The Price of Power

Chapter Sixteen.

Incognita!

Shortly after eleven o’clock that same evening I was strolling with Hartwig up and down the deserted platform at Victoria Station, my intention being to take the eleven-fifty p.m. train back to Brighton.

For a full hour we had pressed the informer to explain the real reason of his visit to Brighton on the previous day. But beyond assuring us that it was not with any evil intent – which I confess we could scarcely believe – he declined to reveal anything.

He only repeated his warning that Natalia was in grave personal danger, and entreated me to be careful. The refugees in that house, all of them Russians, seemed filled with intense curiosity regarding us, and especially so, perhaps, because of Hartwig’s declaration that he was bearer of a message from that mysterious leader who was believed to live somewhere in Moscow, and was known throughout the Russian Empire as “The One.”

No doubt after our departure Danilovitch had told them of some secret message he had received from the mysterious head of the organisation, who was none other than himself.

But his confession had held both of us practically silent ever since we had left that dingy house in Lower Clapton.

“Markoff believes that Her Highness is aware of the contents of those letters,” Hartwig said as we strolled together in the great, well-lit station. Few people were about just at that hour, for the suburban theatre-goers had not yet arrived. “For that reason it is intended that her mouth shall be closed.”

“But this is murder!” I cried in hot indignation. “I will go straight to the Emperor, and tell him.”

“And what benefit would that be? His Majesty would declare it to be an effort by some of the General’s enemies to disgrace him,” my companion said. “Such damning statements have been made before, but, alas! no heed has been taken of them!”

“But His Majesty shall hear – and he shall take notice! I will demand in inquiry into the arrest and exile of Madame de Rosen.”

“I thought you told me that you had already mentioned her name to His Majesty,” Hartwig said quietly.

I had forgotten. Yes. His words recalled to me my effort on her behalf, and the futility of my appeal. I sighed, and bit my lip. The two innocent ladies were on their way to that far-off dreaded penal settlement of Yakutsk. From the time which had elapsed since their arrest I calculated that they were already in Siberia, trudging that long, never-ending post road – that wide, deeply-rutted track which runs across those boundless plains between Tobolsk and Tomsk – on the first stage of their terrible journey of over six thousand miles on foot.

A sudden suggestion flashed across my mind. Should I follow, overtake them and hear the truth from Marya de Rosen’s lips?

Yet before doing so I should be compelled to apply for a passport and permits at the Ministry of the Interior at Petersburg. If I did this, Markoff would at once suspect my intention, for travellers do not go to Siberia for pleasure. And if he suspected my intention a way would quickly be found by which, when I arrived at my destination, neither of the ladies would be alive. In Siberia, where there is neither law nor inquiry, it was, I knew, very easy to close the lips of any person whose existence might be prejudicial to the authorities. A word from General Markoff, and an accident would certainly occur.

No. I realised that to relax my vigilance over the safety of Natalia at that moment would be most injudicious. Besides, was not Natalia herself aware of the contents of the letters? If not, why had her enemies made the firm determination that she should meet with a sudden and mysterious end?

I mentioned to my companion my inclination to travel across Siberia in search of the exiles; but he only shook his head gravely, saying:

“You are, no doubt, under very close observation. Even if you went, you might, by so doing, place yourself in grave personal peril. Remember, Markoff is desperate. The contents of those letters, whatever they may be, are evidently so damning that he cannot afford exposure. The pains he took to secure them, and to send Madame de Rosen into exile, plainly show this. No,” he added, “the most judicious plan is to remain here, near Her Highness, and watch Markoff’s operations.”

“If Her Highness would only reveal to me the secret of those letters, then we should be in a position to defy Markoff and reveal him before the Emperor in his true light,” I said.

“She has refused – eh?”

“Yes. I have questioned her a dozen times, but always with the same result,” was my answer.

“But will she refuse, if she knows that her father’s tragic end was due to the wild desire of Markoff to close her lips?”

“Yes. I have already pointed that out to her. Her reply is that what she learnt was in confidence. It is her friend’s secret, and she cannot betray it. She is the very soul of honour. Her word is her bond.”

