Dennis Wheatley - The Forbidden Territory

“God be praised that you are safe returned, Messieurs,” she said, with a little gesture of relief, lowering the toy weapon to her side.

“Our friend?” asked the Duke anxiously. “Have you seen him?”

“What, the little one? Is he not with you?”

“We sent him on ahead nearly an hour ago. It is as I feared. He has been shot.” De Richleau sank heavily into a chair.

“Monsieur le Duc is wounded,” she exclaimed, as she saw the blood oozing from his shoulder.

“It is nothing, Mademoiselle; a flesh wound only.”

“Wait but one minute, and I will wash the wound.” She set water to boil, and took some strips of linen from a cupboard.

Rex was still standing at the door. “Guess I’ll go back and look for Simon,” he said simply.

“Let Mademoiselle dress my hurt, and I will come with you.” The Duke grimaced with pain as he struggled out of his greatcoat.

Rex helped him with his jacket, and the girl cut away his shirt. The place was laid bare — a gash about three inches long. The bullet had ploughed its way up the shoulder-blade and out at the top.

“You stay put,” said Rex. “I’ll go after Simon.”

“One moment.” The Duke detained him with his free hand. “First let us hear from Mademoiselle if it is quite impossible to obtain horses.”

“Absolutely impossible, Monsieur. The peasants had been warned. I tried four farms, and at each it was the same. They dared not sell their horses. There is danger even now that one of them may have spoken to the police about my visit.”

“I thought, Mademoiselle, that these people were your friends. It is as I feared. We shall bring trouble upon you — ah, gently with my shoulder, please.”

“The water is a little hot. There is one peasant only who I do not trust — the man Rakov. I would not have tried there but that I know him to be always greedy. I thought he would be tempted to take a risk for the high price which you would pay.”

“In that case we must leave at once — we must not be found here.”

“That I will not allow.” Marie Lou’s little pointed chin stuck out firmly. “Where would you go, at night, and in the snow? Monsieur le Duc is of my own people; we are in a strange land together; I will hide you if they come.”

“You stay here,” said Rex. “I’ll go and see if I can’t find any trace of Simon.”

De Richleau made an effort to rise; the girl pushed him back. “Monsieur the American is right,” she said. “Let him look for your little friend; you will stay here that I may bandage this poor shoulder. Afterwards I will hide you in the loft.”

“As you will, then; only promise me this, Rex — if Simon has been captured you will return for me before you attempt anything.” The Duke smiled at Marie Lou. “Mademoiselle, you are a woman of great courage. To allow you to take such a risk for us is against every principle of my life, but we are in desperate straits. I accept the shelter that you offer with the deepest gratitude.”

“There, now you talk sense at last. Rakov may say nothing after all; he will think, perhaps, that it is only another of my madnesses. Because I live differently to them, the people here think that I am queer — if it were not that the children like me, and for the memory of my mother — I think that fifty years ago the peasants would have burnt me for a witch.”

For the first time in hours Rex laughed, his ugly, attractive face lit with its old merry smile. “I’ll say you’re a witch all right,” he murmured. “I’ve half a mind to go get wounded myself if you’d promise to take a hand healing it!”

“Monsieur is pleased to be gallant,” she said demurely. “He would be wiser to seek tidings of his friend and return unwounded.”

“Take care, Rex,” begged the Duke, “and don’t be longer than you can help.”

“I’ll be right back, and I’ll give three knocks on the door, so you’ll know it’s me. See-yer-later.” With a cheerful smile Rex went out into the night.

When De Richleau’s wound was cleaned and dressed, Marie Lou barred the cottage door, and showed him a cupboard hidden behind a curtain. It contained a collection of old clothes, but behind these was concealed a series of stout shelves, up which it was easy to climb to the loft She told him that she had hidden there many times during the evil times, when Reds, Whites and Greens had ravaged the country indiscriminately.

The rifle was taken up to the loft, also the knapsacks and De Richleau’s furs. All other traces of the travellers were disposed of in anticipation of a surprise visit; then they put out the light, that the occupant of the cottage might be presumed to be sleeping, and sat together in the darkness near the stove.

“When I heard all the shooting,” she said in a low voice, “I thought that I should never see any of you any more.”

“Surely you could not hear the fight at this distance?” he asked, surprised.

“Ah, no — but when I was unable to get the horses I woke Monsieur the American, and he begged that I would conduct him to the Château. I should also have been in the trouble if he had not persuaded me to turn back at the gate where I left you. He had a feeling, I think, that all was not well. I like your big friend; he is so gentle.”

De Richleau nodded sadly. “He’s a fine fellow, but it is the little one I am troubled for. He was more gentle still.”

“You were very fond of him?”

“He had become almost like a son to me in my old age.”

“Monsieur Van Ryn will rescue him, perhaps — he is so strong. He could make mincemeat of half a dozen of these little Red soldiers.”

“Perhaps — he has rescued us once already this evening — but I fear poor Simon is lying dead in the snow among the bushes at the bottom of the garden. Tell me more about yourself, Mademoiselle, to take my thoughts off this terrible business.”

“What shall I say?” She shrugged her shoulders. “Life here has been supportable — the people are not unkind. They do not understand me one little bit; that I choose to live alone and will not marry or seek a man — that is strange to them. But in a way it is part of my protection. Many husbands look at me, but I always turn away my head, therefore the wives have nothing to fear from my good looks.”

“Have you never thought of going back to France?”

“Often, Monsieur, I have thought of it, that beautiful France that I know so well from books, and from my mother’s stories. But how? I have no money even if the authorities would let me make the journey.”

“Have you no relatives to whom you could have written?”

“None, Monsieur. As I have told you, my mother knew Prince Shulimoff since many years — long before I was born. She was cut off by her own people for that, you will understand?”

“I think so,” said the Duke, gently. “You are the Prince’s daughter.”

“Yes, Monsieur, I am his daughter, and legally so, for my mother was his wife, but he would never acknowledge that. It was a secret marriage made in Paris. I did not know of it myself until my mother told me when she lay dying. It seems that afterwards he made a great marriage here, in Russia, but later, when his wife died, he returned to my mother. She was in great poverty at that time, and he persuaded her to come and live at Romanovsk, but only as the companion of his niece. That proved to be our good fortune afterwards; they would surely have murdered us if they had known the truth.”

“You are, then, the Princess Shulimoff?”

She laughed gaily in the darkness. “Yes, Monsieur, a poor Princess who teaches in a school. It is like a fairy story, is it not, but where is the pumpkin that turned into a coach, and the little silver slippers, and the handsome Prince? One day I think I must write that story. We will call it The Fairy Story of The Princess Marie Lou.”