenly become, and that in her great dark eyes stood unshed tears.Her chest heaved slowly and fell. She was filled with emotion which she bravely repressed.“Yes,” she managed to murmur in a low whisper.“It is too cruel. Because—”“Because what?” I asked, in a sympathetic voice, bending towards her.“Ah, don’t ask me, Uncle Colin!” she said bitterly, her welling eyes still fixed blankly upon the sea. “It is cruel because—because I love Dick,” she whispered in open confession.“My little friend,” I said, “I sympathise with you very deeply. It is, I admit, a very bitter truth which I have been compelled to point out. For that very reason I have been so much against your friendship with young men. Drury is in ignorance of your true identity. He believes you to be plain Miss Gottorp. But when I tell him the truth—”“Ah, no!” she cried. “You will not tell him—you won’t—will you? Promise me,” she urged. “I must, I know, one day find a way of breaking the bond of love which exists between us. When—when—that—time—comes—then we must part. But he must never know that I have deceived him—he must never know that the reason we cannot be more than mere friends is on account of my Imperial birth. No,” she added bitterly, “even though I love Dick so dearly and he loves me devotedly, I shall be compelled to do something purposely in order that his love for me may die.” Then, sighing deeply, my dainty little companion implored: “You will therefore promise me, Uncle Colin, that you will never—never, under any circumstances, breathe a word to him of who I really am?”I took her trembling hand for a second and gave her my promise.I confess I felt the deepest sympathy for her, and told her so frankly and openly as I sat there taking leave of her, for that very evening I intended to leave Brighton and catch the night mail from Charing Cross direct for Moscow.She said but little, but when we had returned to Brunswick Square and I stood with her at the window of the big drawing-room, she was unable to control her emotions further and burst into a flood of bitter tears.In tenderness I placed my hand upon her shoulder, endeavouring to console her. Alas! I fear my words were stilted and very unconvincing. What could I say, when all the world over royal birth is a bar to love and happiness, and marriages in Imperial and Royal circles are, for the most part, loveless, unholy unions. The Grand Duchess or the royal Princess loves just as ardently and devotedly as does the free and flirting work-girl or the tea-and-tennis girl of the middle-classes. Alas! however, the heart of the Highness is not her own, but at the disposal of the family council, which discusses her marriage as a purely business proposition, and sells her, too frequently, to the highest bidder.The poor girl, crushed by the hopeless bitterness of the situation, declared with a sob:“To be born in the purple, as the outside world calls it, is, alas! to be born to unhappiness.”I remained there a full half-hour, until she grew calm again. Never in all the years I had known her—ever since she was a girl—had I seen her give way to such a paroxysm of despair. Usually she was so bright, buoyant and light-hearted. But that afternoon she had utterly broken down and been overcome by blank despair.“You are young, Natalia,” I said, with deep sympathy. “Enjoy your life to-day, and do not endeavour to meet the troubles of the future. As long as you remain here and are known as Miss Gottorp, so long may your friendship with young Drury be maintained. Live for the present—do not anticipate the future.”I said this because I knew that Time is the greatest healer of broken hearts.But she only shook her head very sadly, without replying.The black marble clock on the mantelshelf chimed six, and I recollected that Hartwig had wired that he would meet me at the “Métropole” at that hour. My train was due to leave for London at seven. I had already bidden Miss West adieu. So I took Natalia’s hand, and pressing it warmly, wished her farewell, promising to regularly report by telegraph my progress across Siberia, as far as possible.She struggled to her feet with an effort, and looking full into my face said in a voice choked by emotion:“Good-bye, Uncle Colin, I am sorry I cannot betray Marya’s secret. You are doing this in order to save two innocent women from the horrors of a living tomb in the Siberian snows—to demand that justice shall be done. Go. And may God in His great mercy take you under His protection.”What I replied I can scarcely tell. My heart was too full for words. All I know is that a few moments later I turned out of the great wide square, where the rooks were cawing in the high trees, and hurried along the wide promenade, where the red sun was setting behind me in the sea.Hartwig I found at the “Métropole” awaiting me. He related how he had called at the flat in Albemarle street, and, by a judicious tip to the young valet he found there, had learnt that Mr Richard Drury was the son of old Sir Richard Drury, knight, the great ship-builder of Greenock, who had built a number of cruisers for the Navy. He was a self-made man, who commenced life as a fitter’s labourer in a ship-builder’s yard up at Craigandoran on the Clyde—a bluff, hearty man whose generosity was well-known throughout the kingdom.“Young Richard, it seems,” Hartwig went on, “after leaving Oxford became a director of the company, and though apparently leading a life of leisure, yet he takes quite an active part in the direction of the London office of the firm in Westminster.”He expressed the strongest disapproval when I told him of my intention to leave for Siberia and instructed him to remain there and to take the Grand Duchess under his protection until he received definite orders from the Emperor.“I certainly don’t like the idea of your going to Siberia alone, Mr Trewinnard,” he declared. “Markoff will know the instant you start, and I fear that—well, that something may happen.”“It is just as likely to happen here in Brighton, Hartwig, as in Russia,” I replied.“Well,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “all I advise is that you exercise the very greatest care. Why not take my assistant, Petrakoff? I will give him secret orders to join you at the frontier at Ekaterinburg—and nobody will know. It will be best for you to have company on that long sledge journey.”“If I want him I will telegraph to you from Petersburg,” was my reply.“You will want him,” he said, “depend upon it. If you go alone to Siberia, Mr Trewinnard,” he added very earnestly, “then depend upon it you will go to your grave!”
