The Seeds of Power Read online

  The Seeds of Power

  Christopher Nicole

  © Christopher Nicole 1994

  Christopher Nicole has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published in 1994 by Severn House

  This edition published in 2015 by Endeavour Press Ltd.

  Table of Contents

  PROLOGUE

  PART ONE - THE SERF

  CHAPTER ONE - THE SIX HUNDRED

  CHAPTER TWO - THE SISTER

  CHAPTER THREE - THE WIFE

  CHAPTER FOUR - THE CATASTROPHE

  CHAPTER FIVE - THE CONSPIRATOR

  CHAPTER SIX - THE PRINCESS

  CHAPTER SEVEN - THE PRINCE

  PART TWO - THE MASTER

  SIX YEARS LATER

  CHAPTER EIGHT - THE AMERICAN

  CHAPTER NINE - THE BETROTHAL

  CHAPTER TEN - THE MARRIAGE

  CHAPTER ELEVEN - THE TSAR

  CHAPTER TWELVE - THE ARRANGEMENT

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN - THE PLOT

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN - THE REVENGE

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN - THE ESCAPE

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN - THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE

  EPILOGUE

  Extract from The Regiment by Christopher Nicole

  PROLOGUE

  The trumpet blared, and the horses trotted out of the drive of Blaistone Manor, following the pack of dogs, already yelping with excitement. The riders made a vast splash of colour against the green of the meadows, blue and red, tall hat and cap, hallooing to each other. Behind them, the servants streamed out of the yard, making across the broken ground for various vantage points; the villagers would already be in position, to oversee the hunt.

  Colin MacLain’s sympathies were entirely on the side of the fox—but as a cornet in the 11th Hussars, the famed Cherry-Pickers, as well as the nephew-in-law of Lord Blaistone, he was expected to take part, and indeed to lead the cavalry charge like the horseman he was. Today he wore civilian clothes, red jacket and white breeches. But Colin MacLain wore any clothes well. Six feet tall, dark-haired and well-shouldered, he had slim hips and long legs. His face was a trifle long and inclined to be serious, but he waved and smiled at his companions. The hounds began to bay as the hunt charged downhill towards a distant copse. One of the riders pulled aside from the group, and rode to the left, seeking the shorter, steeper route. ‘It’s that damned Russkie!’ Lord Blaistone shouted. ‘He’ll be in Three-mile Bottom before he knows it. Colin, fetch him back!’

  Colin pulled his horse aside and directed it to the left of the hunt-track. It was a matter of clearing several low hedgerows as well as scattering through muddy patches, before he reached the bottom of the slope. In front of him was the deep bog which was avoided by any rider who knew the surrounding countryside.

  But the Russian visitor did not know this country, and he and his horse had galloped straight into the mire. Colin took in the situation at a glance as he pulled on his reins. The horse, already half submerged in the oozing black mud, had broken its neck going over. Its rider had been pitched some twelve feet from the bank, and had regained his feet, his hat gone and his head and shoulders covered in mud; he was already waist deep, and with every attempt he made to gain the bank he sank deeper. ‘Keep still, for God’s sake!’ Colin shouted.

  The Russian seemed to notice him for the first time. ‘Then get me out!’ he bawled in good English.

  Colin dismounted, and looked to the left and right. There were no trees close by, and he had no rope. He was considering his alternatives when he heard feet behind him. ‘Took a fair old tumble, he did, Mr MacLain,’ the girl panted; she had been running.

  Colin looked down at her. He recalled that she was one of the scullery maids at the manor. She was not an easy young woman to forget, for with her curling red-brown hair and her full body went an extremely attractive, finely-chiselled but strong face. ‘He’s going down,’ she said.

  ‘Help me!’ shouted the Russian, who was now embedded almost to his chest.

  Colin unsaddled his horse, and took off his jacket to tie it to the harness. ‘That’ll not reach him,’ the girl said.

  ‘No, it won’t,’ he agreed, and sat down to pull off his boots before dropping his breeches. The girl hastily looked away. Colin tied one leg of his breeches to a sleeve of his jacket, held on to the other leg, and swung the improvised rope round his head. The Russian grabbed at it, but it fell a good four feet short, and now he had sunk to his shoulders.