“You will tell her now of Danilovitch’s confession; how the letters were stolen and handed back to the General by the man whom he holds so completely in his power?” Hartwig said.

“I shall. But I fear it will make no difference. She is, of course, eager to expose the General to the Emperor and effect his downfall. She is fully aware of his corrupt and brutal maladministration of the department of Political Police, of the bogus plots, and the wholesale deportment of thousands of innocent persons. But it seems that she gave a pledge of secrecy to poor madame, and that pledge she refuses to break at any cost. ‘It is Marya’s secret,’ she told me, ‘not mine.’”

As we were speaking, a tall, straight, good-looking young man in crush-hat and black overcoat over his dinner-clothes had strolled along the platform awaiting the train.

My eyes caught his features as he went, when suddenly I recognised in the young man Richard Drury, whom Her Highness had told me she had known in her school-days at Eastbourne. I glanced after him and watched his figure retreating leisurely as he smoked a cigarette until he came beneath a lamp where he halted. Then, producing an evening paper, he commenced to while away the time by reading. He was evidently returning to Brighton by my train.

Apparently the young fellow had not recognised me as Miss Gottorp’s companion of the previous night, therefore standing near, I had an opportunity of examining him well. He was certainly a typical specimen of the keen, clean-shaven young Englishman, a man who showed good-breeding, and whose easy air was that of the gentleman.

Yet I confess that what Her Highness had revealed to me both alarmed and annoyed me. Madcap that she was, I knew not what folly she might commit. Nevertheless, after all, so long as she preserved her incognito no great harm would be done. It was hard upon her to deny her the least suspicion of flirtation, especially with one whom she had known in the days before she had put up her hair and put on her ankle-frocks.

Hartwig and I were undecided what our next move should be, and we were discussing it. One fact was plain, that in view of the assertion of Danilovitch, I would now be compelled to keep constant watch over the skittish young lady whom the Emperor had given into my charge. My idea of following and overtaking Madame de Rosen in Siberia was out of all question.

“Are you remaining long in London?” I asked the police official, just as I was about to step into the train.

“Who knows?” he laughed. “I am at the ‘Savoy.’ The Embassy is unaware I am in England. But I move quickly, as you know. Perhaps to-morrow I may have to return to Petersburg. Au revoir.”

And I wished him adieu, and got into an empty first-class compartment just as the train was moving from the platform.

I sat in the corner of the carriage full of grave and apprehensive thoughts.

That strange suspicion which the Emperor had revealed to me on the afternoon before the last Court ball recurred to me. I held my breath as a sudden idea flashed across my brain. Had it any connection with this foul but cunningly-conceived plot to kill an innocent girl whose only offence was that she was in possession of certain information which, if revealed, would, I presumed, cause the downfall of that camarilla surrounding the Emperor?

The thought held me in wonder.

Ah! if only the Emperor would listen to the truth – if only he would view Markoff and his friends in their true character! But I knew, alas! that such development of the situation was impossible. Russia, and with her the Imperial Court, was being terrorised by these desperate attempts to assassinate the Emperor. Hence His Majesty relied upon Markoff for the safety of the dynasty. He looked upon him as a marvel of astuteness and cunning, as indeed he was. But, alas! the burly, grave-eyed man who led a life haunted by the hourly fear of death – an existence in armoured rooms and armoured trains, and surrounded by guards whom he even grew to suspect – was in ignorance that the greater part of the evidence of conspiracies, incriminating correspondence and secret proclamations put before him had been actually manufactured by Markoff himself!

At last, after an hour, the express ran slowly into the Brighton terminus, and as it did so, I caught sight of a figure waiting upon the platform, which caused me to quickly draw back. The figure was that of a young girl neatly dressed in black with a small black hat, and though she wore a veil of spotted net I recognised her at once as Natalia! She was smiling and waving her tiny black-gloved hand to someone. In an instant I knew the truth. She was there, even though it were past one o’clock in the morning, to meet her lover, Richard Drury.

