Lord Buckingham’s Bride Page 9

  They found themselves in a very warm, deserted stateroom of such sumptuousness that it might have been removed in its entirety from an Oriental potentate’s palace. Rich folds of crimson and gold damask had been draped against the walls, and there were brightly colored carpets on the floor. The chairs and ottoman couches were upholstered with sable and quilted gold satin, and there were low tables with tops of chased silver. In one corner there was a high gilded cage containing a brightly plumed macaw, and nearby there was a sideboard on which had been placed an array of exquisite refreshments, from bottles of champagne, vodka, and ruby-red wine, to caviar, walnut cheese, candied fruit, nuts, and other delicacies. The room was very efficiently warmed by an ornate black stove that stood in the center of the floor, with a chimney pipe that passed up through ceiling.

  There were two other doors apart from the one through which they had entered, and both were closed. A line of splendidly glazed windows afforded a prime view over the crowded water behind the schooner, and beneath them there was a long window seat that was liberally scattered with crimson and gold silk cushions.

  Alison glanced around in admiration, for she wouldn’t have believed such luxury could exist on board a ship. The air was so warm that she had to toss back her hood, and as she did so, she became aware of the scent of roses from an open potpourri jar standing on the floor next to the stove.

  Francis removed his greatcoat and then teased off his gray kid gloves, dropping them into his upturned top hat and then placing the hat on the window seat with the greatcoat. Then he too paused to glance around, toying with the frill of shirt that protruded from the cuff of his sage-green coat. There was a simple gold pin in the knot of his neckcloth, and the frill on the front of his shirt disappeared into his lilac paisley waistcoat. His long legs were immaculately clad in tight cream cord breeches, and the shine on his boots was very commendable indeed, considering he was traveling without a valet.

  One of the other doors opened suddenly and two rather strange figures entered. One was a dwarf, extravagantly clad in a golden robe and plumed turban like a tiny sultan, and the other was a tremendously tall muscular black man who wore baggy white pantaloons and a crimson sleeveless jacket. They both remained absolutely silent and took up positions on either side of the only door that had yet to open. They stood with their arms akimbo, gazing straight in front of them.

  Francis had turned to observe them the moment they entered, but Alison, who had been standing much closer to them, found their presence a little disturbing, and she moved instinctively toward him. He smiled reassuringly and relieved her of her cloak, for the heat from the stove was almost unbearable. Suddenly the macaw gave a series of earsplitting shrieks and Alison started so much that Francis quickly put an arm around her waist.

  ‘Courage now, for it’s only a dratted bird,’ he murmured.

  Somehow she managed to smile at him, but then the other door opened and Nikolai entered. He wore his uniform, and at his side, held by a golden chain and a collar studded with amethysts, was a lynx with tufted ears, spotted fur, and cold amber eyes.

  Alison had never seen a lynx before and she shrank still closer to Francis, her gaze fixed upon the animal.

  Nikolai smiled a little. ‘Khan will not harm you, Miss Clearwell, but if he frightens you, I will have him removed.’ He handed the chain to the black man and the lynx was led away. Nikolai turned to her again. ‘I was forgetting that the lynx is no longer to be found in Britain, and so you will not be used to such things.’

  Relieved that the animal had been removed, Alison summoned the will to smile a little foolishly. ‘You must forgive me, sir, for in England a gentleman might be seen with a dog or hound, but never with a wild animal.’

  He came toward them. ‘It is you who must forgive me,’ he murmured, and then inclined his head. ‘Welcome on board my palais flotant, my friends. I am only sorry that King Gustavus Adolphus’s illness came too late to spare you the rigors of five days on a vessel like the Pavlovsk.’

  ‘The king is ill?’ asked Francis.

  ‘I fear so, and the talks have been postponed for the time being, which leaves me at liberty to extend my hospitality. Please be seated, my friends.’

  Francis conducted Alison to one of the couches and then waited for a moment in order to sit down at the same time as Nikolai, who was at pains to be the gracious and attentive host.

  ‘Have you breakfasted yet?’ he asked.

  Francis nodded. ‘Yes. At least we took what passes for breakfast on the Pavlovsk. I fear that cold pork sausage, goats’-milk cheese, and vodka are hardly appetizing first thing in the morning, especially to a lady.’

