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The bruise on my cheekbone had faded now to a faint mauve shadow that was barely discernible. I had been unconscious

for hours, awakening to find myself in a moving carriage. The journey from St. Petersburg had taken three long days. Although I was a prisoner, my carriage zealously guarded by Vladimir and another of Orlov's men, I had been treated with cold politeness, all of my needs tended to promptly. Upon arrival here, I had been shown to my quarters and given free reign of the property. The servants treated me like an unwanted but privileged.

guest, mystified by my presence and even more mystified by the conduct of their master-who had gone quite mad.

Count Gregory Orlov spent almost every waking hour downstairs in the great, gloomy drawing room in the front of the house, just off the great, gloomy hallway with its dark staircase winding up to the second floor. In front of a roaring fire, surrounded by shadows and delusions, he drank bottle after bottle of vodka and rambled to himself and to the shadows, yelling loudly at times, at times sobbing pathetically. Vladimir tended to him as he might tend to an infant, taking him food which remained largely uneaten, supplying him with bottles, taking him upstairs to bed when he finally lapsed into a drunken stupor. Orlov had moments of lucidity, but they were rare. Most of the time he had no idea where he was, what was real or what was a figment of his haunted brain.

He had not touched me since that dreadful night at the Marble Palace when he discovered Lucie had gone. He had not once spoken with me. He would decide upon a punishment fitting for what I had done to him, he had informed Vladimir, but had plunged into the abyss of madness and, except for those few rare moments, was not even aware of my presence. Vladimir was waiting for instructions, waiting patiently for Orlov to tell him what to do with me. In the meantime I wandered about the dark, brooding house with its ponderous furniture and threadbare rugs-there was no elegance here, no opulent display of wealth, the place was ableak and neglected mausoleum. More often, I wandered about the grounds as I did now, plotting the escape they deemed impossible.

Vladimir watched me from the distance as I walked over the snow in my topaz velvet gown and dark brown fur cloak. Surprisingly enough, all of my things had been packed and brought along, so I was able to dress warmly.

Ignoring the distant sentinel, I strolled slowly, my heels crunching on the hard snow, and after a while he went back into the house. How long would it be before Count Orlov had a brief lucid spell, remembered his grievances against me, and told Vladimir to kill me or ... or worse?

His twisted, perverted mind might well devise some horrible torture, some hideous fate that would make death seem a welcome relief. I knew that, and I did not intend to wait around.

A woman alone, without transportation, would have no chance of surviving in this country, that was quite true, but I did not intend to be alone, nor on foot. During these past two and a half weeks I had made allies, and I had made several plans. If Mitya and Grushenka were able to do their parts, the three of us might well beIeaving tonight.

Casually, taking my time in case Vladimir might be watching from one of the windows, I strolled back toward the house and then, without apparent purpose, circled around it toward the back. I passed the barracks with the cobbled yard in front where Orlov's cossacks warmed themselves by fires and consumed vodka. They paid no attention as I wandered on past the other outbuildings, finally reaching the stables.

An overpowering smell of mud, manure and horseflesh

. assailed my nostrils as I stepped into the stables. Horses neighed, stamping in their stalls, impatient for their ration of oats. The rough flagstone floor was littered with damp hay. The ceiling was low, and it was dark and shadowy inside, only a few rays of sunlight stealing through cracks in the rough wooden walls. How I missed Natasha.

She had been left in the stables in St. Petersburg, along with several more horses. Did she miss me and Vanya?

And Vanya. . where was he? He had fled into the night, badly wounded. How bad had his wounds been? Was he all right? I would probably never know, and that saddened me.

Passing the stalls, I came to the enormous room where oats and harnesses and various supplies were kept, an open hayloft above. A shaft of sunlight fell across the huge pile !Jfhay beneath the loft, leaving the rest of the room deep in shadow, a black and gray cave. I smelled rotting leather, rust, dried sweat. Chickens squawked, running loose. Hay sprinkled down from the loft, and then a huge heap came tumbling down. The prongs of a pitchfork glittered above. There was a rustling noise, movment, a loud grunt, then another heap of hay fell onto the pile below.

