Kitabı oku: «The Price of Power», sayfa 2
“I shall remain silent.”
“And you are entitled to leave of absence – eh? You can return to England without arousing suspicion?”
“Yes. I have eight weeks due to me.”
“Excellent. I can do nothing more – except to thank you, Trewinnard, to thank you most sincerely for assisting me, and to await word from you. Sign it with ‘Bathildis,’ and I shall know.” And the great burly, bearded man held out his big, strong hand – the iron hand – as sign that my audience was at an end.
I bowed low over it, and next moment the heavy white door of enamelled steel swung open and I backed out of the Imperial presence, the bearer of a secret as strange and grim as it has ever been the lot of any man to lock within his breast.
What the Emperor had revealed to me was undreamed of by that gay, reckless and intriguing circle which comprised the Russian Court – undreamed of by the chancelleries of Europe.
The merest whisper of it would, I knew, stagger the world. And yet he had, in sheer desperation, confided in me a most amazing truth. As I descended that broad, handsome flight of thickly-carpeted marble steps, where flunkeys in brilliant grey and purple livery bowed at every turn, and equerries and officials in smart uniforms came and went, my brain was awhirl at the magnitude of the affair, and the terrible scandal which must result if ever the secret were betrayed – the secret of a throne.
A thought flashed across my mind – the knowledge of my own personal peril. I had enemies – bitter enemies. My heart sank within me as I stepped into the great gilded hall, for I had given a promise which I much feared I would never be permitted to live and fulfil.
Chapter Three.
Contains Certain Confidences
Six hours later, accompanied by Saunderson, our tall, thin Chargé d’Affaires, and the Embassy staff, all in our uniforms and decorations, I entered the huge white-and-gold ballroom of the Winter Palace, where the Russian Court, the representatives of exclusive Society, the bureaucracy of the Empire and the corps diplomatique had assembled.
The scene was perhaps the most brilliant and picturesque that could be witnessed anywhere in the world. Beneath the myriad lights of those huge cut-glass chandeliers, and reflected by the gigantic mirrors upon the walls, were hundreds of gold-laced uniforms of every shade and every style. Across the breasts of many of the men were gay-coloured scarves of the various orders, with diamond stars, while others wore around their necks parti-coloured ribbons with enamelled crosses at their throat, or rows of decorations across their breasts.
And to this phantasmagoria of colour, as all stood in little groups chattering and awaiting Their Majesties, was added that of the splendid long-trained dresses of the women, nearly all of whom wore their diamond tiaras, or diamond ornaments in their corsage.
It was indeed, a cosmopolitan gathering, half of Russians and half of the diplomatic set, and around me, as I bowed over the hand of a well-known Baroness, wife of the Minister of War, I heard animated chatter in half a dozen tongues. The Emperor had returned, and there would now be a month of gaiety before he retired for the summer to Gatchina. The spring season in Petersburg had been cut short – first by the indisposition of the Empress, and afterwards by reason of the Emperor’s tour to the distant shore of the Caspian.
Therefore at this, the delayed Court ball, everybody who was anybody in Russia was present.
In one end of the huge Renaissance salon, with its wonderful painted ceiling and gilded cupids, was a great semicircular alcove, with a slightly raised daïs, whereon sat the Dowager-Empress, the Grand Duchesses and those of the blood-royal, with their attendant ladies, while the male members of the Court lounged behind.
The opposite end of the great ballroom led to another salon with parquet floor, decorated in similar style, and with many mirrors, and almost as large, while beyond was a somewhat smaller room, the whole effect being one of gorgeous grandeur and immensity.
I had paused to chat with a stout lady in cream, who wore a beautiful tiara. Princess Lovovski, wife of the Governor-General of Finland, and she had commenced to tell me the latest tit-bit of scandal concerning the wife of a certain War Office official, a matter which did not interest me in the least, when suddenly there came three loud taps – the taps of the Grand Chamberlain – announcing the entrance of His Majesty. As by enchantment a wide door in the side of the ballroom flew open, and the glittering throng, bejewelled and perfumed, flashing colours amid plumes, aigrettes and flowers, laughing and murmuring to the clink of gala swords and sabres, was struck to silence.
