The Shadow of Tyburn Tree (49 page)

By the time he had completed his arrangements it was near midday, so he lay down on his divan and put in a few hours' rest against the long night-journey that lay ahead of him.

At three o'clock he woke from a light doze and flexed his muscles thoughtfully, as he wondered what the outcome of his encounter with his enemy would be.

Natalia Andreovna arrived a little before four, smirking like an exceptionally pretty vixen who has just robbed the henroost, with the news that Erik Yagerhorn had swallowed the bait without a qualm, and, short of an earthquake, could be counted on to arrive at seven o'clock. Then they sat down to dine.

The excitement they were both feeling detracted somewhat from their appetites, but they drank fairly copiously; although Roger was careful not to overdo it to an extent which might put him to a disadvantage when he came face to face with his intended victim. By a quarter to seven he had had enough to make him just ripe for a fight, and he was becoming impatient for the Count's arrival.

Since there could be no hiding Natalia's part in the plot, she had decided against concealing herself; so they cleared the middle of the room and drew the table across the embrasure of the window, arranging it so that when seated behind it she was as well installed for the coming spectacle as if in a Royal box. Roger took up his position behind the door, so that he could not be seen by anyone on first entering the room; then, sinking their voices to a whisper, they began to count the moments to the springing of their ambush.

At length there came footfalls on the stairs, the door was opened and Ostermann showed Count Yagerhorn in. His glance immediately lit on Natalia Andreovna at the far side of the room, and, his florid face wreathed in smiles, he hastened forward to greet her. As Ostermann closed the door Roger stepped from behind it and exclaimed: ‘Turn, Sir! 'Tis I who will provide your entertainment this evening.'

The tall Finn spun round, his mouth gaping open, as Roger went on sternly: ‘You recall me, do you not? And the last time we met? 'Tis your turn now to take a beating.'

‘I recall you well enough, Monsieur,' snapped the Count. Then swinging about, he cried to Natalia: ‘And so, Madame, you have led me into a trap! Are you not ashamed to sit
smiling there at your own perfidy?'

‘Nay, Count,' she laughed lightly. ‘It is but tid-for-tat. Some two months past you pressed me to afford you an opportunity for an explanation with Monsieur de Breuc, and I obliged you. Now that he has made a similar request, how could I refuse him?'

‘Yet there is a difference,' Roger intervened. ‘You were not man enough to cross your sword with mine, so brought four bullies with cudgels to aid you. I am content to make do without such hired ruffians and grant you at least an even chance to defend yourself from chastisement.'

‘Your complaint on that score should be addressed to the Baroness Stroganof,' sneered the Count, ‘for she it was who ordered me to make certain you should not escape the penalty of her displeasure.'

‘For shame!' cried Roger. ‘Is it not enough that you are a coward, and a traitor to your King, without seeking to father your craven conduct on a woman?' And, raising the riding-switch with which he had armed himself, he struck the Finn full across the face.

As Yagerhorn recoiled with a sharp cry, Natalia Andreovna gave a gasp of thrilled excitement; but the Count was quick to recover from the blow. Before Roger could get in another he had sidestepped and came charging in upon him.

Roger was equally agile and, springing away, slashed at the Count's head. He winced under the cut, but, swerving, managed to grasp Roger's arm. A second later they had clinched and stood swaying together in the centre of the room.

They were of about equal height, but the Finn was of a broader build and much the heavier of the two. His left hand was still encased in a back kid glove, but whatever unsightliness the glove was worn to cover did not incommode him in the full use of it. He got the gloved hand on Roger's throat and his grip was as tenacious as that of a bulldog.

Locked together as they were, Roger's whip was no longer an asset to him but an encumbrance. Dropping it, he jabbed the Count sharply in the face; but the Finn's grip on his throat did not relax. Roger felt himself forced back; there was a sharp pain in his lungs from the lack of air and his head was singing. He knew that if he could not break the hold upon his windpipe within another minute he would be forced to the ground and ignominiously receive the beating that he had intended to give his enemy.

