Chapter Four
Allison’s only evening gown had been a gift from a very grateful mother whose child she had successfully treated, a woman who apparently laboured under the misapprehension that herbalists had any number of functions to attend which required a lavish silk robe. Tonight would be its first and likely its only outing.
The gown was olive-green and, compared to those on display at the Winter Palace last night, a simple affair, the decoration confined to one pleated ruffle around the hem and some intricate smocking in the short puffed sleeves. But the skirt, below the narrow sash was composed of acres of silk, and the quality of the fabric itself infinitely superior to anything else that Allison had ever owned.
She wore silk slippers on her feet. Her best silk stockings were held up by garters tied with green ribbons. The many layers of petticoats under her gown rustled with every step she took. Though Natalya had protested that her corsets were too loosely laced, Allison was convinced they were too tight. The décolleté of her gown was modest, but she was conscious of the quivering of her exposed cleavage, the way her locket nestled in the valley between her breasts. Natalya had piled her hair high on top of her head, threading it through with ribbon and an extraordinary number of pins, allowing one long curl to fall artlessly over her bare shoulder, achieving an elegant, deceptively simple coiffure that Allison could never have attempted and which made her look considerably more sophisticated than she felt.
‘Parfait, mademoiselle.’ Natalya fastened the buttons at the wrist of Allison’s long evening gloves. ‘I hope you have a pleasant dinner.’
Madame Orlova had habitually dined alone in her private sitting room, Allison knew, because Natalya had outlined the domestic arrangements to her yesterday. Yes, Natalya had admitted, there were occasions when Madame Orlova had attended a dinner with their Serene Highnesses in order to make up the numbers, Madame Orlova being sufficiently high born not to lower the tone of a duke and duchess’s table.
Allison, whose blood was bright red and not remotely blue, would most certainly not have been invited. And in any case, she was not making up the numbers on this occasion, she was dining with the acting head of the Derevenko dynasty tête-à-tête. What Natalya made of this, she did not say, but Allison had no doubt it would be the main topic of conversation at another dinner, in the servants’ hall.
Was it foolhardy and reckless? If so, it was too late to do anything about it. Besides, she didn’t want to cancel.
‘Mademoiselle? The footman is here to show you the way.’
Allison took a final glance in the mirror. The woman who gazed back at her was not only elegant, she was a sultry creature, a vibrant one, the colour of her hair, her eyes, even her lips, enhanced by the gown. She looked, ironically, like the sophisticated twin of the harlot Allison depicted in the London gutter press. Those caricatures had shamed her. But this version of her—Allison smiled at herself—she liked what she saw.
‘You are ready, mademoiselle?’
‘Thank you, Natalya. I am more than ready.’
* * *
The Green Dining Room, Allison thought, as she entered the empty chamber, I have certainly dressed to match.
The room was decorated in the classical style. Pale green walls were embellished with white moulding of various toga-clad figures and Etruscan vases, above which was an elaborate cornice of trailing vines, fruits, birds and cupids. A lion rampant propped up either side of the marble fireplace. Candles on the mantel and the table gave the room a soft glow, but the huge candelabra suspended from the ceiling was unlit.
Two places had been set at the table, one at either end. Though this was, she presumed, one of the Derevenko Palace’s less formal dining rooms, the expanse of white linen, silver epergnes, and crested china plate between the settings would make conversation difficult. In fact they’d probably have to shout. Not exactly intimate then. Deliberately so?
The kid soles of her slippers skidded slightly on the highly polished parquet flooring as she crossed to the tall French windows which took up most of one wall. Pulling aside the voile, she peered out, hoping to get a glimpse of the gardens, but it was too dark to make out anything save shadowy shrub-shaped silhouettes.
‘My apologies, I was detained, interminably as ever, on estate business.’
Aleksei had changed into a burgundy tailcoat with a black collar and cuffs. A burgundy waistcoat, black pantaloons and top boots, and a pristine white shirt with a neatly tied cravat completed this plain but extremely well-cut ensemble, the tailoring making the most of the breadth of his shoulders and chest, Allison thought, eyeing him appreciatively.
