SUSPICIONS.
For many days the Petersburg Imperial press rang the changes unceasingly
on this last benignant and forgiving act of the Tsar's.
It called upon all malcontents and revolutionists to say, if in this
pardon were not displayed the utmost leniency and mercy. For was it not
well known that Alexis Battenkoff was taken almost red-handed at the
assassination of the late Tsar? And, indeed, who but one familiar,
through long habit and confidence, with the movements of the Emperor,
could have supplied the knowledge which assured the grim success of the
dastardly attack? Was not Alexis always to be found, under suspicious
circumstances, consorting with the most pronounced of the Nihilist
faction; and could he be there save for one purpose only? Could one
touch pitch and not be defiled?
Where then, in modern history, could another such act of condonation be
pointed out, as this by which the Tsar had pardoned a participator in
his father's murder? Was not that answer sufficient to all the
treacherous suggestions, the menacing innuendoes, that had been ripe and
bursting for so long in Petersburg? Perhaps now the organs of the
opposition would cease their importunate blating, since the Tsar's
inspection of Petropavlovsk had resulted in such a redress of imaginary
wrongs, as not even their wildest dreams could have supposed possible.
And was not the hand of Almighty justice made plainly visible, in that
Alexis of Battenkoff was not permitted to taste again of liberty, but
was stricken by death before the news of the Tsar's generosity could
reach him? Let those who would, read well the lesson thus openly
delivered to them.
Paul Patouchki read the enthusiastic laudations and pious thanksgivings
in the silence of his apartments in the Chancellerie, and, as he did so,
a slow, inscrutable smile crept over his face and lingered there.
It was not often that the chief recognised any direct interposition of
Divine Providence in the political turmoils of Russia; indeed, in his
own heart, he scoffed at all such superstitions, and acknowledged
frankly that the Imperial Government neither desired, nor would
appreciate, any such interference with its autocratic despotism.
But certainly, for once, he saw in the Battenkoff incident and death a
most opportune intervention, whether Divine or otherwise, since by it
the hands of the Imperial party could be strengthened, and for a time,
at least, their policy be freed from too suspicious and too true
aspersions. To his mind, like the last of the Stuart Pretenders,
nothing in life so well became poor Alexis of Battenkoff as his leaving
it, how and when he did. It was the one touch needful to stamp the
Imperial inspection of Petropavlovsk with triumphant success, and to
prove a satisfying sop even to so hydra-mouthed a Cerberus as the
disaffected party; and therefore he was thankful, though none knew
better than he that no actual improvement had been effected, no evils
redressed, no reforms instituted in the governmental department of
Petropavlovsk. The giant fortress closed its jaws just as tyrannically
upon its victims, and abated not one jot or tittle of its iron-handed
authority.
Patouchki, however, had too many anxieties pressing upon him to spend
over much time in complaisant reading of political trumpet notes; he
laid aside the _Petersburg Messenger_ and turned toward his desk, on
which lay a heavy correspondence not yet disposed of. As he sat down in
his familiar place, the grim smile faded from his lips, to be replaced
by a dark frown that knit together the black eyebrows, and accentuated
the strong lines about the eyes and mouth. In truth, the chief was more
concerned than he liked to admit, even to himself, at Ivor Tolskoi's
news; and though at the time he endeavoured to treat it with cavalier
disbelief, he nevertheless had an inner consciousness, of its truth, and
a presentiment of complications to follow in consequence.
That Adèle Lamien should be in Petersburg, and the Chancellerie have
neither warning of her intentions, nor knowledge of her presence,
seemed, as he had said to Tolskoi, impossible; and yet, even as the word
fell from his lips, he knew himself to be wrong, and Ivor to be right.
The great spy system had failed for once, imperceptibly almost, and so
far without damaging results, but it had, nevertheless, proved itself
vulnerable, and had found its match in the quick wits and ready
ingenuity of a woman. Even all the elaborate machinery of the
Chancellerie had not been sufficient, when pitted against the devices of
one weak, fugitive woman.
