The Seeds of Power Read online

  ‘Everything is ready, Your Highness.’

  The Prince went to the outer door. ‘What are you waiting for?’ he demanded.

  They hurried behind him, into the hall. Six footmen lifted the coffin and carried it out of the door and into the garden. The Prince followed, and Dagmar and Colin followed him. How different to the first time he had seen this garden. Now there was no snow, only green grass, no furs, only muslin gowns. Now flowers sprouted to either side. But beyond the leafy archway lay fresh-turned earth. And here, too, the servants had taken up their positions, together with the members of the tzemtsvo and their wives; the mass of the serfs waited at the front of the house. If Colin doubted any of them felt genuine grief for the death of the Count, they all had to fear the rage of the Prince, which had already been so terribly displayed.

  Colin looked along the row of faces. Igor Bondarevski, stood close to Jennie Cromb, her hair hidden beneath her black bandanna, but her face stark and cold. Everyone in the house had heard her screams last night. Besides Jennie was Vassily, who stared at his father with utter hatred. Filing in behind the family were Smyslov and his wife, and his Black Regiment.

  The servants were assembled on the left side of the grave. The family stood on the right. All heads were bowed, staring into the grave, as the ornate wooden box with the brass fittings was slowly lowered, and Father Alexei began his prayers. Colin looked up, and found himself staring at Jennie, who stood almost exactly opposite him, and whose face wore an expression he had never seen before.

  A movement caught his eye, and his head half turned to look at Vassily, standing beside Jennie, and whose hand was emerging from the pocket of his tunic. For a moment Colin could not credit what he was seeing, and then Vassily had levelled the revolver, and fired; from a distance of no more than eight feet the bullet slammed into Prince Bolugayevski’s stomach.

  CHAPTER SIX - THE PRINCESS

  There was no immediate response from anyone, save the Prince. He collapsed in an almost straight line and lay on the ground, hands clutched to his belly. Colin realised that the revolver was moving to point at Dagmar. He gave a shout, and struck his wife on the back. Dagmar shrieked, and fell into the grave, to land on the coffin with a thud. Colin had already swung his arm, to send Anna sprawling, while the revolver barked again, and for the second time in his life he felt that numbing thud. The sudden flurry of movement in front of him had distracted Vassily, and he was now firing wild. Alexandra gave a shriek and fell to her knees. Behind her Tatiana Smyslova also cried out as she was hit.

  The hammer clicked on an empty chamber, and the shocked onlookers leapt into action. ‘Take them alive!’ Dagmar shouted, holding on to the sides of the grave in an attempt to pull herself up, and gazing at her father as he writhed and groaned; her hat had fallen off and her hair was cascading in every direction. ‘I want them alive!’ But she was already more concerned about Colin, kneeling on the ground with his back to her, hugging himself.

  Alexandra was on her hands and knees, moaning, her head drooping; Anna was kneeling beside her.

  Sergeant Golkov had drawn his revolver, and had been going to fire at Vassily, but had been checked by Dagmar’s command and instead fired into the air. Tatiana Smyslova was lying on her back, screaming again and again. Her husband was kneeling beside her. His Black Regiment were already running forward, to either side of the injured people and the grave, wielding their whips.

  Dr Simmars was looking left and right, uncertain who to attend to first. Father Alexei had also dropped to his knees, unhurt; he was praying. Dubaclov had drawn his revolver, but could not make up his mind what to do with it.

  Vassily was staring at the mess he had made of the assassination attempt; he could not believe he had not killed anyone. He reached for the six bullets in his pocket. But Igor also reacted. The assassination attempt had been a failure; now it was time to think of oneself. He threw both arms round the young man’s waist, and brought him to the ground. ‘I’ve got him!’ the butler bawled. The rest of the servants surged forward, equally anxious to prove their innocence. Only Jennie remained standing, absolutely still, staring at the mayhem in front of her.

  ‘Help me, you old goat!’ Dagmar screamed at Father Alexei, stamping on the lid of her brother’s coffin, and tearing at the earth with her hands. Alexei pulled himself together, and grasped her arms to heave her up on to the ground beside her father. ‘Papa,’ she said. ‘Papa!’

  Alexander Bolugayevski opened his mouth to reply, and a spurt of blood splashed over her skirt. ‘Simmars!’ she shrieked.

  The doctor stumbled forward. He fell to his knees beside the Countess and the Prince, but he knew immediately he was too late. Dagmar crawled to her husband. ‘Colin...’

