Dennis Wheatley - The Shadow of Tyburn Tree

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Nov 1787 - Apr 1789 The Shadow of Tyburn Tree tells the story of Roger Brook–Prime Minister Pitt's most resourceful secret agent–who, in 1788, is sent on a secret mission to the Russia of that beautiful and licentious woman Catherine the Great. Chosen by her to become her lover, Roger is compelled to move with the utmost care, for if it was known that not only was he spying for two countries but also having an affair with the sadistic and vicious Natalia, he would meet certain death.
The story moves to Denmark and the tragedy of Queen Matilda, to Sweden and the amazing ride of King Gustavus to save Gothenborg, and finally back to England where Roger returns to the arms of his one great love, Georgina..

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She nodded. "Yes, for well over a year. He was another of Potemkin's proteges; but he is a vain, stupid oaf and now seeks to bite the hand that elevated him. His reign may be abruptly terminated at any time, as he is not even faithful to the Empress. He is also the lover of the Princess Scherbatof, and everyone except Katinka knows it. So it needs but a word in her ear from someone who bears him malice to secure his dismissal."

After dancing for a little they made a leisurely progress through the other apartments. Five orchestras were now playing a variety of French, Russian and German dance music, so dancing as well as feasting was in full swing in most of the rooms. Natalia pointed out various high dignitaries of the Court to Roger and introduced him to a number of her friends. From time to time they joined in a dance themselves, and between dances ate and drank of the lavish refresh- ments.

The Empress had arrived at six o'clock and at about nine they drifted back to the main ballroom, to find the centre of the floor occupied by a troupe of tumblers, who were essaying the most amazing feats for her amusement. Three performing elephants were then led in, and after them an Italian prima donna sang most gloriously. The entertainment was concluded by a grand parade representing the might of Catherine's realm. For it Orlof had mobilised large detachments of warriors from all over the empire, and resplendent in their native costumes, Kalmucks, Tartars, Laplanders, Yakuts, Kazbecks, Cir­cassians and Don Cossacks all streamed past the throne, shouting their wild war-cries and excitedly firing bullets off into the ceiling.

When the pandemonium had died down dancing was resumed; then, at a little before eleven, a sudden hush fell again on the whole brilliant gathering while the Empress was escorted back to the doors of the palace by Orlof, and took her departure. But the party showed no signs of breaking up; the sweating fiddlers, boosted with generous wine, sawed more vigorously at their violins, often joining in the dances themselves; the dancing became faster and more abandoned; the drinking and shouting of healths more unrestrained.

It was almost midnight when Roger and Natalia came upon their giant host sitting moodily on the lower steps of a side staircase with an empty, gem-encrusted tankard dangling from his great hand.

"Why do you look so glum, Alexi?" Natalia Andreovna inquired. "Was not Katinka pleased with this fine entertainment you have given her?"

"Aye, the old bitch was pleased enough," he mumbled ungra­ciously. "But I am bored. Time was when I enjoyed this sort of thing, but now it seems to me nought but foolishness."

"That is because you are getting old," she mocked him.

It was obvious that he was three-parts drunk, but a sudden gleam came into his dull eye, and he stood up.

"I'm not too old to give you a good tumble still, my pretty. Come upstairs and join me in a cup of wine."

She shook her head and indicated Roger. "Nay, I thank you. I am pledged for this evening to Monsieur le Chevalier de Breuc."

The High Admiral returned Roger's bow with a morose stare. A few years earlier it would have been typical of him to knock his young guest down with one blow of his great fist and carry Natalia Andreovna upstairs on his back. To do so did occur to him, but he felt too tired to bother, so he grunted: "As you will Bring him upstairs too, then. I am sick of the sight of all these stupid people."

They followed him up to a landing and across it to a suite of rooms on the. first floor at the back of the house. The one they entered could best be described as a study, and an open door led to a bedroom beyond it. Both rooms were in a state of chaotic disorder. They did not look as though they had been cleaned for a decade, and smelt abominably; yet their contents were worth a fortune. About them were scattered sable cloaks, weapons of all kinds encrusted with precious gems, jewelled ikons, gold baldrics, top-boots, pictures of ships and naval charts. In one corner a chained ape was quietly chattering to itself, and another was occupied by a great pile of empty bottles.

"What'll you drink?" asked their host, thickly, as he pulled open a cabinet; "Tokay, Malmsey, Vodka, Champagne, French Brandy?"

Natalia Andreovna chose champagne and Roger said he would join her. Orlof handed him a bottle and, while he opened it, swept a mass of documents mixed up with gaming chips from the table to the floor, then produced three crystal goblets. All of them were dirty, but he took no heed of that. Knocking the head off a bottle of cognac with one swift, practised, blow against the table edge, he slopped half its contents into one of the goblets for himself, and slumped into a. high-backed chair.

Roger poured the champagne, and lifting their glasses to each other, they drank. After a couple of big gulps of the brandy Orlof set down his glass and declared: "That's better! That's a real man's drink. I wouldn't insult my stomach with that fizzy muck you're drinking, Chevalier. But young men are all the same, these days. They're girls, not men as they were in my time."

Seizing on this golden opportunity to win so important a man's regard and confidence, Roger replied with a laugh. "That may be so in Russia, Excellency, but 'tis not so in France. I may not have your capacity, but I'll drink bottle for bottle with you any time till one of us is under the table."

"Well said," exclaimed the Count, clapping him on the shoulder with sudden affability. "I'd see you under the table seven times out of seven; but 'tis good to meet a youngster for once who is not afraid to drink man's liquor. Pour that filth you're drinking into the monkey's pot and fetch yourself a bottle of brandy."

Roger did as he was bid, and as he settled himself down again Orlof continued with a sad shake of his leonine head. "The youth of France may still be virile; but in Russia 'tis now pestiferous. For a decade or more the Empress has surrounded herself with a riffraff of weaklings who are capable of nought but scribbling poetry or painting pictures. When my brother and I raised her to the throne 'twas vastly different. She was dependent then on us rough soldiers, but we gave her an empire and made her the mightiest sovereign in the world. Aye, we fought, and drank, and leched like men in those days, and stood no nonsense from Katinka either. To see her now you'd never realise what a monstrous handsome baggage she was as a young woman, and 'twas a joy to smack her bottom when she got foolish ideas into her pretty head."

"I would that I had been a girl then," Natalia Andreovna remarked. "Life at the time of the coup d'etat must have been prodigious exciting. Tell us about it, Alexi?"

"You've heard the story often enough," he grumbled; but evidently he enjoyed recalling the bold stroke that had lifted him from a poor soldier to great fortune, "as after very little pressing from Natalia he started off reminiscently.

"I doubt if the conspiracy would ever have taken place had not Peter the Third been a fool, a weakling and a traitor. With all her faults, the Empress Elizabeth was a true Russian, but her nephew was born a German and remained a German all his life. Bringing him here at the age of fourteen and changing his name from Karl Peter Ulric to Peter Feodorovitch did not have the same effect as changing Katinka's name did on her, when she was brought here three years later to marry him. As he grew up he developed a passionate admiration for Frederick the Great. Well, I've nothing against youngsters playing at soldiers, but the men of his bodyguard didn't like it when he put them into Prussian uniforms. They liked it even less during the last years of Elizabeth's reign, when we were at war with Prussia. Yet. worse, as Grand Duke and Heir-Apparent he was a member of the Royal Council, and time and again he used his position to betray our plans."

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