The Shadow of Tyburn Tree (27 page)

I pray you therefore, my dear fellow-countryman, to dispense with formality, and give me the pleasure of welcoming you to Sweden this evening
.

I have the honour, etc., etc
.

Enclosed was a large crested card showing the entertainment to be a
Bal Masqué
, for which guests were bidden to assemble at eight o'clock. So Roger promptly made arrangements at the inn for a coach to take him to the French Embassy, and hurried out again to get himself a domino.

In Stockholm, as in Copenhagen, he found that the shopkeepers as well as the upper classes all spoke either French or German, and at a big mercer's in Paul's Gatan he secured a pale blue domino and mask. Back at the inn he had a barber dress his hair in the prevailing French fashion; with side curls,
toupet
and turned up behind, and, for such an occasion, heavily powdered. The domino, like the loose, light costume of a pierrot, entirely concealed his long scarlet coat, gold-laced waistcoat and frilled shirt, but his quizzing-glass hung outside it on a black moiré ribbon. To complete his toilette he scented himself and put a beauty patch on the lower part of his left cheek. Then, at a little after seven-thirty, he went down to the waiting coach.

He had already ascertained that the French Embassy was a country mansion situated a little way outside the city on one of the many promontories that fringed the fjord, so he was not surprised when his coach left the cobbled ways and entered a belt of sweet-scented pine woods. About half-a-mile further on it turned a sharp corner, then suddenly swerved to one side of the track.

Recovering his balance Roger saw at once the reason for his coachman's sudden swerve. Just ahead of them was another coach, a huge gilded vehicle with six horses, postillions and outriders; one of its wheels had come off and it was lying at an angle half in and half out of the ditch. Beside it, among the richly-liveried servants stood a big broad-shouldered man and a girl with flowers and feathers in her high-dressed hair. Both of them were masked and wearing dominoes.

Roger at once called on his own coachman to halt and got out. In spite of the presence of the girl the owner of the broken-down vehicle was cursing his servants in French with language
which would have made a fishwife blush. As Roger came up the angry man hit his coachman with his clenched fist and sent the poor wretch sprawling into the ditch.

After a loud cough to draw his attention, Roger said: ‘I see, Sir, that you are the victim of an unfortunate accident, and from your domino it appears that you were on your way to the French Embassy. Pray allow me to offer you and your lady seats in my coach.'

With a visible effort to swallow his rage, the man replied: I thank you, Sir. We are mightily obliged.'

Turning to the girl Roger made her a gallant leg, and said: 'Your servant, Mademoiselle. Permit me to introduce myself …'

But with a quick gesture of her fan she stopped him and laughed behind her mask. ‘Nay, Monsieur. I beg you to do no such thing. 'Tis quite romantic to be rescued from our predicament by a strange cavalier; and the whole object of our dominoes is to preserve the secret of our identity until midnight. Let us all retain our incognito until then.'

‘Willingly, Mademoiselle,' smiled Roger, and he bowed his new acquaintances into his coach; then, getting in himself, swiftly took more careful stock of them.

The man was not particularly tall but immensely broad across the shoulders. His forehead was low and sloping, his hair, under the powder, black; as were also his eyes. Below the mask his lips showed full and red, and his heavy chin was thrust forward aggressively. The girl was a little above medium height, and her hair was only lightly powdered, as it was so fair as to be almost silver. Her eyes, which held a merry sparkle, were green; and although the domino concealed the details of her figure, Roger judged her to be slim. He naturally assumed them to be Swedes, and having remarked that he had arrived in Stockholm only that morning, began to praise the beauty of their capital.

Both of them agreed about its attractions, and the girl spoke of society there as both gay and civilised; but they had been talking for only a few moments when the coach pulled up behind a line of others and, shortly afterwards, set them down.

The French Embassy was a miniature palace with a fine entrance hall, now thronged with dominoes slowly making their way up a broad, shallow staircase towards a landing where the Marquis and Marquise de Pons were receiving their guests. They were masked and made no attempt to probe the identity of the men and women with whom they formally exchanged
bows and curtsys at the stair-head; so Roger passed on with his new friends into the ballroom.

