Chapter 14
Peterkin came slowly back to consciousness and stretched happily, his gaze turning to the face beside him on the pillow. Truly, life was good. It had most certainly changed for the better the day Tanya had come into his life. He had thought she was an angel, and his opinion had really changed very little since.
She had rescued him from that fearful place that even now sometimes gave him nightmares and had indirectly been the cause of his good luck in being taken in by Count Dostoyevskiy. Now here he was today, with a good education, a place in life, and a new and beautiful wife.
His face clouded a little as he thought of how unhappy Tanya had looked lately, her usual glowing good health quite deserting her. He knew that women expecting babies had odd humours and was hoping that the mood would soon pass. Truth to tell, after the active, interesting life he had led with the Count, Peterkin was beginning to chafe at kicking his heels in this miserable town, with nothing to do but be a glorified nursemaid.
His face softened as he looked down at his young wife. Perhaps soon she would be in the same condition as Tanya, and he a father! He would make quite sure that he did not leave her alone when she was expecting his son! That, of course, was the cause of Tanya’s unhappiness. With the departure of the Count, all her vitality and zest for life seemed to have deserted her too.
If only he would return. If he travelled fast, was not delayed in any way, he might even be back in time for the birth of his child. Peterkin heartily disapproved of Tanya’s refusal to tell her husband of the child – could not understand it, although no doubt she had her reasons. It suddenly dawned on him that it would be highly unlikely that the Count would have left at all had he known, and that would have meant complete estrangement from his country and the Tsar.
Peterkin had always respected Tanya, but now she seemed to be so selfless that he felt humbled.
He slipped quietly out of the bed so as not to disturb Yvette and washed hurriedly in the pitcher of cold water, shivering. It was still very early, but somehow he felt unable to sleep. He dressed quickly and, slipping out of the door, made his way downstairs. He peered out of the window where a pale sun was struggling to penetrate the early mist. The snow was packed solid after the freezing temperatures overnight. After the heavy fall the previous day, the skies seemed to have cleared, and the virgin snow lay unspoilt and pristine.
His idle gaze fell on to the snow by the door, and he saw that someone had been out early, for there was a single set of footprints leading away in the direction of the village. He shivered and, turning away from the window, went back upstairs to his bedroom. Yvette was just awakening, and she smiled sleepily at him.
‘You are abroad early, my husband. Brrr, ’tis cold, the fire needs to be lit. If we wait for those lazy servants, we’ll freeze.’
Peterkin laughed. ‘I suppose that is a hint for me to do some work.’
He soon had a good fire going and stood warming himself before it. Yvette slipped out of bed and slid her arms about his waist, snuggling up to him.
‘Mmm, I’m so happy. I feel guilty really, being so happy when the mistress is missing her own husband so much. Do you know, I’m sure if she had told him she was expecting his child, he would never have left her. I don’t understand her at all.’
Peterkin smiled fondly down on the top of her dark head, reflecting how different the two women were. There was nothing self-sacrificing about his Yvette; she would fight tooth and nail for what was hers.
‘Do you know, love, I think Tanya must at this moment be feeling very lonely and lost – the wedding yesterday must have brought back such memories, it could not help but be painful to her. I think it would be a nice thought if you were to prepare some hot, sweet chocolate, as she likes it, and take it in to her.’
Yvette pouted up at him. ‘Sometimes I think you love her better than you do me,’ she said coquettishly but smiled to soften the words. ‘You are quite right, of course, my Peterkin. I’ll get dressed now and go and make some.’
She kissed him lingeringly, then laughed as his arms tightened around her.
‘No, no, I must go and make the chocolate. However, when I have taken it in, I’ll be back and . . .’ she giggled and kissed him again, then twisting out of his hold, fled to get dressed.
Some fifteen minutes later, she was back, her face white and frightened.
‘Peterkin, Peterkin, where are you?’
He emerged from the adjoining room, where he had been sorting through some papers.
‘Whatever’s the matter? You look as though you have seen a ghost!’ His voice sharpened suddenly. ‘Tanya?’ he cried. ‘Is she ill?’
Yvette would not have been human had she not felt a pang at the stark fear in his voice, but she pushed the thought away.
‘She’s not in her room,’ she whispered. ‘Her bed hasn’t even been slept in.’
