The Seeds of Power Page 16
‘Ah...’ But to go into the rigmarole would delay things enormously, he knew. ‘Yes.’
‘You have business?’
‘I wish to go to Bolugayen.’
‘Why? You know the Prince?’
‘I wish to meet him. Can you supply me with a horse and a guide?’
The butler looked bewildered. and then another voice spoke, from inside the house. The door swung in. ‘You come,’ the butler said.
Charles stepped inside, and again paused, as he took in the parquet floor, the paintings and ikons on the walls, the carved panelling, and the great staircase leading up to a first floor gallery. And then realised that nothing in this house mattered beside the woman who was standing halfway down the staircase. Of a good height, and slender, her figure obscured by the flowing white gown, nipped in at her waist by a pale blue sash, she possessed an exquisitely handsome face; the features were too strong for pure beauty, but were compellingly attractive, and were framed in a mane of soft golden hair, which floated on her shoulders. He put her age down as early twenties, and realised that if it were possible to fall in love at first sight, then he had just done so.
‘You must forgive Anatole,’ she said, her voice, low and yet clear. Her English was flawless. ‘He finds English a most difficult language.’
Charles had to clear his throat before he could speak. ‘And you don’t?’
‘I have more time for learning. Do you know the Prince?’
‘No, ma’am, I’ve never met him. But I look forward to doing so.’
She came down the stairs and turned away from him, going into one of the reception rooms, a vast chamber decorated in blue and gold. Charles glanced at Anatole, who nodded. He followed the woman who went to a settee and sat down with a rustle of taffeta. ‘Anatole will bring tea,’ she said. ‘Or would you prefer vodka?’
‘Ah...tea would be fine, ma’am.’
‘Do you have a card?’
‘No, ma’am. My name is Charles Cromb.’
The mention of his name clearly increased her interest. But she did not immediately follow it up. ‘I am Anna Bolugayevska,’ she said.
Charles swallowed. ‘And you’re a princess?’
‘No, Mr Cromb. I am a countess. My sister is the Princess Bolugayevska. Tell me, I have never heard an accent like yours before. What part of England are you from?’
‘I’m an American,’ Charles explained.
‘I see. But you are related to Jennie?’
‘I’m her cousin. Can you tell me where she is?’
‘She is on Bolugayen.’
‘And she is well?’
‘She is very well, Mr Cromb.’
‘Say, that’s tremendous. D’you think I’d be welcome if I paid her a visit?’
‘I’m sure you’d be welcome, Mr Cromb.’
‘Well, great. I was kind of hoping I could raise a guide, here. I don’t know the country.’
‘I will take you out to Bolugayen myself, Mr Cromb. I am going there tomorrow.’
‘Well, I couldn’t ask for anything more than that, Countess. Tomorrow, eh? Could you recommend me to an hotel for the night?’
‘My dear Mr Cromb, you are my guest. You’ll stay here.’
‘Here?’ Charles looked left and right.
‘Anatole will tell your man where to put your things.’
‘My man?’
‘Don’t you have a man? A servant?’
‘To tell you the truth, Countess, I don’t.’
‘You have travelled all the way from...America, without a servant?’
‘I guess we do things differently over there.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘Then Anatole will show you to your apartment. I will receive you at seven.’ She rang a little glass bell on the table beside her.
*
Charles accumulated not one, but three servants, all male, and all supercilious, which increased as they unpacked his bag. There was a whispered consultation, and one of them departed hurriedly. Charles was having a bath, but he could see what was going on. Anatole, who had been summoned, stood beside the tub, looking anxious. ‘No suit,’ he explained.
‘There are two suits in there,’ Charles replied. ‘Those guys hung them in the cupboard.’
‘No dinner suit,’ Anatole said.
‘Dinner suit? Oh, you mean, white tie? No, I don’t travel with that kind of gear.’
‘No possible dine with Countess with no suit,’ Anatole declared.
‘Well, now...’ Charles stepped out of the tub and was promptly enveloped in a huge warm towel by one of the valets. ‘You’ll have to inform the Countess that I’m not respectable, I guess. I’ll eat alone.’