The fiddles were just striking up for the second dance, and Roger seized the opportunity to lead the girl out to a gavotte, during which, from politeness more than interest, he at once began to flirt with her. He soon found that she was an adept at the art and her green eyes gave him ample encouragement as he whispered pretty nothings in her ear each time they came together in the movements of the dance.

When it was over he led her into the next salon and endeavoured to find out who she was; but she would not give him a hint and said that he must wait until after midnight to find out. He begged her to give him the first dance following the removal of masks, but she told him that it was already promised and that, much as she would have liked to oblige him, she was already committed to a score of beaux from midnight onwards. On his pretending the most bitter disappointment she laughingly consoled him by saying that Stockholm was such a small place that he would be certain to have many opportunities of seeing her in the future if he wished.

A tall domino then came up and asked her for the next dance. As the newcomer offered his arm to lead her away Roger noticed that his left hand was encased in a black kid glove, suggesting that it was either malformed or injured in some way.

Left to his own devices Roger amused himself for a little by making a tour of the fine run of reception rooms. Then he asked half-a-dozen ladies to dance; but none of them particularly intrigued him. He had as yet had no opportunity to judge if the green-eyed girl was really good-looking, but all that her mask left revealed of her features suggested that she was, and the fact that she had refused him a dance for after midnight because she was already promised to a string of beaux gave strong support to the assumption. Looks apart, she certainly had personality and wit, as was borne in upon him more sharply from contrast with the comparative insipidity of the other young women that he led out on to the floor.

As the evening wore on he realised that she had possessed a certain subtle attraction, of which he had not been fully conscious until he began to think about her after she left him; so he decided to try to find her again. But it proved no easy matter to pick her out among the scores of women, all of whom were masked and most of whom had flowers and feathers in their high-dressed powdered hair. All the dominoes were of plain colours and the fact that she had been wearing one of lilac was of no great help, since all the ladies
were in pastel shades of blue, pink or mauve.

Once, he felt certain he had identified her, but she was taking part in a minuet at the far end of the ballroom, and as the crowd of dancers left the floor he lost sight of her again. It was now nearing midnight so he gave up the attempt and consoled himself with the thought that she had definitely encouraged him to develop their acquaintance during his stay in Stockholm. No doubt she had refused to commit herself later that night only for the purpose of leading him on; her tantalising smile had certainly conveyed that impression.

Roger decided that this must be his lucky night. Within a bare twelve hours of his landing in Sweden he had been received at the French Embassy, and by a fortunate accident, had the prospect of developing an affaire with an unusually intriguing young woman. He was not of a type to take no for an answer, and made up his mind that as soon as the company removed their masks he would find her again, and by hook or by crook, persuade her to give him another dance.

The pre-midnight dance ended and the throng swarmed out to shed its dominoes in the ante-chambers, returning still masked but in all the splendour of silk, velvet, satin and brocade, to line the sides of the ballroom four deep. A file of footmen entered carrying silver salvers loaded with glasses of champagne, which they handed to the guests. The Ambassador and his wife emerged from the crowd at one end of the room, leading deferentially between them a regal-looking woman; a little cortège of older men and women wearing the stars and sashes of orders formed up behind them, someone called for silence and in a high, precise voice their host made a short speech.

He said how greatly they all regretted that His Majesty King Gustavus was still detained by his labours at Carlscrona, but how highly they were honoured by having his august consort, Queen Sophia Magdalena, in their midst. At this point, the regal-looking lady unmasked, disclosing the handsome but rather sad features of a woman in her late thirties. Everyone else then unmasked and made her a deep obeisance.

She smiled graciously round on them and gave the Ambassador her hand to kiss; after which he continued his speech, asking them to drink long life and happiness to his sovereigns, King Louis XVI and Queen Marie Antoinette, in this, the opening of the fifteenth year of their reign.

When the health had been drunk and the cheers subsided the Queen was led to a canopied chair on a low dais; and on her having signified that the merriment should continue the richly dressed crowd began to mingle, friends greeting one
another gaily and the men who had met attractive partners while masked endeavoured to identify them again.