I saw him spring out, raise his hat and shake her hand warmly, and then, taking care not to be seen, I followed them out as they walked side by side down the hill in the direction of King’s Road.

This action of hers showed her recklessness and lack of discretion. Apparently she had walked all the way from Hove in order to meet him, and as they strolled together along the dark, deserted road he was evidently explaining something to her, while she listened very attentively.

Surely it was unsafe for her to go forth like that! I was surprised that Miss West allowed it. But, in all probability that worthy lady was in bed, and asleep, all unconscious of her charge’s escapade.

I had not followed very far before I became aware of a footstep behind me, and, turning, I saw a small, insignificant-looking man in dark clothes, who came quickly up to me. It was one of the police-agents employed at the house in Brunswick Square.

“Well, Dmitri!” I exclaimed in a low voice in French. “So you are looking after your young mistress – eh?” I asked, with a laugh, pausing to speak with him in order to allow the lovers to get further off.

“Yes, m’sieur,” replied the man in a tone of distinct annoyance.

“This is hardly wise of Her Highness,” I said. “This is not the hour to go out for a stroll.”

“No, m’sieur,” replied the shrewd agent of police, who had been for years employed at the palace of the late Grand Duke Nicholas in Petersburg. “I tell you I do not think it either safe or proper. These constant meetings must result in scandal.”

“Who is that young man?” I asked quickly. “You have made inquiry, no doubt?”

“Yes, m’sieur, I have. But I can learn very little. He seems to be a complete mystery – an adventurer, perhaps,” declared the suspicious police-agent in a low, hard voice; adding: “The fact is, that man who calls himself Richard Drury is, I feel sure, no fit companion for Her Imperial Highness.”

“Why not?” I demanded in eager surprise.

“Because he is not,” was the man’s enigmatical reply. “I do hope m’sieur will warn Her Imperial Highness of the danger,” he said reflectively, looking in the direction of the retreating figures.

“Danger!” I echoed. “What danger?”

“There is a grave danger,” he asserted firmly. “I have watched, as is my duty, and I know. Her Highness endeavours all she can to evade my vigilance, for naturally it is not pleasant to be watched while carrying on a flirtation. But she does not know what I have discovered concerning this stranger with whom she appears to have fallen so deeply in love. They must be parted, m’sieur – parted at once, before it is too late.”

“But what have you discovered?” I asked.

“One astounding and most startling fact,” was his slow, deliberate reply; “a fact which demands their immediate separation.”

Chapter Seventeen.

Her Highness is Outspoken

“Now, Uncle Colin! It’s really too horrid of you to spy upon me like that! I had no idea you were behind us! I knew old Dmitri was there – he watches me just as a cat watches a mouse. But I never thought you would be so nasty and mean!” And the girl in her fresh white gown stood at the window of the drawing-room drumming impatiently upon the pane with the tips of her long, white fingers, for it was raining outside.

“My dear Natalia,” I said paternally, standing upon the white goat-skin hearthrug, and looking across at her; “I did not watch you intentionally. I travelled by the same train as your friend, and I saw you meet him. Really,” I laughed, “you looked a most interesting pair as you walked together down Queen’s Road. I left you at the corner of Western Road and went on to the ‘Métropole.’”

“Oh! you actually did have the decency to do that!” she exclaimed, turning to me her pretty face clouded by displeasure. “Well, I say quite frankly that I think it was absolutely horrid of you. Surely I may meet a friend without being spied upon at every turn!” she added resentfully.

“Dmitri only does his duty, remember,” I ventured to remark.

“Oh, Dmitri’s a perfect plague. He shadows me everywhere. His crafty face irritates me whenever I see it.”

“This constant surveillance is only for your own protection,” I said. “Recollect that you are a member of the Imperial family, and that already six of your uncles and cousins, as well as your poor father, have met with violent deaths at the hands of the revolutionists.”

“I know. But it is perfectly absurd ever to dream that they want to kill me – a girl whose only object is to live quietly and enjoy her life.”

