The Shadow of Tyburn Tree (74 page)

‘I am, I believe, exceptionally well placed to be so,' replied the woman, with a little laugh; and Roger stiffened where he stood, for the voice was that of Natalia Andreovna.

*     *     *     *     *

‘I gather that you are married to a young man in the service of the British Foreign Office?' Vorontzoff remarked, continuing the conversation, in French: and Roger blessed the custom of educated Russians of rarely using their own language, except when addressing servants.

‘Yes, Monsieur,' replied Natalia. ‘ 'Tis too long a story to tell in detail now. This is my first night in London, and I succeeded in slipping away from the mansion where he lodged me only on the pretext of wishing to see the city at sunset by myself. I will give you simply the bare outline.

‘I believed my husband to be a Frenchman when he married me at the order of the Empress, in Petersburg, towards the beginning of last September; but a fortnight later he left me at a moment's notice, marooned in Copenhagen, on the plea of urgent business. 'Twas on doing so that he disclosed in a letter that he was really an Englishman; and that gave me furiously to think. While we were in Stockholm, where we
first met, and later in Russia, his curiosity on the subjects of Her Majesty's Court and our foreign policy had been insatiable. Naturally I wondered if he had been making use of me to gain information, so I determined to wait and find out. Then, early in October I had a letter despatched by him from Gothenburg. In it he told me that he would not be able to rejoin me for some time. To begin with I had been much attracted to him physically, but the attraction was wearing thin, as these things do, and there was a certain softness about his nature which at times repelled me; so I decided to wait no longer, but rejoin my father.'

So
that
was the truth of the matter, thought Roger grimly. Her feelings for him had been on a par with his for her, all the time. What a fool he had been to go out to Stockholm and fetch her, when by leaving her there he might have been rid of her for good.

Vorontzoff had interrupted her to say: ‘Pardon me, Madame, but am I not right in supposing that your return to your father was dictated, partly at least, by the fact that you could not go back to Russia, owing to your having incurred the Empress's displeasure?'

‘ 'Tis true, your Excellency,' Natalia admitted, ‘and as I have a great love for our country I took it hard. 'Twas in the hope that I might earn reinstatement in Her Majesty's good graces, that I suggested to my father making a rapprochement with my husband for the purpose of gaining possession of his secrets.'

Roger had guessed as much already from this secret visit of Natalia's to the Russian Embassy; and he smiled to himself at the thought that pure chance should disclose her intention to him before she had even had an opportunity to begin her nefarious operations. But from this comforting belief he was rudely awakened, for she went on quietly:

‘I have already accomplished a
coup
of which I am not a little proud. Before leaving Sweden King Gustavus entrusted my husband with a letter to Mr. Pitt…'

Roger's heart missed a beat. In his mind he saw again Pitt looking at the cracked seal of the letter. If a copy of it fell into Vorontzoff's hands that would be a major calamity. If Natalia had one it was essential that he should see what happened to it, so that he could retrieve it at the earliest possible opportunity. Very gingerly he moved a few feet to the right until he was behind two of the curtains where they overlapped. Raising his hand he drew the under one gently aside until there was a chink between them through which he could see a narrow strip of the room.

Meanwhile Natalia was still speaking. ‘In it, the ambitious
Swede gives details of the campaign he intends to wage against us this coming summer; he also makes various proposals by which the expansion of Russia might be checked. On our voyage here, one night when my husband was half-asleep, I succeeded in getting it from the pocket of his coat. I pretended a faintness from lack of air, and told him that I meant to walk for a while on deck; but I took the letter to another cabin and made a copy of it. I have it here, and to give it to your Excellency without delay was my reason for risking this visit to you so soon after my arrival. But now I must get back. I have, already been away over long. To avert suspicion I had to support being driven for an hour round the parks before I dared propose to Lord Amesbury's coachman that he should drive me out here to see my country's Embassy.'

As she finished speaking Roger had just managed to part the curtains. He could not see Natalia, but he was in time to see her hand stretch out and lay the packet on Vorontzoff's desk.