  Colin pulled the clothes back in. He could use his belt as well, but he knew that wasn’t going to reach either. That left him with his shirt, which was not of very strong material, or... ‘I’ll need your gown.’

  The girl gazed at him, carefully keeping her eyes from drooping to his drawers and exposed legs, her cheeks pink. ‘Or the man will die,’ Colin said.

  ‘I’ve nothing else,’ she protested.

  ‘Would you stand here and watch it happen?’

  The girl drew a deep breath and scooped her gown from around her thighs and lifted it over her head. Hastily Colin turned away from her, and tied the top of the gown on to the other trouser leg. Then he tied his belt, which was of leather with a heavy buckle, on to the hem of the gown, reversing his previous arrangement as the harness was slippery with mud. ‘Catch the belt!’ he shouted, wrapping his hands in the rein and again swirling the improvised rope round his head. ‘Hold on!’ Without the bridle Colin could not control his horse. ‘You’ll have to help me,’ he told the girl.

  She stood beside him, bare shoulder against his shirt, as they heaved on the makeshift rope. Sweat streamed down their faces, as the man began to move. It’s going to rip,’ the girl gasped.

  ‘He’s coming.’

  The Russian had emerged to his thighs, and was being drawn across the surface of the mire. He had travelled only a few feet when there was a tearing sound, and both Colin and the girl fell, the remnants of her gown settling on the bank.

  The Russian was almost within reach. He scrambled up, grasped the gown, and threw the other end, together with the bridle and reins, across the mud. ‘Got it,’ he grunted, grasping the reins.

  ‘Come on,’ Colin said. ‘Heave!’

  The girl put her arms round his waist to lend her weight to his, and with a great squelching sound the Russian gained the bank, bringing with him the rest of Colin’s clothes and the remnants of the girl’s gown. He crawled up the bank, and fell on his face, panting. Colin sat down, equally exhausted, leaning against the girl, who had also fallen down. For several seconds the only sound was of their breathing, and the nervous stamping of Colin’s horse.

  ‘I’ll buy you a new gown,’ Colin said when he had got his breath back. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘Jennie, sir. Jennie Cromb.’

  ‘Your father works for his lordship?’

  ‘My father is dead, Mr MacLain. But my mother is one of the laundrywomen at the manor, yes.’

  Colin nodded. ‘I’ll speak with her. She can’t whip you for saving a man’s life.’

  ‘You don’t know my Ma,’ Jennie Cromb muttered.

  The Russian raised his head, and wiped some mud from his face. He was a young man, not greatly older than Colin himself, and was quite personable in a stocky, barrel-chested, big-featured manner. Now he grinned. ‘I will buy the young lady a new gown,’ he said. ‘As it was my life she saved.’

  ‘You’re very kind, I’m sure, sir,’ Jennie said, and for the first time seemed to realise that she was sitting between two men, naked. ‘I must hurry.’ She untied the remnants of her gown.

  ‘Take my jacket,’ Colin suggested, untying the mud-stained garment in turn and handing it to her.

  She
stroked the material. ‘Oh, sir, I couldn’t.’

  He smiled at her. ‘You must, or you’ll have them hunting you instead of the fox.’

  She put the jacket on, thrusting her arms into the sleeves and pulling the whole across her chest. ‘I am grateful, sir.’ She hurried up the slope.

  ‘Wait!’ the Russian shouted. ‘You can’t just run off. You do not even know my name.’

  ‘But you know mine, sir,’ Jennie reminded him, and went up the hill.

  The Russian remained kneeling, gazing after her; her legs were as white as her breasts, and the hunting tunic uncovered her buttocks as she moved. ‘By God, what a beauty!’ He glanced at Colin. ‘You are Lieutenant MacLain. We met last night.’

  ‘That is correct, sir,’ Colin said, pulling on his breeches. ‘And you are Count Georgei Bolugayevski.’

  ‘Spoken like a Russian.’ Bolugayevski rose to his feet and held out his hand. ‘I owe you my life.’

  Colin squeezed the offered fingers. ‘And his lordship one good horse.’

  ‘He has others,’ Bolugayevski said carelessly. Will your mount seat two?’

  ‘Not to follow the hunt, I think, Count. Besides, you should have a hot bath.’ He replaced the bridle, mounted, and gave the Russian his arm to get him up behind, then turned his horse to walk back towards the manor.