“And her flirtations,” I added, striving to make her laugh.

I was successful, for a smile came to her pretty, pouting lips, and she said:

“Well, Uncle Colin, other girls may flirt and have men friends. Therefore I can’t see why it is so actually sinful for me to do the same.”

“But think for a moment of your position!”

“Position!” she echoed. “I’m only plain Miss Natalia Gottorp here. Why should I study my family?”

“Ah!” I sighed. “I know how wayward you are. No amount of argument will, I fear, ever convince you of your error.”

“Oh, yes,” she sighed, in imitation of the sadness of my tone, saying: “I know what a source of trouble and deep anxiety the wicked, wayward child is to you.” Then, next moment, she burst out into a merry, mischievous laugh, adding:

“It’s really too bad of me to tease you, poor old Uncle Colin, isn’t it? But there, you’re not really old. I looked you up in ‘Who’s Who’ only yesterday. You’re only thirty-two next Thursday week. And if you are a very good boy I’ll give you a nice little present. Shall I work you a pair of slippers – eh?” she asked, with sarcasm, “or a winter waistcoat?”

“Thanks. I hate girls’ needlework,” I replied frankly, amused at her sudden change of demeanour.

“Very well. You shall have a new cigarette-case, a solid gold one, with our grand Imperial arms engraved on it and underneath the words ‘From Tattie.’ How will that do – eh?” she laughed.

“Ah! now you’re only trying to tease me,” I said. “I wonder if you tease Mr Drury like that?”

“Oh! Dick knows me. He doesn’t mind it in the least,” she declared, looking at me with those wonderful eyes that were so much admired everywhere. “Have a cigarette,” and she handed me a box of Petroffs, and taking one herself, lit it, and then threw herself negligently into an armchair, lazily displaying a pair of neat silk stockinged ankles and patent-leather shoes.

“I certainly think that Mr Dick is a very lucky young fellow,” I said, “though I tell you openly that I entirely disapprove of these constant meetings. Remember your promise to me before we left Petersburg.”

“Well, I’ve been a very wayward child – even an incorrigible child, I suppose – and I’ve broken my promise. That’s all,” she said, blowing a cloud of smoke from her red lips. Like all Russian ladies, she enjoyed a cigarette.

“I certainly think you ought to have kept your word,” I said.

“But Dick, I tell you, is an old friend. I couldn’t cut him, could I?”

“You need not have cut him,” I said. “But I consider it unnecessary to steal out of the house after Miss West has gone to bed, and meet him at the station at one o’clock in the morning.”

“Then upon that point we’ll agree to differ. I’m old enough to be my own mistress, and if you continue to lecture me, I shall be very annoyed with you.”

“My dear Natalia, I do not blame you in the least for falling in love. How can I?” I said in a changed tone, for I knew that the young lady so petted and spoiled by her earlier training must be treated with greatest caution and tact. “Why, shall I confess a truth?” I asked, looking her straight in the face.

“Yes, do,” she said.

“Well, if I were ten years younger I should most certainly fall in love with you myself,” I laughed.

“Don’t be so silly, Uncle Colin!” she exclaimed. “But would that be so very terrible? Why, you’re not an old man yet,” she added, her cheeks having flushed slightly at my words.

“Now you’re blushing,” I said.

“I’m not!” she cried stoutly. “You’re simply horrid this morning,” she declared vehemently, turning away from me.

“Is it horrid of me to pay you a compliment?” I asked. “I merely expressed a devout wish that I were standing in Drury’s shoes. Every man likes to be kissed by a pretty girl, whether she be a shopgirl or a Grand Duchess.”

“Oh, yes. You are quite right there. Most men make fools of themselves over women.”

“Especially when their beauty is so world-famed as that of the Grand Duchess Natalia!”

“Now, there you are again!” she cried. “I do wish you’d change the topic of conversation. You’re horrid, I say.”

And she gave a quick gesture of impatience, blew a great cloud of smoke from her lips and put down her half-consumed cigarette upon the little silver ashtray.