Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (36 page)

But harried though those weeks were, it was at night, lying
on her pillow in a state of absolute exhaustion, with only the
throbbing of her heartbeat to keep her company, that she
realized how truly lonely she was.

Schmarya had still not contacted her by March.

It would soon be nearly two months since she had seen him
last. But her days were too gruelling, and sleep so precious,
she spent little time lying awake.

Then on the night of the nineteenth of March, Olga Botkina
became
ill,
and Senda, as her understudy, took over her role
at the Théâtre Français for the remainder of the St. Petersburg
season.

Overnight, she was adulated by critics and audiences alike.
It was the greatest event of her life.

And the most memorable, it would turn out, for on the night of her greatest triumph onstage, she had to share the headlines
with Schmarya.

At precisely the same moment that Senda took her last
curtain call, ten sticks of dynamite exploded across the Neva
at the base of the Troitekoi Bridge.

The resulting explosion killed no one and the bridge survived the blast, but Count Kokovtsov's spies had seen to it
that the secret police waited in ambush. They killed every
anarchist but Schmarya, and as it turned out, his dead friends
had been lucky.

Chapter
15

The Prince was impatient. It was not patently obvious, but
Count Kokovtsov had learned to recognize the symptoms: the
irregular tic in his cheekbones, the shortened attention span,
the set frown on his face. Finally, the intensity of the
impatience took a blatant, uncharacteristic turn: Vaslav Danilov moved to the windows overlooking the drive and parted the curtains. A reedy sigh escaped his lips.

'She will soon be here,' the Count assured his cousin confi
dently. He was sitting comfortably in an armchair sipping his
tea from a delicate Sèvres cup.

'I am beginning to wonder,' the Prince said slowly. He
turned away from the window and took a seat. 'She is not like
the others.'

'Unpredictable though she may be, you should bear in mind
that she is nevertheless a woman. And women tend to follow
their hearts. Their emotions.'

'Perhaps she did not see the newspapers?'

'That is highly unlikely. After all, yesterday was her debut performance at the Théâtre Français. Since she is an actress, and actresses seize upon the critics' every word, she is sure to have scoured the reviews. Actresses are like moths drawn to
the flame of publicity.'

'Perhaps she cares more for her craft than what is written
about her.'

'Nevertheless, there is no way she can miss the headlines.
They scream at you from every kiosk and shop. Under ordi
nary circumstances, the item might have been buried. Unrest,
bombings, and assassination attempts have become so com
monplace that it is beneficial for us to bury such items to
keep the general public from getting ideas. Luckily, we can
influence the major newspapers in this town, so it was easy to
splash her brother-in-law's name across the headlines.'

'Still, why should she come to me?'

'Really, Vaslav.' Count Kokovtsov laughed softly. 'Since I
have seen to it that she will get no answers at the prison, she has no choice. You are the only person in a position to help
her. She will turn to you.'

At that moment there was a soft knock at the door. Both
men turned to face the majordomo. 'Excuse me, your High
ness, but something . . . well, highly irregular has occurred.
A young woman has come to call, without an appointment or
even a calling card. She said you would see her.'

'Indeed. It would not be Madame Bora, by any chance?'

The majordomo looked surprised. 'Yes, your Highness.'

'In that case, send her up,' the Prince said. He turned to his
cousin, who could barely mask his triumph. 'I will see you
later, Mordka. I want to be alone with her.'

The Count nodded lugubriously. 'Of course.' He put down
his cup and saucer, rose to his feet, and left the room.

Several minutes later, Senda was shown into the study by the majordomo. Hearing her arrive, the Prince rose and
advanced toward her. 'Madame Bora,' he said, feigning sur
prise. 'What a pleasure that you should visit!'

'Your Highness,' Senda murmured in a lacklustre voice, her
fingers twisting the thin silver ring on one hand in agitation.

'Please, have a seat.' He waved toward the armchair Count
Kokovtsov had vacated only minutes before and waited until
she was seated before he sat in the facing chair. 'May I offer
you something? Tea, perhaps?'

She shook her head. 'No,' she said hoarsely, 'thank you.'