"Mitya?" I called quietly.

A heavy rope came swinging down from the rafters like

, a vine, and a moment later the tall, husky groom came shimmying down out of the gloom. I saw a pair of muddy boots emerge into the shaft of sunlight, then long legs in worn brown cord breeches, a powerful torso covered with a coarse, soiled white shirt, then a head capped with thick, unruly brown hair. The rope swung to and fro.: flying wildly as Mitya dropped to the ground. He brushed hay from his broad shoulders and rested his hands on his thighs, glaring at me with a sullen expression.

"I wait for you," he said gruffly. "I send the other two grooms away to soap the saddles so they will not be here when you come, and I wait for you. I begin to think you are not coming."

"I couldn't just leave the house and come directly to the stables. Vladimir is always watching me. I had to stroll about and-and more or less wander to the stables to see the horses. He knows I love horses. He won't think anything amiss. We have to be discreet, Mitya."

"What does this word mean-this 'discreet?' "

"It means careful."

He nodded sternly. "Yes, it is important to be careful. I am very careful last night when I slip away and go to the village to see Aloyosha Fyodorovich. No one sees me leave.

No one sees me come back."

"Did-is he going to help us?"

"He is very cautious. Where does this rough stableboy who smells of manure get all these gold pieces, he wants to know. He is most suspicious. He does not want trouble brought upon his house."

. "What did you tell him?"

"I tell him a very grand lady pays me to help her and gives me these gold pieces to buy a sleigh and horse. I tell him you are running away to meet your lover and this he understands, but he wants to know more. I tell him I will deal with him or I will go to Alexy Petrovna in the next village and deal with
him
and Alexy Petrovna will pocket all this gold. Aloyosha Fyodorovich agrees to help us then."

"He will provide the horse and sleigh?"

Mitya nodded again. "It will be waiting for us in the clearing just beyond the east woods. I give him half of the gold pieces and tell him he will have the rest when we reach the clearing and find he has brought the horse and sleigh. He is said to be an honest man, but it is better to trust no one when there is gold involved."

Obtaining transportation had been my first concern.

There was absolutely no way we could steal one ofthe troikas or sleighs or carriages here and harness the horses without alerting the cossacks and guards. Mitya had informed me that a horse and sleigh might be obtained from a man he knew of in the village, but it would cost much money. Getting the money had been simple, as Orlov kept a safe here.

"You did well, Mitya," I said.

Mitya scowled. He was only nineteen years old, but he looked much older with his sullen mouth and broad, flat cheekbones and humped nose. Brown eyes glared at the world with a hostile glow beneath arching brows. They grew tender only when he looked at Grushenka. When he was with Grushenka the animosity disappeared and this harsh, surly youth became gentle and playful. They were in love and their future held no promise, he a stableboy, she a maid in the big house, but that was changed now.

The gold I had deftly stolen from the safe two nights ago would not only pay for the horse and sleigh, it would enable Mitya and Grushenka to make a new start once we safely reached St. Petersburg.

Chickens squawked, pecking at the hay.·A door opened in the other part of the stables. Mitya cocked his head..

"You must leave," he said gruffly.

"Tonight, then?" I asked.

"Tonight, after everyone has gone to sleep. I will meet you and Grushenka outside the kitchen door. You must steal a gun."

"A gun?"

"This we must have. This I cannot buy. The wolves," he said.

"I –I see."

"You steal the gold easily enough," he told me. "It should not be difficult for you to steal this gun. Ammunition, too. You know about this?"

His brusque, surly manner was both rude and irritating.

Mitya vehemently detested all aristocrats, the oppressors of his kind, and he considered me one of them. He didn't trust me, wasn't at all sure this wasn't all some kind of elaborate trap. Had it not been for Grushenka, he would never have agreed to help.

"I know that a gun is virtually useless without ammunition,"

I replied, somewhat tensely.

He scowled at me and nodded impatiently toward the door as clumping footsteps approached. I opened the creaking wooden door and stepped out into the sunshine as the other two grooms joined Mitya beneath the hayloft.