  ‘That bog came upon me suddenly,’ Bolugayevski remarked. ‘But you must have known it was there.’

  ‘I was sent after you by his lordship,’ Colin said.

  ‘Ah! Then I owe everyone my life, it appears. That girl seemed to know you?’

  ‘Well, I suppose she does, in a manner of speaking. I have stayed here before. His lordship is my uncle.’

  ‘Ah!’ Bolugayevski said again. ‘Does that girl belong to him? I mean, is she his serf?’

  ‘Well, no, I wouldn’t say that. We don’t have serfs in England.’

  Bolugayevski appeared to consider this. ‘I would like her,’ he said.

  ‘Whatever for? She’s a scullery maid.’

  ‘I am not the least interested in her employment, Lieutenant. I would like her for my bed. She is a fine looking woman.’

  ‘She is that, but not really in your class, Count.’

  ‘I was not considering marrying the girl, Lieutenant. Do you suppose his lordship would sell her to me?’

  Colin turned his head. ‘Sell her? She’s not a slave. I told you, we don’t have serfs in this country.’

  ‘Then how does one get hold of a woman?’

  ‘Good lord! I don’t know. I mean, if it was someone you intended to marry...but a scullery maid. You’d have to ask her, I suppose.’

  ‘And would she say yes, do you suppose?’

  Colin grinned. ‘I think that one would very likely slap your face, Count.’

  *

  ‘By God, sir, you are lucky to be alive,’ Lord Blaistone said in his habitual shout. He sat at the head of his dinner table and looked down to his wife at the far end. In between, their guests sparkled with starched white shirt-fronts, bare shoulders, and jewels. Wine flowed and the conversation was animated. The Count’s adventure had added an extra event to an eventful day.

  ‘But Colin was there,’ declared Lady Joanna Brewster. ‘Weren’t you, Colin? You are a hero.’

  ‘Will you reward the girl, my lord?’ the Count asked. He was seated on Blaistone’s right, and could speak in a lower tone than the others.

  ‘I’ll give her a tip,’ Blaistone agreed. ‘And a new gown, by God! Ha ha!’

  ‘Do you not think I should also do this? I must replace her gown, at the least. As you know, sir, I depart England two days from now. I should be distressed to do so without seeing her again, to give her my thanks.

  ‘Permit me to visit her.’

  Blaistone raised his eyebrows. ‘You wish to go to one of my tenant’s cottages? I doubt you’ll find it very edifying.’

  ‘My lord, my father also has tenants. A vast number of them.’

  Blaistone gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘Tenants, or serfs?’

  Bolugayevski shrugged. ‘It is all a point of view.’

  ‘Harrumph,’ Blaistone commented. ‘Yes, by all means visit Mrs Cromb, Count. You may learn something of interest,’ he added under his breath.

  *

  Colin MacLain threw his cards into the centre of the baize-topped table. ‘I am afraid I am not doing very well.’

  ‘You’re not concentrating,’ Lady Joanna told him, severely. ‘You’re brooding on that Russian fellow.’

  ‘Oh, really, I am not,’ Colin protested. If he was not concentrating, it was because he kept remembering Jennie Cromb’s body, the length of her legs, the splendour of her hair, the entrancing stain of the vee at her crotch, the swell of her quite magnificent breasts...he had never seen a more compelling sight.

  ‘Well,’ Joanna said, ‘whether you were thinking of him or not, he is clearly thinking of you.’ She nodded to the doorway of the card room.

  Colin turned his head and saw the Russian standing there. ‘Deal me out of this hand,’ he told Lord Tapham, and got up. ‘You look as if you are going somewhere,’ he said, turning to the Count.

  ‘I have decided to leave tonight,’ Bolugayevski said, leading him into the drawing room. ‘Do not worry, I have said goodbye to Lord and Lady Blaistone.’

  ‘Yes, but are you sure you should go any distance tonight, Count?’ Colin asked. ‘You’re probably more shaken up than you realise.’

  ‘I must be in London tomorrow, and as you say, I am all shaken up. Thus I shall not sleep.’ Bolugayevski held out his hand. ‘It has been a great pleasure meeting you, Lieutenant. And I can never forget that I owe you my life. If I can ever repay you, be sure that I will do so. Again, goodbye. You will always be my friend. Oh, by the way...’ he picked up a mud-stained pink hunting jacket from where it was lying in the chair beside him. ‘This is yours, is it not?’