  Nikolai smiled. ‘I can well imagine. Allow me to provide you with something more suitable.’

  ‘I’d appreciate a cup of coffee,’ said Alison quickly, for in truth the breakfast had put paid to her appetite for the time being.

  The prince nodded and then looked enquiringly at Francis. ‘And for you, my lord?’

  ‘Coffee would be most agreeable,’ he replied.

  Nikolai clapped his hands to the dwarf, who immediately hastened away.

  Alison glanced out of the line of windows and to her surprise suddenly realized that the Irina was already under way. She hadn’t heard the sound of any running feet or shouted orders, she hadn’t even detected the rattle of the anchor chain, but nevertheless the schooner was gliding away from Kronstadt and a white wake was beginning to foam behind her. As the island slipped farther away astern, the schooner’s sails suddenly caught the westerly breeze and she seemed to leap forward eagerly, skimming over the water toward St Petersburg.

  Prince Nikolai watched Alison as she gazed at the scene beyond the windows. His glance took in the sweetness of her profile, the soft silver-fair of her hair, and the slenderness of her figure, outlined so perfectly by the soft folds of her black-and-white wool gown. She still seemed so untouched, like a rose that was about to uncurl its matchless petals to the sun, and yet she had lain in Lord Buckingham’s arms and allowed him to possess her. Was it really possible that she wasn’t to be trusted? Could someone of such angelic and virginal beauty be the accomplice of a British agent, or even be the agent herself? Dear God, how he would like to know whether that clerk in Paris had died too late. If only information had still been forthcoming from the British embassy in St Petersburg … But there hadn’t been anything useful from there for months now. Every instinct told him something was wrong, but when he looked at the exquisite loveliness of this young Englishwoman, he found it impossible to believe that there was anything amiss at all.

  If it hadn’t been for that one small discrepancy in the story she and her handsome lord had told in Stockholm, he, Nikolai, wouldn’t suspect anything at all. Now there were other things, such as the strange absence of any mementos in their belongings and the fact that while Lord Buckingham had all along been booked to sail on the Pavlovsk, the fascinating Miss Clearwell’s name hadn’t appeared on the manifest until after the sinking of the Duchess of Albemarle. If the Englishman and his lady were trying to pull the wool over his eyes, then they would pay the price of their folly. The lady would pay another price first, however, when she was forced to submit to advances that she had repulsed in Stockholm.

  Realizing that he’d been studying her a little obviously, Nikolai suddenly turned to Francis. ‘Tell me, my lord, will you and Miss Clearwell be marrying as soon as you reach St Petersburg?’

  Alison looked around quickly.

  ‘Yes,’ Francis replied in an even tone, ‘for Miss Clearwell’s reputation has been compromised enough by the simple fact of our elopement. She will become Lady Buckingham as soon as I am able to arrange the necessary special license.’

  Alison marveled at how matter-of-fact and convincing he sounded. It was as if they were indeed about to become man and wife.

  Nikolai smiled. ‘I trust that you will invite me to the ceremony, my lord?’

  ‘We would be honored to do so, sir.’

  T
he dwarf returned with a silver tray upon which stood a Turkish coffee pot and some delicate gold porcelain cups and saucers. He placed the tray on a table and proceeded to pour the coffee, bringing them each a cup in turn, commencing with Nikolai, to whom he bowed very low indeed.

  The dwarf then retreated to his position by the door, where the black man had also reappeared. Standing with their arms akimbo again, they commenced to stare straight ahead as if they were statues and could not hear a word that was said in the stateroom.

  Conversation didn’t again touch upon anything concerning wedding plans, but ranged instead upon topics concerning Prince Nikolai himself. He told them of his magnificent summer palace on the coast of the Gulf of Finland, some fifteen miles west of St Petersburg, of his town residence in the capital itself, and his meteoric career in the famous Preobrazensky Regiment. They also learned that his family possessed a castle near Florence, a villa in Fiesole, and an estate of many thousands of hectares in Finland. It wasn’t by accident that the conversation centered upon Nickolai, for Francis saw to it that the prince’s immense vanity was constantly flattered. Alison knew why Francis was doing it, for while Nikolai was waxing lyrical about himself he couldn’t ask awkward or downright difficult questions about anyone else.