He made a bow over her hand, the look in his eyes making it very clear that the appreciation was reciprocated. ‘You look quite ravishing.’ Aleksei frowned at the table setting. ‘I must presume that Michael and Elizaveta preferred not to talk when dining alone,’ he said, ringing the bell. ‘Miss Galbraith will sit by my right,’ he instructed when the footman answered his summons. He had not been responsible for the slightly frosty seating arrangement, then.
It took ten minutes, three footmen and one butler to pour the wine, rearrange the table and lay out a vast array of silver-covered salvers. ‘Thank you,’ Aleksei said, when the butler made to lift the lid on the first of those, ‘we will serve ourselves.’ Adding firmly when the outraged butler would have protested, ‘I will ring if I need you.’
‘Poor man, he’s probably gone to weep in his pantry,’ Allison said, as Aleksei took his seat beside her. ‘Not only have you broken with protocol by dining alone with a lowly governess, you have had the audacity to feed yourself.’
Aleksei chuckled. ‘I’m already in the bad books for refusing to allow Michael’s valet to shave me or dress me. Now,’ he said, lifting the lids on the nearest salvers, ‘would you like me to help you to some food, or do you prefer to serve yourself? The chef is French, and very good. Here we have consommé, and this looks like lobster in some sort of sauce. A blanquette de veau, choux farcis, a white fish—I think that must be carp—or an omelette fines herbes, artichokes, carrots...’
‘Thank you, that is more than sufficient.’ Allison surveyed the remaining covered dishes. ‘Is this what you would call a small informal dinner?’
Aleksei laughed. ‘By Derevenko Palace standards, certainly. I am accustomed to much more basic fayre, cooked in one pot over a campfire, usually.’
Allison, momentarily distracted by the delicious lobster, drew him a sceptical look. ‘During campaigns perhaps, but you are an officer, and no doubt dined like this in mess every evening.’
‘Not every evening, and not for some time. One aspect of army life I don’t miss. I am very glad to avoid the endless dinners being held in Paris to celebrate peace.’
‘May I ask, what rank you are?’
‘Polkovnik. Your equivalent of a colonel, and as such I was a great disappointment to my brother.’ Aleksei grimaced. ‘As the son of a duke, it was always expected that my family name would be my passport to rapid promotion. If I’d wanted to, I could be a full general at least, perhaps even an adjutant general.’
‘But you don’t wish?’
‘I prefer to earn the respect of my men on merit.’
Having finished her portion of stuffed cabbage, Allison opted for some veal. ‘You have also earned the respect of your fellow officers. That much was obvious at the Winter Palace ball.’
‘Oh, that. Between ourselves, the respect of most of that fawning crowd means little to me. Their experience of war, with a few notable exceptions, is confined to watching battle from the side lines, for which I am very grateful, given their ineptitude.’
Allison smiled, raising her champagne glass. ‘A toast! To succeeding on your own terms.’ There was a trace of bitterness in her voice that she had not meant to express. She set her glass down. ‘So, what does the future hold for you now that there are no more wars to fight, Polkovnik?’
‘Unfortunately we live in a world where there will always be more wars to fight.’ He was silent for a moment, concentrating on his food, and she hoped that he hadn’t picked up on her tone. She was wrong. ‘You have had to make compromises in your life?’
Allison attempted one of Aleksei’s indifferent shrugs. ‘I’m a woman in a man’s world.’
He laid his fingers on her arm. ‘I’m interested, if you’re willing to talk about it.’
No one had ever asked her before. No one, not even Robert, had ever shown any interest. ‘You touched on it yourself, when we met yesterday,’ Allison said. ‘My appearance works against me.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘In my opinion, your appearance is very much to your advantage.’
Though she smiled, it was dismissive. ‘Not when one is trying...’ She sighed, shaking her head. ‘Imagine, if you can,’ she began, frowning, ‘that you are a woman, a skilled herbalist, and an experienced healer. You have worked tirelessly for seven years to establish yourself in society. You have proven results, sound methods, have become sought after by women in particular, to deal with feminine complaints, and with the illnesses which beset their children.’
