The Shadow of Tyburn Tree (40 page)

‘Does this also apply to foreigners while they are in her country?'

‘Most certainly; and before you leave Petersburg you must insert in the news-sheet three weeks running your name, quality and abode, advertising your intention to depart; since until you have done so you will not be granted a passport permitting you to quit the country. The measure is designed to prevent strangers slipping away with their debts unpaid, and so has much to recommend it.'

Roger nodded, thinking to himself that, while it had proved easy enough to get into Russia, it might not be quite so simple to get out again.

When they had finished their meal they left the pastrycook's, and the Doctor having affairs of his own to attend to, Roger declared it his intention to hire a
droshky
and go for a drive round the city. The Doctor found him a driver who understood
German, and after genially offering his services at any time Roger required them, saw him off.

For the best part of an hour Roger let his driver carry him at random along the broad streets and point out to him the principal objects of interest; among them, the Church of Kazan, the great bridge over the Neva, the Taurian Palace of Prince Potemkin, who had long since ceased to be the Empress's lover, but was still the most powerful man in Russia, and the gigantic equestrian statue of Peter the Great that Catherine had erected in front of the Admiralty. This amazing monument had been cut from the solid rock of a single meteorite—measuring twenty-one feet in height, thirty-four in breadth and forty-two in length—which had been found in the marshes outside the city, and, despite its immense weight, dragged eight miles to the place of its erection. The particulars of the almost insurmountable difficulties which had been overcome to achieve this extraordinary undertaking made a deeper impression on Roger of the powers commanded by Russia's remarkable ruler than had anything else in her magnificent capital.

At length, feeling that he had allowed sufficient time to elapse to disguise his true intention, he told his driver that he had had enough of sight-seeing for one day, and wished to be driven to the English Factory.

A quarter of an hour later he paid the man off outside the entrance to a great jumble of buildings down by the docks. The factory consisted mainly of a series of spacious warehouses in which all merchandise arriving from Britain was stored pending its distribution to various parts of Russia; but three sides of its principal courtyard were occupied by offices and living-quarters, and the fourth by a small stone church. On inquiring for the Reverend William Tooke, Roger was directed to a pleasant little house adjoining the church. There, in the broken English suitable to a Frenchman, he asked the servant who answered the door if her master was at home, and on giving his name as Monsieur le Chevalier de Breuc, he was shown into a comfortable library on the ground floor.

Five minutes later the Reverend Mr. Tooke appeared. He was a robust man in the middle forties with a genial expression and rather studious air. During his wait Roger's eye had lit upon ‘The Loves of Othniel and Achsah,' published in 1769, and several other handsomely bound volumes of which Mr. Tooke was the author; so he was prepared to find him of the intellectual rather than the hunting type of parson.

In excellent French the clergyman asked his visitor's business; upon which Roger apologised in English for having presented
himself as a Frenchman, and produced Sir James Harris's letter.

Having read it Mr. Tooke smiled and said: ‘I am happy to make your acquaintance, Mr. Brook; and, within certain limits, I will willingly be of service to you. However, I have now lived in Russia for some seventeen years; my three children have all been born and brought up here, and innumerable Russians, the Empress among them, have shown me much kindness. Therefore, I should be most loath to become involved in anything to the detriment of my adopted country.'

That, I can well understand, Sir,' Roger agreed. ‘And 'tis far from my intent to burden you with any of my business. The sole request I have to make is that from time to time you will be kind enough to pass on to Mr. Alleyne Fitzherbert any letters that I may give you, so that I should not be seen entering the British Embassy.'

‘If that is all you require I will do it with pleasure. Now sit down and join me in a glass of wine,' replied his host, moving over to a row of decanters. ‘Is your preference for Sack, Madeira or Canary?'

Roger chose Madeira and, handing him a glass, the clergyman went on: ‘How long have you been in Russia, and what think you of the country?'

‘I landed only this morning, Sir; so I have had little time to judge. The fine streets and buildings of the capital fill me with admiration; but, at first sight, the majority of its inhabitants strike me as exceedingly uncouth, and more like bears than men.'