Yes, that was where the shoe pinched; to be duped by the very criminal
they were pursuing, and to hear her laugh in their ears, as she slipped
out of their fingers! And then, what a bad precedent was even this
slight dereliction on the part of the Chancellerie; and how could the
discipline of fear be kept up in the minds of the younger members of the
great body, if such a defection became known? And the woman, Adèle
Lamien, was brazen enough and clever enough, smarting as she was under
her own wrongs, to circulate their blindness and failure, just where it
would most redound to their discredit.
"It is impossible!" again muttered Patouchki, as his fingers rested idly
on his desk, and his eyes wandered over the familiar trifles of his
daily avocations. "It is impossible; and yet I know it is true. Some
one of our emissaries has been asleep at his post, some one has connived
at this woman's plotting, or been blind to her schemes, and deaf to her
plans; some one, as at Balaklava, has blundered, and it remains for me
to find the culprit, and to administer chastisement. A winter in
Siberia, or in the Nartchinsk mines, will teach that some one the price
of treachery, and the weight of the Chancellerie's wrath. Meantime the
woman must be found and watched; the time is not ripe yet for her
arrest, I must wait Vladimir Mellikoff's next report first; and by
heaven, should he prove false, as Tolskoi would insinuate, he shall work
out his retribution, side by side with the wretched victim of Count
Stevan's licentiousness. But first of all, the woman must be found."
He drew a deep sigh, and with almost an expression of weariness took up
one of the many despatches before him, and broke the seal.
Meantime, Ivor Tolskoi had prospered but slowly in his suit. Despite all
his anticipations of numerous opportunities occurring during the
inspection of the fortress, in which he should be able to command Olga's
attention, and by deftly-turned compliment, or ingenious flattery, urge
his pretensions, even as with subtle innuendo and covert sneer he
touched upon Count Mellikoff's absence, and the character of his
mission.
But Olga was more than indifferent, she was impatient with him; the
influence of the time and place oppressed her peculiarly impressionable
nature, as the sight of the pale sorrow on her Tsarina's face set
vibrating the chords of her quick and passionate sympathy. She accorded
Ivor but a half-hearted attention, scarcely hearing his soft pleadings,
and while retaining unconsciously a memory of his insinuations against
Vladimir, it was not until the Royal _cortège_ turned down the gay
boulevard that a full realisation of his meaning came to her. She
turned then sharply to him, as he sat beside her, and, with her
favourite imperious upward movement of her head, said abruptly, though
in a low voice, inaudible to the other occupants of the sleigh:
"What is it, Ivor, you have been hinting to me all this morning,
concerning my cousin Mellikoff? If you have news of him, why not give it
me without so much useless circumambulation? I do not like mysteries."
"Mdlle. Naundorff has surely mistaken my meaning," answered Tolskoi,
coolly, looking straight at her, and smiling a little. "I had no
intention of insinuating anything detrimental of Count Vladimir; my
remarks were but general, though to be sure any one is welcome to wear
the cap, if it fits him."
"_Les absents ont toujours tort_," replied Olga, still impatient; "my
cousin Mellikoff but shares the fate of all who have achieved even a
limited greatness; jealousy and envy go hand in hand with those who, not
so fortunate, only stand and look on."
Her words were sharp, and her manner pointed. Ivor knew both were
intended to sting, and though he could not control the sudden wave of
hot blood that dyed his face crimson, he could control his temper and
his voice; he answered her, therefore, with another cold little laugh,
as he said:
"Surely it is grace enough to be so defended by Mdlle. Naundorff? Even
Count Vladimir could scarcely ask a greater favour, accustomed as he is
to all devotion--where women are concerned."
"What do you mean?" exclaimed Olga, imperiously. "I insist, Ivor, on
your explaining your very equivocal suggestions."
Tolskoi shrugged his shoulders, and replied under apparent protest:
"It is, I think, well known how successful Count Mellikoff has always
been in any _affaire du coeur_, though such details are better suited
for men's ears than for yours, mademoiselle. It can, however, be no
detriment to him, even in your estimation, to acknowledge that his past
is not written upon an absolutely white page, since you are the only one
who has definitely subdued him, and bid fair to turn the brave Lothario
into a Benedict. I have yet to meet the woman to whom the reputation of
a certain kind of success in a man proves anything but a
recommendation."
