The Brigadier's Daughter (20 page)

Reid pushed the nearest back with his foot, and fired a shot over their heads. He could hear the driver shouting at the horses, cracking his whip, urging them onwards, and the guard riding shotgun now followed Reid's example and fired a round from his rifle. The Russians stumbled back, having accomplished their aim of accosting the ‘nobles' and forcing their propaganda upon them. The door swung wildly as the carriage hurtled away and Reid reached out to slam it shut. He moved to sit beside Sasha and pull her into his arms, prepared for hysterics and fainting. Though she was trembling and clearly shaken, her face pale, she indulged in neither.

Sasha reached down and picked up one of the pamphlets, squinting as she held it up to the flickering lantern light. ‘Look—' she read the crude Russian words with ease ‘—they denounce the Tsar as a tyrant and demand freedom for the press, the nation and themselves!' She glanced up at him as he leaned close against her cheek, peering at the page she held. ‘It's all very dramatic and not very good grammar, but how dreadful! These poor people are suffering so badly, Reid, is there nothing we can do?'

‘We?'

‘Why, the British government, the Queen!'

Reid looked at her, with an emotion half-mixed with admiration for her intelligence and half with amazement at her naivety. ‘What would you have us do? Invade? Adopt every poor Russian and take him home to London?'

‘No, of course not! But there must be something!' Sasha read the pamphlet again, exclaiming, ‘I thought the serfs had been freed years ago. I remember Tsar Alexander issued an Edict of Emancipation—why, it must have been ten years ago, at least.'

‘1861,' supplied Reid drily, having boned up on Russia and its affairs before leaving London. ‘Somehow I don't think the Princes and Grand Duchesses of Imperial Russia have quite grasped the concept of paying their servants a decent wage.' His glance went to the window and with some relief he realised they had reached home. They descended from the carriage and hurried indoors, Reid pausing in the foyer as Sasha went upstairs, murmuring to Good that they'd had an unpleasant encounter and to be sure none of the household went out that night and all the doors and windows were securely locked.

In the drawing room Sasha went to the tea tray that Jane had left for them as soon as she had heard their arrival. She poured two cups of hot, fragrant tea, spooning in sugar, but as she stirred she wondered if Reid might prefer something stronger. Her glance strayed to the drinks cabinet, at the same moment as Reid came striding into the room. He went to the fire, lit even
on this June evening, the sun never quite warm enough to reach into the huge dark rooms of the thick-walled baroque building. He warmed his hands before the heat of the flames, his expression thoughtful, as Sasha approached with their cups of tea.

‘Would you prefer a brandy?' she asked, standing at his elbow.

‘No, this will do nicely.' He drained the cup almost in one gulp.

He smiled down at her, rather absent-mindedly, she thought. She laid a hand on his forearm. ‘Are you all right? I know it was a most alarming incident, but no harm came from it and we are home safe and sound.'

Reid laughed then, taking her cup and saucer away and placing it with his on the mantelpiece. His arms went around her slender frame and he stooped as he hugged her close against him, kissing her temple. ‘My darling Sasha! It is I who should be reassuring you. In fact, you should be swooning and ashen-faced with shock and horror.'

‘Well, I am not.' Her own arms slid around his broad back, and she savoured the scent and the warmth of him as she leaned against his chest, her voice a soft whisper. ‘I had every faith in you, Reid, that you would protect me.'

He held her away then, and his eyes scanned her face, marvelling at how in just a span of a few brief weeks Sasha had matured into this—this amazing woman! He decided there and then to take her into his confidence, and, after kissing her for a long, enjoyable moment, he explained everything there was to explain about Irena.

‘D
o you really think Irena is a spy?' Sasha gasped, wide-eyed, leaning back in the circle of his arms.

Reid held her a little away from him. ‘No, not exactly, but we think she's involved in intrigue of some kind—whether innocently or not is no concern of ours. She is, after all, a Russian citizen, not British. All we are interested in is what she knows and where she's getting that information from.'

Sasha frowned slightly, puzzled. ‘Why are you telling me this?'

