Rebel Princess (13 page)

Roumiantzova accepted with delight, and Narychkin begged only that he might present a friend to the Grand Duke and Duchess; the young man had been pestering him for an introduction and he feared neither sleep nor peace would be allowed him unless the petition was granted. Catherine granted it with a light heart, and Madame Tchoglokov raised no objection.

As Catherine passed the day in pleasurable anticipation, Narychkin could scarcely wait for the hours to go by. In eight years he had not been close enough to exchange more than the most formal greeting, and the knowledge of her wretched circumstances had tortured him unbearably.

From the fatal night of Elizabeth's masque, Narychkin had lived his life in utter indifference to all women except the one caged up in her suites in the different palaces: the pale, proud Catherine, isolated like a leper.

Now her fortune had changed, and his passion for her flamed up as fiercely as ever at the prospect of their meeting. He had waited long enough, he thought recklessly, only let God give him the chance and he would cuckold Peter at the first opportunity!

It was a pity that his good friend Serge Saltykov should have begged him to get an extra invitation, he would so much sooner have had Catherine to himself, but there would be other times, and Serge was always so difficult to refuse. He was handsome and headstrong, and Narychkin liked him; if he had suddenly become smitten by Catherine, having, as he declared, seen her walking in the gardens, then Leo could not blame him.

That supper-party was everything, and more, that Catherine had imagined.

She dressed in the glowing red that suited her so well, and managed to coax Peter into some semblance of good humor. The Tchoglokovs she ignored; they had to be present, but they were not going to be allowed to spoil her evening.

Leo Narychkin was gayer, more likeable than ever, the Countess made delicious game of Peter who preened like a ridiculous peacock, and Leo's young friend was one of the handsomest men that she had ever seen. Taller even than Narychkin, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped as a wrestler, his straight features were of almost Grecian cast. It was a true patrician face, but the sensual mouth betrayed him and his hot dark eyes considered Catherine in a way that made her heart beat fast and foolishly.

Serge Saltykov. It was curious how his personality kept intruding through Roumiantzova's merry gossip, and Narychkin's sophisticated conversation. They played cards and he quickly seated himself beside her; she had a fleeting impression that Narychkin's good humor suffered a sudden check, but dismissed the idea as mere fancy.

After a while Catherine discovered to her astonishment that a masculine knee was pressing hard against hers, so hard that it was no accident. For a moment she went rigid and her eyes sought his over the cards. She met a look that made her blood leap in her veins, and deep inside her some half-buried instinct stirred, forbidding her to move away, enjoying wildly the feel of a man's warmth and strength, the knowledge that she attracted him enough for him to risk insulting her.

It was foolish and undignified, but Catherine went on playing and did not stir.

When Serge Saltykov bowed his way out with the others, his knowledge of women told him that the task Bestujev had set him would not only be comparatively easy, but was worthy of being undertaken for its own sake.

True to her instructions, Madame Tchoglokov relaxed her former vigilance to such a degree that Peter and Catherine found themselves engulfed in a flood of entertainments, and by careful design Serge Saltykov was nearly always among those present. Yet his opportunities for speech with Catherine were limited; he never saw her alone and the affair must come to a conclusion before gossiping tongues had time to wag.

It was Peter who all unwittingly provided the solution. He decided to invite a party to his summer residence at Oranienbaum, where the grand ducal household repaired for a few weeks each year. Ordinarily such a request would have met with his guardian's instant refusal, but for some reason beyond Peter's comprehension, none other than Tchoglokov's formidable spouse expressed her approval of the idea, and suggested discreetly that Leo Narychkin and his protégé Saltykov might accompany them to the country.

The Grand Duke agreed with little interest; he was desirous of a certain lady's company on the vacation, and the presence of a few of Catherine's friends would make it easier for him to pursue his own furtive amorous experiments. For the moment Peter was too engrossed in his new-found freedom to trouble about his wife, so Catherine lived in comparative peace. The tide had turned for them; she knew that, and for the present the reason was not clear. Experience had taught her the dangers of supposing any action on the part of Elizabeth or her Chancellor to be motivated by pure good nature, but she suddenly did not want to question the change too closely.