‘You have done well, Madame,' the Ambassador purred, as he picked it up. ‘But tell me, this husband of yours, Mr. Brook. Is he not a tall, slim young man of handsome countenance with brown hair and very deep blue eyes?'

‘Why yes!' Natalia replied. ‘Does your Excellency then know him?'

Roger had adjusted the crack betwen the curtains a fraction, so that he could now see Vorontzoff. The Ambassador had slit open the cover of the packet and taken out the sheets of paper it contained. It was clear that next moment he would begin to read them. Roger had been praying that before he did so Natalia would go, as he would then be able to hold up the Russian, get the letter from him, and afterwards proceed to the original purpose of this clandestine visit. But his hopes were clearly doomed to disappointment. At all cost Vorontzoff must be prevented from reading even a part of King Gustavus's letter and, somehow, Natalia must be got out of the house before she had a chance to give any information about is contents.

‘Aye,' murmured the Ambassador. ‘ 'Tis the same man without a doubt. I won three hundred guineas from him at cards, nigh on a year ago.'

‘Indeed you did; and I took your Excellency for a ride in a wheelbarrow,' said Roger quietly, as he stepped from behind the curtains, pistol in hand.

‘Rojé Christorovitch!' exclaimed Natalia, springing to her feet. ‘So you—you followed me here?'

‘Nay, Madame,' he replied coldly. ‘Our meeting is entirely fortuitous, but none the less fortunate.'

Although he spoke to her his eyes were on Vorontzoff.
Levelling his pistol at the Ambassador's heart, he said:

‘Your Excellency will oblige me by laying those sheets of paper down on this side of your desk and stepping back four paces. They are an illegal copy of a secret document addressed to the British Prime Minister. It is my duty to prevent you from reading them. If you refuse I intend to shoot you and, despite your status as Ambassador, I shall be upheld by my Government in having taken the only course possible in the circumstances. I mean what I say, and I will give you only five seconds to decide.'

As Roger began to count, Vorontzoff's brown face went whitish round the mouth and eyes. He had not forgotten their old quarrel and the ruthless way in which Roger had threatened him in the ice-house. He had not the faintest idea that for the next twenty-four hours Roger actually set more value on his life and well-being than on his own; and his guilty conscience caused him to believe that the young Englishman had found out about the part he had played in giving Sir Isaiah Etheredge pointers which would assist in Georgina's conviction, so meant to take this opportunity to kill him.

The Russian was no coward, but he thought he knew death when he saw it approaching. As Roger counted three he shrugged his broad shoulders, refolded the sheets of paper and leaning forward, laid them down on the far side of his desk.

From that instant everything seemed to move with startling suddenness.

*     *     *     *     *

Roger stepped forward to pick them up, but with a swish of her silken skirts, Natalia Andreovna ran in and snatched them from under his hand.

As he turned his pistol on her and demanded that she give them up, Vorontzoff grabbed a heavy paper-weight up from his desk and flung it at him.

The missile caught him on the ear, knocking him off his balance and half-stunning him for a moment. Before vorontzoff could get round his desk to hurl himself on him, Roger had recovered sufficiently to jump back a pace and level the pistol at his head.

The Ambassador stopped dead in his tracks; but Natalia, the papers still clutched in her hand, was now running towards the door. Roger hesitated only an instant. He must catch her and get them back before she had a chance to secrete them some-where about the house.

Thrusting Vorontzoff aside, he pelted after her, shouting: ‘Stop, damn you! Stop, or I'll shoot you.' But she already
had the door open and, ignoring his cries, dashed out into the hall.

The two footmen on duty were standing at its far end near the door of the vestibule. As she raced towards the stairs she screamed something at them in Russian. Instantly they sprang to life and ran at Roger.

Natalia was half-way up the semi-circular staircase when the three men met in a rush at the bottom. Roger had uncocked his pistol as he ran and, reversing it, now gripped it by the barrel like a club. His first blow with it caught one of the Russians on the side of the head and knocked him senseless. But the other grabbed him round the waist in a bear-like hug.

For a moment they swayed there, then Roger brought the metal-shod butt of his pistol down with all his force on the top of the man's white wig. With a groan he relaxed his hold and slid to the ground senseless.