His Majesty passed – a tall, commanding figure in a white uniform covered with the stars, crosses and many-coloured ribbons of the various European orders. Beneath the thousand lights the bare shoulders of the beautiful women inclined profoundly.
Then again the loud chatter recommenced.
The Emperor’s presence, tall, erect, muscular, was indeed a regal one. He looked every inch a ruler and an autocrat as he advanced to the alcove, where the whole Court had risen to receive him, and with a quick gesture he gave the signal for dancing to commence.
I retreated to the wall, being in no humour to dance, and stood gazing at him. He seemed, indeed, a different person to that deep-eyed, earnest man in dark-blue serge who had sat chatting with me so affably six hours ago. He was in that hour a man, but now the centre of that gay patrician throng, he was ruler, the autocrat who by a stroke of the grey quill could banish to the mines or the oubliettes any of those of his subjects who bowed before him – sweep them out of existence as completely as though the grave had claimed them; for every exile lost his identity and became a mere number; his estate was administered as though he were dead, and apportioned, with the usual forfeiture to the State, among his heirs. So that it was impossible for an exile to be traced.
I thought of Madame Marya de Rosen and of poor little Luba. Ah! I wondered how many delicate women and handsome, intelligent men who had danced over that polished floor were now dragging out their weary lives in those squalid, filthy Yakut yaurtas of Eastern Siberia. How many, alas! had, in innocence, fallen victims to that corrupt bureaucracy which always concealed the truth from His Majesty.
To the camarilla, a dozen or so men who were present there in brilliant uniforms and wearing the Cross of St. Andrew, with the pale-blue ribbon, the highest Order of the Empire, bestowed upon them for their “fidelity,” that present reign of terror was solely due. It was to the interests of those men that the Emperor should be perpetually terrorised. Half those so-called conspiracies were the work of the Secret Police themselves and their agents-provocateurs; and hundreds of innocent persons were being spirited away without trial to the frozen wastes of Northern and Eastern Siberia, upon no other charge than the trivial one that they were “dangerous” persons!
Madame de Rosen and her pretty daughter had fallen victims of the bitter unscrupulousness of that short, stout, grey-moustached man, who at that moment was bowing so obsequiously before his Sovereign, the man who was one of the greatest powers in the Empire, General Serge Markoff, Chief of Secret Police.
The first dance was in progress. Pretty women, with their smart, good-looking cavaliers, were whirling about me to the slow, tuneful strains of one of the latest of Strauss’s waltzes, when Colonel Mellini, the Italian military attaché, halted before me to chat. He had just returned from leave, and had much Embassy gossip to relate to me from the Eternal City, where I had served for two years.
“I hear,” he remarked at last, “that another plot was discovered early this morning – a desperate one in the Nevski. Markoff really seems ubiquitous.”
I looked into his dark eyes and smiled.
“Ah! I see, caro mio,” he laughed. “Your thoughts are similar to mine – eh? These plots are a little too frequent to be genuine,” and, lowering his voice to a whisper, he added: “I can’t understand how His Majesty does not see through the transparency of it. They are terrorising him every day – every hour. A man of less robust physique or mental balance would surely be driven out of his mind.”
“I agree with you entirely, my dear friend. But,” I added, “this is not the place to discuss affairs of State. Ah, Madame!” and turning, I bent over the gloved hand of old Madame Neilidoff, one of the leaders of Society in Moscow, with whom I stood chatting for a long time, and who kindly invited me for a week out at her great country estate at Sukova in Tver.
Captain Stoyanovitch, gay with decorations, hurried past me on some errand for the Emperor, and gave me a nod as he went on, while young Bertram Tucker, our third secretary, came up and began to chat with the yellow-toothed old lady, who was such a power in the Russian social circle.