Mr. Tooke laughed. ‘Indeed, the lower orders here are not far removed from animals, and even their betters oft display a violence which we would regard as most reprehensible at home. Yet the Russians have their good points and one is their complete freedom from all bigotry. That has made my work here both pleasant and easy, which I well might not have found it had I taken a post as chaplain in some of the, so-called, more enlightened countries.'

‘Do they place no restrictions at all then on the practice of the Protestant faith?'

‘None whatever, nor upon any other. And, in fact, the Russian Government's toleration has had such a beneficial effect that, instead of being at daggers drawn as we should be in any other country, the clergy of all sects work together here in the greatest harmony. I count many friends among the pastors of other denominations, and those of us who are of the Reformed religions meet together once a week to discuss how we may better the lot of our respective congregations. I
have often preached by invitation in the Calvinist church; and, strange as it may seem to you, I once even stood sponsor at the christening of a Roman Catholic child, the priest very civilly omitting those questions from the service which he knew that my conscience would not allow me to answer in the affirmative.'

‘Indeed I find that most remarkable,' Roger smiled, ‘when at home we still debar the Papists from entering any form of public life, and in many Catholic countries Protestants are still frequently the victims of persecution.'

‘ 'Tis very different here. All men may hold such religious beliefs as they choose, and although the Empress herself is a strict follower of the Orthodox Greek Church she has recently appointed an Archbishop for her Catholic subjects, and established a seminary of Jesuits at Mohilef. This spirit of goodwill is even carried to the extent of Her Majesty's confessor, Ivan Pamphilief, giving a “Dinner of Toleration” each year on the 6th of January. At it the Metropolitan Gabriel presides, and the principal clergy of all religions are invited. On one occasion when, before the dinner, wines of various kinds were handed round on a salver, our host made a charming allusion to the widely divergent creeds of the assembled company, by remarking: “These wines are all good; they differ only in colour and taste.” And that is the happy spirit which animates religion in this land which the western nations stigmatise as barbarous.'

Roger nodded. ‘ 'Tis certainly a much nearer approach to a true interpretation of the teaching of Our Lord than anything so far achieved elsewhere in Europe. Yet in other respects the Russians appear to be still only half-civilised. Their brutality is a by-word; and I gather that for quite insignificant faults they inflict punishments on their servants which we should consider ferocious.'

That I admit; yet a death-sentence is a rarer thing here than in most other countries.'

‘What though, Sir, of exile to Siberia? 'Tis said that thousands of hapless folk are despatched every year to drag out a miserable existence in those icy wastes?'

Mr. Tooke made a deprecating gesture. ‘News of general conditions in such a distant country as Russia travels but slowly to the outer world. No doubt in England people still believe the state of things here to be much as they were in the days of Her Majesty's predecessor, the Empress Elizabeth. She was as great a tyrant as her father, Peter the First, yet lacking his originality and abilities. On her ascension to the throne in 1741, she took a vow never to resort to capital punishment, but
since she was mean, cruel and suspicious by nature she allowed countless judicial-atrocities to be committed in her name.

‘In cases of suspected treason even inferior magistrates were empowered to have prisoners' hands tied behind them to a rope by which they were then hoisted to the ceiling, let down with a jerk so that their arms were wrenched from their sockets, then knouted in that position to extract a confession. Quite frequently, too, innocent people were dragged from their beds in the middle of the night by her secret police and, without any form of trial, carried off into exile. 'Tis said that during the twenty years of her reign she banished over twenty thousand of her subjects to Siberia. But things are very different today. On coming to the throne the Empress Catherine forbade the use of all forms of torture, and although she sometimes sends those who have displeased her into exile, 'tis only on comparatively rare occasions. Her private life leaves much to be desired, but she is of a kindly disposition and rules with great humanity.'

Roger was about to ask Mr. Tooke's personal impression of the Empress when heavy footfalls sounded in the passage outside, the door opened, and a rugged face surmounted by crisp, iron-grey hair was thrust round it.

