Dennis Wheatley - The Shadow of Tyburn Tree

A quarter of an hour later she returned with his supper, and Ostermann accompanied her to act as translator for any orders that Roger might wish to give on initiating her into his service. Having shown her where he kept his things and stated his requirements about brush­ing his clothes and cleaning his boots, he asked Ostermann to explain to her that he thought her too young, as yet, to be any man's bed­fellow, and that he wished her to sleep in the attic until she grew a little older.

The result was a sudden crimsoning of the apple-hued cheeks, followed by a deluge of tears and heartrending lamentations. Ostermann translated her sobbing protests as despair at having failed to find favour in her master's eyes. She had, it seemed, fallen in love with him on sight and believed herself to be the luckiest girl in all Russia, whereas, at his words, he had made her the most miserable.

Roger saw that there was only one thing for it. Taking the bundle of noisy woe in his arms, he drew her onto his knees, where he petted her like the child she was and kissed the tears away. Then he made her a present of a rich silk scarf, which delighted her beyond measure, and packed her off, greatly consoled, with Ostermann, to her attic.

Just as they were leaving the room the loud boom of a cannon reverberated through the city, and thinking that it might be an alarm signal of some kind, Roger called after Ostermann, asking him if he knew its cause.

" 'Tis nought but the night-gun, noble General," replied the Courlander. "Few of the common people in Petersburg are rich enough to own a watch and many are so ignorant that they cannot read the public clocks even when they can see them; so at this season of the year when there are no hours of darkness a gun is fired from the fortress each evening to let them know that the night has begun."

It was still broad daylight but Roger had been up since half-past five that morning, and his experiences of the day had been so new and varied that he felt more than ready for bed. After despatching a wing of the chicken and a glass of wine he locked the door and went into the bedroom. Almost half of it was occupied by a broad divan; it had no sheets but was covered with innumerable layers of rugs. Pulling the heavy curtains across the window he settled himself on the divan, drew its topmost rug over him, and was almost instantly asleep.

But not for very long. He woke with a start and the instinctive feeling that it was still early in the night. He knew already that a movement beside him had been the cause of his waking, and the faint light percolating between the chinks of the curtains was sufficient to show him a hump under the rug, from the edge of which protruded a tumble of crisp black curls that could only belong to Zaria Feodorovna.

How she had got in he could not imagine, and it was not until the following morning that he learned that she had climbed up to the fan­light of the door that gave onto the landing, then succeeded in squeez­ing herself through. Evidently terrified that he might send her packing again if she so much as showed her face, she lay as still as a mouse buried in the rugs. Daunted at the idea of starting a fresh argument in a language that he did not understand, Roger took the path of least resistance, turned over on his other side, and went to sleep again.

When he awoke in the morning she was no longer beside him, but subdued sounds from the sitting-room told him that he had not dreamed her midnight appearance, and, shortly afterwards, she brought him in his breakfast.

Her down-cast eyes and trembling hands were clear evidence of her shyness, but she now showed no servility, and he soon found that she possessed the natural tact and good manners which grace most of the peasantry of Europe. As he had now landed himself with her it seemed to him that the sooner he could teach her to understand him the better; so, on getting up, he amused himself for an hour pointing at various things and giving her a first French lesson by making her repeat their names in that language after him.

The lesson was terminated only by the arrival of Doctor Drenke, who brought Roger a note from Natalia Andreovna, in which she said that she proposed to visit him at two o'clock that afternoon. While Roger read the note the Doctor addressed a few casual sentences in Russian to Zaria after which he congratulated her master on acquiring her. He then carried Roger off to the morning levee of Count Bezborodko, the head of the College of Foreign Affairs.

At the levee, as well as presenting Roger to the Count, who talked to him for a few moments on Sweden, the Doctor also introduced him to several members of the Corps Diplomatique ; all of whom asked him to breakfast, dine or sup, so by the time he left the reception he found himself already launched in Petersburg society.

That afternoon, Natalia appeared at his lodgings cloaked, hooded and wearing a little lace mask, as was then the custom of ladies who wished to preserve their incognito when visiting their gallants. Unfortunately she arrived a good quarter of an hour before she was expected so he had not yet dismissed Zaria, who was seated in a corner of the sitting-room diligently polishing the silver buttons of one of his coats.

No sooner did the green eyes of Roger's aristocratic mistress light upon his pretty little slave than their expression changed from joyous anticipation to indignant anger. Instantly assuming the worst she advanced on him with a spate of curses and soundly boxed his ears; then, vowing in both French and Russian that she would kill the girl if she ever found her there again, she grabbed up Roger's cane and drove the unfortunate Zaria screaming from the room.

Roger swiftly endeavoured to disabuse Natalia of her black sus­picions, but she knew the ways of her country better than he did; his denials of having slept with Zaria the previous night were so lack­ing in conviction that she obviously did ndt believe him, and it took him a considerable time to pacify her.

In the past week she had come as near to loving Roger as she was capable of feeling that passion for any man, and this had resulted in redoubling her natural tendency to jealousy; but so true is it that, given mutual attraction, to start with, love will almost inevitably beget love, the effect of their voyage from Sweden on Roger had been to make him excuse her worst characteristics to himself and come near to loving her in return. In consequence, the genuine concern he displayed at having upset her, and the undiminished warmth of his amorous feelings, were such, that the subject of Zaria Feodorovna was at length allowed to lapse by mutual consent, and a passionate reconciliation ensued.

When Natalia had departed, after having promised to come again the following afternoon, Roger began to wonder if his little maid would return to him, or had abandoned him for good from fear of being beaten to death by his virago of a mistress. But he need not have concerned himself; Zaria's courage was equal to her swiftly-acquired devotion to him, and on his returning from keeping a supper-engagement made that morning, he found her curled up sound asleep in his bed.

Having more or less promised Natalia Andreovna that he would dismiss the child, he made a half-hearted attempt to do so next day. But, with Ostermann as interpreter, she declared that rather than face the shame of returning to her father she would drown herself in the Neva. Roger, not having the heart to drive her away, told her that she might remain, provided she was never visible in his apartments between mid­day and midnight except when sent for; and salved his conscience for the lies he would have to tell Natalia with the thought that she would equally readily have lied to him. Within a few hours he had dis­missed the matter from his mind and settled down to enjoy life in St. Petersburg.