The Brigadier's Daughter (10 page)

‘And a piece of fruit cake, if there is any.'

‘I'm sure the cook can rustle up something. Come on, let's get you back to the cabin.'

 

That evening Sasha dressed for dinner, wearing a dark burgundy gown with velvet bodice and satin skirts that had been designed for Georgia, an elegant masterpiece that rustled seductively as she moved. When she walked into the officers' dining salon, on Reid's arm, a round of soft applause from the officers' gloved hands echoed about the small room. The Captain himself hurried to draw out a chair at his right hand and, blushing profusely but glowing with delight, Sasha sat down.

‘Glad to have you back, ma'am,' Captain Turnbull murmured.

‘Thank you.'

The waiters poured wine into crystal glasses and the gentlemen remained standing as they raised their glasses in a toast.

‘To Mrs Bowen,' the Captain declared, with a knowing wink.

The officers echoed his salute, and across the table Sasha stared up at the man who was supposed to be her husband. Reid bowed to her, a slightly sardonic smile upon his firm lips.

He raised his glass to her, saluting her fortitude. ‘To Mrs Bowen.'

 

Two days later HMS
Dorset
nosed her iron-clad prow through the thin layers of ice that crusted the waters of the Neva. Sasha stood on deck to catch her first glimpse of St Petersburg on the far horizon.

‘The city was built on the orders of the Russian Tsar, Peter the Great, in 1703, and is spread over more than forty islands and dozens of rivers and canals.'

‘Yes, I know.' Sasha half turned as Reid joined her, now dressed in his military uniform beneath his cloak, scarlet jacket encrusted with gold braiding and epaulettes, leather belt and sword scabbard attached to his waist, the snug fit of dark blue breeches tucked into shiny black boots. To her eyes he was more breathtaking than the famous city the ship was gliding into. She looked away, leaning on the rails as she peered ahead, the cold wind teasing tendrils of hair from beneath the fur hat she wore to keep warm, her long coat securely fastened. ‘My mama has never ceased talking about the most beautiful city on earth since the day I was born.'

Reid smiled, nodding as he drew on his leather gloves, his glance sweeping about the low yet massive buildings crowding the shoreline. ‘I forgot your mother is a native of the land. But still, to see it for the first time is quite impressive.'

‘Yes.' Sasha smiled in agreement. ‘It is indeed the Venice of the North. Look—' she pointed to a slender gold spire rising
from the tiers of an elegant building ‘—that must be the Peter and Paul Fortress. And that other golden steeple must be the Admiralty.'

With a nod Reid gazed in the direction of her finger, but he was not looking at the imposing buildings, thinking rather how exquisite her small and ivory-pale hand was, just like the rest of her. How would she survive in this harsh place? He was sure that her mother had only told her romantic tales of palaces and balls and dashing princes, and that she was completely naïve as to the realities of life here in Russia for the poor and common folk. And how would she react if she ever found out that his job was to spy on the Russian military and report his findings to London? They were a dangerous enemy, he knew from his years of experience in India and Afghanistan, and he would certainly not be falling under the spell of any charming or dashing princes, and as a military wife he must ensure that neither did Sasha.

The ship glided along the wide cobalt waters of the Neva, slowing down and gradually inching its way into the docks of the naval base and mooring at the quayside; Russian sailors scurryed about to fasten the ropes as the anchor was weighed with a rattle of chains and splash of water.

‘Well,' said Reid, looking down at Sasha, ‘we are here.'

‘At last.' Sasha looked up at him for a moment, a blush adding to the crimson colour staining her cheeks from the icy sting of the wind. ‘Thank you, Reid,' she murmured. At his puzzled frown she added, ‘For looking after me so well in these days past. What will we do now? Where will I stay? How will I get back to England?'

He took her arm, and they began to walk across the deck to the gangplank. ‘Let us not worry about such things.' He lowered his voice. ‘Just play along for now.'

Her brows creased in a frown as she glanced anxiously sideways at him, but here was Captain Turnbull, waiting to bid them farewell, shaking hands heartily with Reid, and kissing her on both cheeks as he wished them goodbye and good luck.

‘No doubt we will see you at the Embassy,' Reid offered, in way of thanks for the Captain's good humour and assistance throughout the voyage.