  Their conversation was interrupted at last when the schooner’s captain came to the stateroom to say something to Nikolai, something they didn’t understand because he spoke in Russian. When he had withdrawn, however, Nikolai explained. ‘Come to the windows, my friends, for I wish you to see my summer palace. We’re passing very close to the shore now.’ He got up, beckoning them toward the windows.

  Alison rose in some surprise and spoke without thinking. ‘Close to the shore? But isn’t the gulf far too shallow for a vessel like this to risk sailing near the coast?’ As the words slipped from her lips, she knew she had made an error, for it wasn’t expected that a lady should be so knowledgeable.

  Nikolai paused, looking a little curiously at her. ‘How very well informed you are, Miss Clearwell. I confess I’m surprised to find a lady who is so aware of things nautical.’

  For the space of a heartbeat she was at a loss, but then she smiled. ‘You shouldn’t really be surprised, Prince Nikolai, because when I was on the Duchess of Albemarle Captain Merryvale himself told me that the gulf is so shallow at times that only the very lightest of vessels can sail right up to St Petersburg, and then only under the guidance of a pilot. He said it more than once, even hinting that the Duchess might have to halt at Kronstadt and transfer her cargo and passengers, well, passenger, to a galliot.’ She knew that yet again she had managed to sound completely plausible.

  Nikolai smiled a little. ‘Ah, yes, Captain Merryvale and the Duchess of Albemarle. But tell me, were not both you and the earl to have sailed on to St Petersburg on that unfortunate ship?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He smiled a little and went to the windows without saying anything more.

  She guessed that she had said something else wrong, and glanced uneasily at Francis. His rather troubled eyes were already upon her. She had somehow made another error, and he knew what it was. She could have bitten her tongue out for allowing herself to be drawn too much, but it was too late now, and what was done was done.

  With a heavy heart she allowed Francis to assist her from the couch, and although he squeezed her fingers reassuringly, she still felt wretched. What had she said?

  Francis drew her hand over his arm as they joined Prince Nikolai by the windows. The schooner was making speed now, the wake stretching far behind her, and sea gulls swirled excitedly, dipping low over the water and then soaring high again. The southern shore was only about two hundred yards away, and Alison could clearly see the shingle beaches with fringes of birchwoods, and the hinterland of undulating tree-covered hills. It was very lovely countryside, and obviously very fashionable, for dotted among the trees were many fine mansions and summer palaces. Some were classically elegant, taking their inspiration from France, Italy, and England, but others were much more Russian, with gilded domes and cupolas. From time to time there were glimpses of armorial gates and magnificent parks that swept right down to the water’s edge. There were formal gardens that rivaled Versailles itself, and everywhere there were fountains, cascades, waterfalls, and ornamental lakes. Little hermitages and pavilions had been placed facing the sea, and they seemed much resorted to even this early in the morning, for frequently she saw carriages waiting by them or saddle horses. In England at this time of year all the flower beds would be bright with wallflowers, petunias, polyanthus, and lilac, and the first roses of summer would be budding, but here there was nothing, just the delicate white of thousands of snowdrops growing in sheltered spots.

  A group of horsemen was riding wildly along a beach, their mounts’ hooves splashing through the shallow waves that broke against the shingle. Alison watched them and her gaze was drawn inexorably to one palace in particular. It was an astonishing sight, topped by a cluster of blue, green, and gold domes and with a facade that might have come directly from Byzantium. Never before had she seen such a palace, and it was viewed as if in a dream, for she gazed at it through the spray and mist of countless fountains, some of them dancing as high into the air as the palace’s domes.

  Nikolai glanced at her. ‘What do you think, Miss Clearwell? Do you admire my palace?’

  ‘Your palace? How very fortunate you are. It’s very beautiful indeed,’ she replied honestly.

  ‘I am flattered that you think so,’ he murmured, his dark eyes upon her. ‘One day soon I will take you there, you have my word upon that.’

  She looked quickly at him, thinking she detected an odd note in his voice, but he just smiled and indicated the shoreline again.