  Colin took the garment. ‘Where the devil did you get it?’

  ‘You loaned it to the girl Jennie, do you not remember? To protect her modesty. She asked me to return it to you, with many thanks. Again, goodbye.’

  Colin watched him walk towards the doorway.

  *

  The rest of the party broke up after breakfast the following morning. Colin was dressed and ready to mount up, when he was beckoned by his uncle. ‘A word before you go, Colin.’ Lord Blaistone led the way into his study, and sat behind his desk. ‘That confounded Russian fellow,’ he remarked.

  ‘He left last night,’ Colin said. ‘He was determined on it.’

  ‘Yes, and do you know why? He took Annie Cromb’s daughter with him.’

  Colin sat down. ‘Jennie? You mean he abducted her?’

  ‘Now, there’s the point. He went to their cottage last night to thank her again for her part in saving his life. Having got there, he invited her to come outside to speak with him privately. Ten minutes later Jennie returns, packs her belongings, and says she’s going up to London with the gentleman. She gives her mother twenty sovereigns not to object. Would you believe it?’

  ‘By God,’ Colin said. ‘You mean Mrs Cromb let her daughter go?’

  ‘My dear fellow, look at it from her point of view. Twenty pounds is a year’s income for her. And she has two other daughters. The girl promised there’d be another pound a month as long as she was away.’

  ‘Jennie Cromb told you this?’

  ‘No, one of the other daughters. She seemed upset by the way it happened.’

  ‘I should think so too,’ Colin said.

  ‘Your innocence is showing, Colin. This sort of thing happens every day. Actually, I was warned about this by Prince Wotichevski. Seems these Bolugayevskis have some scandal in their recent background. In fact, he’s being sent home so soon because of some unpleasantness over cards in London. Yet I liked the fellow. Strange.’

  ‘And now he’s made off with one of your servants. Do you wish me to do something about it?’

  Blaistone
grinned. ‘No, no, she’s made her bed and she must lie on it. As for doing anything about it, you’d likely find yourself on the wrong end of a duel if you attempted to interfere. Not to mention an international incident, and we don’t really want to have any incidents with the Russians right now; things are tense enough as it is. I just thought you might like to know the sort of fellow you dragged from the bog.’

  ‘The bog is where he belongs,’ Colin muttered.

  ‘I must remember to strike Bolugayevski off my guest list,’ Blaistone said. ‘Hopefully, we’ll never see the lout again.’

  PART ONE - THE SERF

  ‘Here, lady, lo! that servant stands You picked from passing men.’

  Robert Louis Stevenson Songs of Travel

  CHAPTER ONE - THE SIX HUNDRED

  The horses pawed the ground restlessly. They formed six ranks, nearly seven hundred of them, each a splendid, carefully selected creature. Their riders were no less magnificent, at least in appearance. In the first rank were the red jackets and blue breeches of the Thirteenth Light Dragoons and the blue uniforms with the six-sided Polish helmets of the 17th Lancers. In the second the men of the Eleventh Hussars, striking in their crimson breeches with the double yellow stripe, blue tunics smothered in gold braid, and their black busbys with the scarlet flash. In the third were the Fourth and Eighth Hussars.

  *

  Colin had been as pleased as anyone in the regiment when war had been declared against Russia. Perhaps more than anyone else, because ever since the Jennie Cromb episode he had felt a personal animosity against everything Russian. Nothing had ever been heard of the girl again. She had vanished off the face of the earth.

  Even after a year Colin could not get the image of her out of his mind. He had wanted her himself, then, but as a gentleman had known it was impossible. And thus he had let her go to a lecher, and death. Thus he had sailed for the Crimea in a mood of angry vengeance.

  *

  The trouble with fighting Russia was finding somewhere to fight. The Russians had invaded the Balkans, but, as both Prussia and Austria-Hungary had opted for neutrality, they could not be got at anywhere, except by sea, and navies cannot win wars, they can only prevent other people from doing so. Thus a British squadron had been sent to the Baltic, and another had been sent to the Black Sea. This had been followed by an army, in the first instance only to Rumania. But the army had rapidly been assailed by cholera, and the generals had decided to try more healthy campaigning country. Thus the decision had been taken to invade Russia itself. By sea.