‘Because…' Reid paused, not entirely sure himself why he had broken with protocol and disobeyed his orders. ‘Because there is more to Irena than meets the eye, and I want you to be careful. And because—' he gathered her close and held her small, slim body gently against the hard bulk of his own ‘—I cannot bear to have you think my interest in Irena is more than just professional.'

Sasha sighed, and smiled, content, whispering against his ear as she stood on tiptoe, ‘Shall we go to bed?'

Reid laughed, and then shook his head. ‘Do you ever think of anything else, except to seduce me?'

‘No,' Sasha answered with honest aplomb and an innocent expression.

‘All in good time.' He kissed the tip of her nose, leading her from the drawing room.

Sasha pouted. ‘Why not now?'

‘You know very well.' Reid's voice lowered to a whisper, as they climbed the stairs together with arms linked. ‘Not until we are legally wed.'

 

In the week following Sasha felt like an onlooker at a play, watching people moving about, even herself. They attended several suppers and a soirée at Irena's house. Reid paid a great deal of attention to her, and to her friends, and though Sasha quelled the jealous pangs with the knowledge that Reid meant none of it, the sophisticated gatherings and Irena's smug delight began to pall.

She missed the company of her sisters, and her mother, and even gentle Charlotte Hope-Garner, a quiet yet witty woman, and Sasha wished that she was still here, sure that the older, mature and motherly woman, experienced in the ways of the diplomatic world, would have sound advice. She realised that of course her father would be the most trustworthy and knowledgeable adviser, but she did not dare approach him! She resolved to write to her mother and to Charlotte, and she did both letters that very evening.

 

The next morning was a bright and beautiful day, the sun shining from a cloudless topaz sky, lilac trees now in bloom and the river busy with small boats as the citizens of St Petersburg enjoyed the good weather, gadding about to the various islands of the Neva delta to enjoy picnics on the shore, and to their country dachas on the outskirts of the city. Sasha resolved that she and Reid would see more of this intriguing and vast city before they returned to England. They so rarely had time alone to themselves—Reid worked long hours and at home there was always
a well-meaning servant hovering. She thought a few sightseeing excursions would be a wonderful opportunity to spend time alone. Most nights Reid came in late and went straight to his own room and she would not see him until breakfast in the morning. At the first opportunity she broached the subject of seeing a little more than their small world of this apartment, the Embassy and Irena's palace.

‘Reid, I thought we might pay a visit to the Hermitage.'

He looked up as he buttered a square of toast. ‘Why?'

Sasha's lips curved in a slight smile. ‘Does there have to be a reason for everything?'

‘Of course.'

‘Well, then, because I have heard from my mother that the Hermitage museum is magnificent. There are hundreds of paintings and sculptures, and also Roman, Asian and Oriental artefacts, just to mention a few out of the thousands of exhibits that have been collected since Catherine the Great, and it is reputed to be one of, if not
the
, best and largest art collection in Europe. Indeed, there are classical antiquities dating back to—'

‘Whoa!' Reid cut in, with a laugh at her enthusiasm, but aware that he had to leave and make his way over to his office at the Embassy. ‘Is there someone you want to take there?'

Sasha laughed. ‘Yes, you!'

He looked at her sideways. ‘Why? I don't know much about art.'

‘Well, now's your chance to learn.' She smiled gently. ‘And you are the person that I want to share the experience with.' Her eyes were warm as they studied his face, his mouth, promising things that had nothing to do with museums.

Reid swallowed his toast, catching the look in her eyes and thinking to himself that just in that moment how much more Russian Sasha seemed to be, the Russians being so flamboyant and extravagant, full of passion and soul one moment and ruthlessly intellectual the next. Her Englishness seemed to have diluted the less attractive traits, but he wondered how much
influence Irena had had in bringing out the more passionate side of Sasha's nature. And whilst he was delighted, he did not want that passion to be channelled in the wrong direction. Perhaps it would be a good idea to spend some time together, just the two of them.

‘We will go tomorrow afternoon. Happy?' Reid rose from his seat, bending to bestow his goodbye kiss on her cheek as usual.