  Colin attempted to grin at her through gritted teeth.

  ‘You!’ Dagmar shouted at Smyslov. ‘Have them carried up to the house.’ She reached her youngest sister, still crawling.

  ‘I’m hurt!’ Alexandra wailed. She was trying to reach behind her. ‘Oh, I’m hurt. Dagmar...’

  ‘You’ll be all right,’ Dagmar told her. ‘Smyslov…’

  ‘My wife is dying, Countess! My wife is dying!’ Tears were streaming down the bailiff’s face.

  ‘Not while she’s making that racket. Stop the blood. Anna! Stop Alix bleeding.’ She crawled back to Colin, hoicking up her skirt to tear a length from one of her petticoats and stuff it against the back of his shoulder, where the blood was seeping through his coat. ‘Hold that there.’

  Panting, she got to her feet, and looked across the grave to where two members of the Black Regiment were assisting Igor in dragging Vassily to his feet. ‘Help me!’ Vassily screamed at Jennie.

  But Jennie remained still. ‘Take her also,’ Dagmar said.

  ‘To Poltava, Your Excellency?’ Golkov asked.

  ‘No. Take them to the cellars, and hold them there. I wish to speak with them before we send for the police. You stay with them.’

  ‘Bitch!’ Vassily shouted. ‘Sister bitch!’

  ‘I shall make you speak in another tone, brother dog,’ Dagmar promised.

  Jennie Cromb made no protest as she was marched away behind him, her arms held by two of the Black Regiment. ‘I will attend to them,’ Igor said.

  Dagmar looked at him. ‘Sergeant Golkov will attend to them,’ she said. ‘Do not harm them, Golkov. I will come as soon as I can. But you will stay with them until I come.’ Golkov saluted.

  ‘If only I could have understood what he was doing sooner, Your Excellency,’ Igor said.

  ‘Yes,’ Dagmar said. ‘I will speak with you too, later.’ Her gaze swept those of the terrified servants who were not engaged in assisting the wounded, then she turned back to the family.

  *

  ‘I need help, Countess,’ Dr Simmars said.

  ‘There is no time to send to Poltava. You will have to do the best you can. I give you carte blanche to requisition whoever or whatever you choose.’

  ‘With respect, Your Excellency, I have some medical knowledge.’

  Dagmar glanced at the black-bearded man hurrying beside her. ‘Who are you?’ she demanded.

  ‘Mordecai Fine, Your Excellency.’

  ‘You are a Jew! Are you one of our Jews?’

  ‘Yes, Your Excellency. Also a doctor.’

  ‘I will not have a Jew in the house,’ Dagmar said.

  ‘As for touching my sister or my husband...’

  ‘If he knows medicine, we need him, Countess,’ Simmars said.

  Dagmar hesitated a moment, then nodded. ‘Very well. He can attend Madame Smyslova.’

  They trooped into the house, Mordecai Fine looking left and right at the furniture and carpets, the paintings, the drapes, the anxious servants—he had never seen anything like this before in his life. Alexander Bolugayevski was carried up the stairs and laid on his bed. Simmars bent over him. The doctor slowly straightened. ‘The Prince is dead, Countess.’

  ‘You mean he died some time ago, doctor,’ Dagmar to
ld him. ‘I would have you be straight with me, in all matters.’ Simmars bowed. ‘And if my father is dead, as well as my brother,’ Dagmar said, ‘then I am now the Princess Bolugayevska. I would have you remember that.’

  Simmars glanced at his mistress, seeking some evidence of tears, or even distress. ‘Do you wish…? ’

  ‘If my father is dead, there are other people to be attended to. Begin with me.’

  ‘Countess?’

  ‘Princess,’ Dagmar reminded him. ‘Close the door.’

  Simmars hesitated, then obeyed. ‘I wish you to tell me that my baby is all right,’ Dagmar said.

  Simmars licked his lips. ‘I ... are you in any pain, Your Excellency?’

  ‘I do not think so. It is difficult to say. I am shaken.’ ‘To be sure, I would have to...examine you, Your Excellency.’

  ‘Then do so.’ Dagmar went to the settee against the far wall. ‘Do you wish me to lie, or sit?’

  Simmars was trembling. ‘If you would lie down, Your Excellency.’

  Dagmar lifted her skirts to her waist and then lay down. Simmars gulped; she did not wear drawers. ‘Make haste,’ Dagmar said. ‘There is a great deal to be done.’