Her Highness’s firm refusal to reveal to me the contents of those letters, the knowledge of which had caused Madame de Rosen and her daughter to be sent to Siberia, while the Grand Duke Nicholas, her father, hid lost his life, disappointed me.
For a full hour I remained there, trying by all means in my power to persuade her to assist me in the overthrow of the fêted Chief of Secret Police.
She would have done so, she declared, were it not for the fact that she had given her solemn word of honour to Marya de Rosen not to divulge anything she knew concerning the contents of those mysterious letters. That compact she held sacred. She had given her faithful promise to her friend.
I pointed out to her the determination she had expressed to me in Petersburg that she intended to reveal to the Emperor his favourite in his true light, and thus avenge the lives of thousands of innocent persons who had died on their way to exile or in the foetid, overcrowded prisons of Moscow, and Tomsk, and the vermin-infestedétapesof the Great Post Road.
But in reply she sighed deeply, and, looking straight before her in desperation, declared that she had now no proof; and even if she had, she had not the permission of Marya de Rosen to make the exposure. “It is her secret—her own personal secret,” she said. “I vowed not to reveal it.”
Then for the first time I indicated her own peril. Hitherto I had not wished to alarm her. But I now showed her how it would be to the advantage of the General, cunning, daring and unscrupulous as he was, that some untoward incident should occur by which her life would be sacrificed in his desperate attempt to conceal the truth.
In silence she listened to me, her beautiful face pale and graver than I had ever before seen it. At last she realised the peril.
“Ah!” she sighed, and then, as though speaking to herself, said: “If only I could obtain Marya’s consent to speak—to tell the Emperor the truth! But that is now quite impossible. No letter could ever reach her, and, indeed, we have no idea where she is. She is, alas! as dead to the world as though she were in her grave!” she added sadly.
I reflected for a moment.
“If it were not that I feared lest misfortune might befall you during my absence, Highness, I would at once follow and overtake her.”
“Oh, but the long journey to Siberia! Why, it would take you at least six months! That is quite impossible.”
“Not impossible, Highness,” I responded very gravely. “I am prepared to undertake the journey for your sake—and hers—for the sake of the Emperor.”
“Ah! I know, Uncle Colin, how good you always are to me, but I couldn’t ask you to undertake a winter journey such as that, in search of poor Marya.”
“If I go, will you, on your part, promise me solemnly not to go out on these night escapades? Indeed, it is not judicious of you to walk out at all, unless one or other of the police-agents is in close attendance upon you. One never knows, in these present circumstances, what may happen,” I said. “And as soon as Markoff knows that I have set out for Siberia, he will guess the reason, and endeavour to bring disaster upon both of us, as well as upon the exile herself.”
For some minutes she did not reply. Then she said: “You must not go. It is too dangerous for you—far too dangerous. I will not allow it.”
“If you refuse to reveal Marya’s secret, then I shall go,” was my quiet response. “I shall ask the Emperor to send you Hartwig, to be near you. He will watch over your safety until my return.”
“Ah! his alertness is simply marvellous,” she declared. “Did you read in the London papers last week how cleverly he ran to earth the three men who robbed the Volga Kama Bank in Moscow of a quarter of a million roubles?”
“Yes. I read the account of it. He was twice shot at by the men before they were arrested. But he seems always to lead a charmed life. While he is at your side, I shall certainly entertain no fear.”
“Then you have really decided to go?” she said, looking at me with brows slightly knit. “I cannot tell—I cannot—what I read in those letters after giving my word of honour to Marya.”
“I have decided,” I said briefly.
“I do not like the thought of your going. Something dreadful may happen to you.”
“I shall be wary—never fear,” I assured her with a laugh. “I intend to secure the release of Madame and Luba—to set right an unjust and outrageous wrong. I admire your firm devotion to your friend, but I will bring back to you, I hope, her written permission to speak and reveal the truth.”
Five minutes later I rose, and we descended to the hall, where patient Dmitri was idling over his French newspaper.
Then the weather being fine again, we passed out together into the autumn sunshine of the Lawns, at that hour of the morning agog with well-dressed promenaders and hundreds of pet dogs. And a few moments later we came face to face with Richard Drury, to whom she introduced me as “Mr Colin Trewinnard, my uncle, Mr Drury.” We bowed mutually, and then all three of us strolled on together, though he seemed a little ill at ease in my presence.