Almost every day a messenger arrived with exquisite flowers, a book, or some other memento from Narychkin's friend, who seemed to have no thought of the risk he ran in paying court to the Grand Duchess. His letters Catherine had to burn, but she read them avidly, her heart racing at the expressions of love and ardor they contained.

Only now, since a man had leaned against her at the card-table and kissed her hand at court with warm, deliberate lips, did Catherine's senses rise as from a long sleep, and their clamor drained her cheeks of color and painted telltale shadows under her eyes.

As for Saltykov, the game moved far too slowly. His contact with Catherine at court functions and informal parties only presented a growing challenge and whetted his quickening desire.

As the weeks went by, and the prospect of the time at Oranienbaum tantalized him more and more, Saltykov's original concept of the affair began to fade. Bestujev, with his costly bribes of honor and position, took second place to a growing sentiment towards the unsuspecting woman whose virtue he had promised to destroy.

An opportunist, vain, self-seeking and immoral, Saltykov possessed that essential of the successful lover, the ability to persuade himself and the object of his desires that his whole heart was involved as well as his senses. Charm was his profession and even Peter's erratic nature fell victim to it. Saltykov found himself an ever welcome visitor with the husband he planned to betray. Everything conspired with Bestujev and his plan, not least the fact that for the first time in her life, Catherine Alexeievna had fallen in love.

Catherine the future empress fought and lost against Catherine the woman. Her wardrobe was re-stocked and the inscrutable Elizabeth raised no objection at the expense. It seemed that fortune truly smiled on the Grand Duchess at last; her enemies had relented and a man who loved her and was not afraid to say so had come into her life.

That summer Peter and his little court journeyed to Oranienbaum for a stay of some weeks. Narychkin and Saltykov traveled with them, and among the company was a certain Madame Grooth, a charming widow of exceptional amatory talent whose reputation had intrigued Peter for some time.

Of them all Catherine was the gayest; her happiness shone out irrepressibly in every word and deed. She was no longer alone; Peter, the Tchoglokovs did not matter any more when she had only to look up to see Saltykov watching her, waiting the opportunity to whisper his admiration into her ear.

The weather was fine and brilliant with sunshine during those first weeks; the old palace echoed with laughter, Madame Tchoglokov retired diplomatically to bed with some convenient illness, and Catherine's heart sang as joyously as the birds in the gardens of Oranienbaum.

One man alone among them was not so merry. Leo Narychkin, with the insight of his own love for Catherine, realized in an agony of jealousy that her smiles and glances were directed at the protégé he had introduced. He knew Serge and his reputation well, but in his eagerness he had never visualized him as a rival.

Now, to Saltykov's mounting rage, Narychkin managed to chaperone them so effectively that their stay was almost at an end before Serge got his chance to be alone with Catherine.

The whole party went riding one fresh morning, led by Peter and the widow Grooth; Catherine looked radiant in her riding habit, her face framed by a feathered tricorne hat. As they galloped out across the parklands the Grand Duchess urged her mount ever faster, lost in the exhilaration of speed and the thudding hoof-beats. She was a superb horse-woman, far better than any of those who rode with her, except Saltykov, and together they began to outstrip the rest of the party.

Catherine looked over her shoulder at Serge and laughed aloud; one quick glance behind showed him that a rise in the ground hid them from view, and without a word he leaned across and caught the bridle of Catherine's horse.

Before she had time to protest he was urging both mounts off the path and into the wood. She drew rein and turned to him in surprise.

“Serge, why did you do that? Why did you …” Her words were drowned by the thundering progress of the others as they galloped straight on up the route which she and Saltykov had left. Without a word he dismounted and took the reins out of her hands.

“Forgive me,” he said breathlessly. “I had to do this, I had to speak to you … let me help you down.” He lifted her from the horse and set her on the ground, still holding her under the arms.