He wasn’t too bothered. He was in a state of euphoria at his surroundings and his hostess, and at being so readily accepted where he had expected a difficult passage. Anatole returned with a dinner suit, as well as several more helpers. With their assistance, Charles was dressed. ‘Whose suit is this, anyway?’ he asked as he took a turn in front of the full length mirror set into the wardrobe door.
‘It is the Prince’s suit, Your Excellency.’
It took Charles a few moments to realise it was he being addressed; no one had ever called him ‘Your Excellency’ before.
‘Now, you come. Reception in small drawing room.’
‘Small party, eh?’ Charles asked, as he followed the butler to the stairs.
‘Countess alone this evening, Your Excellency,’ Anatole told him.
Holy shit! Charles thought. He was alone in this huge house with that gorgeous girl...apart from a few dozen servants. She couldn’t be married, because she had introduced herself as Anna Bolugayevska. Holy shit! On the other hand, he reminded himself he had come here to rescue Jennie from the clutches of these people, one of whom, probably this girl’s brother, had carried her off.
Further thought was precluded, as he arrived at the doorway to the ‘small’ drawing room. It would have held sixty people without any two having to brush shoulders. Anna Bolugayevska was waiting. She wore a blue evening gown, with white elbow length gloves; her hair was upswept in a chignon, secured by a band which sparkled with diamonds, and there were hardly less valuable stones glittering from the rings on her fingers, the bracelets on her arms. But for all the jewellery, the room was dominated by the whiteness of her skin and the depths of the décolletage of her dress. Charles had some difficulty in breathing.
‘You look very smart, Mr Cromb,’ Anna remarked. ‘Were you not obviously in a hurry to reach Bolugayen I would have my brother-in-law’s tailor come in tomorrow; you obviously need some clothes. Would you like me to do that? It would only mean a delay of twenty-four hours.’
Charles licked his lips. ‘But...don’t you want to get home?’
‘I am home, Mr Cromb. In one of our homes, to be sure.’
Anatole served champagne. ‘May I say that you are absolutely beautiful, Countess?’ Charles ventured, raising his fluted glass.
Anna smiled. ‘Why, thank you, Mr Cromb. Welcome to Bolugayevski Palace. Your health!’ She drank, finishing the glass in a single swallow, and then, to his consternation, hurled it into the blazing fireplace. He could do nothing less than follow her example. ‘Sit here, beside me,’ she commanded. Now tell me about yourself.’ He did so. ‘You own a shipping company.’ She seemed impressed, but he suspected she was merely being polite. ‘And now you are seeking Jennie? Because you knew of her situation?’
‘I didn’t know of her situation. I just wanted to look up my family. But I heard something about it, in England.’
‘You mean, how she was carried off by my brother?’
Charles gulped; he had anticipated having to feel his way with great caution.
‘Georgei was like that,’ Anna said. ‘I suppose we all are. But then, we are Bolugayevskis.’
Anatole now summoned them to dinner.
*
The dining room was more in the nature of a hall, and the oak table was forty feet long. He was seated at
one end, and looked past the rows of chairs and the glowing candelabra to Anna, who was at the other end. At that distance he could not make out her face. There were six footmen waiting to serve him, so completely that he was not even allowed to wipe his own lips with his damask napkin. A similar number attended to Anna. He tried to see what she was going to do with her wine glass, but to his relief, having drunk, she replaced it on the table.
Obviously there could be no conversation, and the meal took a long time. But at last she rose, swept into another drawing room, and seated herself. Anatole hurried forward with goblets of brandy. Charles was feeling a little fuzzy from the wine on top of the champagne; his normal drink was whisky. Now he watched Anna drain a glass of brandy as if it had been water, to have it immediately refilled by Anatole.
He also knew a growing sense of excitement. He was alone with this gorgeous creature, who was rapidly getting drunk. And she had invited him to remain here, with her, for another two days. The question was, was he going to take advantage of it? Dare he? But he couldn’t help but feel it would be no crime, after what this girl’s brother had done to Jennie.
