Ellie saw St. Petersburg at last on the morning before the feast of Saints Peter and Paul. The vessel Good Intent had not made good time from London, but just as the party from Nantgarth began to fear they would be too late for the all important day, a sea breeze picked up and carried the merchantman swiftly for the final few leagues.
The Good Intent carried too deep a draft for the shallow water and sandbanks at the mouth of the Neva, so had to be left before the fortifications of Kronstadt Island, which guarded the approaches to the capital. The weary travelers, including the czar’s horses, were transferred to one of the many flat-bottomed lighters that flocked to carry goods and passengers the remaining distance.
From the deck of the lighter Ellie could see that the shingled shore to the south was forested, especially with birch, and there were palaces and estates where fountains played in wonderful gardens. There were also numerous small islands, where it appeared to be the thing to enjoy picnics, especially at this time of year, when these northern climes experienced the phenomenon of the White Nights.
For weeks on end the sun did not dip low enough beyond the horizon for there to be true darkness, which was a very strange thing indeed for visitors accustomed to each day being duly followed by a proper night. Ellie had been on the Good Intent’s deck at midnight and not been able to see a single star in the clear ivory-colored sky, but since leaving Denmark behind, she had seen a double rainbow, and once, briefly, the aurora borealis. And could it really be that on midsummer night, she and Athan had noticed the exceedingly out-of-season fragrance of snowdrops in their cabin ... ?
St. Petersburg, the world’s most northern city, lay low upon the horizon, a thin line of green, blue, and gold turrets, domes, and spires caught between the sea and the wide northern sky. The closer the lighter sailed, the more the city’s ramparts seemed to rear to its defense, not from attack, but from winter flooding, which was an all too frequent danger to a capital that was built upon a river delta only a few feet above sea level.
The wide Neva, thronged with the smaller vessels that could negotiate the bar, was blue and crystal clear as Ellie, Athan, and John were rowed ashore at midday toward the steps at English Quay, just as the traditional noon cannon was fired farther upstream at the Peter and Paul fortress, opposite the Winter Palace.
A second rowing boat followed them, bringing their luggage, including the hatbox containing the second tureen, the presence of which was still Ellie’s secret. She gazed around, taking in the splendid waterfronts, busy quays, and the spacious streets of colorful stucco buildings with lavish embellishment. English Quay itself seemed almost pearl and gold in the peculiarly brilliant sunshine. It was hard to imagine this place trapped in ice so thick that carriages could be driven from island to island.
John had been very quiet since first glimpsing the city spires on the horizon, and now that he was on the Neva he was positively withdrawn. Ellie and Athan did not try to lighten his mood, for they knew he was remembering that Nikolai had drowned in these waters, hounded to his death by Prince Paul Dalmatsky. John’s mood also served as a reminder to them that their business here was not entirely without danger to themselves. Athan remained confident in his plan to enlist the czar’s protection, but if it should go wrong, anything might happen.
Gwilym and the horses remained on the lighter until the czar’s requirements could be established. The Imperial Stables were situated on the Moika Canal, and Athan would go there as soon as possible. The milk white mare and colt had already aroused a great deal of attention, and Gwilym was unable to resist making them do things at his silent behest, from rearing prettily like circus horses, to nipping the posterior of a particularly officious Russian who had shared the lighter.
These amusing antics attracted attention from passengers on a ferry that was also crossing toward English Quay, among them a pretty young woman of about seventeen, in traditional Russian dress, with a ribboned kokoshnik on her honey-colored hair. She wasn’t upper class by any means, more probably a maid or seamstress, but her shy smile captured Gwilym’s attention.
He abandoned the tricks with the horses in order to stand at the rail of the lighter to watch the ferry. The young woman turned to gaze back at him, and to his delight made so bold as to give a little wave. Hesitantly he waved back. There was a movement in the Neva below where he stood, then a flash of silver as an eel leapt briefly into view before plunging down into the depths again.
Gwilym knew St. Dwynwen was watching over him, and in his mind’s eye could suddenly see the young woman’s face as clearly as if she were on the lighter beside him. Her name was Tatiana Demidova, and he realized not only that she was a maid at the Brasier residence, but that she would have much bearing on the outcome of this visit to St. Petersburg—much bearing too on his own future and happiness.
Athan helped Ellie and John out of the boat when they reached the steps, where a cluster of small boats rocked at their moorings, among them two belonging to Athan’s brother-in-law, Charles Brasier. For a minute or so the trio were too unsteady to climb the steps. Everything seemed to sway after their being so long at sea, but at last they felt able to ascend to the quay, at a place almost directly opposite the house occupied by Athan’s sister Louise and her husband, Charles.
