Dennis Wheatley - The Forbidden Territory

“So what was left of it has stood empty ever since?” said Simon.

“In the bad times the brigands used it as a headquarters; they terrorized the countryside. Sometimes there were as many as two hundred there at one time, but in the end they were massacred by the Whites. After that it was empty for a long time until the Stiekomens came to live there.”

“The Stiekomens?” Simon looked puzzled.

“A religious, and his disciples. He was a leader of one of the mystic religious brotherhoods which are always springing up in Russia. They were a harmless people, wanderers in the forest before they settled here. They lived a simple, communistic life in the great ruin for perhaps a year, then, one day, a detachment of real communists — the Red Guards — marched through the village. For a reason that no one knew they butchered the poor Stiekomens against the Château wall. Since then there has been no one.”

“They are evil times that you have lived in, Mademoiselle — it is marvellous that you should have come through unscathed,” said De Richleau, regarding her thoughtfully. With her pointed chin, incredibly blue eyes, well-marked eyebrows and close-cropped curls, she reminded him of a prize Persian kitten as she sat, curled up, with her legs tucked under her on a corner of the divan, but his shrewd glance showed him that the blue eyes were very direct, the pointed chin very firm, and the red mouth could take on a determined curve as well as the slight wistful smile which was habitual to it.

She smiled. “There is one good thing about Communism, Monsieur. If you give your labour to the State no one can harm you or compel you in marriage. I earn my living by teaching in the school. I am free to come and go. That is better, surely, than to be married off as a young girl to some man whom you have hardly seen, as in the old days. That must have been horrible!”

“Perhaps,” the Duke agreed. “But I imagine that for a long time there was no safety for anyone.”

“There were difficulties,” she said, simply. “Much of the time my mother kept me hidden in the roof — often for days together. Once I was caught by some soldiers in the woods, but I shot the ear from one with the little pistol that I carry. See, here it is.” As she spoke she produced a tiny, old-fashioned revolver with an inlaid mother-of-pearl handle. “The others thought it so funny to see their comrade running up and down, howling with pain, that they stood in a ring and jeered at him, while I ran away. It was lucky for him that I did not fire quite straight!”

“Good for you!” laughed Rex. “What a poor boob that bird must have felt, getting his ear shot off by a girl!”

“Mademoiselle,” said the Duke, seriously. “If we were to be found here, I fear it would mean trouble for you. Will you add to your great kindness by telling me if there is any chance of our procuring horses, in order to proceed on our way?”

She frowned. “But I do not want you to go — this is, what you say, a red letter day for me — to talk with people who are of my mother’s world. I have a thousand things I want to ask; tell me about Paris — I can remember nothing but the busy streets, and the caraway seeds on the little rolls of white bread, of which I was so fond. Stay here for tonight, and I will see if I can arrange for horses tomorrow.”

All three shook their heads, and Rex put their thoughts into words. “It’s this way,” he said, slowly. “It’s just great of you to offer, but I’ve just broken prison, and there’s other matters too. We couldn’t have them find us here, with you, so if there’s no chance of horses we’ll just have to walk.”

She jumped to her feet with a little grimace. “Oh, you are pig-headed. It is sad that you should go so soon, but if it must be, I know a kulak who has horses. His daughters are friends of mine, they are to be trusted — but have you money? If you are fugitives he takes the risk of an inquiry afterwards. His price will be high!”

De Richleau took out his pocket-book and handed a roll of notes to the girl as he asked: “Do you wish us to accompany you, Mademoiselle, or shall we remain here?”

“It is best that I should go alone, Monsieur.”

“What about the Château?” Simon suggested. “Think that it is — er — worth having a look at while Mademoiselle is gone?”

“Why not?” agreed De Richleau. “We have our torches, if Mademoiselle would be so kind as to guide us there.”

Rex stretched his arms and yawned. His half-hour’s nap before their meal had only served to make him more drowsy. “Not for this child,” he declared, wearily. “I guess I’ll wait till we’ve got horses — it’ll not run away, and I’ve just got to have another shut-eye before we start.”

“All right, Simon and I will go,” said the Duke. “We can spare an hour for our inspection while you sleep, and perhaps save another visit.”

“You wish to go to the Château?” said the girl, with a puzzled look. “But why?”

“If it is not troubling you too much, Mademoiselle. I have heard so much of the Prince Shulimoff, that I would like to see his Château even in a state of ruin. We could find our own way back.”

“It was a lovely place,” she admitted. “Even now it is imposing in the moonlight — but the moon will not be up for some time.”

“No matter,” said the Duke. “I would like to see it if we may trespass on your kindness so far.”

“Come then.” She turned to Rex. “And you, Monsieur — you will stay here?”

“Sure thing,” he laughed. “How long do you reckon you’ll be?”

“An hour — an hour and a half perhaps.”

“Then I’ll be sleeping like a log. If I don’t wake, bang me on the head with the frying-pan!”

“No,” she laughed back, as he settled himself on the divan. “I will fill your big mouth with a handful of snow. Au revoir, Monsieur.”

He waved one large hand, but he was already half asleep. De Richleau and Simon had put on their furs and left the cottage with the girl.

She led them along a narrow path through the woods and across the high-road, then by a cart-track through thicker woods to a place where two great stone pillars showed faintly in the starlight. To one a big wrought-iron gate still clung, rusted and broken, half overgrown with brambles. Here she paused.

“This is the entrance to the grounds,” she said, in a low voice. “It is too dark to see from here, but the house is straight ahead from where we stand. Are you certain that you can find your way back to the cottage?”

“Certain, Mademoiselle,” De Richleau replied, softly.

The night was utterly still and they were quite alone, but instinctively they spoke with lowered voices. “We shall hope to return within an hour, but this is a strange country — may we know your name? We have to thank you for such very great kindness.”

“My name is Marie Louise, but my mother’s name for me when we were alone was the Princess Marie Lou. It is pretty, that, do you not think?”

“Enchanting.” The Duke raised her little hand to his lips: “Princess, I am the very humblest of your servants.”

With Simon she shook hands, as he murmured his gratitude.

“Au revoir, Messieurs, et bonne fortune,” she laughed, gaily. “I will take care of your big friend!” A moment later her little figure disappeared in the shadows.

The garden had become a wilderness. The Duke and Simon followed the path as well as they could through a tangle of briars until they came at last to a big open space which must once have been one of the lawns.

It was freezing hard, and so still that the only sound was that of their own footsteps on the crisp snow. They mounted one terrace and then another. Suddenly the great, black bulk of the house loomed up before them in the faint starlight. As they came nearer they could see its gaunt outlines; through the blank upper windows patches of sky showed, where the roof should have been. The great facade was reminiscent of a miniature Versailles — the pile was splendid, even in its decay.