I suppose it must have been nearly two o’clock, when, after wandering through the salons, greeting many men and women I knew, I suddenly heard a voice behind me exclaim in English:
“Hulloa, old Uncle Colin! Am I too small to be recognised?”
I turned quickly and confronted the pretty laughing girl of nineteen of whom I had been in search all the night – Her Imperial Highness the Grand Duchess Natalia Olga Nicolaievna.
Tall, slim, with a perfect figure, she was dressed in cream, a light simple gown which suited her youth and extreme beauty admirably. Across her dark, well-dressed hair she wore a narrow band of forget-me-nots; at her throat was a large single emerald of great value, suspended by a fine chain of platinum, a present from His Majesty, while on the edge of her low-cut corsage she wore a bow of pale-blue ribbon embroidered in silver with a Russian motto, and from it was suspended a medallion set with diamonds and bearing in the centre the enamelled figure of Saint Catherine – the exclusive Order of Saint Catherine bestowed upon the Grand Duchesses.
“How miserable you look, Uncle Colin!” exclaimed the dark-eyed girl before I could reply. “Whatever is the matter? Is the British Lion sick – or what?”
“I really must apologise to Your Imperial Highness,” I said, bowing. “I was quite unaware that I looked miserable. I surely could never look miserable in your presence.”
We both laughed, while standing erect and defiant, before me she held up a little ivory fan, threatening to chastise me with it.
“Well,” I said, “and so you are safely back again in Petersburg, after all your travels! Why, it’s surely eight weeks since we were at the ball at the Palace of your uncle, the Grand Duke Serge.”
“Where you danced with me. Do you remember how we laughed? You said some nasty sarcastic things, so I punished you. I told Captain Stoyanovitch and some of the others that you had flirted with me and kissed me. So there!”
I looked at her in stern reproach.
“Ah!” I said. “So that is the source of all those rumours – eh? You’re a very wicked girl,” I added, “even though you are a Grand Duchess.”
“Well, I suppose Grand Duchesses are in no way different to other girls – eh?” she pouted. “Sometimes I wish I were back again at school at Eastbourne. Ah! what grand times I used to have in those days – hockey and tennis and gym, and I was not compelled to perform all sorts of horrible, irksome etiquette, and be surrounded by this crowd of silly dressed-up apes. Why, Uncle Colin, these are not men – all these tight-uniformed popinjays at Court.”
“Hush, my child!” I said. “Hush! You will be overheard.”
“And I don’t care if I am. Surely a girl can speak out what she thinks!”
“In England, yes, in certain circumstances, but in Russia – and especially at Court – never!”
“Oh, you are so horribly old-fashioned, Uncle Colin. When shall I bring you up-to-date?” cried the petted and spoiled young lady, whose two distinctions were that she was one of the most beautiful girls in all Russia, and the favourite niece of the Tzar Alexander. She had nicknamed me “Uncle,” on account of my superior age, long ago.
“And you are utterly incorrigible,” I said, trying to assume an angry look.
“Ah! You’re going to lecture me!” she exclaimed with another pout. “I suppose I ought never to dance at all – eh? It’s wicked in your eyes, isn’t it? You are perhaps, one of those exemplary people that I heard so much of when in England – such an expressive name – the Kill-joys!”
“No, Your Highness,” I protested. “I really don’t think I’m a killjoy. If I were, I couldn’t very well be a diplomat. I – ”
“But all diplomats are trained liars,” she asserted with abrupt frankness. “The Emperor told me so only the other day. He said they were men one should never trust.”
“I admit that, without the lie artistique, diplomacy would really be non-existent,” I said, with a laugh. “But is not the whole political world everywhere in Europe a world of vain promise, intrigue and shame?”
“Just as our social world seems to me,” she admitted.
“Ah! Then you are beginning to realise the hollow unreality of the world about you – eh?” I said.