But between the steps and the house there was a roadway that was under considerable repair, as was most of St. Petersburg in the summer after the great damage done by the Russian winter. A small army of bearded workmen labored with the dislodged and very uneven cobbles. They wore loose trousers and coarse shirts that were tied at the waist with sashes, and had open, good-humored countenances, but did not seem to bother about the cleanliness of their clothes.
There was constant traffic, all of it apparently determined to be somewhere as quickly as possible. A hooded two-wheeled vehicle drawn by four horses abreast approached at such speed that it seemed it must capsize at the repairs, but somehow it skimmed through, only to halt by the steps in a cloud of dust. The driver, a shadowy figure beneath the hood, seemed to find it amusing as the horses pranced and capered to such an extent that Athan had to pull Ellie back for fear she would be trampled. Looking angrily at the driver, Athan was startled to gaze into Valentin’s shining dark eyes.
Paul’s nephew, as splendid as ever in his uniform, his hair boasting side-plaits, accorded him a cool nod. “Lord Griffin.”
“Andreyev.” Athan did not return the nod.
Valentin smiled, and addressed him in French. “It is pleasant to see you again, my lord.” His dark, shining glance encompassed Ellie for a moment. “Lady Griffin, I presume?” he murmured. “My congratulations upon your marriage, my lady.”
As Ellie wondered how he knew about the marriage, since he’d left Britain before it had even been planned, let alone taken place, Athan stepped protectively in front of her. “State your piece, Andreyev,” he said shortly.
“My piece? Why, my lord, I rather thought you would be thanking me for my assistance.”
“Assistance?” The word was uttered coldly.
“If it were not for my services, you might by now have been married to that Tudor trollop.”
Athan looked at him with loathing. “You are a dishonorable man, Andreyev, and one lacking the backbone to face me when you were caught without your breeches.”
“Have a care, sir, for you are in my land now, and if you provoke me to a duel, be assured that all the petty little rules so cherished by the British do not apply here.”
“And you, sir, can be assured that I would not bring those rules with me!” Athan snapped.
Ellie caught his arm uneasily. “Ignore him, Athan.”
Valentin looked at her again. “I wondered what your potter’s niece would be like, my lord, and confess I am a little disappointed. She is charming enough, I suppose, but hardly in the same class as Miss Tudor.”
“And what would you know of class?” Athan inquired lightly.
Valentin’s mocking smile was extinguished. “I have rank, and that is all that matters.” His dark eyes swung to John. “See that the tureen is sent without delay to me at the Dalmatsky Palace.” He waited, obviously hoping to see a dismayed reaction on hearing the name Dalmatsky.
But John merely nodded. “As you wish.”
“You do not seem surprised to be reminded of my uncle.”
“I am not so much a fool that I have not long since sniffed his stench,” John replied.
“And still you have come here? You are either very brave, or a fool, and since I now understand you were once rash enough to dabble with Nikolai Trepov, I think you are the latter.”
John held his eyes. “And what of you, Prince Valentin? How foolish are you to allow yourself to be dragged into your uncle’s affairs? I don’t know what carrot he held before you, but you may be sure that the moment you took a nibble of it, you became a donkey.”
Valentin scowled. “Just see the tureen is sent without delay!” he snapped.
“What then?” John inquired. “I take it I will not be permitted to leave St. Petersburg without first confronting your uncle?”
“You will await his pleasure,” Valentin replied, then flicked his whip and flung the four horses forward again. The vehicle leapt away from a standstill, scattering stones and dust as it disappeared in the direction of the Winter Palace.
Ellie shivered. “What a horrible man,” she said with considerable understatement.
Athan nodded. “But he will soon learn the error of his ways.”
“I hope so.” She glanced up at him. “How does he know you and I are married? Surely he had left Britain before we were even betrothed?”
“Russia may be a vast land, but it has a network of spies that is second to none,” Athan replied. “If someone of interest sneezes in Siberia, it is soon known in St. Petersburg. Dalmatsky has his creatures everywhere, and the Good Intent called at Riga, where he keeps his yacht. Spies make it their business to inquire about passengers on all foreign vessels, so the presence of a Lord and Lady Griffin would have been relayed to the Dalmatsky Palace. And the presence of a Mr. John Bailey,” he added.
John gazed after the vanishing vehicle. “I do hope Andreyev and Dalmatsky enjoy the walnut when they share it,” he murmured dryly, but although he gave the others a brave grin, inside he was very nervous indeed. This was Dalmatsky’s territory, where only the very unwise trod without infinite care. “And in the meantime I simply wait to hear from Dalmatsky,” he added heavily.
