Chapter Nineteen. Orders in Cipher.

“And pray, Trewinnard, why are you so extremely desirous of following this woman into exile and speaking with her?” inquired the Emperor in French, as I sat with him, a week later, in a small, dismal, tapestried room in the old Castle of Berezov, the Imperial hunting-box on the edge of the Pinsk Marshes, in the Government of Minsk.

Dressed in a rough shooting-suit of drab Scotch tweed, he sat upon the edge of the table smoking a cigarette after a hard day after wild boar.

I had driven since dawn from the wayside station of Olevsk, three hundred miles south of Moscow, where I had arrived tired and famished from my long night and day journey of a week from Brighton.

On arrival in Moscow I had learnt that His Majesty was hunting at Berezov, and a telegram prefixed by the word “Bathildis,” had at once been replied to by a command to audience. Hence I was there, and had placed my appeal before him.

He was much puzzled. In his eyes Madame de Rosen was a dangerous revolutionist who had conspired to kill him, therefore he regarded with entire disfavour my petition to be allowed to see her. There was annoyance written upon his strong features, and by the expression in his eyes I saw that he was entirely averse to granting my request.

“I am anxious, Sire, to see her upon a purely private matter. She was a personal friend,” I replied.

“So you told me some time ago, I recollect,” he remarked, twisting his cigarette between his fingers. “But Markoff has reported that both she and her daughter are highly dangerous to the security of the State. He was speaking of them only the other day.”

I bit my lip fiercely.

“Perhaps he may be misinformed,” I said coldly. “As far as I am aware—and I know both the lady and her daughter Luba intimately—they are most loyal subjects of Your Majesty.”

“Tut,” he laughed. “The evidence put before me was that they actually financed the attempt in the Nevski. I had a narrow escape, Trewinnard—a very narrow one,” he added. “And if you were in my place how would you, I wonder, treat those scoundrels who attempted to kill you—eh?”

“I have no knowledge of the true facts, Sire,” I replied. “All I petition Your Majesty is that I may be granted an Imperial permit for the post-horses, and a personal order from yourself to see and speak with the prisoners.”

He shrugged his shoulders, and thrust his hands deeply in his breeches pockets.

“You do not tell me the reason you wish to see her,” he said with a frown of displeasure.

“Upon a purely private matter,” I said. “To ask her a question concerning a very dear friend. I beg that Your Majesty will not refuse me this request,” I added, deeply in earnest.

“It is a long journey, Trewinnard. I believe she has been sent beyond Yakutsk,” he remarked. “But, tell me, were you a very intimate friend of this woman? What do you actually know of her?”

“All I know of her,” I replied, “is that she is suffering a great wrong, Your Majesty. She is in possession of certain information which closely concerns a friend. Hence my determination to try, if possible, to amend matters.”

“What—you yourself desire to make amends—eh?”

“Not exactly that, Sire,” I replied. “I wish to learn the truth concerning—well, concerning a purely private matter. I think that Your Majesty is convinced of my loyalty.”

“Of course I am, Trewinnard,” was his quick reply. “You have rendered me many important personal services, not the least being your kindness in looking after the welfare of that harebrained little flirt Tattie. By the way, how is she? As much a tomboy as ever, I suppose?” And his big, strong face relaxed into a humorous smile at thought of the girl who, at her own request, had been banished from Court.

“She is greatly improving,” I assured him, with a laugh. “She and Miss West are quite comfortable, and I believe enjoying themselves immensely. Her Highness loves England.”

“And so do I,” he sighed. “I only wish I could go to London oftener. It is to be regretted that my recent visits there have not exactly found favour with the Council of Ministers.” Then, after a long pause, he said: “Well, I suppose I must not refuse this request of yours, Trewinnard. But I fear you will find your winter journey an extremely uncomfortable one. When you are back, come direct to me. I would like to hear the result of your observations. Let me see? Besides the permit to use the post-horses, you will require an order to speak with the prisoner, Marya de Rosen, alone, and an order to the Governor of Tomsk, who has the register which will show to which settlement she has been deported.”

My heart leaped within me, for at first I had feared refusal.

“As Your Majesty pleases,” was my reply, and I added my warmest thanks.

“I’ll write them out now,” he said; and, turning, he seated himself at the little escritoire in the corner of the small, old-world room and commenced to scribble those Imperial decrees which no one within the Russian Empire would dare to disobey.

While he did so I stood gazing out of the small, deep-set double windows across a flat dismal landscape, brown with the tints of autumn—the wide and weedy moat which surrounded the castle, the stretch of grazing-land and then a belt of dense forest on the skyline—the Imperial game preserves.

That silent old room, dull, faded and sombre, was just the same as it had been when Catherine the Great had fêted her favourite Potemkin, the man who for years ruled Russia and who fought so valiantly against the Turks. There, in that very room, the Treaty of Jassy, which gave Russia the littoral between the Bug and the Dniester, had been signed by Catherine in 1792, and again in that room the Tzar Alexander the First had received the news of Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow.

At that small buhl table whereat the Emperor was now writing out my permits the Tzar Nicholas had signed the decree taking away the Polish constitution, and, years later, he had written the final orders to his ill-fated army fighting against the British in the Crimea.