“Dear me!” she exclaimed, “you talk just like a bishop! I really don’t know what has come to my dear old Uncle Colin. You must be ill, or something. You never used to be like this,” she added, with a sigh and a well-feigned look of regret that was really most amusing, while at the same time she made eyes at me.
Truly, she was a most charming little madcap, this Imperial Grand Duchess – the most charming in all Europe, as the diplomatic circle had long ago agreed.
So she had taken revenge upon me for uttering words of wisdom by telling people that I had flirted with and kissed her! She herself was responsible for the chatter which had gone round, with many embellishments, concerning myself, and how deeply I was in love with her. I wondered if it had reached the Emperor’s ears?
I felt annoyed, I here confess. And yet so sweet and irresponsible was she, so intelligent and quick at repartee, that next moment I had forgiven her.
And I frankly told her so.
“My dear Uncle Colin, it would have been all the same,” she declared airily. “You shouldn’t have lectured me. I assure you I have had enough of that at home. Ever since I came back from England everybody seems to have conspired to tell me that I’m the most terrible girl in Russia. Father holds up his hands; why, I really don’t know.”
“Because you are so extremely unconventional,” I said. “A girl of the people can act just as she likes; but you are a Grand Duchess – and you can’t.”
“Bother my birth. That’s my misfortune. I wish I were a shopgirl, or a typist, or something. Then I should be free!” she exclaimed impatiently. “As it is, I can’t utter a word or move a little finger without the whole of Russia lifting up their hands in pious horror. I tell you, Uncle Colin,” she added, her fine, big, dark eyes fixed upon me, “I’m sick of it all. It is simply unbearable. Ah! how I wish I were back at dear old Southdene College. I hate Russia and all her works!”
“Hush!” I cried again. “You really must not say that. Remember your position – the niece of His Majesty.”
“I repeat it!” she cried in desperation, her well-formed little mouth set firmly. “And I don’t care who hears me – even if it’s Uncle Alexander himself!”
Chapter Four.
Concerns Madame de Rosen
At Her Highness’s side I had strolled through the smaller salon and along the several great corridors to the splendid winter garden, on the opposite side of the palace. It was one of the smaller courtyards which had been covered in with glass and filled with high palms and tropical flowers ablaze with bloom. There, in that northern latitude, Asiatic and African plants flourished and flowered, with little electric lights cunningly concealed amid the leaves.
Several other couples were seated there, away from the whirl and glitter of the Court; but taking no notice, we halted at two wicker chairs set invitingly in a corner. Into one of these she flung herself with a little sigh, and, bowing, I took the other.
I sat and watched her. Her beauty was, indeed, exquisite. She had the long, tender, fluent lines of body and limb, the round waist, the deep chest and small bust, the sturdy throat of those ancient virgins that the greatest sculptors of the world worshipped and wrought into imperishable stone. She was not very tall, though she appeared so. It was something in pose and movement that did it. A beautiful soul looked from Her Highness’s beautiful eyes whenever she smiled upon me.
I found myself examining every line and turn and contour of the prettily-poised head. She was dark, with that lovely complexion like pure alabaster tinted with rose sometimes seen in Russian women. Her eyes, under the sweeping lashes, seemed capable of untold depths of tenderness. Hers was the perfect oval of a young face across whose innocent girlishness experience had written no line, passion cast no shadow.
“One thing I’ve heard to-day has greatly pained me,” I said presently to my dainty little companion. “You’ll forgive me for speaking quite frankly – won’t you?”
“Certainly, Uncle Colin,” she replied, opening her big eyes in surprise. “But I thought you had brought me here to flirt with me – not to talk seriously.”
“I must talk seriously for a moment,” I said apologetically. “It is in Your Highness’s interests. Listen. I heard something to-day at which I know that you yourself will be greatly annoyed. I heard it whispered that Geoffrey Hamborough had killed himself because of you.”
“Geoffrey dead!” she gasped, starting up and staring at me, her face blanched in an instant.