Desperate measures were necessary and, he considered, justified. Bringing his knee up sharply, he jabbed it into his adversary's groin.

The sudden move had the desired effect. With a gulp Yager-horn loosened his hold. Roger jerked his head back, pushed him off and sprang away. He was not a skilled pugilist, having devoted himself by preference to fencing and pistol practice, but he had picked up enough of the noble art at Sherborne to be much more adept at it than the majority of Continental noblemen, who despised fisticuffs as the sport of churls. As the black-gloved hand darted out to renew its grip, Roger struck it up with his right and landed a heavy left on the Count's eye.

The Finn staggered back, recovered and came in again, throwing out both hands to catch Roger in a bear-like hug. But Roger was wary now. He had experienced the great strength that lay in his opponent's massive arms and knew that he could not match it. Darting aside he struck Yagerhorn hard, first in the ribs, then on the side of the face.

Panting harshly, the heavier man swerved and made another bull-like rush. Again Roger checked it with a body-blow, and another that glanced across his red, perspiring cheek. It seemed now that the more agile Englishman had the Finn's measure. Circling round him he got in blow after blow till Yagerhorn was reeling and it seemed that he must succumb.

But suddenly the Count dashed to the side of the room, seized a chair by its back, and swinging it aloft, struck with its legs at Roger's head. His jump to save himself was a second too late; one leg caught his head a glancing blow, another crashed upon his shoulder. With a gasp of pain he fell half-stunned to the floor. Next moment the Count flung himself on top of him, driving the breath out of his body.

Natalia Andreovna leapt to her feet. Her green eyes were flashing like those of a wild animal who smells blood. Leaning right across the table to see the better, she let out a shrill screech of intense excitement; but she made no move to come to her champion's aid.

Breathless, his wits befuddled, his left shoulder half dislocated from the blow and the arm below it numb, Roger writhed impotently beneath the weighty body of the Count. As in a nightmare he felt the black-gloved hand grasp his throat once more, and knew himself now to be at his enemy's mercy.

Suddenly it flickered through his mind that Yagerhorn, driven to a frenzy by the blows he had received, might kill him. The thought had no sooner entered his head that it became a conviction. The frightful clutch upon his neck and the agonising pains that pierced his chest were the last sensations he would ever know. This then was death.

The thought appalled him. His life was so full and gay, and
there were so many joys in it that he had not yet experienced. Yet he could neither shout to Natalia for help, nor even beg for mercy had he wished. Only a faint hissing sound escaped his purple lips, and as through a reddish mist, he could see the Finn's blue eyes, glaring with implacable hatred, boring down into his own.

The instinctive urge to escape death, rather than any remaining strength in Roger's limbs, still kept him jerking frenziedly in abortive efforts to throw the Count off. His clawing right hand stabbed ineffectively at the livid features above him, but was smashed aside and fell limply to the floor. By the will of Providence it struck the handle of the riding-switch that he had dropped some minutes earlier. His fingers closed avidly upon it, and with the butt-end foremost, he struck savagely at the murderous face leering down into his own.

The metal butt thudded dully against Yagerhorn's eye. He gave a bellow of pain, his grip on Roger's throat tightened convulsively, then eased a fraction. Blindly, frantically, with the maniacal strength of despair, Roger struck again and again.

The Finn's eyes became suffused and swimming; his nose was broken and began to drip great splashes of blood; his cheeks and forehead were lacerated where the metal had torn the flesh, yet he still hung on. But his aching fingers no longer had the power to check Roger's gasps for breath. Suddenly the metal whip-butt caught the Count on the temple, and half-stunned, he lurched sideways. Roger jerked free his neck but remained where he lay, still pounding with all his remaining strength on his enemy's face and head.

For a moment the Count struggled up into a sitting position, astride Roger's body, and swayed there, thrusting out his arms in an effort to protect himself; then he gave a moan and rolled over on to the floor.

Panting, gasping, dripping with sweat, Roger pulled his legs from beneath those of his enemy, and supporting himself with one hand got up on to his knees. He could not yet believe that he had escaped with his life, and still felt that it was in imminent peril as long as Yagerhorn had a kick left in him. Filled with mingled fear and rage he rained blow after blow with his whip upon the Count's head and shoulders until they ceased to writhe and he lay insensible.