‘I remember the doctor who attended us when we were little. We called him the Raven, though his cures—to be honest, I’m astonished he didn’t kill us with his harsh treatments.’
The shadow of the past fluttered over her, and Allison shuddered. Resolutely, she quashed the memory, slipping her hand free from Aleksei’s clasp to take a sip of champagne. ‘Bleeding, cupping, purges—I agree they can all be extremely unpleasant, but in the majority of cases they do no major harm.’
‘But you do not advocate their use?’
‘No, I do not, and that is part of the problem,’ she said, with a bitter smile. ‘My methods and my remedies are quite different from those prescribed by physicians and apothecaries. I do not claim they are always more successful, I do not claim to have the skills, for example of a surgeon, but I am an excellent healer. Yet despite that, my sex prevents me from being recognised by the exalted Society of Apothecaries, which means I have no legal right to practise. My clients turned a blind eye to that, but society viewed me differently.’ She felt herself colour. ‘My appearance and my vocation—men take me for a woman of—of loose virtue. No, let us be plain. Men assume I’m a harlot. It is but a short leap from herbalist to sorceress, you see, and there is something about me...’
‘There is, most definitely, something about you,’ Aleksei said with a rueful smile. ‘Though I suspect that is something you have heard too many times and have no wish to hear repeated.’
‘What I wish is to be judged on my skills as a herbalist and not my appearance. Such a simple ambition, you might think,’ Allison continued, almost to herself, ‘and so it would be, were I a man. But as a woman, I must not only prove my skills, I must prove myself a paragon of virtue.’
She blinked. Her hand was curled tightly around her champagne glass. ‘I’m sorry. I did not intend the conversation to take such a sombre tone. It is ancient history and has no relevance now. You do realise that we will be the subject of lurid speculation in the servants’ hall?’
‘I don’t give a damn what they are saying about us. Unless you do?’
‘No.’ She smiled. ‘I really don’t. Let them talk.’
* * *
But it was they who talked. Aleksei pulled a chaise longue in front of the fire, and they sat together before the flames, sipping wine and chatting.
‘From Seanmhair—that is, my grandmother,’ she told him with a tender smile, when he asked her how she acquired her knowledge of herbs. ‘Seanmhair is what is known as a fey wife or wise woman in the Highlands of Scotland. It is from her that I inherited my love of herbs and healing, though she always said I derived my ambition from Lady Hunter.’
‘Lady Hunter?’
‘The laird’s wife. She took a shine to me. My grandmother said it was her having no daughter of her own. It was from Lady Hunter I had my English lessons, and learnt to go about in polite society, learnt also to use my skills there with discretion. When Seanmhair died, it was Lady Hunter who encouraged me to seek my fortune in London.’
‘And what of your mother?’
‘She left me in my grandmother’s care when she married. Her husband was not my father, you see. I would have been a great inconvenience to the pair of them.’ Allison was curled up on the chaise longue beside him, her feet tucked under her. ‘You must not be feeling too sorry for me, mind. If she’d taken me with her, I’d never have become a herbalist, and if I were not a herbalist, I would not be here in St Petersburg. What was your own mother like, Aleksei?’
‘Very beautiful. I’ll show you her portrait tomorrow.’
‘And do you look much like her?’
‘Now how am I to take that?’
‘Are you fishing for a compliment now, Polkovnik? Then I will tell you that I’ve not seen a finer figure in uniform. An opinion shared by every other woman I talked to in the Winter Palace the other night, I might add. They would be as green as this dining room with envy if they knew I was sitting here alone with you, round the campfire, so to speak.’
‘I can honestly say that I’ve never sat around a campfire with such a charming companion.’
‘Now how am I to take that, given that my competition consists of gnarled, battle-hardened soldiers?’
‘Soldiers whose penchant for singing folk songs is rarely matched by their musical ability.’
