Dennis Wheatley - The wanton princess

'My brother's situation is somewhat different from mine. Having lived for fifteen years in England he has become much enamoured of your country and has made the cause of Britain his own. As long as Russia continued to be at war with France he was entirely happy: but then, as we must in fairness admit, the Czar had some grounds for becoming dissatisfied with his ally. As the elected Grand Prior of the

Knights of Malta, to become sovereign of that island meant a great deal to him; but your country refused him that satisfac­tion. There was then the matter of the Russian force sent to Holland and its shocking mishandling by the Duke of York. Those, too, who succeeded in getting away with such English as escaped were sent to the Channel Islands and have since been treated as little better than prisoners. On that head I may mention that Bonaparte acted very differently. The Rus­sians captured by the French in Holland were, in truth, prisoners of war; yet the First Consul not only sent them home without requiring an exchange, but had every man furnished with a new uniform before doing so.'

Roger smiled. 'Such a gesture was typical of both the generosity General Bonaparte displays at times and of his cunning. Agreeing, though, that the Emperor Paul had some grounds for dissatisfaction with Britain, and has now become so bewitched by the First Consul that he is determined to join him in his war against us, that has no bearing upon the facts, admitted by yourself, that the Czar is no longer competent to govern and has become a menace to his people.'

'There I agree. I was pointing out only that whereas my brother's love of England has overcome his gratitude for the benefits his master has bestowed upon him, so that he has at least tacitly encouraged you to undertake your present mis­sion, I still consider myself bound by the benefits I have received from H's Imperial Majesty to keep aloof from any attempt to bring about his ruin.'

'I appreciate your scruples, sir.' Roger replied quietly. Then, feeling that in the circumstances it would not be right to ask the Count for the names of any highly-placed men who might aid him, much disappointed, he shortly afterwards took his leave.

Tile next day being Sunday, he borrowed a pair of skates and went down to the Neva where a considerable number of people were skating on their own or propelling ladies in sledges swiftly over the ice. He had not been there long before he ran into a Captain Muriavieff, whom he had met the previous day when breakfasting with Vorontzoff. When they had talked for a while as they glided over the ice side by side, the Captain invited him to a stag party that he was giving that evening, and Roger gladly accepted.

On his arrival at Muriavieff's apartment he found a dozen or more men assembled there, most of whom were officers of the Semenourki Guards. The Punch was mixed and they gaily set about an evening's drinking. By eleven o'clock they were on their fifth bowl of Punch, singing lustily and already slightly tipsy. It was then that a newcomer entered and, as he came into the room, a sudden embarrassed silence fell. Won­dering at its cause, Roger looked at the tall, pale-faced young man, who was obviously very drunk indeed, and saw that although he was wearing the uniform of an officer it lacked both sash and epaulettes.

Advancing unsteadily on Muriavieff, the young man burst into a tirade of abuse against the Czar. From it Roger gathered that on the previous day the Semenourki regiment had been on guard duty at the Palace and when Paul had made his usual two hour-long inspection, examining minutely every man in the regiment, he had noticed that one or the men had a slight stain on his breeches. This had driven him into a furious rage and he had promptly reduced both the man's Company Commander and Platoon Commander to the ranks.

It was the outraged Company Commander who was now giving vent to his indignation, and he bawled at Muriavieff, 'How long are we to lie down under such vile treatment? The "Little Father" is no longer a father to us but a crazy imbecile. He treats us, scions of the noblest families in Mother Rursia, as though we were no better than serfs. Why do you not speak to your Uncle and urge upon him that it is his duty to remonstrate with the madman? As First Minister Count Pahlen has his ear. Go to him, Muriavieff. You have always said you were my friend. Go to him and urge him to get me back my commission.'

At the name of Count Pahlen Roger pricked up his ears. Among the letters of introduction that Count Simon Vorontzoff had given him was one for the Minister. Knowing that at every morning levee his anteroom would be crowded with people submitting petitions to him, Roger had been wondering how, without making himself conspicuous, he could present his letter and secure a private audience That Muriavieff should be the great man's nephew offered just the opening he had been seeking.

Clearly everyone sympathized with the degraded Captain, and joined in abusing the Czar. For half an hour the indigna­tion meeting continued, everyone talking at once. Meanwhile, the Czar's victim was given several helpings of Punch and, being already drunk, at the end of that time fell flat on his face on the floor.

When he had been carried off to a bedroom and the clamour had subsided, Roger got Muriavieff aside, said that he had an introduction to his uncle and asked if he could arrange for him to meet him more or less in private.

Muriavieff, swaying slightly but not too drunk to register what was being said to him, replied, 'Nothing easier, my friend. Imperial Highness Alexander giving big reception two nights hence. We're his own regiment, you know. All invited. My uncle sure to be there. Take you with me.'

9

The Conspiracy

Two nights later, concealing his excitement at the promised meeting with Count Pahlen, which he felt might prove the key to his mission, Roger accompanied Muriavieff to the Palace of the Heir Apparent and was presented to him. He found, as he had been told, that the Prince was a delightful young man: handsome, well-made and of a most amiable disposition. For a man of twenty-four he seemed somewhat shy, but he had dignity and gave his wife a charming smile as Roger was about to make his bow to her. She had been Princess Louise of Baden and they had married when he was only sixteen, his grandmother having been anxious to see the succession secured before she died. In that Catherine had been disappointed: for Elizabeth Feodorovna, as Louise had been rechristened on taking the Russian Faith, had had no children. But she was a beautiful girl and the young couple had fallen in love at first sight.

An hour later Roger, who had been keeping a watchful eye on Muriavieff, saw him detach a tall, broad-shouldered man with a rugged, forceful face from a small group and lead him a few paces towards the embrasure of a window. The Captain then beckoned Roger who moved quickly over to them and the presentation was made.

Roger at once spoke of his letter from Count Simon and was about to produce it, but the Minister said quickly, ‘I will take it as read, Mr. Brook, and send you a card for some entertainment within a few days: but many affairs call for my attention and my nephew tells me that you wanted a word in private. Now is your lime.'

'It was to give Your Excellency a sight of this.' Roger replied quickly, as he took from his waistcoat pocket a slip of paper. It had on it only three lines, which read:

'Mr. Roger Brook is a confidential agent of the British Government. He is proceeding to Russia in the hope of bringing about better relations with the Government of His Imperial Majesty.'

And it was signed by Lord Grenvillc.

Having given the Lettre de Marque a swift glance. Count Pahlen handed it back with a dubious smile as he said, ‘I fear you have set yourself a difficult task, Mr. Brook. My Imperial Master feels himself to have been most ill-treated by his late allies and is now firmly set upon entering the war against them.’