‘A pleasure I look forward to.' He turned to look at Sasha for a keen moment. ‘Mrs Bowen, at your service.'

The two men saluted each other and then Reid took Sasha by the arm and guided her down the steep wooden gangplank. She was greatly tempted to drop to her knees and kiss the solid ground as her feet, at last, touched on a base that did not move. Although, she felt as if the ground was indeed still moving, and she looked to Reid to voice this strange occurrence, but all at once they were surrounded by a group of people, several men in dark coats, two in military uniforms, and two elegantly dressed women much older than herself, and there was not a moment for a private word.

‘Sir Stanley Cronin, British Ambassador, glad to meet you at last.' The short bald man in dark suit and coat introduced himself, waving to the others in quick succession. ‘This is my wife, Lady Cronin, that's John Hartley, my Secretary, and over there is Major Anthony Hope-Garner, whom you are replacing, and his wife, Charlotte.' Sir Cronin turned towards Sasha with a small bow. ‘And I presume this is your wife, Georgia—'

‘For goodness' sake, Stanley,' interrupted Lady Cronin, ‘let's get out of this freezing wind and back to the Residency. We can do the introductions there.'

‘Quite, quite, my dear,' agreed Sir Stanley, turning to Reid as they walked along the quay to where a carriage awaited them. ‘We'll do a briefing later on this afternoon—'

‘No, you won't,' said Lady Cronin, ushering a bemused Sasha aboard the carriage. ‘Tomorrow will do well enough. They've only just arrived, and only just been married, so do be a dear and give them a chance to settle in.'

A sigh heaved from Sir Stanley's portly jowls, and he shrugged, though there was little amusement in his dark, narrow eyes. ‘We will see.'

Amidst the mutterings of the Ambassador and his wife, Sasha was ushered aboard and wedged in between Lady Cronin and Mrs Charlotte Hope-Garner. Opposite sat Reid, between Sir Stanley and the Secretary, Mr Hartley, his broad shoulders turned slightly sideways as the three men jostled for position and settled back. There was a shout and crack of a whip as the coachman set off. The carriage lurched, and Sasha instinctively flung out her hand to grab hold of something, encountering Reid's knee, so close as to be almost between her own. However, she need not have worried about being thrown from her seat as the carriage set off at a cracking pace, for she was firmly bolstered by the two ladies. Her glance went to the window and she peered out, wondering why the other four men had mounted horses and were riding close alongside.

Lady Cronin leaned towards her as she noticed Sasha's curious glance. ‘Our bodyguards. We just can't be too careful, you know.'

Any hopes Sasha had of viewing the magnificent buildings of St Petersburg were soon dispelled, as the blinds were drawn and the horses urged on at a fast canter. She raised her eyes to Reid, trying to discreetly impart to him her sense of alarm as they proceeded through the streets as though the very hounds of hell were nipping at their heels, yet without alerting the other passengers to her feelings, but his expression was bland and she followed his cue, holding her tongue and casting her features into a mask of blankness.

‘You will be staying at the Residency for the next week or so,' said Sir Stanley, raising his voice above the thunder of the carriage wheels on the cobbled paving. ‘When Anthony has taken himself and his family off, you may move into their apartment.'

Reid nodded, and then conversation turned to their voyage, and the weather, and their recent wedding. Here Reid deftly manipulated the conversation elsewhere, bringing in comments about his recent years in India, his progress with the Russian language, until Lady Cronin grew bored with shop talk and
announced that they would be holding a ball in a week's time, to bid farewell to the Hope-Garners and welcome the Bowens.

‘Of course, it will be nothing compared to the grand affairs they have at the Palace—' said Lady Cronin.

‘Well, no,' retorted her husband, ‘my pockets are not as deep as the Tsar's.'

Lady Cronin merely sniffed.

 

It was a relief to them all when the carriage rumbled beneath the arched gateway of the courtyard leading to the back of the Residency. On their arrival, Reid noticed the sturdy twelve-foot gates were firmly barred and bolted behind them. The party stepped down from the carriage and climbed the steps that led to the rear entrance hall of the Residency. Several uniformed servants waited to take their hats and coats, then Reid and Sasha were escorted to their bedchamber. Lady Cronin urged them to return downstairs as soon as they could for refreshments in the drawing room, followed by luncheon at noon.