Peterkin stood stock-still, his brain refusing to function. Where could she have got to? For a moment, he had the dreadful thought that perhaps she had been so unhappy that she had done something foolish, but he rejected the idea almost as soon as it was formed. Tanya was not of the ilk to take such a cowardly way out as that, to do anything that drastic. Then where could she have gone?
Without another word, he strode to Tanya’s room, Yvette hurrying behind. He cast a cursory glance around and crossed to the closet. All Tanya’s gowns were still there and the huge leather trunk she packed them all in. He looked down at his wife. ‘Is anything missing? Anything at all?’
She checked through the garments and shook her head. Then a sudden thought came to her.
‘The jewels!’ she cried and, throwing back the lid of the trunk, pressed a carving on the side. There was a click, and the bottom hinged up, revealing a large, empty cavity. Yvette gave a shriek.
‘We’ve been robbed. They’ve gone. The mistress couldn’t have taken them herself, they’d be too heavy for her to carry, especially in her condition. Why, when I struggled downstairs with them . . .’ She broke off, and a half-puzzled, half-frightened look crossed her face. She sat back slowly on her heels, a frown on her face.
‘What am I saying?’ she whispered. ‘I have never . . . and yet as I spoke, I remembered doing just that!’
She glanced fearfully round and crossed herself. ‘There’s devil’s work afoot here,’ she said hoarsely. ‘I’ve been bewitched, and the mistress has vanished.’
Her words hung in the air, and Peterkin felt the old, superstitious fear crawling over him for a moment, then he gave himself a shake.
‘Nonsense,’ he said shortly. ‘There must be a rational explanation.’
He thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. ‘Of course, the footprints in the snow,’ he cried. ‘She must have been restless and got up early, taken a walk. No, wait, the bed has not been slept in. So, I shall follow the footprints, see where she has gone. Yvette, you must think very, very carefully, try to remember what you did, what happened. I shall not be long.’
On those words, he ran back and got his cloak, then hurried downstairs. For a moment, he thought it would be no use, for the inn was stirring, and footprints churned up the snow in the yard as maidservants drew water and stable boys ran around tending the horses. But when he crossed the courtyard, he was relieved to see that no one, as yet, had left the inn, and he was able to follow the little footprints quite easily. They led straight through the village and made unerringly for the church standing on its own, set aside from the houses by the graves surrounding it. He arrived at the door and flung it open, expecting to see a figure perhaps kneeling in prayer, or even in a faint from the cold, but with a chill in his heart, he saw the place was quite empty.
He called out, his voice echoing round, mocking back at him. He felt another unreasoning fear, because although the footprints led up to the door, there was no second set leaving. Then he remembered the small side door at the other end of the church and ran over to it, pushing it open. The snow outside was churned, and several sets of footprints ran here and there. There was also a set of sled marks and hoof prints; there was no doubt that a vehicle had stood here and had made off to the north – towards Russia! For a wild moment he thought the Count must have returned, then cursed himself for a fool. This was not the way that Ivan would return for his wife. He gave a sudden exclamation as he noticed that something – or someone had been dragged across the ground, and there, half buried in the snow lay a black crucifix on a slender chain. How often had he seen it around Tanya’s slender white throat! She had been wearing it the first time he had ever seen her; he believed it to have been given to her by her mother. Now it lay, the chain snapped, only the unusual colour making it discernible. He bent and picked it up, staring down at it with a lump in his throat. There was no doubt that its owner had been forcibly taken from the church and abducted in the waiting vehicle. His mind seemed to have gone blank, and he stared unseeingly into the distance, drawing the chain uselessly through his fingers. Who could be responsible? He tried to think who would have any reason for taking such drastic measures, and for a moment, he thought of the King, but quickly dismissed the idea, for the simple reason that the tracks headed towards Russian soil. Tanya must have known whoever it was, because she had gone of her own free will to the church. What could have been her reason, and why had she not confided in him?
Peterkin gave himself a shake. It was no use standing here indulging in useless speculation. He must hurry back and get Yvette, pack up, and follow the trail. Even as he turned, he could see the snow clouds massing again on the horizon. It would soon be impossible to follow the tracks, and he did not even know who he would be following. With a set look on his young face, Peterkin turned on his heel and ran back the way he had come. He thought of the Count and the trust he had placed in him to look after his wife, and his heart went cold. Whatever happened, however long it took, he must find Tanya and restore her safely to her husband. The thought that he might already be too late could not help but intrude, but he pushed it resolutely away.