‘Your pardon, William!' the newcomer exclaimed on seeing Roger. ‘I was not aware that you had a visitor; and having delivered a parcel from my wife to your good lady, had thought that I would look in on you for a word before making my way home.'

‘Come in, Samuel, come in,' cried Mr. Tooke; then, turning to Roger, he added in French. ‘Allow me to present you, Monsieur, to one of Her Majesty's most distinguished and devoted servants; Admiral Sir Samuel Greig, of the Imperial Russian Navy. Samuel, permit me to introduce Monsieur le Chevalier de Breuc, a young Frenchman newly arrived in Petersburg.'

The Admiral had advanced into the room. He was a stalwart, thick-set man in his early fifties. His weatherbeaten face was lit by a pair of impatient, flashing eyes. He looked a rough diamond, and when he spoke it was with abrupt forcefulness. Instead of returning Roger's bow he stared at him truculently for a moment, then bellowed with a heavy Scots accent.

‘Young Frenchman, eh? Tell that to the Marines! I'll swallow my own anchor if he's not as much an Englishman as yourself. And you, young man! Tell me this instant what criminal intent leads you to come to Russia deceiving honest men into believing you a Frenchie?'

Taken completely off his guard, Roger remained tongue-tied for a moment. He had not the faintest idea what had led to this swift penetration of his incognito. He knew only that if the Admiral's loyalty to his Imperial Mistress proved greater than any sentimental ties he retained for the land of his origin, the game was up. He, Roger, could count himself lucky if no worse befell than for his mission to end before it had properly begun, by his ignominious and immediate expulsion from Russia. That was, unless he could somehow manage to bluff his way out of the extraordinarily unfortunate encounter.

He had often heard of Admiral Greig. Indeed, the intrepid sailor was regarded as almost as much of a hero in the country of his birth as in that of his adoption. He had commanded a division of the first Russian Fleet ever to enter the Mediterranean; and, although the Supreme Command had been vested in Count Alexis Oriof, the brother of the Empress's first great favourite, there were good grounds for believing that Greig and his fellow Scot, Rear-Admiral Elphinstone, were the real authors of the signal victory by which the Russians had annihilated the entire Turkish Fleet in the Bay of Chesme.

Since then, he had distinguished himself by leading numerous spectacular actions, and, between wars, had become, in all but name, Commander-in-Chief of the Russian Navy. His rise was all the more spectacular in that he had started his sea career in merchant ships, then served before the mast in the British Navy for six years before being allowed to accept a Lieutenant's commission in the Russian service.

He now held the rank of Grand Admiral; and the five great jewelled stars blazing upon his breast—denoting him to be a Knight of the Orders of St. Andrew, St. George, St. Vladimir, St. Anne and St. Alexander Nevski—were more than enough to show the unlimited faith that the Empress placed in him. To Roger, it seemed in the highest degree improbable that such a man would be prepared to abuse his mistess's confidence
to the extent of allowing a spy to remain at large in her country.

His only course seemed to be to lie like a trooper, and pray that Mr. Tooke would not give him away; so, drawing himself up to his full six feet, he said haughtily: ‘You are under a sad misapprehension, Sir, and obviously mistake me for another. I have lived in England long enough to speak your language with some fluency, but my name is de Breuc, and I am a native of Strasbourg.'

‘Enough of such lying, boy!' snapped the Admiral. ‘I know you for what you are.'

Hopelessly puzzled as to the reason for this unshakeable assurance, Roger could only stand his ground and take refuge in assumed anger.

‘Since you give me the lie, Sir,' he said sharply, ‘although you are my senior by many years, you leave me no alternative but to call you out.'

The Admiral gave a great bellow of laughter, then shook his head with a humorous grin.‘ 'Tis easy to see that you have not been long in Petersburg, my young fire-eater. The Russians may be a backward people in many ways, but at least they realise the idiocy of settling differences of opinion by jabbing at each other with their swords. Should you slap a Russian's face he will hit you back or break his cane over your head; but you will not find one fool enough to submit himself to a contest in which justice has no part, and the best swordsman, be he right or wrong, comes off victorious.'