“No. He is not dead,” I replied calmly, “for as soon as I heard the report I sent him a wire to Yorkshire and to the Travellers’, in London. He replied from the club half an hour before I came here.”
“But who could have spread such a report?” the girl asked. “It could only be done to cast opprobrium upon me – to show that because – because we parted – he had taken his life. It’s really too cruel,” she declared, and I saw hot tears welling in her beautiful eyes.
“I agree. But you must deny the report.”
“Who told you?”
“I regret that I must not say. It was, however, a friend of yours.”
“A man?”
I nodded in the affirmative.
“Ah!” she cried impatiently. “You diplomats are always so full of secrets. Really you must tell me. Uncle Colin.”
“I can’t,” was my brief reply. “I only ask you to refute the untruth.”
“I will – at once. Poor Geoffrey.”
“Have you heard from him lately?” I asked.
“You’re very inquisitive. I have not.”
“I’m very glad of that,” I answered her. “You know how greatly the affair annoyed the Emperor. You were awfully injudicious. It’s a good job that I chanced to meet you both at the station in Moscow.”
“Well,” she laughed, “I was going to England with him, and we had arranged to be married at a registrar’s office in London. Only you stopped us – you nasty old thing!”
“And you ought to be very glad that I recognised you just in the nick of time. Ten minutes later and you would have left Moscow. Think of the scandal – the elopement of a young Imperial Grand Duchess of Russia with an English commoner.”
“Well, and isn’t an English commoner as good, and perhaps better, than one of these uniformed and decorated Russian aristocrats? I am Russian,” she added frankly, “but I have no love for the Muscovite man.”
“It was a foolish escapade,” I declared; “but it’s all over now. The one consolation is that nobody knows the actual truth.”
“Except His Majesty. I told him everything; how I had met Geoffrey in Hampshire when I went to stay with Lady Hexworthy; how we used to meet in secret, and all that,” she said.
“Well now,” I exclaimed, looking straight into her face, “I want to ask you a plain open question. I have a motive in doing so – one which I will explain to you after you have answered me honestly and truthfully. I – ”
“At it again!” cried the pretty madcap. “You’re really not yourself to-night, Uncle Colin. What is the matter with you?”
“Simply I want to know the truth – whether there is still any love between Geoffrey and yourself?”
“Ah! no,” she sighed, pulling a grimace. “It’s all over between us. It broke his heart, poor fellow, but some kind friend, at your Embassy, I think, wrote and told him about Paul Urusoff and – well, he wrote me a hasty letter. Then I replied, a couple of telegrams, and we agreed to be strangers for ever. And so ends the story. Like a novel, isn’t it?” she laughed merrily.
My eyes were fixed upon her. I was wondering if she were really telling me the truth. As the Emperor had most justly said, she was an artful little minx where her love-affairs were concerned.
Colonel Polivanoff, the Grand Chamberlain of the Court, crossed the great palm-garden at that moment, and bowed to my pretty companion.
“But,” she added, turning back to me, “people ought not to say that he’s been foolish enough to do away with himself on my account. It only shows that I must have made some enemies of whom I’m quite unaware.”
“Everyone has enemies,” I answered her. “You are no exception. But, is it really true that Geoffrey is no longer in your thoughts?” I asked her very seriously.
“Truth and honour,” she declared, with equal gravity.
“Then who is the fortunate young man at present – eh?”
“That’s my own secret. Uncle Colin,” she declared, drawing herself up. “I’ll ask you the same question. Who is the lady you are in love with at the present moment?”
“Shall I tell you?”
“Yes. It would be interesting.”
“I’m in love with you.”
“Ah?” she cried, nodding her head and laughing. “I thought as much. You’ve brought me out here to flirt with me. I wonder if you’ll kiss me – eh?” she asked mischievously.
“I will, if you tempt me too much,” I said threateningly. “And then the report you’ve spread about will be the truth.”