‘I’m afraid Georgei treated her rather badly,’ Anna remarked, as if able to read his thoughts. ‘But that too was his way. Then she was passed on to Papa, and he treated her worse.’
‘You can just sit there, and say those things?’ he asked.
Anna shrugged. ‘It is the truth. And you cannot avenge her, as both my brother and my father are dead.’
‘According to your chief of police, here, Jennie was accused of complicity in that crime, and arrested.’
Anna raised her eyebrows, while Anatole refilled her glass. ‘You have met Vorontsov?’
‘It was necessary to present my passport.’
‘And he told you about Jennie? What did he tell you?’
‘That she had been arrested. But then released, by order of the Prince.’
Anna nodded. ‘That is true. Do you have any idea of what the word “arrested” means in Russia? Did Vorontsov tell you?’
Charles frowned at her. ‘What are you getting at?’
‘I am telling you about this cousin you have come so far to find. She was raped, a great many times, by the police. Including Vorontsov. At the time of her arrest, I mean. She had been raped by my brother and my father, and, I imagine, more than one of the servants, before then.’ Charles gulped. ‘Then she was beaten with canes, on her bare buttocks, Mr Cromb,’ Anna went on. ‘Then she was subjected to even more unpleasant mistreatment, such as having her nipples pierced with needles or broken glass pushed into her anus.’
‘My God!’ Charles exclaimed. ‘You...’
‘Then, as she would not implicate anyone, she was systematically starved to death. She was all but dead when Prince Colin rescued her. That was five years ago. She is now fully recovered, physically, and is very well. But an experience like that leaves a profound effect.’
‘Are you trying to tell me that she is mad?’
‘No. No, Jennie is not mad. She is a very strong woman, mentally and physically. You should be proud of her. What I am trying to say is that you will find that she has changed, from your memory of her.’
‘I have no memory of her, Countess. I never met her.’
‘Well, then, it will be an experience for you.’
He leaned forward. ‘Why was this man Vorontsov not punished for such a crime?’
‘Vorontsov? He is a policeman, Mr Cromb. Policemen cannot commit crimes. At least, not in Russia.’
‘Oh, yeah? Well...’
‘You mean to rush out and challenge him to a duel?’ Anna smiled. ‘He would simply have you arrested. And if you were to kill him, you would be hanged. That would be rather a waste.’
Charles ignored the compliment, aware only of a seething sense of outrage. ‘You mean nothing can be done about him?’
‘Not unless you intend to start a revolution, and that also leads to a hanging. The Prince overruled him, because he is the Prince, but not even Colin could actually bring him to book. Besides, Vorontsov was only acting on the orders of the Princess.’
‘The Princess?’
‘My sister Dagmar. She is the Princess Bolugayevska.’
‘Then who is this guy Colin? Are we talking about the Britisher, MacLain?’
‘That is correct. My sister’s husband.’
Charles scratched his head; he no longer felt the slightest inhibition in her company. ‘Let me get this straight. Your sister has Jennie arrested for murdering her Dad, who is also your Dad, and this MacLain character comes along and uses his clout as the new Prince to have Jennie released. Now that couldn’t happen in the States.’
‘But then,’ she pointed out, ‘you don’t have princes in the States. Or,’ she added thoughtfully, ‘Bolugayevskis.’
‘So, Jennie was, or is, this MacLain’s mistress, and your sister was jealous.’
Anna Bolugayevska’s eyes were cool. ‘No, Mr Cromb. You have got that wrong. Jennie is not, and never was, Colin’s mistress.’
‘Then I don’t get it at all. But this arresting and releasing must’ve caused a bit of a ruckus at home.’
‘Why, yes, Mr Cromb, it did cause, as you put it, a bit of a ruckus at home.’
‘But Jennie is still living there, with this MacLain, and your sister...is that what they call a menage a trois?’
Anna regarded him for several seconds, then got up. ‘Why, yes, Mr Cromb. You could describe our situation as a menage a trois. Now I shall go to bed. I recommend you do the same. We have had enough to drink.’