As Ivor finished, a silence of several moments fell between them. Olga
turned her fair face from him and looked out, with unseeing eyes, upon
the gay, moving pageant about her. Tolskoi watched her intently but
furtively, and saw with inward satisfaction that his barb had gone home
and was rankling, and would rankle for days to come, in her heart.
Well he knew Olga Naundorff's character, with its complex mingling of
cruelty and softness; its nicely balanced elements of revenge and
generosity; its preponderance of pride, its insatiable demand of
absolute submission to her will, and its imperious arrogation of
supremacy, not only over the present and future of her suitors, but over
their past as well. Like her great ancestress, the Empress Catherine,
her favours were tyrannies; and woe unto the luckless recipient of them
should she find him faithless in the smallest degree! Even his past must
be forgotten and forsworn; his existence could only begin with the
bestowal of her first smile.
Without knowing it, a true and absolute belief in her cousin Vladimir
Mellikoff's integrity had gradually grown up within her; she had come to
regard him as the one faithfully sincere lover out of all her admirers,
whose very sternness and power of repression spoke more eloquently to
her than all the more emotional pleadings of her other suitors. She had
believed herself to be the first and only woman on whom he had expended
even the smallest measure of love; and to be the object of so unique and
chivalrous a devotion, had not been the least among her reasons for
yielding to his solicitations.
Ivor's insinuations, therefore, coming as they did, disturbed her more
than she cared to realise, and awoke at once that latent suspicion and
distrust that forms so pronounced a factor in the Russian character, and
caused her to accept his words as positive and final evidence of
Vladimir's perfidy and deceit. She never stopped to weigh his actions
against Ivor's words; hers was not a nature of sufficiently generous
tendencies to turn instinctively from ignominious slander; rather it
leapt to conclusions, and from its own attributes pronounced its
condemnatory sentence.
In her eyes Vladimir Mellikoff had been tried and sentenced, with Ivor
Tolskoi as judge and jury. She could never trust him again, and she
would endeavour by every means in her power to unravel his past; holding
the threads of it in her slender hand until the hour should come when
she could wound deepest, and play with most sinister effect the part of
Atropos. What though she stabbed her own heart as well with the sharp
scissors of fate? She must bear that, and hers would be the satisfaction
of beholding her victim's misery first.
Meantime the Imperial procession flew swiftly along the boulevard,
saluted on every side by the shouts of the populace, and the cries of
the people: "Long live the Tsar! Long live our little father! Long live
the Tsarina!" And the bells rang, and the sun shone, and all was gaiety,
and mirth, and mocking optimism.
The crimson blush that had dyed Olga's cheeks so deeply, as the meaning
of Ivor's last words became clear to her, had faded and left them
colourless when she again turned to him, and her voice had an additional
ring of hardness when she next spoke.
"My dear Ivor, we have, I think, always been sufficiently good friends
for us not to doubt each other's sincerity of motive, even when we feel
forced to speak upon subjects whose very nature precludes any
possibility of agreeableness. I do not forget my very singular position
in the world; alone as I am, though apparently protected by Imperial
power, I owe obedience to no one in matters that concern myself alone.
And it is because of this peculiar position that I am about to appeal to
your friendship, or whatever sentiment does duty for that obsolete
emotion, and beg you to be quite frank with me, and tell me all you can
of Count Vladimir Mellikoff's past. Since, as rumour asserts, I am to
become his wife, it certainly befits me to inform myself of his
antecedents, in order that I may be a true and sustaining helpmate to
him. Tell me, then, my dear Ivor, all you know, or all you will reveal
concerning my cousin."
There was something so finely bitter and yet so commanding in her voice,
and she had subdued her countenance to such an expression of simple
friendliness, Tolskoi looked at her with genuine admiration during the
half-moment that elapsed before he answered her. When he did reply, it
was scarcely in the way she anticipated.
"Mdlle. Naundorff," he said, his cold, hard blue eyes studying her face
intently, "you may remember that some weeks ago, when we spoke on this
subject one evening at the Palace, you asked me a question, to which I
gave you no answer. You asked me then what was my opinion as to the
share of a certain woman--known as Count Stevan Lallovich's cast-off
wife--in the murder of that same Count Stevan? I told you then I had no
opinion upon the matter, and from that the conversation wandered to more
personal matters. Mademoiselle, what I said then was not true. I had,
and have, a very strong opinion as to the culprit, or culprits; but we
will let that rest for the time being. Shall I continue? Are you
interested sufficiently in this wretched woman's story to wish to hear
more?"