I had made a firm resolution. In order to learn the secret of those letters and to place Her Highness, who so honourably refused to break her word, in a position to expose the unscrupulous official who was the real Oppressor of Russia, I intended to set out on that long journey in search of the exile, now, alas! unknown by name, but only by number.
Drury struck me as a rather good fellow, and no doubt a gentleman. We halted together, and, when near the pier, he raised his hat and left us.
Before leaving Brighton I had yet much to do. I was not altogether satisfied concerning the young man, my object being to try and learn for myself something more tangible regarding him.
“Well,” she asked, when he had gone, “what is your verdict, Uncle Colin?”
“Favourable,” I replied, whereat she smiled in gratification.
An hour later I succeeded in obtaining a short confidential chat with the hall-porter of the Royal York Hotel, whom I found quite ready to assist me. As I had suspected, Dmitri had failed and formed utterly wrong conclusions, because of his lack of fluent English. It is always extremely difficult for a foreigner to obtain confidential information in England.
The hall-porter, however, told me that their visitor was well-known to them, and had frequently stayed there for several months at a time. He had, he believed, formerly lived with his invalid mother at Eastbourne. But the lady had died, and he had then gone to live in bachelor chambers in London. From the bureau of the hotel he obtained the address, scribbled on a bit of paper—an address in Albemarle Street, Piccadilly, to which letters were sometimes re-directed.
“And he has a friend—a doctor—hasn’t he?” I asked the man.
“Oh, yes, sir. You mean Doctor Ingram. He was down here with him the other day.”
Having obtained all the information I could, I telegraphed to Hartwig at the Savoy Hotel, asking him to make inquiries at Albemarle Street and then to come to Brighton immediately, for I dared not leave until I could place my little madcap charge in safe hands. I knew not into what mischief she might get so soon as my back was turned.
That afternoon we strolled together across the Lawns, and presently sat down to listen to the military band.
She looked extremely neat in her dead-black gown, which, by its cut and material, bore the unmistakablecachetof the Rue de la Paix, and as we passed up and down I saw many a head turned in her direction in admiration of her remarkable beauty. Little did that crowd of seaside idlers dream that this extremely pretty girl in black who was so much of a mystery to everybody was a member of the great Imperial House of Russia. She was believed to be Miss Gottorp, whose father had been German and her mother English, both of whom were recently dead.
Seeing her so often walking with me, everyone, of course, put me down as the lucky man to whom she was engaged to be married, and I have little doubt that many a young man envied me. How strange is the world!
When in a tantalising mood she often referred to that popular belief, and that afternoon, while we rested upon two of the green chairs set apart from the others on the Lawn, she said:
“I’m quite sure that everybody in Hove is convinced that I am to be Mrs Trewinnard;” and then, referring to her English maid, she added: “Davey has heard it half a dozen times already.”
I laughed merrily, saying:
“Well, that’s only to be expected, I suppose. But what about Drury—eh?”
“They don’t see very much of Dick. We only meet at night,” she laughed, poking the grass with her sunshade.
“And that you really must not do in future,” I said firmly.
“Then I can go about with him in the daytime—eh?” she asked, looking up imploringly into my face.
“My dear child,” I said, “though I do not approve of it, yet how can I debar you from any little flirtation, even though the Emperor would, I know, be extremely angry if it came to his ears?”
“But it won’t. I’m sure it won’t, Uncle Colin, through you. You are such a funny old dear.”
“Well,” I said reluctantly, “for my own part I would much prefer that you invited your gentleman friend to the house, where Miss West could at least play propriety. But only now and then—for recollect one fact always, that you and he can never marry, however fond you may be of each other. It is that one single fact which causes me pain.”
Her hard gaze was fixed upon the broad expanse of blue sea before her. I saw how grave she had suddenly become, and that in her great dark eyes stood unshed tears.
Her chest heaved slowly and fell. She was filled with emotion which she bravely repressed.
“Yes,” she managed to murmur in a low whisper.
“It is too cruel. Because—”
“Because what?” I asked, in a sympathetic voice, bending towards her.
“Ah, don’t ask me, Uncle Colin!” she said bitterly, her welling eyes still fixed blankly upon the sea. “It is cruel because—because I love Dick,” she whispered in open confession.
“My little friend,” I said, “I sympathise with you very deeply. It is, I admit, a very bitter truth which I have been compelled to point out. For that very reason I have been so much against your friendship with young men. Drury is in ignorance of your true identity. He believes you to be plain Miss Gottorp. But when I tell him the truth—”
“Ah, no!” she cried. “You will not tell him—you won’t—will you? Promise me,” she urged. “I must, I know, one day find a way of breaking the bond of love which exists between us. When—when—that—time—comes—then we must part. But he must never know that I have deceived him—he must never know that the reason we cannot be more than mere friends is on account of my Imperial birth. No,” she added bitterly, “even though I love Dick so dearly and he loves me devotedly, I shall be compelled to do something purposely in order that his love for me may die.” Then, sighing deeply, my dainty little companion implored: “You will therefore promise me, Uncle Colin, that you will never—never, under any circumstances, breathe a word to him of who I really am?”
