It was already midevening when Anna stole quietly out to the coachhouse.
It was a bold and daring plan. She had never done anything like it in her life. But for the sake of her mistress she was willing to risk it, including whatever repercussions might befall her.
Moskalev, even at that late hour, was still busily cleaning the leather seats on one of the carriages.
“I think I work harder at the end of the social season than during it,” he told Anna. “With a half-dozen coaches, one or another is always in need of repair. And all of them constantly require cleaning.” He gave a fanciful flourish with his cloth. “So, little Anna, what brings you out at this hour?”
“If it is not too much of an imposition, Moskalev,” she said, “I would like a ride into the city.”
“A ride . . . into the city? At this hour?”
“I must go to the Winter Palace.”
“Ah, I see. You have an audience with the tsar, eh?” He gave a good-natured mocking laugh.
Anna could not prevent the tinge of pink that crept into her cheeks, but she answered earnestly. “Not quite that. But it is very important.”
“Coming from you, I know it must be, Anna,” replied Moskalev. “Let me hitch up a carriage.”
His tone contained all the respect and affection he had come to feel for this little peasant girl. Since her first day in St. Petersburg, he had always taken a special and personal responsibility for her.
He hitched the chestnut mare to the vanka—the smaller, plainer coach reserved for the use of the servants. When he finished, he helped Anna climb in, then hopped up onto the seat next to her. With a click of his tongue he urged the mare out of the coach house.
The day had been warm, but the nagging breeze of evening made Anna glad she had brought along her wool shawl, which she now drew close around her shoulders. Traffic on the streets was light. The St. Petersburg social season had ended some weeks ago, but even more significantly, the quiet streets reflected the recent trouble with rebels throughout the city. Those citizens who hadn’t fled St. Petersburg were keeping indoors as much as possible.
“Shall I pull up at the front door, Anna?” jibed Moskalev as they rounded into the lane leading to the Winter Palace.
“Oh no!” replied Anna quickly, missing the humor in the coachman’s tone.
Moskalev laughed. “So, where then? It is a huge place.”
“Where are the soldiers’ barracks,” she asked, “where the Palace Guard lives?”
“Ah, so it is a soldier you want to see, then?” he said with a knowing tone.
Anna felt herself blush in the darkness. Moskalev must surely think this was some sort of romantic rendezvous. But as embarrassing as it was, it was better for him to think her in love than to know her true business.
Moskalev said nothing further. He merely nodded and drove to one of the back entrances. When he came to a stop, Anna prepared to step down. He laid a hand on her shoulder.
“Who is this soldier you must see, Anna? I will get him for you.”
Anna sighed with relief. The prospect of approaching the soldiers’ barracks alone had not been a pleasant one.
“His name is Lieutenant Grigorov,” said Anna, “a Cossack guard.”
“A Cossack?” returned Moskalev with a disapproving twitch of his moustache. He climbed out of the carriage and headed for the barracks.
After waiting for ten minutes, Anna began to realize what an impossible task she might have set for herself and the coachman. If Misha was on duty, he could be anywhere in the huge palace. Even if he was off duty, what if he wasn’t in the barracks? She had almost despaired of her whole impulsive plan when at last she heard movement and voices.
“Right out here, Lieutenant, sir.”
Anna nearly laughed with joy. She jumped from the carriage and ran toward them. “Misha!” she called. “I was afraid we would not find you.”
Grigorov reached Anna in two long strides. He gently took her hands in his.
“Anna, what is it?” he said. “What can be so wrong as to bring you here at night, and alone?” His voice was laced with concern.
Anna had already ceased worrying about what Moskalev might be thinking. “Oh, Misha, I need your help,” she answered. But then she glanced at the coachman and hesitated, realizing that she could hardly speak openly of the princess in front of him.
Moskalev understood her meaning, although he still did not know what the whole affair was about. “I’ll wait with the horse,” he said. As he turned he shot a quick warning glance at Grigorov. “I won’t be far,” he added meaningfully.
Anna and Misha walked a few paces in the opposite direction. He kept her hand in his, and somehow she felt better already just being in his presence.
“There is trouble with Princess Katrina,” she said at length. “She is determined to marry Doctor Anickin’s son. I am convinced she does not love him, but she will not listen to reason. She will listen neither to her parents nor to me. There is only one person she might still listen to.”
“Who are you thinking of?” asked Misha.
“Count Remizov. But even if I knew how to find him, I could not search for him by myself.”
“You wish me to help you locate Count Remizov?” he asked, his thick eyebrows drawn even closer together in perplexity.
“If you could, Misha.”
“Who is this doctor’s son? And how can you be sure she does not love him?” He paused. “Though perhaps you would prefer I do not know.”
“If you are to help me, you deserve to know,” replied Anna. “The situation is simple enough, I suppose. Princess Katrina has loved Count Remizov since she was a child. A few weeks ago the count announced his engagement, and the princess was devastated. Almost immediately she began to take up with Basil Anickin. And now she has agreed to marry him.”
“And you do not like the man?”
“I would not like to think that is my only reason. He worries me. His reputation is widespread.”
“What kind of reputation?”
“There are rumors among the servants that he is a militant, an agitator, that he defends those who are against the government.”
“Defends them?”
“He is a lawyer.”
“I see. And you believe these rumors?”
“I would give no weight to such things if I had not seen him on many occasions myself. Misha, there is something about him . . . something frightening, almost dangerous. He behaves as a perfect gentleman. But I have seen a smoldering fire in his eyes that makes me shudder.”
“And the princess is aware of none of this?”
“She has given no indication of it. But I think she is so confused over the loss of Count Remizov that she has blinded herself to reality. I actually believe she would risk hurting herself, even condemning herself to a lifetime with a man she does not really love, if she could hurt the count in the process.”
“It sounds to me as if Count Remizov would be the last person she would listen to should he attempt to dissuade her from marrying this Anickin. It might only deepen her resolve.”
“You may be right,” sighed Anna. “But with her brother gone . . .”
The momentary hesitation in Anna’s voice caused Misha to glance quickly into her face. But he made no comment over her reference to Sergei.
“ . . . with Prince Sergei gone,” Anna went on, “there is no one else.”
“So you do believe there is a chance she will listen?”
“I do not know, Misha. But if there is any possibility, it seems it is a chance I have to take. From what the princess says, Count Remizov does feel at least a brotherly concern on her behalf.”
Misha scratched his head, then rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Why should Count Remizov want to intercede?” he asked at length. “What makes you think he will go along with any of this?”
“I know he has voiced his disapproval of Basil in the past.”
“Well, Anna,” he said after a long pause, “this all seems a rather confusing maze to me. But if you feel this marriage must be stopped, that is enough for me. Let us go immediately and find the count.”
She smiled with relief. “Thank you, Misha!”