Yvette was awaiting him in their rooms, pacing up and down anxiously. Her face crumpled as he stuttered out his story, and she sank down, sobbing.
‘Oh Peterkin, Peterkin, what shall we do? I’ve been thinking and thinking about the jewel box, and I’m almost sure I can remember carrying it out of Tanya’s room and down the back stairs, but I cannot remember any more, try as I will. It’s as though my mind has a wall across it. The only other thing I can remember is too horrible – like something out of a nightmare – and I’m almost sure that it was, anyway.’
Peterkin paused his frantic pacing and looked at her frowningly.
‘Go on,’ he said sharply. ‘Anything may help. Tell me exactly what you can remember.’
‘Well, it’s nothing really. Just a face in a dream. The horrid thing is, it was such an evil face, distorted and ugly.’ She shuddered. ‘That’s all I remember – that and his awful eyes, getting bigger and bigger, until they seemed to swallow me up.’ She began to sob again.
Peterkin stared down at her, light dawning slowly in his eyes. ‘Oh God,’ he whispered. ‘It couldn’t be . . . and yet. If I thought . . . my God, she’s as good as dead – if not worse!’
Yvette stopped crying abruptly, staring up at him fearfully. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I want you to think very, very carefully,’ Peterkin said tensely. ‘This face, was it deformed about the eyes – one eye without a pupil, the other, cold and staring?’
Yvette shuddered, and nodded, looking at him in surprise. ‘Why yes, yes. How did you know?’
Peterkin slapped his fist into his palm. ‘So, that devil still lives! I might have known. How he got hold of you, or when, I don’t know, but it’s obvious he took over your mind in some devilish way. Quickly, down the stairs to the back door of the inn, where you think you went down. I want to check on something.’
They hurried downstairs, and Peterkin drew back the bolts on the door. A startled kitchen maid stared in bewilderment as he gave a cry, pointing to the telltale footprints that marred the snow there, then led away in the direction of the village.
‘He must have got you to bring him the jewels here, when he found out about them from you when he took over your mind. I always knew that that fiend was in league with the devil! What a lot of trouble he went to, to get her in his power. He can’t mean to kill her yet, he must have some awful plan, I don’t know what exactly, but if he has her in his clutches, there is no time to be lost. Just pack a bag of overnight things – a change of clothes, whatever you think we’ll need, and get all the money the Count left for Tanya. I’ve been keeping most of that, it’s at the bottom of my trunk. Thank goodness you didn’t know about that, or that might have disappeared too. I’m going down to the village to hire or buy a vehicle – whatever I can get. I’ll explain it all when we get under way.’
He disappeared out of the door, leaving Yvette staring after him in bewilderment. He managed to get a good, fast coach-sleigh and horses, rather small, but that was all to the better as they would be able to move more swiftly. Yvette, meanwhile, had packed everything she could into the big, leather trunks, determined to leave as little as possible. There was a spirited argument about this, as Peterkin did not want the heavy boxes to slow them down, and Yvette was most reluctant to leave all the beautiful gowns behind, but they reached a compromise and soon had the sleigh loaded up and ready to go. Peterkin paid their bill and parted with some of his precious money to make sure a message was sent to the Count’s Moscow residence, with the promise of more largesse when the message was delivered. Pleased with the speed with which they had made ready, they were soon driving out of the village at a spanking pace, Peterkin driving with Yvette beside him, snuggled up inside a big fur rug. They rounded the bend and picked up the trail as it led northwards, over the frozen landscape and on towards Russia. It was going to be a long, hard chase, but Peterkin was determined that nothing would stop him from finding Tanya and saving her from the terrible fate that undoubtedly awaited her at the hands of the evil Father Stevanov.
* * * *
Tanya groaned and tried to struggle upright, but curiously she seemed to have no strength. Her head felt as if it were on fire, and she was lying on something hard and uncomfortable. She moaned again and sank back into oblivion.
When next she awoke she felt slightly better, although still very sick and dizzy. She managed to raise herself up and realised she was on the floor of a moving vehicle. A violent pain shot through her head; then her memory came flooding back. Cold fingers clutched at her heart, and she retched weakly.
