Carola Dunn (15 page)

“But on the whole I prefer the English climate,” he concluded, and grinned at John’s impatience. “For one thing, it bores foreigners beyond bearing and they soon cease to listen.”

“Not only foreigners! Cut line, Andrew. You never brought me here to babble about your love of April showers.”

“True. I believe we can talk safely here, though to make a habit of it would arouse suspicion. There are not too many others walking here at midday. First, I want to tell you what a splendid job you have done and to convey the ambassador’s congratulations and thanks.”

John flushed. “I forgot Cathcart knew what I was doing too.”

“He means to send the duke a most favourable report of your ability. I confess to having doubted that you would be helpful. Forgive me.”

Suppressing an urge to embrace him Russian-style, John shook his hand with English formality. “You know, I’m devilish glad you married Teresa,” he said irrelevantly. “Well, now that you have emptied the butter-boat, let’s hear what you really have to say.”

“Your reports all point to a serious build-up of troops in the south, on the Turkish border and in the Caucasus. Yet as far as we can tell, none of the high command is down there. Cathcart thinks Alexander’s attention is divided between dissipation, mysticism and the fear of internal revolt. He doubts there is room left for foreign adventures, nor stomach for it after the long fight with Napoleon. Yet if there is a chance of an attack on Turkey or Persia, we need to know. I am going south to find out.”

“Let me go! You have a wife and child to think of.”

“I thank you, John, and I expected nothing less of you. But this mission requires fluent Russian. I must do it myself. Ah, there are Teresa and Rebecca. I asked them to meet us here. Will you give Rebecca your arm and follow while I explain the situation to Teresa?”

To the couple strolling behind, it soon became obvious that though no voices were raised the Graylins were in the middle of a serious altercation. John gave Rebecca a brief explanation of what was afoot and then, exchanging glances of complicity, they moved closer to eavesdrop.

“You
shall not
leave me behind!” hissed Teresa. “Nothing could be better calculated to raise suspicion.”

“It will be given out that I go only to Moscow, to visit our consul there. No one will miss me when I slip away.”

“I
shall. How do you mean to explain why you are not taking your wife to see the glories of the old capital?”

“You have a point,” Andrew admitted unwillingly. “But once I leave Moscow I shall be travelling fast and light.”

“Are you saying that I am incapable of travelling fast and light? You know better.”

“Indeed I do, my dear. You must see though that it is out of
the question to take Peri, even if Annie were not growing larger daily.”

“She is big, isn’t she?” Teresa was momentarily diverted. “I wonder if she will have twins? No, I see that we cannot take Chiquita, but after all it is not like leaving her in a distant country. I shall have no qualms whatever about entrusting her to Rebecca, and John will be here to take care of them.”

Rebecca flushed with pleasure at the compliment, but John thought she looked a little anxious. He smiled at her reassuringly. He was pleased himself that Teresa at last considered him dependable enough to be left in charge.

“As you will,” Andrew was saying resignedly. “It will take a week or two to obtain the necessary papers for travel to Moscow, so...”

John slowed his steps, drawing Rebecca back out of earshot. They paused, as if admiring a mansion on the opposite embankment of the grey-green, sluggish Fontanka.

“It’s my belief,” he said, laughing, “that Andrew has got exactly what he wanted. He knows very well how to handle my cousin.”

“He wanted Teresa to go with him?”

“I’d lay a monkey on it. If he had simply proposed such a scheme, she would have insisted on taking Esperanza. As it is, she feels she has won half the battle so she is generously prepared to give in on the other half. Of course, it all depends on whether you are willing to accept responsibility for Esperanza and the household.”

That thought seemed to have dawned on the Graylins, for at that moment they turned back.

“Rebecca!” Teresa held out both her hands. Beneath the azure ostrich plumes bobbing on her extravagant bonnet, her lively face was half mischievous, half pleading. “I have such a big favour to ask of you. John must have explained the situation. I want to go with Andrew. Will you look after Chiquita for me?”

Rebecca took her hands. To John’s surprise, the anxiety had vanished from her eyes and she looked proud and self-confident. How she had changed since the day he met her!

“I am honoured that you trust me,” she said. “Of course I will do it. How long do you expect to be gone?”