Sasha fell into step at Reid's side as they followed the maid up two flights of broad marble stairs, lined with a dark emerald-green carpet, the walls of the corridor hung with portraits of the Queen and her many children, as well as military paintings of various battles and flags from different regiments. Sasha glanced about, noticing the high ceilings and how opulent the furnishings were of satinwood chiffoniers and Chinese vases, marble Grecian statues and numerous hot-house plants, giving the impression of luxury and grandeur. It was not at all what she had expected.

The maid dipped a curtsy as she opened one half of a set of tall double doors, standing aside so that they could enter. Sasha stepped in before Reid, and halted as she looked about. The bedroom was the largest she had ever seen in her life, easily three times the size of her own bedroom in London. Two sets of long windows on the opposite wall opened onto small balconies that overlooked the Nevsky Prospekt and the River Neva, filmy
white voile screening the windows between voluptuous swags of maroon-and-gold brocade curtains.

‘Can I get you anything, ma'am?' asked the maid.

Sasha turned, surprised by the girl's accent. ‘Why, you're English.'

‘Of course, ma'am. My name is Jane, and all the staff are English, ma'am. It wouldn't do to have them foreign lot in here.'

‘No, indeed.' Reid placed his hand on the door, discreetly hinting that it was time for the maid to depart.

She bobbed yet another curtsy, and closed the door behind her as she went out.

‘Goodness, Reid!' exclaimed Sasha, wandering around the vast bedroom. ‘Have you ever seen anything like it? Look at the size of that bed! I'm sure at least five people could sleep in that.'

‘Hmm.' Reid unbuckled his leathers and then peeled off his gloves, glancing sardonically with one raised brow at the four-poster bed in question. ‘I could certainly enjoy a good night's sleep in that.'

‘Oh, no, you won't!' Sasha flung herself down like a starfish, staring up at the canopy of pleated pale gold silk above her. ‘We're not married, remember? You couldn't possibly sleep in the same bed with me.'

‘We've just spent quite a few days sleeping in a space the size of a broom cupboard,' Reid pointed out drily.

‘True, but we had separate beds.'

He strolled over, leaning a shoulder on one ornately carved and gilded bedpost, his smile teasing. ‘What difference would it make? Besides, there are enough pillows on that bed to build your very own Wall of China.'

Sasha turned her head slightly, gazing at the pile of pillows beneath the covers at the head of the bed, relief at having arrived on dry land bringing out a little mischief as she smiled. ‘Don't you mean a Wall of Chastity?'

He chuckled, and moved to stand closer, looking down at her
as she lay spread-eagled on the huge bed. ‘Your virtue is safe with me, Miss Packard.'

She pouted, and then jumped up as she ran to the wardrobe, a towering edifice of gleaming rosewood. ‘I'm sure Russia is a land of giants, look at how huge everything is!' But Reid had wandered over to the window and was staring broodingly out, while another sight had caught Sasha's eye. She opened a door and went into a tiled bathroom. An enormous white-enamel bath stood on brass claw feet, ornate gold taps set into the patterned tiles of the wall at one end. ‘Oh, Reid, come and look at this! Oh goodness, how divine, I would absolutely die to have a bath at this very moment.' Sasha groaned, emerging from the bathroom and wandering around the room examining
objets d'art
and the silk wallpaper, the walnut writing bureau set between the two windows, and then she came to a halt at Reid's shoulder and looked up at him.

‘It's all so incredible and beautiful.'

He turned his head, catching the note of wistful sadness in her soft voice. The light of Russia had a special quality, a depth and clarity that shone now on Sasha, his eyes lingering on her flawless pale skin and the shape of her pink mouth, the little determined dent in her chin and the line of her delicate jaw and nose. He reached out and lifted her chin with the crook of his forefinger. ‘And all this opulence makes you sad?'

‘Of course,' she replied solemnly, gazing out at the distant expanse of the wide Neva glimpsed through the voile.

‘Why?'

‘Because…' She paused for a moment, hesitating, considering her thoughts and the weight of them. ‘Because it is all a charming, wonderful fantasy and I must return to reality.' She raised her eyes to him. ‘Soon.'