The dark figure sitting in the corner leaned forward.
‘Dear me, we seem to be a trifle indisposed.’
Tanya turned her head away, tears trickling from the corners of her eyes. Never in her life, not even at its worst moments had she felt so helpless, frightened, and alone. If only she had been at her full strength, she might have felt capable of fighting back, of escaping somehow, but in her present condition, she had no hope at all. All her fighting spirit, she intuitively knew, must go towards keeping herself and her baby alive. She was no fool, and knew that her position was desperate, but from what the priest had been saying to her, it seemed he was not going to kill her yet. If only she could keep herself and her baby alive until it was born, surely, surely, she would be rewarded by fate. If not, at least, she would have tried!
She pulled herself painfully up into the seat and leaned back, panting. She put her hands protectively over her belly and was relieved to feel the usual responsive kick. At least, no harm had come to her child. She speculated on her best approach towards the evil man opposite her.
She spoke, at last, in a low, trembling voice.
‘For pity’s sake, have you any water? If you wish me to bear this child, you must give me food and drink.’
‘Must?’ queried the hateful voice. ‘I must do nothing. However, what you say is true. We shall not be stopping to eat or sleep, as I am eager to return to what I must at present refer to as home. However, my servant will replenish the food store when and where he can. Here is bread.’
He opened a wicker hamper at his feet and pulled out a crust of black bread, which he flung towards her. ‘Here is a water bag. Make it last, it’s all you’ll get for a while.’
The bread was stale and hard, but Tanya ate every crumb before he changed his mind. She washed it down with a draught of water, then was forced to sit and watch Father Stevanov gorge himself on chicken legs, sweet white bread, and large quaffs of what looked like cherry vodka. He then leaned back with a satisfied sigh and idly ate from a bowl of sweetmeats.
Tanya’s heart sank as she realised that this was the treatment she could expect from now on. How far he was taking her, of course, she had no idea; indeed, she did not even know in what direction they were heading. As far as she could see, she had no hope of help, for Peterkin would have not the faintest idea what had happened to her. In fact, when he saw her jewels were gone, he might even think she had run away. And if Yvette was indeed a spy of Stevanov’s – although even now every thought rebelled against the idea – then she would almost certainly prevent him, one way or another, from any pursuit.
Her thoughts automatically turned to Ivan, and pain washed through her. She had deliberately tried to keep from thinking of him after the awful shock of Stevanov’s disclosures of the previous night. Somehow the thought of Ivan riding off to the war frightened her almost as much as the fact that he no longer loved her. How shallow must his love be to falter at the first hurdle – and yet, when she thought detachedly about it, something somewhere did not ring true. From whom had Ivan received the news that she was pregnant? From whom had he unhesitatingly accepted the fact that the child was not his? Indeed, he would be more than likely to throttle whoever had been misguided enough to try to tell him such a thing. Suddenly, she felt ashamed at herself for believing this evil man. True, she had not been herself, but she should have known better. She remembered the look of love that had shone from Ivan’s eyes before their parting, and a warm glow began to pervade her body. She closed her eyes, feeling faint with relief. Stevanov had lied – he must have lied! He would go to any lengths to break her, and he had tried to undermine her faith and love for those dearest to her. Of course, he had lied about Yvette too; there was no way she could have been a spy for him! How he had found out all her closest secrets she couldn’t imagine, but being the man he was, he would no doubt have his methods. She could only hope that Yvette or Peterkin had not been harmed. Surely, by now, Peterkin could not have failed to, at least, send word to Ivan, and surely then help would arrive. He would move heaven and earth to find her and then this nightmare would be over, and she would be safe in his arms again.
This was the thought that was to sustain Tanya during the weeks to come – weeks that merged into months as the nightmare journey continued. Tanya was given the minimum needed to keep her alive, but she became dreadfully thin and wasted. She was submitted to many indignities, although Father Stevanov never touched her, other than the odd blow, or push. In all the weeks of travel, she was only allowed outside the coach when she needed to relieve herself and was then given no privacy. The initial humiliation soon faded, as all else faded but the desperate fight for survival, and sometimes for sanity!