‘Very.' Sasha smiled back up at him, feeling that slight pang in the region of her heart whenever he left her for the day.

They murmured their goodbyes and Sasha sat listening to his footsteps fade down the stairs and the bang of the front door behind him. She sighed, but then cheered herself up with the thought that tomorrow they would share a whole delightful afternoon, wandering around the Hermitage. She went to Reid's study and sat down at his desk with pen and paper, making a list of the Rembrandts, da Vincis and Rubens that she wanted to see at the Hermitage, as well as the famous Kolyvan vase, a huge bowl carved from jasper and long enough for three men to lie down inside it toe-to-toe. She pondered on what its use could have been, and then moved on to add other items of interest to the list. She was aware that the Hermitage, part of the Winter Palace, was so vast that it would take them several days, if not weeks, to view most of it. Content that they would see the things she really wanted to, Sasha folded the list and went upstairs to her bedroom, tucking the list into her reticule and then browsing through her collection of clothes to see what she could wear that Reid would find enchanting. She selected a sea-green silk gown, with close-fitting sleeves trimmed with lace and a sweetheart neckline. The bustle was modest and the gown rustled with a sensuous yet subtle swish against her legs as she walked. Cream gloves and a matching tiny cream hat trimmed with silk magnolias completed the outfit.

 

The weather held the next morning, and as soon as they had finished luncheon Sasha rushed to fetch her hat and gloves. Reid
wanted to take a carriage, but Sasha was so impatient to be on their way she could not bear to wait for it to be summoned from the Embassy.

‘Oh, do let's walk, Reid, it's such a lovely day!'

Reluctantly, Reid agreed and they set off, strolling down the broad avenue, dwarfed by the massive buildings and palaces of the Nevsky Prospekt. It was busy, with many people also taking advantage of the sunny afternoon to enjoy a stroll or carriage ride along the broad avenues. They crossed the narrow River Moyka over a gracefully arched bridge, its balustrade intricately wrought in filigrees of iron and gilded with gold. It was farther than Sasha realised and took them nearly an hour to reach the vast and open expanse of Dvortsovaya Ploschad—Palace Square. As they approached Reid pointed to the façade of a massive, flat-roofed building curving in a vast sweep as far as the eye could see and set with hundreds of small oblong windows on three floors.

‘That's the headquarters of the Russian Army, the appropriately named, if rather dull, General Staff Building. I do believe that we will be watching the Russian Army on parade next Sunday, making their report to the Tsar.'

‘Well, there's certainly nothing dull about the architecture.' Sasha eyed with some awe the yellow-and-white building, several times bigger than anything she'd ever seen in Whitehall.

In the middle a massive half-moon archway tunnelled into the depths. On either side the façade was decorated with ten white colonnades, supporting on the roof, rather incongruously set against the blue sky, a bronze statue of Victory driving her chariot, surrounded by half a dozen statues of people, but whether they were friend or foe Sasha couldn't tell.

‘It's colossal,' she murmured. ‘Amazing that it doesn't all come crashing down.'

They walked across the wide openness of the windy square and paused to inspect another monument set in its centre. Sasha
craned her neck to gaze up at the thick red granite column soaring into the sky, like a giant stick of rock, and topped by another bronze statue, this time of a winged angel holding aloft a Christian cross.

She translated the inscription on the pedestal. ‘To Alexander I, from a grateful Russia.'

Reid and Sasha exchanged a glance, but then without comment continued on their way. As they crossed the square, admiring their surroundings as they went, they heard the clatter of hooves and looked back towards the archway of the General Staff Building. Six horsemen rode out on black chargers, their manes shivering in long ripples, heads lowered with willing obedience. The sound of spurs and bridles jingling grew louder as the Russian Imperial Guardsmen trotted towards the Winter Palace. Reid's arm through Sasha's checked her and they waited for the Guards to pass them by, but the leading horseman held up his hand and the troop slowed to a stop. The horses snorted and stamped and Sasha caught a whiff of their pungent odour, and of leather and that indefinable smell of soldiers: sweat tinged with gunpowder and rifle oil, and a strong essence of alpha male. The leading horseman was a ranking officer and, though some might think him handsome, Sasha thought his features rather coarse, his moustache far too big and his eyes insolent as he looked her over from head to toe.