For a moment they looked at each other and Catherine's heart began to beat violently. Every warning instinct cried out to her to wrench herself free and gallop back to the others before it was too late.

Her dalliance with this man, his hands holding her, sliding round her waist, drawing her close, it was treason and death.…

“Catherine, I adore you,” he said. “I have loved you since my first sight of you. For all these weeks I have been unable to sleep for thinking of you.…” The words came out in a flood of passion as Saltykov pressed her to him and felt her first trembling response.

Catherine made a last desperate effort to control her feelings and turned her head, avoiding his seeking kisses.

“Serge, Serge, don't, I beg you! Only think what this means.… Oh, God, don't torment me, I love you so and yet I dare not show it! Please …”

He cut short her protest with a determined forceful movement, and for an instant she stood rigid, the fire of that first kiss burning from her lips right through her body. Then something broke inside her; the frustrations of years of nightly humiliation and neglect surged up in a tidal wave of emotion.

All the womanhood, so cruelly crushed by circumstances and ambition, took possession of her, and the cool rationalist Catherine flung her arms round Saltykov's neck and her desperate inexperienced kisses mingled with her tears.

When at length she looked up at him Serge the seducer was shaken with a passion as strong as her own. “God's death!” he muttered. “What ails that husband of yours? Catherine, you cannot deny me now! You love me, and I cannot live without you, my adored one. Promise me that you will make me happy, promise me, Ekaterina, my darling.…”

She drew back from him a little and her lips trembled wretchedly. “I cannot, Serge, my beloved. For myself I care nothing. I would give my life to be an hour in your arms, but I love you too much to give yours, and that would be the penalty.…” This sudden unselfishness was not what he had expected, but her love for him gave Catherine strength and purpose. Gently but firmly she freed herself from his embrace.

“Do not dismiss me, for the love of God!” he begged. “It must be possible that I should have your love; give me your promise you will not refuse me.…”

“Serge, it will be you and only you, that I swear,” she answered. “But not at the price of your life.”

Slowly they turned the horses and began riding back to Oranienbaum.

Within the month the grand ducal court had returned to St. Petersburg, and a very uneasy Madame Tchoglokov had to report to Bestujev that so far Catherine's virtue had stood the test.

Inwardly Bestujev acknowledged that he had underestimated Catherine once again. That indomitable will of hers had resisted temptation, not out of virtue, he felt sure, but from policy. The possibility that she might be thinking of Saltykov's safety did not occur to him.

Unless he took some drastic action, his plan would go awry, and already he felt his position with the Empress to be weakening. But the day Catherine was delivered of a child, Elizabeth would be under a debt of gratitude to her Chancellor that no favorite would be able to wipe out.

Bestujev made his decision.

“Ask the Grand Duchess to grant me an audience this evening,” he said, dismissing Madame Tchoglokov. The woman had made a better jailer than a confidante, and he made a mental note to dismiss her from her post. Also it might be as well if she retired from court once the affair with Saltykov had begun. The Chancellor placed small reliance upon female discretion.

Catherine sent word that she would receive him after supper. Peter retired to his own apartments in a sullen fury at his enemy's intrusion, and only the waiting-woman Vladyslava was present to show the most powerful man in Russia into the Grand Duchess's boudoir.

Catherine, regardless of etiquette, rose instantly and gave him her hand to kiss. The old statesman bent over it politely and then accepted the seat she offered him. Vladyslava poured wine for them and then vanished discreetly.

Bestujev observed her as he sipped his wine. The past was unfortunate, but he judged her clever enough to recognize the value of his friendship and to forget old wrongs.

The Grand Duchess smiled across at him and put down her wine cup.

“This is a great honor, Excellency,” she said.

Bestujev bowed. “The honor and the pleasure is mine, Madame,” he countered. “I have but one regret … that my visit was not made some years ago. Much misunderstanding could have been saved.”

He glanced shrewdly at the Grand Duchess, but her expression told him nothing.

“Firstly I wish to ask, Madame, that you will count my humble self among your friends; seek my advice if anything should trouble you … and be sure that my protection will not fail you.”