Whenever necessity dictated that the horses be changed, Tanya had to submit to being roughly gagged and bound, and as the priest hated the sunlight, the heavy curtains that covered the windows were never pulled back, and she did not even get a glimpse of any of the posting houses. She was given no facilities for washing, and her clothes were filthy and her skin, crawling. If she had been given the opportunity to see herself, she would have been horrified at her appearance, but no such offer being made she was at least in ignorance of the fact and, indeed, could hardly raise herself from her habitual apathy to consider her appearance.
At last, one cold, snowy night, the journey came to an end. The huge, brutish-looking man who was Father Stevanov’s driver and general servant had to carry Tanya from the coach, as she was too weak to walk. Although she was unsure how much time had passed since her abduction, she was sure in herself that the birth of her child was not far off, although so thin had she become that she looked smaller than she had in her sixth month.
If Tanya had been hoping for better conditions, she soon discovered her mistake. The priest’s house was not much more than a large crumbling tower, obviously the only part left of some larger structure. The ground floors had been made tolerably comfortable, Tanya noted, but they were obviously not intended for her. Her tormentor had her carried up to the highest room, which consisted of round, cold stone walls running with damp, a stone floor strewn with rotting straw, and a low pallet pushed against one wall, covered by a thin, dirty blanket. Upon this unsavoury bed, Boris, the loutish manservant, unceremoniously dumped the unfortunate girl. Too weak to move, she lay staring up at the hateful face above her.
‘So, Tanya, not perhaps what you are used to, but home for you. Your last home, and the only one your child will ever know. The weeks grow less – soon I shall have my revenge – soon now.’
On these words, he left, the heavy door swinging shut, and three bolts shot home on the other side. Despair in her heart, Tanya lay where she had been dropped as his words seemed to echo around the cold, stone walls. Perhaps this was her punishment for all the deaths she had caused – inadvertently or otherwise. How slender the hope that help would arrive – indeed, it seemed, at that dark moment, impossible that anyone could ever find this isolated place. That she was in Russia she was almost certain, from the occasional glimpses of the countryside she had had, and equally certain that she was somewhere in the far north, for surely spring could not now be far away, but there was no sign of it here, the days were short and very cold. Time was running out, and assuming that they were indeed searching for her, the chances of Ivan or anyone else finding this place in the time she had left were remote. This meant that somehow she must use what resources she could and try to escape by herself. A sob escaped her at the thought, for she was too weak even to move, her baby was due very shortly, and she was locked fast in a prison from which there could be no escape. What hope had she? Time was short, far too short.
Nevertheless, the next few days seemed more like years to Tanya. She saw very little of Stevanov, although he came to check on her occasionally, and to gloat, but she would shut her eyes and mind to him, and he seemed to tire of this and left her in peace. At first, she had been relieved to see that Boris had a wife and that the woman was to wait on her needs – which she did by slapping down her meagre rations and emptying her slop pail. Any hope of an ally, however, swiftly abated. Old Olga was, if possible, surlier than her unprepossessing spouse and spoke in a coarse dialect that was almost incomprehensible to Tanya. The one relief that remained was that however little she might relish her company, she was at least a woman and therefore would be indispensable when her time came.
Her baby had become still over the last day or so, and Tanya was beginning to fear that something had gone wrong when one night, she was awakened by a cramping pain low in her stomach. She lay awake, staring around the moonlit room until a second pain told her that at last her baby was ready to be born. Into what sort of world it was arriving remained to be seen. Soon the pains were growing steadily worse, and Tanya began to call for help, weakly at first, then soon she was screaming out her need.
With a flood of relief, she saw the stocky figure of Olga bending over her, then everything faded with the next wash of pain.
With the old woman’s capable help, the birth was surprisingly quick, and soon the grimy walls were reverberating with the urgent, hungry cries of a new life. Not even her dreadful predicament stopped the flood of joy she felt as she took her son in her arms. She had been certain all along that the child would be a boy, and as she looked down at the crumpled, angry little face, a fierce, protective love swept over her. How was she to look after her child in her weak condition? She was helpless to even tend her child’s needs, let alone plan any kind of escape. Was it possible that this tiny life was going to be snuffed out almost as soon as it had begun? This was Ivan’s son, a part of them both; somehow, somehow she must protect him. Tanya was sure of one thing, if she really did have to watch her son being murdered, she would lose what little sanity remained to her, which would no doubt be a merciful release!