Athan drew Ellie’s hand over his arm and they proceeded across the street toward the house with the blue door and bronze lion knocker. A huge Russian manservant with a black beard and white gloves, wearing a blue smock with a fringed red sash, admitted them to a spacious entrance hall with an inlaid wooden floor, blue and cream silk on the walls, a lofty golden ceiling, and handsome chandeliers. There were vases of flowers everywhere, both hothouse and garden, and a number of mirrors that gave the illusion of even more space.
Hardly had the weary trio stepped over the threshold, than Athan’s sister Louise came hurtling down the elegant curved staircase at the far end of the hall. She was small and dainty, her long dark hair worn à la Russe in a braid that was twisted on top of her head, but her red-and-gold gown was all that was western and stylish.
That she was Athan’s sister could not be doubted, for she had the same eyes and coloring, and even the same way of laughing. Her face was alight with joy, and she flung herself into her brother’s arms with such forceful delight that he was hard put to keep his balance.
“Steady on, sweeting, for I still have sea legs,” he laughed, and kissed her warmly on the forehead.
She stood back and inspected his face sternly, and then smiled again. “You are looking much better than when I last saw you. Marriage clearly suits you.” Her eyes moved to Ellie, warmly yet speculatively, clearly hoping to like her new sister-in-law.
Athan hastened to effect the introduction. “Louise, this is my bride, Ellie. Ellie, my sister Louise.”
Ellie didn’t quite know whether to incline her head, dip a curtsy, or extend her hand, but the decision was made for her by Louise’s welcoming hug. “I’m delighted to meet you, Ellie, and I know you and I will get on famously because you have wrought such a welcome change in my bear of a brother.”
“I’m not a bear,” Athan protested.
“Yes, you are. It’s long since time you had a wife.” Louise smiled at John. “And you, sir, must be Ellie’s uncle, Mr. Bailey.”
“Mrs. Brasier.” John bowed gallantly over her little hand.
“I cannot wait to see the famous tureen, and I am so proud to think I am now related to such a gifted gentleman.”
John blushed. “You flatter me, I think,” he murmured diffidently, but Ellie knew he was pleased.
“You must all forgive my husband, Charles,” Louise said, “for I fear he has been called away to Moscow on urgent business and will not return until next week. You will all have to put up with just me ... and”—she paused for dramatic effect—”your unborn niece or nephew.”
Athan was delighted for her. “A child? After all this time? Louise, I couldn’t be happier for you and Charles! When is the baby due?”
“At Christmas, so you will be home at Castle Griffin again, I fear.”
“You’re looking very well,” he said, studying her again.
“I feel well.” Louise turned, suddenly remembering something. “Ellie, those flowers there are for you.”
“For me?” Surprised, Ellie followed Louise’s pointing finger to a particularly lavish arrangement of yellow and white lilies.
“They were delivered about an hour ago, and are to congratulate upon your marriage, although I confess I would prefer there to have been an odd number of flowers. In Russia even numbers are usually only given at funerals or in commemoration. Yellow and white are not good colors either. I was almost of a mind to have them sent back.”
“Odd, even, yellow, white, it was nevertheless a very kind thought. Thank you,” Ellie replied, naturally assuming they were from Louise and her husband.
“Oh, do not thank me, for they are from our landlord, and one does not lightly offend Prince Paul Dalmatsky.”
Ellie was dismayed. “I don’t want his flowers,” she said firmly.
Athan put a calming hand on her arm. “No doubt it amused him to send them, so let him have his laugh, for it will be the last he enjoys in a long time.” He turned to Louise. “Sis, the crate containing the tureen is to be sent to Dalmatsky Island without delay. Can you see to it? Care must be taken, for it is very fragile.”
“Yes, of course.” She beckoned the manservant, whose name was Vladimir, said something to him in Russian, and he hurried away.
Athan looked at Louise again. “Is the czar in St. Petersburg?”
“He and the court arrived yesterday from Tsarskoe Selo in readiness for the grand supper at the Dalmatsky Palace.”
“Good, for I need an audience with him.”
Louise’s jaw dropped. “And you think that is easily achieved? Athan, you may as well bay at the moon!”
“He and I hit it off when last we met, and I think his interest in both the horses and the increasingly likely British treaty will make him gracious. I also have a letter from Mr. Pitt which is sure to please him.”
“Maybe, maybe not. He was very angry when the British press accused Russia of involvement in the theft of that diamond,” Louise warned.
“I want a message to be sent to the Imperial Stables, not only advising them of the horses’ arrival, but also requesting them to see that the czar is informed. When I was fortunate enough to meet him before, he expressed a desire to accept the horses from me in person. I can only pray he remembers what he said.”
Athan exchanged glances with Ellie and John, for the success of their entire plan hinged upon Alexander. Suddenly it was no longer easy to be brave and positive as they had been in Britain, because now the moment was actually upon them, their entire stratagem seemed uncomfortably flimsy.