Reid recognised the horseman and greeted him, his face inscrutable, revealing nothing of his dislike of the man who was Irena's lover, or one of them, at least. He had been on manoeuvres with them on the plains some weeks before and was noted for his hard drinking and womanizing. Reid had been forced to come to blows with Kirovsky in order to free an unwilling gypsy girl from his advances and allow her to escape the tavern they'd been drinking in.

‘Count Kirovsky.' He bowed slightly, with stiff formality.

‘Major Bowen,' the Count replied in perfect English, having
spent some time at Sandhurst, his dark eyes roaming with undisguised interest over Sasha. ‘And who is this enchanting young lady?'

Reid met his glance squarely, but without moving a muscle. ‘This is my wife.'

‘Your wife? I did not realise you were married!' He laughed, as Sasha turned her head to look at her supposed husband with a questioning frown. ‘Your husband is very popular with the ladies—why, Irena has been talking about him non-stop. And does your beautiful wife have a name?'

Sasha parted her lips to deliver a retort, but the slight tightening of Reid's elbow against the crook of her own prevented her from doing so.

‘Yes.' Reid's gaze was unyielding as he replied coldly, ‘Her name is Mrs Bowen.'

Count Kirovsky smiled, his brows slightly raised as he recognised the signals from a fellow soldier protecting his territory, but he merely inclined his head towards Sasha. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Mrs Bowen. And where is the delightful Irena—she is not with you?'

‘No.'

‘What a shame. But I will see her soon, perhaps.'

With that, he gathered up his reins, jabbed his horse with both spurs and trotted away, his troop jangling and clattering as they followed close behind as one body.

Sasha released her pent breath in a gust. ‘What an odious man! Who is he?'

‘No one you need worry about.'

They continued walking towards the Winter Palace and the entrance to the Hermitage museum to one side of it. Sasha asked, ‘What did he mean, about being popular with the ladies? Have you met him before?'

Reid nodded. ‘When we were on manoeuvres with the Russian cavalry.'

‘Oh, yes, I do remember,' Sasha purred. ‘You came back very drunk.'

‘Well—' Reid cleared his throat and looked away ‘—drunk, but not
very
drunk.'

‘You were
very
drunk.'

‘I was not!'

‘Well, never mind.' Sasha had no wish to argue and spoil the day. ‘How does he know Irena? I have never seen him with her.'

Reid chose his words carefully—for all that Sasha was not a young schoolroom chit, she was still naïve and he did not want to shock her unduly. ‘I think he is the sort of visitor that Irena receives in private.'

‘Oh.' Sasha was silent for a few moments, and then she looked up and said brightly, ‘Well, here we are!'

They stood before the entrance of the Hermitage, an impressive sight with its ten massive statues of Atlantes, sixteen feet tall and made of pure, gleaming granite, their arms crooked backwards as they appeared to hold up the portico of the entrance.

‘Aren't they magnificent?' Sasha enthused as they mounted the steps.

Reid eyed the semi-naked torsos of the male Atlantes, displaying enviable muscles, taut, lean and massive, and replied drily, ‘Quite.'

They entered the museum, their footsteps echoing on the marble floors as they wandered about the magnificent halls and rooms, richly adorned with marble pillars, gold-leaf cornices, elaborate crystal chandeliers, the floors inlaid with intricate designs in jasper, malachite and white marble; an opulence and grandeur that almost overshadowed the priceless paintings and ancient artefacts. There were few people about, yet even as she held her list in one hand and Reid followed at her side and they admired the art with murmurs to one another, Sasha could not concentrate. All she could think about was what Count Kirovsky had said. What did he mean about Reid being popular with the ladies? What had occurred when he had been away that day, or
any day when he was not with her at home? Was there another woman? Was that why Reid no longer had any interest in making love to her?