She replied by a quick and decisive gesture of her hand, and an almost
inaudible, "Yes."
Ivor smiled again, and drew the fur robe more closely about her,
glancing keenly across towards Patouchki, who, however, was absorbed in
conversation with the equerry and paid no attention to his companions;
seeing which, Tolskoi continued:
"Mademoiselle, that woman is now in Petersburg, and I have seen her.
This is probably not such a matter of surprise to you as it is to--some
other people; but when I tell you that Count Mellikoff's hurried journey
to America was undertaken ostensibly to track, to find, and to arrest
that woman, and that his continuing there is for the same reason, you
will understand why my meeting with her here is pregnant with such grave
complications."
Olga was gazing at him earnestly, following his every word and gesture
with her eyes; the violet iris had grown black and enlarged from
suppressed excitement.
"I will not go into the details, mademoiselle," Ivor went on, "of that
unfortunate woman's wrongs, or the succession of cruel circumstances
that led up to the murder of Count Stevan. Doubtless, she had a share
and part in that murder; but hers was not the only brain that conceived
the crime, or the only hand that struck the blow. There was a stronger
and more important power behind; one who knew the terrible risk that was
run in slaying a member of the Imperial blood, no matter how slight the
consanguinity, and who had private ends to serve in seeing Count Stevan
removed for ever from Imperial favour; one who, though hesitating to
become a murderer in deed, did not hesitate to use this half frenzied
woman as his accomplice and tool. Hers, indeed, should be the hand to
hold the knife and strike the blow, but guided by a far more powerful
coadjutor."
Ivor stopped again, and again Olga motioned to him to continue, by the
same quick movement of her hand.
"There was but one man in Petersburg, mademoiselle, who could boast of
any apparent intimacy with Count Stevan Lallovich, and who, if any one
at any time, might have been his confidant. That man was Vladimir
Mellikoff."
Again he stopped, and Olga, without taking her eyes from his face, felt,
as she gazed on its youthful freshness, a great and terrible wave of
doubt and uncertainty rush up and over her, wrapping her round and
round, and sweeping away all lesser sensations in this awful one of
impending calamity; but such calamity as should break not only upon her,
but on one whom she dared not name, and out of which she could see no
lift of light or hope. Tolskoi's words had been too well chosen not to
carry with them the significance he intended, and she felt their full
force even as she realised their full meaning. She drew her tongue
across her lips, and tried to smile in answer to the cold light in
Ivor's blue eyes, but the effort was feeble and abortive.
"Have you any more to tell me?" she asked at last, in a voice that was
almost a whisper; "if so, continue, I beg. I find the story very
interesting, and--instructive."
Ivor replied by one of his coldest little laughs, and then resumed his
narrative.
"You, mademoiselle, were not in Petersburg when the murder was
committed, the Court being then at Gatschina, consequently you could not
know how great was the excitement here, or how freely Count Mellikoff
mingled his regrets and desires for summary justice to be meted out to
the criminal, with the public expressions heard on every side. No one
had known Count Stevan better than he; and no one had a better right to
mourn his untimely fate. Unfortunately, Count Vladimir had not been in
Petersburg during the night of the murder, nor indeed for a day or two
before; consequently, he could throw no light upon Stevan Lallovich's
movements at that time, and his regrets could only take the more passive
form of words. You will see therefore, mademoiselle, why, when the
Government discovered that Count Stevan's repudiated wife had fled the
country--aided and abetted by some powerful political friends--and was
heard of in America, it took prompt and decisive measures for her
capture. And who could have been better chosen for this work than Count
Mellikoff, since he had been Stevan Lallovich's best friend? I must
remind you here, mademoiselle, that my confidences must be held secret
between you and me; I am, as it is, overstepping my boundaries in
speaking thus frankly of the Government's share in this business; but I
do so deliberately, and am willing to bear the consequences."