  ‘Yes, Your Excellency.’ Still trembling, Simmars stooped beside those magnificent thighs, ran his hands over that throbbing abdomen.

  ‘Your hands are cold,’ Dagmar pointed out, as he gently kneaded the flesh. ‘Should they not be warm?’

  ‘I am sorry, Your Excellency. Would you like me to wash them?’

  ‘There is no time. Well?’

  ‘There is no obvious disorder. To be sure, I would have to...’ he paused in embarrassment.

  ‘Then do it,’ Dagmar snapped, and parted her legs.

  ‘If you could...draw them up, Your Excellency.’

  Dagmar put one hand under each of her knees to hold herself in position. Simmars touched her with the utmost caution. ‘Cold,’ Dagmar muttered. ‘But gentle. Well?’

  Simmars straightened, reluctantly. ‘There is no trace of blood, or disorder, Your Excellency. I would say your babe is unharmed.’

  ‘Good.’ Dagmar sat up, pulled her skirts into place. ‘Now, go about your duties. And Simmars, I am no longer to be addressed as Your Excellency. I am Your Highness.’

  ‘Of course, Countess...Princess. Your Highness. I will go to Countess Alexandra immediately.’

  ‘You will go to Prince Bolugayevski, immediately.’

  ‘Prince...’ Simmars looked at the body.

  ‘My husband, doctor.’

  ‘Ah. Yes. Immediately, Your Highness.’

  He hurried from the room, and Dagmar moved closer to the bed to look down on her father. He looked ugly, because he had not been washed, and there was both dirt and blood on his face, and on his clothes. He carried the effluvium of the last violent seconds of his life. She opened the door, and the four servants who had carried their master in, stood to attention. ‘Send Madame Bondarevska to me,’ she said.

  One of them hurried off, and Dagmar continued to gaze at her father. ‘You will hear their screams in hell, dearest Papa,’ she said softly.

  The butler’s wife stood in the doorway. ‘Get your women, and wash my father’s body,’ Dagmar said.

  *

  Alexandra lay on her bed in a welter of blood, rolling and moaning. Anna and two maidservants stood beside her. ‘Where exactly was she hit?’ Dagmar demanded.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Anna said. ‘There is so much blood...’

  Dagmar stood above her sister. ‘There is no blood now,’ she said. ‘No fresh blood.’

  She grasped Alexandra’s shoulder and rolled her over, and Alexandra gave a shriek. Dagmar gazed at the skirt, where the blood was thickest, then stooped and with a twist of her strong hands tore the garment into two. Then she tore the petticoats apart, to expose her sister’s body. Now it was easy to see what had happened: the bullet had just nicked the bottom of the curve of the girl’s right buttock; the matted clothing had stopped the bleeding for a while, but now the wound was starting to seep again, although it was clearly neither deep nor dangerous, unless it became infected. ‘Take off these clothes and wash her,’ Dagmar commanded. ‘Then bandage her up.’

  ‘I am dying,’ Alexandra moaned. ‘Oh, God, I am dying.’

  ‘You are not dying,’ Dagmar said. ‘Although you may not sit down for a while. You should thank Colin for saving your life by pushing you over. Dr Simmars will come to you as soon as he can.’

  Anna held her arm. ‘Papa...?’

  ‘Papa is dead,’ Dagmar told her. She went outside, and listened to a great deal of noise from one of the guest bedrooms. She clucked her tongue in annoyance, and went towards the racket, but as she reached the door it was opened, and Mordecai Fine emerged.

  ‘Ah, Countess. I really need your help.’

  She gazed at him from beneath arched eyebrows, surprised both by his manner and his request. ‘My help, doctor?’

  ‘Madame Smyslova has been hit in the lower torso. As far as I can ascertain, as she is certainly not near death at the moment, the bullet must have struck a rib. Possibly it has exited. Possibly it is still in the wound. But in any event, it must be established where it is, and the wound must be cleaned and properly dressed. But Monsieur Smyslov will not allow me to do this.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well, Your Excellency, it involves undressing the lady, and then I must examine her. He says he will not let a Jew touch his wife’s body.’

  ‘Ah! Well, Dr Simmars will be along in a little while.’

  ‘With respect, Countess, the woman is losing blood, and there is a possibility that the bullet has lodged somewhere dangerous. Every second that she is not examined increases the risk to her life.’