  ‘You see? It is possible to sail close to the land, but only if the master of the vessel knows the channels and sandbanks like the back of his hand. The captain of the Irina is the finest pilot in these waters, and he is the only man who would dare to take such a large schooner this close to the shore, and do it at speed. We will soon be in St Petersburg, but the Pavlovsk will not reach there until tonight.’

  A lookout shouted from his post, and his call sounded faintly in the stateroom.

  Nikolai smiled again. ‘St Petersburg has been sighted, Miss Clearwell. I am sure that your stay there will be an experience you will never forget.’

  Again she glanced uneasily toward him, but there was nothing in his eyes to suggest that he spoke with any hidden meaning. All the same she was glad when Francis rested his hand over hers, so much so that she couldn’t help curling her fingers tightly in his.

  There was nothing to add depth to the scene as the Irina sailed from the Gulf of Finland into the beautiful city that Peter the Great had founded a hundred years before on the Neva delta. The river only flowed the forty-five miles from inland Lake Ladoga, and as it reached the sea, it divided into four main arms that were joined by countless other streams and tributaries. Peter the Great hadn’t been satisfied with what was already a vast amount of water and had ordered the cutting of many canals to further enhance the capital that was to be his ‘Window to the West,’ the glittering achievement that would win the envy of the modem world. As glorious as Venice itself, but on a much grander scale, the new capital was so low-lying that the presence of so much water always made it vulnerable to flooding, and so the inhabited islands were all protected by immense Finnish granite embankments that kept out all but the severest of floods.

  The city was an incomparable sight as the Irina sailed up the main artery of the Neva. Classical facades shone yellow, pink, white, and pearl gray in the bright midday sun; blue, green, and gold domes pierced the sky; and reflections shimmered on the dark-blue water. There were many green pleasances, for every palace and mansion had a garden, every square had walks that would soon be shaded by spring leaves, and every street was lined with trees. Spires, pillars, statues, and monuments gleamed in the crisp northern air, and there was a sense of grandeur and spa
ciousness such as Alison had never encountered before.

  The Neva was a quarter of a mile wide where the Irina dropped anchor just before the crowded pontoon bridge, known as the Isaac Bridge, which was put in place every summer to connect Vassily Island to the north with Admiralty Island to the south, where the administrative heart of imperial Russia was situated. There was no need for bridges in the winter because the river froze so firmly that it was easily possible to walk across from island to island. There were other pontoon bridges where the channels of the Neva were wide, but where the waterways were narrower, there were permanent stone or wooden bridges connecting the various different parts of the delta.

  Vassily Island was the largest of the islands, and was also the commercial and academic center of the city. As well as the Academy of Arts and the Academy of Sciences, there were crowded quays where many vessels were discharging and loading cargoes. These quays were busy again after the long hard winter, and the foreign vessels moored there were some of the first to enter the city after the Neva had melted. This was where the Duchess of Albemarle would have come alongside and where the Pavlovsk would arrive tonight; it was also where the Duchess of Albemarle’s sister ship, the Duchess of Clarence, would tie up in a day or so’s time.

  The cobbled wharves were cluttered with crates, sacks, and bundles, and a constant flow of carts drawn by heavy horses was to be seen passing to and fro. Winches shrieked and men shouted, but these sounds were drowned suddenly in an ecstatic pealing of bells as the churches and cathedrals of the capital rang out for midday.

  On Admiralty Island, or the South Side, as Captain Merryvale had said it was called, the pontoon bridge joined the land in front of St Isaac’s Square, where a bronze equestrian statue of Peter the Great had been placed on a huge block of stone. On the far side of the pontoon bridge, away from the Irina, the South Side stretched away along the waterfront in a superb line of administrative buildings, including the soaring gilded spire and weathervane of the Admiralty itself, the czar’s Winter Palace, and the Hermitage, where so many priceless treasures were on display that it took days to inspect them all. Facing the Neva across St Isaac’s Square was newly completed St Isaac’s Cathedral, which was considered unsatisfactory and was already to be rebuilt to an entirely new design, while on the nearside of the square, closest to the Irina, the South Side became the one-and-a-quarter-mile embankment of English Quay, one of the finest residential streets in St Petersburg.