Rebel Princess (20 page)

Other men had loved her. Saltykov, Poniatowsky, Narychkin, whose careless manner concealed a burning passion which had never been assuaged. But none of them were men like Orlov; money would never buy him, gentleness was a quality entirely lacking in his nature, unsatisfied devotion to a woman would have roused only his contempt and disbelief.

Every look, every smile that lit his handsome arrogant face, mocked her for evading the inevitable, and careless of Peter's spiteful glares in her direction, careless of watchful eyes and growing gossip, Gregory contrived to be forever at her side.

One evening the Grand Duke gave a masque: Catherine's excuse of a headache was violently disregarded and she was ordered to appear.

The Empress was in Peterhof, clinging obstinately to life and surrounding herself with the old court. In her absence Peter had planned an ominous revenge for Catherine's victory that night in St. Petersburg.

While Elizabeth lived the situation could not be altered, but few would mistake his intentions of future change after the night's entertainment.…

Catherine dressed with deliberate magnificence, sensing that her husband intended to place his mistress in the center of the stage and it behoved her to attract attention.

Vladyslava fastened a gown of deep black velvet over a wide hoop; it was edged with ermine and revealed a brocade petticoat, stiff and shimmering with silver embroidery, A heavy necklace of rubies glittered round her throat and sparkled from her ears and wrists. Her black hair was piled high and a black mask edged with diamonds covered half her face.

The waiting-woman looked after her mistress and shook her head. The gods had bestowed on her too many gifts: beauty, courage and brain. It would not be life as Vladyslava's long experience had proved it, if the possessor of them was not made to suffer in return.

The ballroom at Oranienbaum was small compared to the vast state rooms at Moscow and St. Petersburg, but on that night it resembled Elizabeth's glorious setting in miniature. The chandeliers blazed with candles dripping scented wax, liveried servants lined the walls and the Grand Duke's personal orchestra played from a dais at the end of the room. The apartment was filled with masked figures, glitteringly dressed, and among them the Grand Duchess in her black gown stood out as if in mourning. Peter was already drunk and his eyes were bloodshot behind the satin mask. He, too, watched that unmistakable figure, conspicuous in its funereal magnificence, and he cursed her repeatedly.

The Vorontzova was grotesque in cloth of gold, her ungainly person blazing with precious stones all clustered together without style or taste. She had never looked more the mistress and Catherine more the future Empress, which was not what the Grand Duke had intended at all.

Orlov had not troubled to disguise himself; the full dress of the Guards' artillery and a plain mask comprised his costume and he leaned against a long table drinking wine and watching the Grand Duchess.

There was something in the air; he sensed it in Peter's furtive, vindictive manner and the uneasy glances of his repulsive bed-fellow. Catherine was aware of it also; some strong undercurrent was present among that light-hearted company, and the rumors of a “surprise” during the evening did nothing to relieve her curiosity. She was sure of one thing; if Peter had had a hand in its inception, then the elements of the unpleasant and macaber were certain to be strong.

For some three hours they danced and drank, and Catherine looked on impassively while Peter led out a gavotte with Elizabeth Vorontzov. He had a mistress, and she had only to make one sign towards the man standing a few feet away with his eyes fixed on her and she could have a lover.…

Then at a sign from the Grand Duke the floor was cleared and chattering groups of courtiers assembled round the walls. This seemed to be the moment chosen by Peter for the highlight of his entertainment.

Catherine seated herself and opened her black lace fan. She knew the nature of Peter Feodorovitch too well to view this secrecy and preparation without misgivings of some kind.

The first part of the entertainment proved to be a concert; the Grand Duke had discovered a singer whose voice pleased his ear, and Catherine, whose musical appreciation had been ruined forever by those early ear-splitting recitals on the violin which had been her husband's favorite pastime under the Tchoglokov regime, sat listening to the performance in utter boredom. It seemed as if the lady's songs would never end, while the royal music lover sat there applauding vigorously.