I took her trembling hand for a second and gave her my promise.
I confess I felt the deepest sympathy for her, and told her so frankly and openly as I sat there taking leave of her, for that very evening I intended to leave Brighton and catch the night mail from Charing Cross direct for Moscow.
She said but little, but when we had returned to Brunswick Square and I stood with her at the window of the big drawing-room, she was unable to control her emotions further and burst into a flood of bitter tears.
In tenderness I placed my hand upon her shoulder, endeavouring to console her. Alas! I fear my words were stilted and very unconvincing. What could I say, when all the world over royal birth is a bar to love and happiness, and marriages in Imperial and Royal circles are, for the most part, loveless, unholy unions. The Grand Duchess or the royal Princess loves just as ardently and devotedly as does the free and flirting work-girl or the tea-and-tennis girl of the middle-classes. Alas! however, the heart of the Highness is not her own, but at the disposal of the family council, which discusses her marriage as a purely business proposition, and sells her, too frequently, to the highest bidder.
The poor girl, crushed by the hopeless bitterness of the situation, declared with a sob:
“To be born in the purple, as the outside world calls it, is, alas! to be born to unhappiness.”
I remained there a full half-hour, until she grew calm again. Never in all the years I had known her—ever since she was a girl—had I seen her give way to such a paroxysm of despair. Usually she was so bright, buoyant and light-hearted. But that afternoon she had utterly broken down and been overcome by blank despair.
“You are young, Natalia,” I said, with deep sympathy. “Enjoy your life to-day, and do not endeavour to meet the troubles of the future. As long as you remain here and are known as Miss Gottorp, so long may your friendship with young Drury be maintained. Live for the present—do not anticipate the future.”
I said this because I knew that Time is the greatest healer of broken hearts.
But she only shook her head very sadly, without replying.
The black marble clock on the mantelshelf chimed six, and I recollected that Hartwig had wired that he would meet me at the “Métropole” at that hour. My train was due to leave for London at seven. I had already bidden Miss West adieu. So I took Natalia’s hand, and pressing it warmly, wished her farewell, promising to regularly report by telegraph my progress across Siberia, as far as possible.
She struggled to her feet with an effort, and looking full into my face said in a voice choked by emotion:
“Good-bye, Uncle Colin, I am sorry I cannot betray Marya’s secret. You are doing this in order to save two innocent women from the horrors of a living tomb in the Siberian snows—to demand that justice shall be done. Go. And may God in His great mercy take you under His protection.”
What I replied I can scarcely tell. My heart was too full for words. All I know is that a few moments later I turned out of the great wide square, where the rooks were cawing in the high trees, and hurried along the wide promenade, where the red sun was setting behind me in the sea.
Hartwig I found at the “Métropole” awaiting me. He related how he had called at the flat in Albemarle street, and, by a judicious tip to the young valet he found there, had learnt that Mr Richard Drury was the son of old Sir Richard Drury, knight, the great ship-builder of Greenock, who had built a number of cruisers for the Navy. He was a self-made man, who commenced life as a fitter’s labourer in a ship-builder’s yard up at Craigandoran on the Clyde—a bluff, hearty man whose generosity was well-known throughout the kingdom.
“Young Richard, it seems,” Hartwig went on, “after leaving Oxford became a director of the company, and though apparently leading a life of leisure, yet he takes quite an active part in the direction of the London office of the firm in Westminster.”
He expressed the strongest disapproval when I told him of my intention to leave for Siberia and instructed him to remain there and to take the Grand Duchess under his protection until he received definite orders from the Emperor.
“I certainly don’t like the idea of your going to Siberia alone, Mr Trewinnard,” he declared. “Markoff will know the instant you start, and I fear that—well, that something may happen.”
“It is just as likely to happen here in Brighton, Hartwig, as in Russia,” I replied.
“Well,” he said, shrugging his shoulders, “all I advise is that you exercise the very greatest care. Why not take my assistant, Petrakoff? I will give him secret orders to join you at the frontier at Ekaterinburg—and nobody will know. It will be best for you to have company on that long sledge journey.”
“If I want him I will telegraph to you from Petersburg,” was my reply.
“You will want him,” he said, “depend upon it. If you go alone to Siberia, Mr Trewinnard,” he added very earnestly, “then depend upon it you will go to your grave!”