Natalia was now up on the landing. Turning, Roger took the stairs three at a time in pursuit of her. Suddenly he heard Vorontzoff yelling in his rear: ‘Halt or I'll kill you! Stay where you are or you're a dead man!'

Roger had reached the curve of the stairs and had only to glance sideways to see the Ambassador ten feet below, now armed with a brace of pistols, both of which were pointing up at him. Ignoring the threat he leapt up another three stairs. There was a loud report and he was thrown sideways by a bullet smashing into the back of his left shoulder.

Swaying violently he mounted the last six stairs, just in time to see Natalia dive through a doorway on the opposite side of the landing. The door slammed behind her, momentarily drowning the shouts of Vorontzoff and half a dozen servants who had come running into the hall at the sound of the pistol-shot.

Dashing across the landing, Roger flung himself against the door through which Natalia had disappeared. At the impact the wound he had received gave him a frightful twinge but the door yielded slightly, so he knew that she must be holding it shut by leaning against it. Stepping back a few paces he ran at it, bringing up his right foot so that it should strike the door flat, like a battering-ram.

The door gaped open eighteen inches and, thrown off her balance, Natalia fell to the floor on its far side with a scream. Before she could get to her feet, Roger had forced his way through and grasped her by the wrist of the hand that held the papers.

Struggling up she clenched her other fist and hit him with it in the face with all her strength. The blow landed on his right eye. For a second he saw stars and whorls of red fire. As he
staggered back she tore her wrist from his grip and ran across the room to the window.

With a shake of his head, Roger recovered from the blow and went after her. In the darkness he collided with the end post of a bed and half-stunned himself. The check gave Natalia time to open the window. Darting through it she ran out on to the balcony and began to shout: ‘Here! Here! Count Vorontzoff! I have the letter! I'll throw it to you!'

Vorontzoff was no longer in the room below, as she thought, but crossing the landing as fast as his legs would carry him, followed hot-foot by his servants. Roger sprang across to the window and out on to the balcocy. At the sound of his trampling feet Natalia turned and faced him. In a last effort to prevent his snatching the letter she held it high above her head and leaned right back over the ornamental iron balcony railing.

Roger stretched out his hand to grab her, but it met empty air. To avoid his grasp she jerked violently backwards. The rusty iron railing gave way under the shock and she went hurtling head over heels down to the terrace.

For a second Roger swayed above the abyss, within an ace of pitching after her. No sooner had he regained his balance than he heard the sound of his pursuers crashing through the room behind him. Desperately he cast round for a way of escape. To his right he suddenly caught a faint glint of the first starlight on the big, shiny leaves of the magnolia tree.

To gain the few moments needed to scramble out on to it he had, somehow, to give a temporary check to the pursuit. Turning, he re-cocked his pistol and fired it blind through the open window into the darkness of the room. Then, thrusting the still-smoking weapon back into his pocket he knelt down, seized a stout branch of the magnolia and swung himself off the balcony.

The branch bent and nearly gave under his weight; but before it could snap he managed to get a hold on the thick, twisted trunk that was set firmly against the wall. Each time he had to take a part of his weight on his left shoulder it pained him so greatly that he felt as though his arm was being torn from its socket. Gritting his teeth against the pain he managed to slither down, hand over hand, to the terrace.

White-faced and trembling, he looked round for Natalia. After a second he saw her. She had fallen upon one of the stone seats and hung, face down, doubled up across its back.

Hurrying over to her, he lifted her up and supported her against the back of the seat. Every breath of wind had been driven out of her body. She could not speak but in the starlight her green eyes glared defiance and hatred at him. The copy of the letter was still clenched in her right hand. Between
agonised gasps for breath she made a last feeble effort to prevent his getting it; but he tore it from her and pushed it into his pocket.

Suddenly, as he strove to keep her from slipping to the ground, she was sick and vomited all over his feet. By this time Vorontzoff and his men had come out on to the balcony, and were peering down over the broken ironwork to see what was going on in the semi-darkness below them. The Ambassador levelled his second pistol and pulled the trigger; there was a crash, a spurt of flame and the bullet whistled past Roger's head.