Somewhere in the stone corridor outside could be heard the measured tramp of the sentry, but that, and the rapid scratching of the Emperor’s pen, were the only sounds which broke the quiet.

At last he rose and handed me three sheets of foolscap bearing the Imperial arms—the orders which I sought.

I took them with thanks, but after a moment’s hesitation I ventured to add:

“I wonder if I might request of Your Majesty a further favour?”

“Well,” he asked with a smile, “what is it?”

“That my journey to Siberia should be kept a secret from the police?”

“Eh—what?” he asked quickly, looking at me strangely. “You do not wish the police to know. Why? There is to be no attempted escape, surely?”

“I give Your Majesty my word that Madame de Rosen will not attempt to escape,” I said. “I will, indeed, make myself responsible for her. The fact is that I know I have enemies among the Secret Police; hence I wish them to remain in entire ignorance of my journey.”

“Enemies!” he echoed. “Who are they? Tell me, and I will quickly turn them into your friends,” he said.

“Alas, Sire, I do not exactly know their identity,” was my reply.

“Very well,” he replied at last, selecting another cigarette from the big golden box upon the table, “I will say nothing—if you so desire. But, remember, you have made yourself responsible for the woman.”

“I willingly accept the responsibility,” I replied. “But, Your Majesty, there is another matter. I would suggest that Hartwig be detailed to remain with Her Highness the Grand Duchess Natalia at Brighton until my return. He is there at present, awaiting Your Majesty’s orders.”

At my words he rang a bell, and Calitzine, his private secretary, appeared, bowing.

“Send a telegram at once to Hartwig. Where is he?” he asked, turning to me.

“At the Hotel Métropole, Brighton,” I said.

“Telegraph to him in cipher that I order him to remain with Natalia until further orders.”

“Very well, Your Majesty,” replied the trusted official, bowing.

“And another thing,” exclaimed the Emperor. “Telegraph, also in cipher, to all Governors of Siberian provinces that Mr Colin Trewinnard, of London, is our guest during his journey across Siberia, and is to be treated as such by all authorities.”

“But pardon me, Your Majesty,” I ventured to interrupt, “would not that make it plain to those persons in Petersburg of whom I spoke a moment ago.”

“Ah! I forgot,” said the Emperor. “Write the telegram, and send a confidential courier with it to Tiumen, across the Siberian frontier. He will despatch it from there, and it will then only go over the Asiatic wires.”

“I fear, Your Majesty, that a courier could not reach Omsk under six or seven days, travelling incessantly,” remarked the secretary.

“In seven days will be sufficient time. Both messages are confidential.”

And he dismissed Calitzine with a wave of his hand, the secretary backing out of the presence of his Imperial master.

When the door had closed the tall, muscular man before me placed his hands behind his back and slowly paced the room, saying:

“Well, Trewinnard, I must wish you a safe journey. If you find yourself in any difficulty, communicate direct with me. I must admit that I can’t quite understand the object of this rather quixotic journey of yours—to see a female prisoner. I strongly suspect that you are in love with her—eh?” and he smiled knowingly.

“No, Sire,” I replied, “I am not. On my return I hope to be able to show Your Majesty that I have been actuated by motives of humanity and justice—I hope, indeed, perhaps even to receive Your Majesty’s commendation.”

“Ah! you are too mysterious for me,” he laughed. “Are you leaving at once? Or will you remain here, in the castle, until to-morrow?”

“I am greatly honoured and appreciate Your Majesty’s hospitality,” I said. “But I have horses ready, and I am driving back to the railway at Olevsk to-night.”

“Very well, then,” he said with a smile. “Good-bye, and be back again in Petersburg as soon as ever you can.”

And he stretched forth his big sinewy hand and gave me such a hearty grip that I was compelled to wince.

I was backing towards the door, when it opened and the chamberlain Polivanoff, standing upon the threshold, announced:

“General Markoff begs audience of Your Majesty.”

“Ah! Let him come in,” the Emperor replied, smiling.

The next moment I found myself face to face with the man whom I knew to be Natalia’s worst enemy and mine—that bloated, grey-faced man in military uniform, through whose instrumentality no fewer than ten thousand persons were annually being exiled to the Siberian wastes.

We met just beyond the threshold.

“Ah! my dear M’sieur Trewinnard!” he cried, raising his grey brows in evident surprise at meeting me there. “I thought you were in England. And how is your interesting young charge?”

“She is very well, I believe,” was my cold reply.

I passed on, while he, crossing the threshold into the Imperial presence, bowed low, cringing before the monarch whom he daily terrorised, and yet who believed him to be the guardian of the dynasty.

“Ah! I am so glad you have come, Markoff!” I heard the Emperor exclaim as he entered. “I have several pressing matters to discuss with you.”

I passed the two sentries, who presented arms, and followed Colonel Polivanoff along the corridor, full of gravest apprehension.

Ill fortune had dogged my footsteps. Markoff had seen me there. He would naturally inquire of the Emperor the reason of my audience.

His Majesty might tell him.

If so, what then?