But end they did, and Catherine watched with sudden interest while the lackeys prepared a stage, complete with items from the palace furniture, in the middle of the floor.

This then was Peter's surprise, a mummer show, and she leaned forward quickly as the players came into the room, made their bows before her husband and herself and took their places on the improvised stage.

Peter's orchestra played softly in the background, while the mummers enacted a domestic scene the nature of which caused Catherine's heart to beat with unaccustomed speed.

A husband and wife mimed their parts before the company, and the gilded crowns upon their heads proclaimed them to be no ordinary pair. It was gracefully done; indeed the actress taking the queen's role expressed the nature of the imaginary character in a way which left small doubt as to the personage's morals and demeanor.

Presently the lady's lover appeared upon the scene and, upon dismissal by the outraged husband, was swiftly replaced by another.

The room was suddenly very quiet, and Catherine's fan closed with a tiny snap.

With a swift pattering of feet, a troupe of mummer soldiers came running; they crowded the stage and laid stern hands upon the adulterous, protesting queen, while something like a murmur of horrified comment whispered through the assembled court. The orchestra had ceased playing and Catherine was aware of two things: Peter was leaning forward in his chair and not even the mask concealed the hate which contorted his features, and Gregory Orlov had moved in close behind her.

In absolute silence the Grand Ducal Court watched the miming of Catherine's rumored love affairs and the punishment which Peter had devised for them, until the mummer company came back, bowing before Peter, and knelt in homage with arms outstretched.

After a second's pause the Grand Duke rose to his feet, caught Elizabeth Vorontzov by the hand and walked with her towards the stage. Every drop of color drained from Catherine's face as he took the sham mummer's crown and placed it on his mistress's head.

Still there was silence until Peter himself turned towards the Vorontzova and began to clap. Then thunders of polite applause broke out, and the Grand Duke paused before his wife and glared down at her defiantly.

“I hope, Madame, that you enjoyed the play. I wrote it myself!”

Catherine looked up at him and her voice was harsh with anger.

“I congratulate you, Sir! But the authorship of a morality play befits you strangely—I consider your entertainment in false and questionable taste!” Dignity in such a situation would be merely weakness, and sufferance of that insult and all it implied to her was impossible.

Without another word she rose, swept her husband a frigid curtsy and walked swiftly down the room. The lackeys sprang forward and opened the doors for her, and before they swung to behind her, Catherine heard a buzz of voices rising in the ballroom.

Let them comment! Let Peter fume at her behavior! Let him arrest her now! As she mounted the staircase to her own apartments she discovered suddenly that she was crying. Her limbs were trembling and she leaned against the portals of her own door for support, shaken by a storm of nervous terror.…

“I think you dropped your fan, Madame.”

Catherine swung round and found him standing right behind her, noisless as a cat, her black fan in his hand.

“Thank you.… Count Orlov,” she whispered and, in a last attempt at composure, nodded and turned to open the door and go in. But his arm shot out and his fingers found the handle first, so that Catherine stood imprisoned between his body and the door which he held shut.

For a moment Gregory Olov looked down at her pale face, the tears streaming down her cheeks under the mask, and saw that her mouth trembled. Despite her height, she was small compared to him, a woman who had left that ballroom in a truly imperial rage only to weep with the weakness of her sex when out of sight, a woman humiliated and threatened in a way that made Orlov long to tear his Grand Duke limb from limb.

The victory was his and he knew it. She was alone and helpless and the strength which emanated from him was breaking her down; the corridor was deserted, it was the small hours, and in the laxness of Oranienbaum there was not a lackey in sight.

He gave her no time to cry out, even though he knew in his heart that she would not have done so.

His arms went round her in an embrace of crushing force and he bent her head back at the same moment, kissing her mouth, tasting the salt tang of her recent tears.

The frustrated passion of his long pursuit welled up in a furious tide streaked with tenderness and rage; in a haze he became aware that her hands had ceased to beat against him in a futile protest. They had entwined about his neck, and his great fingers sank into her shoulders as he felt her response.