Olga had started a fire in the tiny grate to boil water, and the room had begun to warm up. Tanya had been lying in the icy cold for so long, she had forgotten what it was like to be warm, although the fact that she had been allowed to keep her fur-lined cloak had undoubtedly saved her life – with that and the blanket, she had contrived to keep her body temperature away from the danger level, although her hands and feet were permanently numb with cold.
The fire burned up, and Olga boiled some more water and gave Tanya a cursory wash down and sponged the wailing baby clean.
‘Put it to the breast,’ she advised suddenly, in a surprisingly clear voice. ‘Milk won’t be through, but it will be a comfort.’
She then covered Tanya over again, and looked at the baby, saying gruffly, ‘It’s a fine boy.’
Tanya looked at her in surprise, then took her hand and thanked her in her low, sweet voice for her help in bringing her son into the world. The woman looked half surly and half gratified and, pulling her hand away, went out of the room, returning shortly with a bowl and mug. She looked a little frightened at her daring and thrust them towards Tanya, with a swift look over her shoulder.
‘Eat,’ she ordered. ‘No one will come in tonight, I think.’
‘Wait,’ cried Tanya as she turned to go. ‘Please, can you tell me what day this is? I must know my child’s birthday.’
‘It wants two days to May day,’ replied the woman and, still looking scared-stiff, scuttled out.
Tanya picked up the bowl and, to her astonishment, saw it contained a large quantity of a thick, tasty-looking stew, no doubt the fare being enjoyed downstairs. She scooped it out avidly with her fingers, for she had nothing else. It was delicious, and Tanya ate ravenously. The mug contained hot milk laced with vodka – goat’s milk by the taste. She drained it to the last drop, then wiped round the bowl with a piece of bread left from when she had been too weak to eat it.
With a contented sigh, she lay back on the bed, feeling the strength returning to her undernourished body. For the first time for months, she had a full stomach and felt properly warm. How basic, really, are the human needs – food, warmth, and shelter. She felt more like her old self, although the feeling would soon pass, she had no doubt.
Her son began to cry again, and remembering the old woman’s advice, she opened her dirty dress, then looked with disgust at her filthy skin. The remains of the water the woman had used was still nearby the bed, so she dragged herself over to it and managed to sponge herself down a little. She then placed the tiny head against her breast, where he nuzzled hungrily. For the first time for days, she felt able to think a little. She had already decided to call her son Nicholas, in remembrance of her dear friend who had given his life for her. It was the least she could do, and if her son grew up with just half the qualities of the big-hearted Swede, he would be a fine man, indeed. At the thought, a sob escaped her, for what chance would her son have to grow up?
Tired out now, Tanya wrapped herself and the baby in her cloak, pulled the blanket over her feet, and sank into a deep, dreamless sleep.
She was rudely awakened a few hours later at daybreak by the cloak being snatched away from her. Father Stevanov stood glaring down at her.
‘Who gave you these?’ he shrieked, pointing to the empty bowls. ‘Who dared? Did that old hag light the fire too?’
Tanya sat up, collecting her thoughts swiftly. If she was going to keep Olga as an ally, she must cover for her. She stared up at him sullenly.
‘You’re jesting, I suppose,’ she whispered weakly, making her voice sound fainter than need be. ‘The bitch took great delight in eating her supper in here, right under my nose – and me too weak to move.’
He looked uncertain. ‘Hmm. But she had no right to light the fire.’ It sounded pettish, even to him.
‘The babe would have died of cold otherwise,’ Tanya shrugged, ‘and I understand that is not what you wish, at present.’
‘Yes, yes, all right,’ he muttered. ‘So the boy is born, eh? Ha, and his father will never set eyes on him, never. He will suit my purpose admirably – will be the culmination of months of planning. I need a child for the ceremony I am going to perform in less than two weeks’ time. The date must be right – the hour, then my master will hear my voice and raise me up to the heights I am meant for, but my master needs blood – virgin blood. That, your son will provide. You will provide additional power. I shall take your body, then your life. But first, you shall watch me slit your son’s throat. With two blows, I shall revenge myself on you and, at the same time, bring such power down on myself as you, with your puny little mind, could not even imagine. Soon, soon I shall be in my rightful place, power shall be mine.’
H