Charles struggled to his feet, keeping his balance with difficulty. ‘But say, Countess, if Jennie didn’t kill your old man, who did?’
Anna Bolugayevska had reached the door, which was being held open for her by Anatole. ‘Why, my brother killed my father, Mr Cromb. My other brother, Vassily. Didn’t Colonel Vorontsov tell you that?’
*
Sleep was a disjointed affair, composed of many broken images. Charles was quite annoyed when the drapes were drawn and he was forced to awake. A footman presented him with a card, on which was written, in English, ‘I shall breakfast on the back terrace, at nine.’
‘What time is it?’ he snapped. ‘Time! Clock!’ He drew a circle in the air and then gestured the two hands. The footman produced his own fob watch and showed it to him; it was twenty past eight. Charles shaved, washed and dressed with haste, afraid that if he was late she might take herself off. He reached the terrace, which looked out over the grounds, at three minutes to nine.
Anna Bolugayevska, in white muslin fluttering in the slight breeze, was drinking white wine, and Anatole was waiting with a glass for him. ‘Why, Mr Cromb,’ she said. ‘How nice to see you. I was afraid you might not be feeling well.’
‘I’ve felt better,’ he admitted.
‘You will have to become used to our habits, if you are going to be our guest.’
He sat down. ‘About last night,’ he ventured. ‘I figure that you were just trying to scare me off.’
‘I have no idea what you are talking about, Mr Cromb.’
‘Well, all that stuff...it couldn’t possibly be true.’
She raised her head. ‘We Bolugayevskis are guilty of a great number of crimes, Mr Cromb. But it would never occur to any one of us to lie, about anything. Except perhaps Dagmar.’
‘Okay. You’ve told me about your family. And I’ve told you all about me. Now will you tell me all about you?’
‘What is it you wish to know?’
‘Everything.’
‘Why, Mr Cromb, are you flirting with me?’
‘I guess I am, Countess. Does that offend you?’
‘Good heavens, no. A woman is hardly a woman if she does not enjoy a flirtation. Now, let me see. I am the second daughter and third child of Prince Alexander Bolugayevski and Princess Dagmar Bolugayevska. Both my parents are dead. My father was murdered, as you know, and I am afraid my mother committed suicide. Some time ago.’
‘I was very small. But I know she was deeply unhappy, about...things. However, now I am twenty-one.’
‘And unmarried? Your Russian guys are slow.’
‘I was engaged once, when I was sixteen, but it was very brief.’ She gave a secret little smile. ‘The Prince did not approve.’
‘Your father?’
‘No, the present Prince.’
‘This guy MacLain.’
‘Yes, this guy MacLain.’ She had clearly never uttered a phrase like that in her life before.
‘But still, that was five years ago. In the States, you’d have men clustering round you like bees round the honey pot.’
‘I am afraid the Prince would not permit that either.’
‘Sounds a real tyrant, your English prince. But say, if he’s that stand-offish, why d’you reckon he’ll welcome me?’
‘Because you are Jennie’s cousin, Mr Cromb. Now...’ She became brusquely efficient. ‘The tailors come in at nine. I have told them that the suits must be ready by this evening.’
‘Now that surely can’t be possible.’
‘Why not? I have instructed them.’
‘And you are the Countess Bolugayevska.’
‘Why, yes, Mr Cromb. When you have been measured, would you care to take a drive around the city?’
*
Charles’ new clothes were waiting for him that afternoon, when they returned to the Bolugayevski Palace after picnicking on the bank of the Vorskla River, which ran by the city. By then he was in a state of euphoric shock. The picnic had been quite idyllic. Charles had never had the time or the inclination to take a woman on a picnic before, if he had done so it would have been just the two of them and they would have sat on the grass, and drunk beer while they ate their sandwiches. Anna Bolugayevska’s idea of a picnic was to drink champagne out of crystal flutes while she ate spoonfuls of caviar, seated in comfortable folding chairs and being served by Anatole, while the footmen stood at a respectful distance. He had felt obliged to ask, ‘Do you ever do anything all by yourself, Countess?’