For one brief moment Catherine almost fainted while a fire of longing enveloped her whole body and her consciousness wavered under the fierce strength of his embrace and the painful pressure of his kisses.

Then quickly he flung the door open and half lifted her inside. The room was in darkness except for a fire burning in the grate, and Vladyslava lay asleep in another room, waiting for her mistress's bell.

Orlov tore the mask from his eyes and ripped Catherine's away.

“Do you come to me of your own free will? Do you accept my protection from this day onward?”

With shaking hands Catherine tried to loose the ruby necklace which had been pressed into her skin in that wild encounter in the corridor; for a moment she could find no words for the tumult of emotions which possessed her. Accept his protection, live however briefly in the arms of a man who had stormed and taken her with the ruthless abandon of a marauding Cossack.…

“God help you, if you love me!” she panted. “After what you saw to-night—have you no fear?”

Orlov laughed and caught her in his arms; with a swift movement he tore the necklace from her throat. “I love you, Catherine; and believe me, I have no fear!”

The night hours ticked away and Vladyslava snored peacefully on her mattress in the disrobing room, undisturbed by the Grand Duchess's bell.

The grandson of the common soldier who had earned death for mutiny, and the daughter of the modest provincial German Prince of Anhalt lay in each other's arms, until it seemed to Catherine as if Orlov gave her death, and that they drowned in their own passion, only to rise above the seas as by a miracle, bruised, shattered, breathless, but alive.

Chapter 10

During the long hot afternoons at Oranienbaum, while Peter and the rest of the household slept or played cards in the high-shaded rooms, Catherine slipped out of her apartments and kept a daily rendezvous with her lover.

In the seclusion of the old Summer Pavilion, situated in the center of a large lake and screened by a wilderness of tree and bushes, Orlov waited for her, watching for the small boat, rowed by a taciturn boatman who accepted the roubles his pretty passenger gave him and asked no questions.

The pavilion was in disrepair, and had long ceased to be frequented by any who stayed at Oranienbaum; there was no safer place in the whole palace, and Catherine had managed to secure some furniture and a low couch for an inner room.

There Gregory received his mistress, and when the storm of their love-making had at length subsided, he would lie beside her on the ottoman, her dark head on his chest, and play absently with long strands of fine black hair, wondering what magic lay in her embraces that with each passing day and hour he loved and wanted her the more.

Love was an emotion new to his experience; physical passion was as natural and essential to him as the air he breathed, but women never roused in him the instincts of protection and concern. Once the mistress of the moment had left his arms, Orlov turned carelessly to other pleasurable pursuits, whether they were found at the card-table or on the battlefield.

But this woman was not one to be so dismissed.

Away from her or at her side, she obsessed his thoughts even as she dominated his desires. Catherine alone could satisfy him, and one fact only permitted his arrogant spirit to bear this servitude with patience. She was bound with bonds as fierce as those which shackled him. He had allowed no reservations, and the proud Grand Duchess, with her superior mind and veneer of culture, had been forced into abject surrender from which there was no possible return.

Gregory had mastered her and she loved him hopelessly. She loved him because he was coarse-tongued and honest, because he was brutal and masculine and in the grip of his own passions treated her with savage disrespect, because in his barbarian soul she knew he loved her in a primitive, uncomprehending way, and because in all his reckless life he had never known fear.

He was cruel and driven by ambition, pitiless towards the weakling or the coward, ruthless and quick-witted.

There were times when Catherine almost hated him for the way in which he read her thoughts, sensing the secret hopes of the succession which sometimes whispered across the surface of her mind when they were alone together. He knew her better than she knew herself and stripped the illusions of courtesy and charm from her character with laughter and contempt.

With him she practiced no diplomacy; she spoke her thoughts aloud and there was little difference between them when he voiced his own.

“I love you for four reasons, my Catrina,” he said one day. Catherine turned her head towards him and smiled.