She laughed merrily and tapped my hand with her fan.
“I never can get the better of you, dear old uncle,” she declared. “You always have the last word, and you’re such a delightfully old-fashioned person. Now let’s try and be serious.” And she settled herself and, turning to me, added: “Why do you wish to know about Geoffrey Hamborough?”
“For several reasons,” I said. “First, I think Your Highness knows me quite well enough to be aware that I am your very sincere friend.”
“My best friend,” she declared quickly; her manner changed in an instant from merry irresponsibility to deep earnestness. “That night on the railway platform at Moscow you saved me making a silly fool of myself. It was most generous of the Emperor to forgive me. I know how you pleaded for me. He told me so.”
“I am your friend,” I replied. “Now, as to the future. You tell me that you find all the Court etiquette irksome, and that you are antagonistic to this host of young men about you. You are, in brief, sorry that you are back in Russia. Is that so?”
“It is so exactly.”
“And how about Prince Urusoff – eh?”
“I haven’t seen him for fully three months, and I don’t even know where he is. I believe he’s with his regiment, the 21st Dragoons of White Russia, somewhere away in the Urals. I heard that the Emperor sent him there. But he certainly need not have done so. I found him only a foolish young boy.”
Her Imperial Highness was a young lady of very keen intelligence. After several governesses at home, she had been sent to Paris, and afterwards to a college at Eastbourne – where she was known as Miss Natalia Gottorp, the latter being one of the family names of the Imperial Romanoffs – and there she had completed her education. From her childhood she had always had an English governess, Miss West, consequently, with a Russian’s adaptability, she spoke English almost without a trace of accent. Though so full of fun and frolic, and so ready to carry on a violent flirtation, yet she was, on the other hand, very thoughtful and level-headed, with a keen sense of humour, and a nature extremely sympathetic with any person in distress, no matter whom they might be. Hers was a bright, pleasant nature, a smiling face, and ever-twinkling eye full of mischief and merriment.
“Well,” I said, looking into her face, “I’ve been thinking about you a good deal since you’ve been away – and wondering.”
“Wondering what?”
“Whether, as you have no love for Russia, you might not like to go back to England?” I said slowly.
“To England!” she cried in delight. “Ah! If I only could! I love England, and especially Eastbourne, with the sea and the promenade, the golf, and the concerts at the Devonshire Park, and all that. Ah! I only wish I could go.”
“But if you went you’d fall in love with some young fellow, and then we should have another scandal at Court,” I said.
“I wouldn’t. Believe me, I wouldn’t, really, Uncle Colin,” she pleaded, looking up into my face with almost childish simplicity.
I shook my head dubiously.
“All I’ve told you is the real truth,” she assured me. “I’ve only amused myself. Every girl likes men to make love to her. Why should I be so bitterly condemned?”
“Because you are not a commoner.”
“That’s just it. But if I went to England and lived again as Miss Natalia Gottorp, nobody would know who I am, and I could have a really splendid time. Here,” she cried, “all the glitter and etiquette of Court life stifle me. I’ve been bored to death on the tour round the Empire, but couldn’t you try and induce the Emperor to let me go back to England? Do, Uncle Colin, there’s a dear. A word from the Emperor, and father would let me go in a moment. I wish poor mother were alive. She would soon let me go, I know.”
“And what would you do in England if you went back?”
“Why, I’d have my old governess, Miss West – the one I had at Strelna – to live with me, and I’d be ever so happy. I’d take a house on the sea-front at Eastbourne, so as to be near the old college, and see the girls. Try what you can do with Uncle Alexander, won’t you? there’s a dear old uncle,” she added, in her most persuasive tones.
“Well,” I said, with some show of reluctance, “if I succeed, you will be responsible to me, remember. No flirtations.”
“I promise,” she said. “Here’s my hand,” and she put her tiny white-gloved hand into mine.
“And if I heard of any affectionate meetings I should put down my foot at once.”