Chapter Nineteen.Orders in Cipher.“And pray, Trewinnard, why are you so extremely desirous of following this woman into exile and speaking with her?” inquired the Emperor in French, as I sat with him, a week later, in a small, dismal, tapestried room in the old Castle of Berezov, the Imperial hunting-box on the edge of the Pinsk Marshes, in the Government of Minsk.Dressed in a rough shooting-suit of drab Scotch tweed, he sat upon the edge of the table smoking a cigarette after a hard day after wild boar.I had driven since dawn from the wayside station of Olevsk, three hundred miles south of Moscow, where I had arrived tired and famished from my long night and day journey of a week from Brighton.On arrival in Moscow I had learnt that His Majesty was hunting at Berezov, and a telegram prefixed by the word “Bathildis,” had at once been replied to by a command to audience. Hence I was there, and had placed my appeal before him.He was much puzzled. In his eyes Madame de Rosen was a dangerous revolutionist who had conspired to kill him, therefore he regarded with entire disfavour my petition to be allowed to see her. There was annoyance written upon his strong features, and by the expression in his eyes I saw that he was entirely averse to granting my request.“I am anxious, Sire, to see her upon a purely private matter. She was a personal friend,” I replied.“So you told me some time ago, I recollect,” he remarked, twisting his cigarette between his fingers. “But Markoff has reported that both she and her daughter are highly dangerous to the security of the State. He was speaking of them only the other day.”I bit my lip fiercely.“Perhaps he may be misinformed,” I said coldly. “As far as I am aware—and I know both the lady and her daughter Luba intimately—they are most loyal subjects of Your Majesty.”“Tut,” he laughed. “The evidence put before me was that they actually financed the attempt in the Nevski. I had a narrow escape, Trewinnard—a very narrow one,” he added. “And if you were in my place how would you, I wonder, treat those scoundrels who attempted to kill you—eh?”“I have no knowledge of the true facts, Sire,” I replied. “All I petition Your Majesty is that I may be granted an Imperial permit for the post-horses, and a personal order from yourself to see and speak with the prisoners.”He shrugged his shoulders, and thrust his hands deeply in his breeches pockets.“You do not tell me the reason you wish to see her,” he said with a frown of displeasure.“Upon a purely private matter,” I said. “To ask her a question concerning a very dear friend. I beg that Your Majesty will not refuse me this request,” I added, deeply in earnest.“It is a long journey, Trewinnard. I believe she has been sent beyond Yakutsk,” he remarked. “But, tell me, were you a very intimate friend of this woman? What do you actually know of her?”“All I know of her,” I replied, “is that she is suffering a great wrong, Your Majesty. She is in possession of certain information which closely concerns a friend. Hence my determination to try, if possible, to amend matters.”“What—you yourself desire to make amends—eh?”“Not exactly that, Sire,” I replied. “I wish to learn the truth concerning—well, concerning a purely private matter. I think that Your Majesty is convinced of my loyalty.”“Of course I am, Trewinnard,” was his quick reply. “You have rendered me many important personal services, not the least being your kindness in looking after the welfare of that harebrained little flirt Tattie. By the way, how is she? As much a tomboy as ever, I suppose?” And his big, strong face relaxed into a humorous smile at thought of the girl who, at her own request, had been banished from Court.“She is greatly improving,” I assured him, with a laugh. “She and Miss West are quite comfortable, and I believe enjoying themselves immensely. Her Highness loves England.”“And so do I,” he sighed. “I only wish I could go to London oftener. It is to be regretted that my recent visits there have not exactly found favour with the Council of Ministers.” Then, after a long pause, he said: “Well, I suppose I must not refuse this request of yours, Trewinnard. But I fear you will find your winter journey an extremely uncomfortable one. When you are back, come direct to me. I would like to hear the result of your observations. Let me see? Besides the permit to use the post-horses, you will require an order to speak with the prisoner, Marya de Rosen, alone, and an order to the Governor of Tomsk, who has the register which will show to which settlement she has been deported.”My heart leaped within me, for at first I had feared refusal.“As Your Majesty pleases,” was my reply, and I added my warmest thanks.“I’ll write them out now,” he said; and, turning, he seated himself at the little escritoire in the corner of the small, old-world room and commenced to scribble those Imperial decrees which no one within the Russian Empire would dare to disobey.While he did so I stood gazing out of the small, deep-set double windows across a flat dismal landscape, brown with the tints of autumn—the wide and weedy moat which surrounded the castle, the stretch of grazing-land and then a belt of dense forest on the skyline—the Imperial game preserves.That silent old room, dull, faded and sombre, was just the same as it had been when Catherine the Great had fêted her favourite Potemkin, the man who for years ruled Russia and who fought so valiantly against the Turks. There, in that very room, the Treaty of Jassy, which gave Russia the littoral between the Bug and the Dniester, had been signed by Catherine in 1792, and again in that room the Tzar Alexander the First had received the news of Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow.At that small buhl table whereat the Emperor was now writing out my permits the Tzar Nicholas had signed the decree taking away the Polish constitution, and, years later, he had written the final orders to his ill-fated army fighting against the British in the Crimea.Somewhere in the stone corridor outside could be heard the measured tramp of the sentry, but that, and the rapid scratching of the Emperor’s pen, were the only sounds which broke the quiet.At last he rose and handed me three sheets of foolscap bearing the Imperial arms—the orders which I sought.I took them with thanks, but after a moment’s hesitation I ventured to add:“I wonder if I might request of Your Majesty a further favour?”