"I shall be silent," replied Olga, simply, and Tolskoi continued:
"You know, mademoiselle, how and when Count Mellikoff started on this
mission, though at the time of his departure you little suspected it
was in the interests of a woman that he undertook so long a journey. You
knew only that there was work to be done on behalf of the Government,
and that he had been selected for that work. It is now two months since
he left Russia; granting him all necessary time for easy travelling and
stoppages, he must have reached the United States close on to a month
ago, which would leave him this last month to lay his train, if not to
find the woman. I have said, mademoiselle, that this woman calling
herself Adèle Lallovich, was assisted through Russia, and over the
frontier, by the influence of some strong political agent, one whose
word and whose name carried the weight of coercion. Very well, this
happened early in December; in January Count Vladimir leaves Petersburg,
and reaches America early in February. A month goes by, and within the
first week of March I meet Adèle Lallovich face to face here. Ah, I see
you have followed my reasoning. The same powerful influence that got her
out of Russia, when danger menaced her here, has now sent her back to
Petersburg, where she is for the time being more secure from arrest than
in the States. And the brain and the hand that have twice protected and
saved her--a fugitive from justice--are the same brain and hand that
planned and executed Count Stevan's murder, and that used _her_ as their
instrument. I think, mademoiselle, that Count Mellikoff will somewhat
disappoint the expectations and shake the confidence of his Government,
when he returns without any definite intelligence or any important
information regarding the movements and condition of Adèle Lallovich."
Olga heard him throughout without word or sign, though not one detail of
the terrible suspicion he so boldly advanced was lost upon her. Slowly
but surely she followed his every gesture, his every sentence, never
taking her eyes that had grown so strangely dark from his face. Every
vestige of colour ebbed from her cheeks and lips, leaving her face white
as alabaster beneath the dark furs of her close cap; a waving ripple of
golden-lighted hair seemed the only sentient thing about her. She spoke
at last, and her voice had a faint far-away echo in its whisper.
"What you would suggest, Ivor, is horrible, unnatural. What could be the
motive for such a crime, and such a shielding of the criminal? If, as
you say, it were possible for one brain to plot and plan it all, and
another to fulfil it, still where would be the object, what would be the
motive? I know whom it is you suspect, but his motive, Ivor, his
motive?"
She bent forward eagerly, clasping her hands and looking into the very
depths of his eyes. Ivor Tolskoi saw his advantage, and pressed it home.
His opportunity had come, he was not one to lose it for lack of courage
to deal one more swift sure blow. Meeting Olga's strained violet eyes
with his, in which the steel-blue light flamed out, he said slowly and
with distinct emphasis:
"Adèle Lamien, or Lallovich, is a rarely beautiful woman, Olga, and
beauty such as hers is a dangerous attribute. Count Mellikoff is a
worshipper of woman's loveliness, and the story goes that when Adèle
Lamien became the wife of Stevan Lallovich, she cast off a former lover
whose chains had begun to gall. Who that lover was, Olga, I leave to
your imagination. But when Stevan Lallovich repudiated and threw aside
the woman, and an Imperial ukase released him from his obligations, is
it unlikely that she sought her former friend and protector, or that he,
maddened by her beauty and her wrongs, determined to avenge them?
"That is the story, mademoiselle, and you now know why I swore to you
that sooner than see you Vladimir Mellikoff's wife I would kill him with
my own hand."
But Olga made no reply. Silent, impassive, stricken through and through,
she sat with blanched face and tightly clasped hands; and the sun shone,
and the bells rang, and the populace shouted: "Long live the Tsar! Long
live our little father!" but she neither saw nor heard any of it. All
her heart and soul were in revolt and turmoil; all she had trusted to
had gone down before her eyes, she was shipwrecked upon an ocean of
deception and despair.
Presently the shouts and cries grew fainter, and the horses slackened
speed as they turned into the Palace gates and were drawn up sharply at
the side entrance, out of which she had passed so long ago--was it
months or years, or alas! only hours? Should she ever again know what it
was to feel light-hearted and joyous? Would this terrible burden of
knowledge ever be lifted from her heart?
Ivor Tolskoi sprang down even as the threshold was reached and put out
his arm to help her; she barely touched it with her gloved hand, and
passed by him with but one burning look from her haunted eyes. For days
after, the light pressure of her fingers rested there like iron, and the
misery of her glance accompanied him as that of a lost spirit.