“Yes, that’s agreed,” she exclaimed, with enthusiasm. “At once.”
“And I should, perhaps, want you to help me in England,” I added slowly, looking into her pretty face the while.
“Help you, in what way?” she asked.
“At present, I hardly know. But if I wanted assistance might I count on you?”
“Count on me, Uncle Colin!” she echoed. “Why, of course, you can! Look at my indebtedness to you, and it will be increased if you can secure me permission to go back to England.”
“Well,” I said, “I’ll do what I can. But you have told me no untruths to-night, not one – ?” I asked very seriously. “If so, admit it.”
“Not one. I swear I haven’t.”
“Very well,” I said. “Then I’ll do my best.”
“Ah! you are a real dear!” cried the girl enthusiastically. “I almost feel as though I could hug and kiss you!”
“Better not,” I laughed. “There are some people sitting over there, and they would talk – ”
“Yes,” she said slowly. “I suppose really one ought to be a bit careful, after all. When will you see the Emperor?”
“Perhaps to-morrow – if he gives me audience.” Then I related to her the story of the attempt in the Nevski on the previous morning, and the intention of assassinating the Emperor as he drove from the Nicholas station to the Palace.
“Ah, yes!” she cried. “It is all too dreadful. For seven weeks we have lived in constant terror of explosions. I could not go through it again for all the world. Those days in that stuffy armoured train were simply awful. His Majesty only undertook the journey in order to defy those who declared that some terrible catastrophe would happen. The Empress knew nothing of the danger until we had started.”
“And yet the only danger lay within half a mile of the Palace on your return,” I said. “There have, I hear, been thirty-three arrested to-day, including my friends Madame de Rosen and Luba. You knew them.”
“Marya de Rosen!” gasped the Grand Duchess, staring at me. “She is not under arrest?”
“Alas! she is already on her way, with her daughter, to Eastern Siberia.”
“But that is impossible. She was no revolutionist. I knew them both very intimately.”
“General Markoff was her enemy,” I said in a whisper. “Ah, yes! I hate that man!” cried Her Highness. “He is a clever liar who has wormed himself completely into the Emperor’s confidence, and now, in order to sustain a reputation as a discoverer of plots, he is compelled to first manufacture them. Hundreds of innocent men and women have been exiled by administrative order during the past twelve months for complicity in conspiracies which have never had any existence save in the wicked imagination of that brutal official. I know it —I can prove it!”
“Hush!” I said. “You may be overheard. You surely do not wish the man to become your enemy. Remember, he is all-powerful here – in Russia.”
“I will speak the truth when the time comes,” she said vehemently. “I will show the Emperor certain papers which have come into my own hands which will prove how His Majesty has been misled, tricked and terrorised by this Markoff, and certain of his bosom friends in the Cabinet.”
“It is really most unwise to speak so loudly,” I declared. “Somebody may overhear.”
“Let them overhear!” cried the girl angrily. “I do not fear Markoff in the least. I will, before long, open the Emperor’s eyes, never fear – and justice shall be done. These poor wretches shall not be sent to the dungeons beneath the lake at Schusselburg, or to the frozen wastes of Yakutsk, in order that Markoff shall remain in power. Ah! he little dreams how much I know!” she laughed harshly.
“It would hardly be wise of you to take any such action. You might fail – and – then – ”
“I cannot fail to establish at least the innocence of Madame de Rosen and of Luba. The reason why they have been sent to Siberia is simple. Into Madame de Rosen’s possession there recently came certain compromising letters concerning General Markoff. He discovered this, and hence her swift exile without trial. But, Uncle Colin,” she added, “those letters are in my possession! Madame de Rosen gave them to me the night before I went south with the Emperor, because she feared they might be stolen by some police-spy. And I have kept them in a place of safety until such convenient time when I can place them before His Majesty. The latter will surely see that justice is done, and then the disgraceful career of this arch-enemy of Russian peace and liberty will be at an end.”