Pigs were squealing in one of the pens nearby. Two of the cossacks were arguing loudly. I strolled past their campfires, ignored. The cobbled yard was littered with the shards of broken bottles. Bored, restless, the cossacks were resentful of this sudden relocation to the somber north country and uneasy about their master's peculiar conduct.

They were unhappy about their accommodations as well.

The flimsy wooden barracks were falling apart and freezing cold. The food was abominable. Orlov's elegant, temperamental chef had flatly refused to go to the north, and the slovenly cook who occupied the kitchens here produced wretched meals that could barely be called edible.

Entering the house through one of the back doors, I passed through a dusty hallway filled with rotting saddles and crumbling boxes and discarded furniture, and then I proceeded up the narrow passageway that ran alongside the main staircase and led into the enormous front hall. I paused, listening to the unnerving chanting noise coming from the drawing room. His voice low and rumbling, Gregory seemed to be repeating some woeful litany broken by sobs. I shuddered, folding my arms around my waist.

The drawing room door opened. Vladimir stepped into the hall. I caught a glimpse of Orlov sprawled out in the large leather chair in front ofthe blazing fire, his arms and legs hanging limp, lifeless. His face was haggard, pale, dark mauve shadows under haunted eyes. Vladimir closed the door and looked at me in the glow of the cheap wax candles that filled the air with a noxious smell. You are responsible for this, his dark eyes told me. You will pay. I stood my ground, defiant, meeting that glaring accusation with haughty composure, and he finally curled his lip savagely and moved on to fetch another bottle of vodka.

A gun. I had to steal a gun. There was a whole shed full of rifles, ammunition, and powder in back, attached to the barracks, but there was no possible way I could break into it. As disorganized and undisciplined as they were, the cossacks kept a guard posted in front of the armory, and several of them were invariably underfoot. There must be a gun somewhere in the house, I reasoned, but where? Hearing footsteps on the stairs, I turned. Grushenka came down, glancing nervously toward the drawing room.

"The-the count is in a very bad way, isn't he?" she said.

"I'm afraid so, Grushenka."

The girl crossed herself. "We are very afraid, all of us.

The priest in the village says a demon has possessed Count Orlov. He says the demon is angry and may fly out and possess us too if we are not faithful. Old Mathilda hasn't slept a wink since the demon appeared. She does not wash the linens as she is supposed to do. She spends all her time in the basement room praying in front of her painted wooden icon."

Vladimir came back into the hall with a new bottle of vodka. He glared at us before going back into the drawing room. Grushenka crossed herself again as he closed the door behind him.

"That one, he has a demon inside him, too."

"I must talk to you, Grushenka. Come, let's go into the back hall."

"Did-did you speak to Mitya?" she asked.

I nodded. "We will be leaving tonight."

Grushenka wrung her hands, extremely apprehensive as we walked back to the dusty hallway with its litter. Tall and slim, with enormous gray eyes and thick wheatcolored hair worn in a long braid that fell heavily between her shoulder blades, Grushenka was seventeen years old, a shy, sweet-natured girl who could neither read nor write.

I had sensed at once that she might be a possible ally, but it had taken me days to win her over. When finally I learned of her love for Mitya and their dreams of a future together, I had promised to help her make those dreams come true if she and Mitya would help me get back to St.

Petersburg.

She had been reluctant at first, but I had finally won her trust, and she had brought Mitya around.

"I –I am so afraid," she said now, glancing around the room.

"There's nothing to be afraid of," I lied.

"They will come after us."

"Undoubtedly," I replied, "but if we leave tonight we will have at least ten hours' head start before they discover we've gone. We'll avoid all the main roads, and when we reach St. Petersburg we'll go directly to the British embassy."

"St. Petersburg is so far away. I-I've never been farther than the village."

"Mitya will be with you, Grushenka. You'll have many gold pieces. You'll be able to begin a whole new life."

"This-this does not seem possible," she said quietly. "I still cannot believe it. All my life I must work very hard for others, get up before dawn, take out the slops, take orders and abuse. It is the same for Mitya. He must bow and obey and work from dawn to dusk for others, and we are the lucky ones. At least we do not starve like many from my village who do not work at the big houses."