‘Ah, then that is something I must confess to sharing with them. I too love singing Scottish folk songs, but I am, in my grandmother’s words, tone deaf.’
He could not resist testing her. ‘I don’t believe you.’
Allison, to his delight, responded to the challenge by getting to her feet and clearing her throat. There was a gleam in her eye that made him want to laugh, and he bit his lip. ‘This is a wee song in the Gaelic,’ she said, ‘which is my native language. It is about a woman whose sailor husband has been lost at sea. She goes down to the beach every day and sings to the seals in the hope that her husband is a selkie—a drowned man returned in seal form.’
‘And is he?’
‘Well, now, he might be, for there is one particular seal with big brown eyes who gazes at her longingly, and she is fairly certain it is her dear one.’
‘But don’t all seals have big brown eyes?’
‘Indeed they do,’ Allison said, nodding sagely. ‘And all Gaelic folk songs have a tragic end. I’m sorry to have to warn you that in this one, our poor widow throws herself into the sea and is drowned.’
‘Not saved by her seal husband?’
‘That is for you to decide. Are you sure you want to hear this tragic tale? I warn you, it is a great deal more tragic when I sing it!’
‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ Aleksei said. ‘Miss Galbraith, the stage is yours.’
She swept him a curtsy that inadvertently gave him a delightful view of her cleavage. She took a deep breath that made her very distracting cleavage quiver, exhaling in a fit of the giggles. Then she clasped her hands, and assumed the mournful, yearning look that all singers of folk songs seem to think de rigueur, and began the lament.
And it was truly lamentable. Though the Gaelic language was likely suited to a breathless wavering voice, Allison’s sounded more like the wind whistling through the sails of a ship in a tempest, or the howl of a wolf across the steppes. Every time he met her eyes, he was almost overset, struggling between appalled disbelief and laughter, but she made it through to the widow’s final shrill wail to her seal husband, before collapsing in a heap beside him on the chaise longue. ‘Oh, dear heavens, I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much.’
‘And I can’t remember the last time I heard such a bloody awful racket,’ Aleksei said with feeling.
‘I did warn you.’
‘You did indeed.’ He handed her a glass of lemonade. ‘I think you have earned that.’
She took a deep draught. ‘What I’ve earned is a traditional Russian folk song in response. Don’t be shy now, you can’t possibly be as useless as me.’
‘Give me a moment to think of something suitable.’ He cleared his throat. Emulating her performance, he got to his feet and made a bow. ‘Madame Galbraith, I give you that tragic Cossack ditty: “I lost my leg, my own true love”.’
I lost my leg, my own true love, in a battle far away.
I lost my leg, my own true love, a price I was glad to pay.
When I return, my own true love, you’ll kiss the pain away.
And now you’re back, my own true love, and what am I to say?
I cannot bear to see your pain, to see you maimed this way.
So I’m afraid, my own true love, that you must hop away!
‘You made that up!’ Allison shrieked, in fits of laughter.
‘Believe me, some of the real ones are worse.’
Aleksei sat down beside her, taking her hands in his. She had long abandoned her evening gloves. The fire and the wine had put a soft glow in her cheeks. The songs and their shared laughter, and the flickering candles wrapped them in an intimacy that made a mockery of the very short time they had known each other. Tomorrow he would leave her to begin his search for the missing governess, and who knew how long before he would see her again? Who knew how long after that it would be, before she returned to England? So little time. And he could not recall wanting anything so much as this. This woman in his arms by the firelight. And her kiss.
‘Allison,’ he said, a question and a caress.
‘Aleksei,’ she said, in a manner that left him in no doubt.
He slid his arm around her waist, but she needed no urging, leaning into him, her own arm around his neck. It started as the most fragile of kisses. Their lips met. Touched. Hesitated. Then their eyes drifted closed, their mouths softened into each other, opening to each other, and the kiss transformed into a very adult kiss. There was no awkwardness, no clashing or jarring, only a sweet melting sensation, the lightest of friction.