“Well,” he asked with a smile, “what is it?”“That my journey to Siberia should be kept a secret from the police?”“Eh—what?” he asked quickly, looking at me strangely. “You do not wish the police to know. Why? There is to be no attempted escape, surely?”“I give Your Majesty my word that Madame de Rosen will not attempt to escape,” I said. “I will, indeed, make myself responsible for her. The fact is that I know I have enemies among the Secret Police; hence I wish them to remain in entire ignorance of my journey.”“Enemies!” he echoed. “Who are they? Tell me, and I will quickly turn them into your friends,” he said.“Alas, Sire, I do not exactly know their identity,” was my reply.“Very well,” he replied at last, selecting another cigarette from the big golden box upon the table, “I will say nothing—if you so desire. But, remember, you have made yourself responsible for the woman.”“I willingly accept the responsibility,” I replied. “But, Your Majesty, there is another matter. I would suggest that Hartwig be detailed to remain with Her Highness the Grand Duchess Natalia at Brighton until my return. He is there at present, awaiting Your Majesty’s orders.”At my words he rang a bell, and Calitzine, his private secretary, appeared, bowing.“Send a telegram at once to Hartwig. Where is he?” he asked, turning to me.“At the Hotel Métropole, Brighton,” I said.“Telegraph to him in cipher that I order him to remain with Natalia until further orders.”“Very well, Your Majesty,” replied the trusted official, bowing.“And another thing,” exclaimed the Emperor. “Telegraph, also in cipher, to all Governors of Siberian provinces that Mr Colin Trewinnard, of London, is our guest during his journey across Siberia, and is to be treated as such by all authorities.”“But pardon me, Your Majesty,” I ventured to interrupt, “would not that make it plain to those persons in Petersburg of whom I spoke a moment ago.”“Ah! I forgot,” said the Emperor. “Write the telegram, and send a confidential courier with it to Tiumen, across the Siberian frontier. He will despatch it from there, and it will then only go over the Asiatic wires.”“I fear, Your Majesty, that a courier could not reach Omsk under six or seven days, travelling incessantly,” remarked the secretary.“In seven days will be sufficient time. Both messages are confidential.”And he dismissed Calitzine with a wave of his hand, the secretary backing out of the presence of his Imperial master.When the door had closed the tall, muscular man before me placed his hands behind his back and slowly paced the room, saying:“Well, Trewinnard, I must wish you a safe journey. If you find yourself in any difficulty, communicate direct with me. I must admit that I can’t quite understand the object of this rather quixotic journey of yours—to see a female prisoner. I strongly suspect that you are in love with her—eh?” and he smiled knowingly.“No, Sire,” I replied, “I am not. On my return I hope to be able to show Your Majesty that I have been actuated by motives of humanity and justice—I hope, indeed, perhaps even to receive Your Majesty’s commendation.”“Ah! you are too mysterious for me,” he laughed. “Are you leaving at once? Or will you remain here, in the castle, until to-morrow?”“I am greatly honoured and appreciate Your Majesty’s hospitality,” I said. “But I have horses ready, and I am driving back to the railway at Olevsk to-night.”“Very well, then,” he said with a smile. “Good-bye, and be back again in Petersburg as soon as ever you can.”And he stretched forth his big sinewy hand and gave me such a hearty grip that I was compelled to wince.I was backing towards the door, when it opened and the chamberlain Polivanoff, standing upon the threshold, announced:“General Markoff begs audience of Your Majesty.”“Ah! Let him come in,” the Emperor replied, smiling.The next moment I found myself face to face with the man whom I knew to be Natalia’s worst enemy and mine—that bloated, grey-faced man in military uniform, through whose instrumentality no fewer than ten thousand persons were annually being exiled to the Siberian wastes.We met just beyond the threshold.“Ah! my dear M’sieur Trewinnard!” he cried, raising his grey brows in evident surprise at meeting me there. “I thought you were in England. And how is your interesting young charge?”“She is very well, I believe,” was my cold reply.I passed on, while he, crossing the threshold into the Imperial presence, bowed low, cringing before the monarch whom he daily terrorised, and yet who believed him to be the guardian of the dynasty.“Ah! I am so glad you have come, Markoff!” I heard the Emperor exclaim as he entered. “I have several pressing matters to discuss with you.”I passed the two sentries, who presented arms, and followed Colonel Polivanoff along the corridor, full of gravest apprehension.Ill fortune had dogged my footsteps. Markoff had seen me there. He would naturally inquire of the Emperor the reason of my audience.His Majesty might tell him.If so, what then?
“And pray, Trewinnard, why are you so extremely desirous of following this woman into exile and speaking with her?” inquired the Emperor in French, as I sat with him, a week later, in a small, dismal, tapestried room in the old Castle of Berezov, the Imperial hunting-box on the edge of the Pinsk Marshes, in the Government of Minsk.