As soon as Roger could get near enough to do so he made himself known to the Marquis de Pons, and thanked him for having so kindly invited him to the ball. The Ambassador was a dapper, alert-eyed little man of about forty. He inquired after la Houze, asked Roger to come to breakfast two days later to give him the news from Copenhagen, then presented him to the Marquise.

She was considerably younger than her husband, not strictly beautiful, but extraordinarily
soignê,
and possessed a rather roguish mouth and eyes. Roger was keeping a sharp look-out for his charmer of the coach but he knew that he was now on duty, and although his rank was hardly sufficient to warrant it, he boldly asked his hostess for the dance that was just starting.

Taking her lower lip between her pretty teeth she gave one swift look at the elderly group surrounding the Queen, then smiled into Roger's deep blue eyes, and whispered: ‘I shall lose my reputation by treading a measure with a handsome young gallant instead of devoting myself to those stupid old Generals.'

He returned her smile. ‘Rather, Madame, will your reputation be enchanced, from your charity in taking pity on a fellow-countryman who is a stranger in a strange land.'

‘Ah, yes; we are both exiles,' she sighed. ‘And what would I not give to be back at Versailles! Lead me out then, Monsieur; talking to you will remind me of its gaieties, and make me forget this poor unhappy Queen.'

During the dance Roger whispered the same sweet nothings into the ear of the Ambassador's wife that he had in that of the green-eyed girl some hours earlier, and she responded with even greater finesse. When the music stopped he sought to lead her away to one of the sitting-out places, but she shook her head. ‘Alas, Monsieur, I must return to my duties; but 'twas a pleasant interlude. I pray you come often to see us while you are in Stockholm and lighten the
ennui
of my lot here by talk of our fair France.'

‘Madame; to be with you is to lose all regret that I ever left it,' he replied gallantly; thinking once more what a lucky evening it was for him; since the friendship of the charming woman at his side might prove not only delightful in itself but of considerable value in his mission.

As they were moving back towards the end of the room where the Queen sat surrounded by a little court, Roger suddenly caught sight of the green-eyed girl. She was, as he had
supposed, very slim, and definitely good-looking in a queer, unusual way.

‘Can you tell me, Madame?' he asked quickly. ‘Who the tall fair lady is, over there? The one wearing the splendid emeralds and in a primrose dress covered with little silver stars.'

The Marquise shot him a sideways glance from her chinablue eyes and asked in a slightly piqued voice: ‘Are you attracted by her?'

‘Nay, Madame,' he lied. ‘I could not be attracted by anyone while in your company. 'Tis only that on the way here her coach broke down, and I carried her and her elderly cavalier here in mine.'

‘You are forgiven,' smiled the Marquise. ‘But even had you been, I would have been charitable enough to warn you to beware of her. She is a young widow with a curiously malicious turn of humour. 'Tis said that her favours can be won, but when she tires of her beaux she has a most unpleasant trick of making fools of them afterwards. Her name is Natalia Andreovna Stroganof and she is the daughter of the Russian Ambassador, Count Razumofsky.'

Roger saw that the green-eyed lady had also recognised him, and was now regarding him with a seductive little smile. As he smiled back he could hardly believe his good fortune in having so swiftly and effortlessly acquired an
entrée
into the heart of both the French and Russian camps. It seemed indeed a lucky evening; but had he been able to foresee the future he would have fled the ballroom there and then.

When they reached the outer fringe of the Queen's circle, Madame de Pons told Roger to remain where he was, and went forward herself to speak to her Royal guest. After a moment she returned to say that she had obtained permission to present him, then led him forward to make his bow.

The Queen smiled wistfully at him and beckoned to him with her fan. As he advanced, bowing again with each step, he wondered why she looked so sad and had been referred to by the Marquise as ‘this poor, unhappy Queen.' He knew nothing about her except that she was the sister of Christian VII, the mad King of Denmark, and had been married to Gustavus of Sweden for some twenty years.