  Dagmar stepped past him and entered the room. Tatiana Smyslova lay on the bed, moaning. Smyslov stood beside his wife, holding her hand, but he gave a hasty bow as Dagmar entered. ‘The Prince...?’

  ‘The Prince is dead, Smyslov.’

  The bailiff gulped. ‘Then...’

  ‘Under the circumstances, I am now the Princess Bolugayevska. Or certainly, my husband is the Prince. As he is unwell, you will take your orders from me.’

  Smyslov gulped again. ‘Yes, Your Highness.’

  ‘Very well. Now, Smyslov, do you wish your wife to die?’

  ‘Well, of course not, Your Highness.’

  ‘Then you will allow Dr Fine to examine her, and do whatever he considers necessary.’ Smyslov gulped a third time, and looked at Fine. ‘I will return later to see how Tatiana is,’ Dagmar told him, and went to her suite.

  Again there was blood, mud, and anxious faces. But Simmars was looking pleased. ‘His Excellency has a broken shoulder, Your Highness,’ he said. ‘But I have removed the bullet and set the bone, and he is resting comfortably.’

  Dagmar stood above her husband. ‘I think you meant “His Highness”. He is unconscious.’

  ‘I gave him laudanum, Your Highness. The pain of setting the bone was considerable.’

  Dagmar looked at the firm, strong, features. She had never given him the opportunity to prove his strength. But he did have strength, which would have to be channelled and controlled. ‘Well, you had better take your laudanum along to Madame Smyslova, and then my sister,’ she said. ‘I will see you later. You,’ she said to one of the footmen. ‘Stay here and watch the Prince. I wish to be informed the moment he awakens.’

  ‘The Prince, Your Highness?’ The man was confused.

  ‘Yes,’ Dagmar said, and followed Simmars outside.

  *

  She went down the great staircase. Madame Simmarsa, Father Alexei and Captain Dubaclov were standing in an anxious huddle.

  ‘The Prince...?’ Father Alexei said.

  ‘My father is dead,’ Dagmar told them.

  ‘Without the unction,’ Alexei muttered. ‘This is a catastrophe.’

  ‘You are welcome to go up and pray for him,’ Dagmar said. ‘Madame Simmarsa, I think your husband could do wi
th some help, with bandages.’

  ‘Of course, Your Highness.’ Madame Simmarsa hurried up the stairs behind the priest.

  ‘If there is anything I can do,’ Dubaclov said.

  ‘Yes, there is. Come with me.’ Dagmar went into the servants’ lobby, from where the stairs led down to the cellars. Here she encountered Bondarevski.

  ‘The Prince...?’

  ‘Prince Alexander is dead, Igor. Prince Colin is resting, but he will survive.’

  Bondarevski swallowed. ‘The grave...’ Dubaclov ventured.

  ‘Yes. Igor, have my brother’s coffin brought back into the house. We shall have to have another funeral.’

  Bondarevski licked his lips. ‘The Prince...’

  ‘The late Prince will have to be embalmed. Yes, you can send in to Poltava now.’

  ‘And Colonel Vorontsov, Your Highness?’

  Dagmar nodded. ‘Him as well. As well as General Lebedeff. Haste now.’

  Bondarevski bowed and hurried off. ‘You are going to hand the assassin over to the police?’ Dubaclov asked. ‘I had got the impression you intended to deal with him yourself.’

  ‘Them.’ Dagmar led him down the steps. ‘There are more than one. No, I wish them interrogated by the police, and tried, and executed, with the greatest publicity: they will be publicly hanged in Poltava. But I wish to...speak with them first. Do you understand me?’

  Dubaclov had once wanted to marry this woman. And now he wanted to marry her sister. ‘I hope not,’ he said in a low voice.

  Dagmar was at the door to the main cellar. She checked, and looked over her shoulder. ‘Are you not a soldier? A soldier needs to be hard. A Russian soldier, at any rate.’ She went into the room, where torches flared in the sconces on the walls. This cellar was used for meat storage, and indeed there were three freshly slaughtered pig carcasses hanging from iron hooks in the centre of the room. Hanging beside them, from their wrists, were Vassily and Jennie; their feet could just reach the floor. Standing around them were Golkov and two more of his people.

  Dagmar went up to them, nose twitching slightly at the high smell of the meat. Vassily’s head had been drooping, but he brought it up as his half-sister stood in front of him. There was a bruise on his cheek. ‘I said he was not to be beaten, Golkov,’ Dagmar said.