Dressed in a rough shooting-suit of drab Scotch tweed, he sat upon the edge of the table smoking a cigarette after a hard day after wild boar.
I had driven since dawn from the wayside station of Olevsk, three hundred miles south of Moscow, where I had arrived tired and famished from my long night and day journey of a week from Brighton.
On arrival in Moscow I had learnt that His Majesty was hunting at Berezov, and a telegram prefixed by the word “Bathildis,” had at once been replied to by a command to audience. Hence I was there, and had placed my appeal before him.
He was much puzzled. In his eyes Madame de Rosen was a dangerous revolutionist who had conspired to kill him, therefore he regarded with entire disfavour my petition to be allowed to see her. There was annoyance written upon his strong features, and by the expression in his eyes I saw that he was entirely averse to granting my request.
“I am anxious, Sire, to see her upon a purely private matter. She was a personal friend,” I replied.
“So you told me some time ago, I recollect,” he remarked, twisting his cigarette between his fingers. “But Markoff has reported that both she and her daughter are highly dangerous to the security of the State. He was speaking of them only the other day.”
I bit my lip fiercely.
“Perhaps he may be misinformed,” I said coldly. “As far as I am aware—and I know both the lady and her daughter Luba intimately—they are most loyal subjects of Your Majesty.”
“Tut,” he laughed. “The evidence put before me was that they actually financed the attempt in the Nevski. I had a narrow escape, Trewinnard—a very narrow one,” he added. “And if you were in my place how would you, I wonder, treat those scoundrels who attempted to kill you—eh?”
“I have no knowledge of the true facts, Sire,” I replied. “All I petition Your Majesty is that I may be granted an Imperial permit for the post-horses, and a personal order from yourself to see and speak with the prisoners.”
He shrugged his shoulders, and thrust his hands deeply in his breeches pockets.
“You do not tell me the reason you wish to see her,” he said with a frown of displeasure.
“Upon a purely private matter,” I said. “To ask her a question concerning a very dear friend. I beg that Your Majesty will not refuse me this request,” I added, deeply in earnest.
“It is a long journey, Trewinnard. I believe she has been sent beyond Yakutsk,” he remarked. “But, tell me, were you a very intimate friend of this woman? What do you actually know of her?”
“All I know of her,” I replied, “is that she is suffering a great wrong, Your Majesty. She is in possession of certain information which closely concerns a friend. Hence my determination to try, if possible, to amend matters.”
“What—you yourself desire to make amends—eh?”
“Not exactly that, Sire,” I replied. “I wish to learn the truth concerning—well, concerning a purely private matter. I think that Your Majesty is convinced of my loyalty.”
“Of course I am, Trewinnard,” was his quick reply. “You have rendered me many important personal services, not the least being your kindness in looking after the welfare of that harebrained little flirt Tattie. By the way, how is she? As much a tomboy as ever, I suppose?” And his big, strong face relaxed into a humorous smile at thought of the girl who, at her own request, had been banished from Court.
“She is greatly improving,” I assured him, with a laugh. “She and Miss West are quite comfortable, and I believe enjoying themselves immensely. Her Highness loves England.”
“And so do I,” he sighed. “I only wish I could go to London oftener. It is to be regretted that my recent visits there have not exactly found favour with the Council of Ministers.” Then, after a long pause, he said: “Well, I suppose I must not refuse this request of yours, Trewinnard. But I fear you will find your winter journey an extremely uncomfortable one. When you are back, come direct to me. I would like to hear the result of your observations. Let me see? Besides the permit to use the post-horses, you will require an order to speak with the prisoner, Marya de Rosen, alone, and an order to the Governor of Tomsk, who has the register which will show to which settlement she has been deported.”
My heart leaped within me, for at first I had feared refusal.
“As Your Majesty pleases,” was my reply, and I added my warmest thanks.
“I’ll write them out now,” he said; and, turning, he seated himself at the little escritoire in the corner of the small, old-world room and commenced to scribble those Imperial decrees which no one within the Russian Empire would dare to disobey.
While he did so I stood gazing out of the small, deep-set double windows across a flat dismal landscape, brown with the tints of autumn—the wide and weedy moat which surrounded the castle, the stretch of grazing-land and then a belt of dense forest on the skyline—the Imperial game preserves.
That silent old room, dull, faded and sombre, was just the same as it had been when Catherine the Great had fêted her favourite Potemkin, the man who for years ruled Russia and who fought so valiantly against the Turks. There, in that very room, the Treaty of Jassy, which gave Russia the littoral between the Bug and the Dniester, had been signed by Catherine in 1792, and again in that room the Tzar Alexander the First had received the news of Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow.
At that small buhl table whereat the Emperor was now writing out my permits the Tzar Nicholas had signed the decree taking away the Polish constitution, and, years later, he had written the final orders to his ill-fated army fighting against the British in the Crimea.