They walked slowly back along the canal, clarifying details that could not be freely discussed where they might be overheard. Just before they reached the bridge where Teresa’s carriage was waiting, John recognized the slightly mincing walk of a gentleman coming towards them.

“Solovyov!” he warned.

Rebecca clutched his arm, but she said in a determinedly bright voice, “Do you go to the ballet tonight, Cousin?”

When the count reached them they were discussing the relative merits of opera and ballet. He bowed, smiling, but his eyes were cold.

“Good day,
mesdames, messieurs,”
he greeted them. “Is family party? I may join? To stroll by Fontanka is
priyatno—
pleasant—in
hot weather, is it not?”

“Very pleasant, but I fear we cannot ask you to join us,” said Teresa with a convincing assumption of regret. “Sir Andrew escaped only briefly from his duties and is about to return to the embassy, while Miss Nuthall and I have shopping to do. Good day, Count.” She shepherded Rebecca towards their carriage.

Andrew consulted his watch, tut-tutted, nodded to Solovyov, and went to hand the ladies into their
brichka.
The count frowned as he looked after them.

“I’m off to find a beefsteak,” said John. “Care to join me, Count?”

“Ah, you Englishmen, always you must eat
bifsteks.
Come, I show you best in St Petersburg.”

Swallowing a sigh, John went with him.

Chapter 13

It was the end of August before Andrew managed to gather together the requisite permits, internal passports, authorisation for post-horses and letters to the military governor of Moscow, all signed and sealed by the officials of several departments in three ministries.

Teresa had been chafing at the bit for a fortnight. The very day after Andrew came home and spread the papers triumphantly on the table before her, they were off. Rebecca stood on the front steps with Esperanza, John, and the weeping Annie, waving as Rowson drove the creaking
tarantass
down the street. Teresa blew a kiss as they turned the corner, and they were gone.

Rebecca had a hollow feeling inside. She had been sure she could cope, but faced with the reality her assurance wavered as she suddenly thought of a dozen things that could go wrong.

Esperanza gave her no time to brood. Her agitation at the departure of her parents showed itself in a flurry of boisterous excitement. Pulling away from Rebecca’s hand, she danced down the steps and began to climb the ornate iron railing separating the house from the street.

“Look at me, Uncle John. I can go right to the top!”

“Be careful, Esperanza, you will hurt yourself.” Rebecca hurried after her.

“Don’t call me that, I’m Chiquita. I can jump from here.”

“No you can’t,” said John. “Even I could not jump from there. Come down, shrimp.”

“Call me Chiquita!” she insisted, and launched herself at Rebecca shouting, “Catch me, Aunt Beckie!”

Taken by surprise Rebecca managed to break her fall, but she sprawled on the ground and a wail went up. Heart in mouth, Rebecca stooped over her—scraped hands and knees and a rip in her pretty new dress.

She picked her up, hugged her, and carried her sobbing into the house.

“Silly cuckoo,” she said lovingly. “You should have listened to Uncle John. Let’s wash your hurts and put a plaster on. I expect Annie can mend your dress.”

“To be sure, Miss Beckie.” Annie dried the child’s eyes on her apron. “I’ll fetch some warm water from the kitchen, and the ointment from my lady’s medicine chest.” She bustled out, leaving Rebecca to coax a smile from Esperanza.

Rebecca was glad when Annie returned. She was glad also when John decided to spend the rest of the day with them. He kept Chiquita amused during the painful business of washing her grazes, then carried her up to the nursery, and read to her.

“What a pity,” Gayo commiserated.

After nuncheon John drove them to the Summer Garden. They met Kolya walking there with his married sister. Rebecca did not know her well as she lived in Moscow, but she had two small children with her and Chiquita quickly made friends with them. Princess Zoya was as sociable as her younger sisters. Rebecca soon felt at ease with her and thoroughly enjoyed the afternoon. On parting they made plans for the children to play together another day.

John stayed to nursery tea before going off to an evening engagement. He had left the embassy’s bachelor quarters and taken a room in a house nearby, far enough for propriety, near enough to be of use. Rebecca was relieved to have him within reach, but after a successful first day in charge she was once more confident of her ability to manage.