Not till then did Roger slowly regain full possession of his own senses. For a few moments he remained kneeling there staring at the blood-spattered mass beside him. Then he slowly got to his feet, lurched across to the couch and fell upon it, still fighting for breath, and utterly exhausted.

Natalia had come out from behind the table and, running
to him began to smother his bloodstained face with kisses, as she exclaimed:

‘ 'Twas a truly marvellous fight. Never have I seen a finer. I would not have missed it for the world; nay, not even for a promise from the Empress of a ribbon of her Order. There came a time in it when I was quite fearful for you, but I knew full well that in the end my brave Rojé Christorovitch must emerge victorious.'

Knowing that she had stood by watching with fascinated enjoyment while his life was being choked from him, Roger made a feeble attempt to push her away. Yet, as she rattled on, praising his dexterity and courage, he found it difficult to maintain his belief that she had failed to attempt his rescue solely on account of the sadistic delight she was deriving from the hideous conflict. Her inner mind was still an unfathomable deep to him, and he could not feel positive that she had not, in fact, refrained from aiding him owing to a complete faith in his ability to get the better of this enemy. In consequence, he sighed; and, when she had fetched water to bathe his hurts, submitted to her ministrations without further protest.

By the time he had revived a little he saw that Yagerhorn was coming round; so he got to his feet and, fetching some lengths of cord that he had placed handy for the purpose, he tied the Count's wrists and ankles, and stuffed a handkerchief into his mouth; then lay down again.

For the best part of an hour he remained sprawled upon the settee, while Natalia sat beside him gently stroking his hair and whispering endearments. At last, when he felt more like himself, he got up once more and, with Natalia's help, dragged the Count into the bedroom. When they had levered his body on to the divan Roger sent her back into the sitting-room to fetch a cloth for use as a proper gag, as Yagerhorn too had now more or less recovered and was growling and biting like a savage animal.

While she was absent Roger swiftly searched the Count's inner pocket. From it he pulled a batch of papers, and to his great satisfaction, found among them a
laisser-passer
. One glance was enough to show that it was what he sought, as the Russian text was translated below in both French and German. Without further examination he stuffed the whole lot inside his shirt. A minute or two later Natalia rejoined him. Together they re-gagged the Finn more efficiently, made certain that his bonds were secure, then returned to the sitting-room.

Not having eaten much dinner Roger now felt hungry; so, at his suggestion, they sat down to demolish the remains of a
venison-pasty and some fruit. They were almost silent during their meal, and towards the end of it Natalia amused herself by spitting cherry-stones with commendable accuracy right across the room into the wood-basket beside the stove. When she had run out of ammunition she said: ‘Tell me, Rojé Christorovitch, what have you in mind to do with that miserable Yagerhorn?'

‘Keep him here for the night in uncertainty as to his fate,' Roger replied casually, ‘then let him go in the morning.'

‘The villain deserves worse,' she remarked with a shrug. ‘But you are magnanimous by nature; and wise too, for the Empress might inquire into the matter with serious results to yourself should any permanent harm befall him. Otherwise I would suggest that you should mark him in some way, so that he should never forget this night of your triumph over him.'

Roger gave her a side-long glance. Her harshness towards a man whom she had once taken with glad laughter as her lover was quite incomprehensible to him. During these past weeks her beauty had never failed to rouse his passion or her intellect to stimulate his mind. Yet he knew that in his heart he hated and despised her, and would have broken with her long since had it not been for her usefulness to him in securing the type of information he had come to Russia to obtain. Now that he was again in full possession of his senses the vicious delight that she had displayed, when he caught glimpses of her while he and Yagerhorn were locked in mortal combat, sickened and revolted him. He thanked his stars that their liaison depended only on his own convenience, and that as soon as he was better established at the Court he would be able to break it. He felt that he would not have married her for a million, and that there could be few more frightful fates than to find oneself tied to such a woman for life.