Somewhere in the stone corridor outside could be heard the measured tramp of the sentry, but that, and the rapid scratching of the Emperor’s pen, were the only sounds which broke the quiet.
At last he rose and handed me three sheets of foolscap bearing the Imperial arms—the orders which I sought.
I took them with thanks, but after a moment’s hesitation I ventured to add:
“I wonder if I might request of Your Majesty a further favour?”
“Well,” he asked with a smile, “what is it?”
“That my journey to Siberia should be kept a secret from the police?”
“Eh—what?” he asked quickly, looking at me strangely. “You do not wish the police to know. Why? There is to be no attempted escape, surely?”
“I give Your Majesty my word that Madame de Rosen will not attempt to escape,” I said. “I will, indeed, make myself responsible for her. The fact is that I know I have enemies among the Secret Police; hence I wish them to remain in entire ignorance of my journey.”
“Enemies!” he echoed. “Who are they? Tell me, and I will quickly turn them into your friends,” he said.
“Alas, Sire, I do not exactly know their identity,” was my reply.
“Very well,” he replied at last, selecting another cigarette from the big golden box upon the table, “I will say nothing—if you so desire. But, remember, you have made yourself responsible for the woman.”
“I willingly accept the responsibility,” I replied. “But, Your Majesty, there is another matter. I would suggest that Hartwig be detailed to remain with Her Highness the Grand Duchess Natalia at Brighton until my return. He is there at present, awaiting Your Majesty’s orders.”
At my words he rang a bell, and Calitzine, his private secretary, appeared, bowing.
“Send a telegram at once to Hartwig. Where is he?” he asked, turning to me.
“At the Hotel Métropole, Brighton,” I said.
“Telegraph to him in cipher that I order him to remain with Natalia until further orders.”
“Very well, Your Majesty,” replied the trusted official, bowing.
“And another thing,” exclaimed the Emperor. “Telegraph, also in cipher, to all Governors of Siberian provinces that Mr Colin Trewinnard, of London, is our guest during his journey across Siberia, and is to be treated as such by all authorities.”
“But pardon me, Your Majesty,” I ventured to interrupt, “would not that make it plain to those persons in Petersburg of whom I spoke a moment ago.”
“Ah! I forgot,” said the Emperor. “Write the telegram, and send a confidential courier with it to Tiumen, across the Siberian frontier. He will despatch it from there, and it will then only go over the Asiatic wires.”
“I fear, Your Majesty, that a courier could not reach Omsk under six or seven days, travelling incessantly,” remarked the secretary.
“In seven days will be sufficient time. Both messages are confidential.”
And he dismissed Calitzine with a wave of his hand, the secretary backing out of the presence of his Imperial master.
When the door had closed the tall, muscular man before me placed his hands behind his back and slowly paced the room, saying:
“Well, Trewinnard, I must wish you a safe journey. If you find yourself in any difficulty, communicate direct with me. I must admit that I can’t quite understand the object of this rather quixotic journey of yours—to see a female prisoner. I strongly suspect that you are in love with her—eh?” and he smiled knowingly.
“No, Sire,” I replied, “I am not. On my return I hope to be able to show Your Majesty that I have been actuated by motives of humanity and justice—I hope, indeed, perhaps even to receive Your Majesty’s commendation.”
“Ah! you are too mysterious for me,” he laughed. “Are you leaving at once? Or will you remain here, in the castle, until to-morrow?”
“I am greatly honoured and appreciate Your Majesty’s hospitality,” I said. “But I have horses ready, and I am driving back to the railway at Olevsk to-night.”
“Very well, then,” he said with a smile. “Good-bye, and be back again in Petersburg as soon as ever you can.”
And he stretched forth his big sinewy hand and gave me such a hearty grip that I was compelled to wince.
I was backing towards the door, when it opened and the chamberlain Polivanoff, standing upon the threshold, announced:
“General Markoff begs audience of Your Majesty.”
“Ah! Let him come in,” the Emperor replied, smiling.
The next moment I found myself face to face with the man whom I knew to be Natalia’s worst enemy and mine—that bloated, grey-faced man in military uniform, through whose instrumentality no fewer than ten thousand persons were annually being exiled to the Siberian wastes.
We met just beyond the threshold.
“Ah! my dear M’sieur Trewinnard!” he cried, raising his grey brows in evident surprise at meeting me there. “I thought you were in England. And how is your interesting young charge?”
“She is very well, I believe,” was my cold reply.
I passed on, while he, crossing the threshold into the Imperial presence, bowed low, cringing before the monarch whom he daily terrorised, and yet who believed him to be the guardian of the dynasty.
“Ah! I am so glad you have come, Markoff!” I heard the Emperor exclaim as he entered. “I have several pressing matters to discuss with you.”
I passed the two sentries, who presented arms, and followed Colonel Polivanoff along the corridor, full of gravest apprehension.
Ill fortune had dogged my footsteps. Markoff had seen me there. He would naturally inquire of the Emperor the reason of my audience.
His Majesty might tell him.
If so, what then?