In the absence of her chaperone, she found her social life considerably curtailed. She did not mind; it was good to have time again for reading and Annie proved an excellent companion. Intelligent and practical, the African girl was full of stories about her travels with the Graylins. Esperanza adored her, and soon settled down.

Rebecca often spent the evenings with Annie, reading and sewing. Together they perused the latest sensation on the St Petersburg literary scene, a fairytale in verse called
Ruslan and Ludmila.
Annie was particularly interested in it because the author, Aleksandr Pushkin, was the great-grandson of an African prince who had somehow become godson to Peter the Great.

When Rebecca mentioned this to John, he claimed acquaintance with the poet. “He’s a minor official in the Foreign Office, but I doubt he spent even as much time there as I do in the embassy. A dissipated libertine,” he added with a grin, “and I speak as one who knows.”

“His poetry is charming. I suppose it would not be proper for you to invite him here. Annie would so love to see him.”

“Impossible. He was transferred from St Petersburg to the south before the poem was published. A sort of internal exile. It seems to be quite common here. The Tsar even exiles people to Moscow, or to their country estates.”

“Why was Pushkin exiled?”

“His excesses are legend, and he is something of a radical, too, I collect.”

“You have a great deal in common, then,” Rebecca suggested teasingly.

“No, we have not!” John was revolted. “I never wrote a line of verse in my life! Now, are you ready to go? I hope your cloak is warm enough and Chiquita is well-wrapped. It is decidedly chilly outside.”

They spent a splendid afternoon in the Summer Garden, trying to catch the leaves as they drifted down from the trees, and running through the rustling russet heaps of those already fallen.

“I have not had so much fun in a long time!” Rebecca exclaimed as John lifted Chiquita up to the carriage seat beside her.

“I fear you have been very dull since Teresa left,” said John, leaning across to pick a yellow birch leaf from her hair. He presented it to her, frowning in thought. “There are so few entertainments to which it is proper for me to escort you alone.”

“I do not mean to complain. I like the peace and quiet, and besides, Princess Zoya has been prodigious kind in inviting me to go with her to parties now and then.”

“She is gone back to Moscow though.” He gave his three horses the office to start.

“Will she see Mama and Papa?” Chiquita demanded, a trifle tearfully. “Will Misha and Natasha see my Mama and Papa?”

Rebecca devoted her attention to soothing her, but she noticed that John remained thoughtful as he drove them home.

Chiquita ran above-stairs to tell Annie how many leaves she had caught. John helped Rebecca take off her cloak and followed her into the drawing room.

“I have an idea,” he announced, warming his hands at the Russian stove built into one corner of the room.

“Heavens, is that all? I quite thought you were trying to hatch an egg.”

“Like a broody hen, was I? Well, I have hatched out a famous notion. You will like it excessively, I wager.”

“Do you mean to tell me what it is?”

He considered. “No, it shall be a surprise. Only be ready, and warmly dressed—your cloak would be best, I daresay; the hood will conceal your face—tomorrow at eight.”

“John, tell me what I am preparing for!”

“No, only don’t dress too fine. You’ll enjoy it, I’ll go bail. I was there last week.”

Not another word could she pry from him, even when she was in the hired
troika
being driven to the unknown destination. She had dressed with a feeling of excited anticipation, ignoring Annie’s words of warning.

“I misdoubt his lordship’ll lead you into mischief, Miss Beckie. A mort of trouble he caused my Miss Teresa.”

Rebecca tossed caution to the winds. Had John not rescued her from the briars more than once? He would not land her in a scrape, she was sure. She leant back against the carriage seat, admiring the still beauty of moonlight on the waters of the Neva—and John’s skill with the reins.

The first clue she had was the distant, haunting strains of Gypsy music. As the wild fiddling grew louder, she saw by the light of flickering rush torches a circle of caravans with swarms of people milling about them. Colourful uniforms mingled with the Romanies’ bright-hued garb in a kaleidoscope of animation.

“Exotic, ain’t it?” John pulled up at the end of a row of carriages. “The Gypsies in England are a poor lot compared to these. There is more room for nomads in Russia. This tribe camps here for the winter, but in the summer they have the freedom of the steppes.” He gave the reins to the groom, thrust his whip into the capacious pocket of his overcoat, and helped Rebecca down.