He studied her dull, downcast eyes and pale, pinched
features. It was unusual of her to look anything less than radi
ant, and the compassion he felt for her was genuine. Such a pity, he thought, that this luminous creature should look so
miserable. And misery it was. The serene spirit and vivacity natural to her were subdued, so that there was a quiet resignation in her eyes, red-rimmed and hollow now, and a slack
droopiness to her usually defined, firm full lips. Creases which
had never lined her flawless face lined it now, more than hinting at a tragic futility and inner turmoil, and the refractions of
light in her jewel-like eyes had bleared, causing the emeralds to become dull pinpoints of opaque glass. She looked vulner
able as only the most defeated can look vulnerable, and there
was a kind of wild desperation and pent-up helplessness under
lying it all. She had the look of a woman at the end of her
tether.

He moved his chair closer. 'You do not look well,' he said
gravely.

She turned to him sharply, her body tensed, as if preparing for a high-pitched battle, but she sighed and seemed to crum
ple within herself. 'No, I suppose I don't.' She met his gaze
directly. 'Something . . . terrible has happened.'

'But I heard you had a great success last night. All St. Petersburg
is talking.'

'Are they?' She sighed again, twisting the ring some more.
She had all but forgotten her triumph the previous night.

'Would you like to tell me what is wrong?'

She nodded, tucking her chin into her chest. 'I know it is
forward of me to have come.'

'Ah, but you are always welcome here. I thought I made
that quite plain.'

'But I have no right to come and beg favours of you.'

'On the contrary,' he said expansively, lighting a cigarette and exhaling a plume of smoke. 'You don't strike me as the type of woman who begs. You ask, perhaps, but beg? No, I
don't believe so. You have too much pride for that.' He paused
and added cunningly, 'Nor do I believe you would ask for a
favour without returning it in kind. You are the type of person
who always pays her debts.'

She smiled bleakly and turned her face up to his. 'If I had
elsewhere to go, your Highness.'

He shook his head. 'Vaslav,' he interrupted softly. 'In pri
vate you need not address me formally. You must call me
Vaslav.'

She inclined her head, frightened by his easy familiarity,
but not showing it. Far more frightening things preyed on her
mind.

'Now, what is it that I can do for you, Senda?' he asked
softly.

'Your power and influence . . .' she began in a laboured voice, then stopped. 'I'm afraid not even they can help me.'

'That remains to be seen.' He smiled encouragingly. 'It may
sound egotistical of me, but I like to think that I wield quite a
lot of both.'

She cleared her throat and swallowed. 'It concerns my
brother-in-law, Schmarya. Perhaps you have seen today's
newspapers?'

He shook his head. 'Not yet,' he said. Which, he reflected,
was the truth.

'
Then you cannot know that he has been imprisoned.'

He stared at her. 'I see,' he said at last, sitting back and
booking thoughtful. He rubbed his chin with his thumb and
forefinger. 'And the charges?'

Her voice was a stiff, hollow whisper. 'Treason.'

'What!' He cringed. 'Good Lord. Tell me what happened.'

Senda quickly related what she knew.

'I will see what I can do,' he said slowly. 'But it will be very
difficult, even for me. Larceny . . . rape, if a member of the nobility was not the victim . . . murder, even, are one thing.
But treason! Surely you must know that the automatic penalty
for treason is death?'

Senda moaned, her face going from pale to chalky white.
'Please!' She reached for his sleeve and dug her fingers into his
arm. 'Help him, I beg of you!' She shook his arm desperately.

He continued to stare at her silently.

'You have to understand,' she babbled quickly. 'Schmarya
is misguided. There were others. He wasn't alone. And he
never,
never
meant to hurt anyone!'

'Did he?'

She stared. 'I really don't know.' She shut her eyes against the ugly thought, signed hopelessly again, and slumped, once
more collapsing within herself. 'Then you think it is hopeless,'
she murmured in a monotone.

'I don't want to get your hopes up, but nothing is ever
entirely hopeless. I have arranged for pardons before.'

'Then you
will
help!' she said eagerly.

He raised a hand to silence her. 'Please hear me out. As a
rule, pardons are expensive, but not impossible.'

'I will repay you,' she blurted. 'I don't care what it costs, or
if it takes the rest of my life!'

'Yes, yes,' he said gently. 'But we are talking about
treason.
You must remember, the political situation being what it is
today . . . well, needless to say, it's an uncomfortable situ
ation under even the best of circumstances. And the last few
months . . . well, the powers that be are going to scream for
his blood.'