His tongue traced the length of her bottom lip. She sighed, parting her lips in wordless encouragement. He took it, his mouth covering hers, the kiss deepening, kindling a fire low in his belly. His tongue touched hers and he groaned, sliding his hand from her waist to cup her bottom through her skirts, and the smoking coil of desire inside him began to burn more brightly and he closed his eyes and surrendered to the dangerous, delightful taste of her.
Kisses. He had forgotten what it was like, to lose himself in kisses. Or perhaps he had not been so lost before. He trailed kisses down her neck, over the soft swell of her breasts, into the tantalising valley between them. And then he kissed her mouth again, and their tongues tangled, and he felt such a jolt of desire as the blood rushed to his groin, that it shocked him. Forcing himself to slow down, to ease himself free, he saw his shock and his desire reflected in her face, in the lambent light in her eyes, the flush of her cheeks.
‘I have wanted to do that from the moment you walked into the palace,’ Aleksei said, his voice rough with passion.
‘I have wondered what it would be like,’ Allison replied, her voice as husky as his. ‘And now I know.’
‘I can say it won’t happen again, but I don’t want to.’
‘Then don’t say it. And please,’ she said, catching his hand, ‘don’t warn me that it can mean nothing, for I am perfectly well aware—our paths have crossed only very temporarily.’ Her face fell. ‘And for a very specific reason. I did not expect to be—Aleksei, you know that I would never be so foolish as to compromise what it is you brought me here to do. This...’
‘Is an unexpected bonus, as far as I am concerned.’ He kissed her hand. ‘I have been counting the days till your arrival. Nothing is more important to me than uncovering the truth, whatever the hell it is.’
‘Then we should get some rest. It is very late, and we both have a long day ahead of us.’
‘You are right.’ He got to his feet, helping her up. ‘I wish it were otherwise, but you are correct. Tomorrow, Miss Galbraith, Count Derevenko will meet you after breakfast for a formal tour of the house and gardens, after which I will introduce you to your charges. But tonight...’
He pulled her into his arms, kissing her deeply. ‘For now, Aleksei bids the delectable Allison goodnight.’
* * *
The next day, Allison was not feeling in the least delectable, but rather a completely confused Miss Galbraith by the time they had finished the tour of the palace. Her head was reeling with the magnitude of the task she faced, and she had no difficulty whatsoever in forgetting all about the previous night.
‘Have you seen enough?’ Aleksei asked as they re-entered the huge central rotunda on the second floor which she thought, but could not be certain, had been their starting point.
‘Enough to conclude that it’s highly unlikely any poison—if there was poison—was contained in food from the kitchens,’ she said, relieved to be able to make even this basic deduction. ‘All the food that is sent to the dining room is delivered in communal platters, and the leftovers are returned to the kitchens, where they are given to the servants. Since they are all still hale and hearty then it seems reasonable to conclude—well, a different method must have been used. The poison may have been mixed with a drink. Or it may have been administered directly on to the skin.’
She bit her lip, desperate to reassure Aleksei before he departed, but unwilling to create a false sense of hope. ‘That implies a level of physical proximity. Poisoning is often an intimate crime. If it was a servant, then it must have been a trusted one—butler, valet, that kind of person.’
Alexei frowned. ‘But we come back to the fact that my brother was a duke. If he was murdered, then it must have been for a very good reason. And if you did commit such a murder, whatever the reason, you’d flee the scene of the crime, wouldn’t you? And since all of Michael’s personal servants are still here...’
‘Save for Anna Orlova. You don’t think she could be hiding in the palace?’ Allison said, only half-teasing. The rotunda was an immense domed space with two rows of Doric columns marking its circumference, and a highly polished and treacherously slippery wooden marquetry floor. A second row of columns stood sentry around the shallow gallery which ran around the rotunda at the next level, and above that, light coursed down through the central glass skylight. ‘This place is so huge, I’m sure I would get hopelessly lost if left to find my way about alone.’
‘Just don’t wander down any of the back stairs,’ Aleksei joked. ‘It could be months before your skeleton is discovered.’
‘How very reassuring! In England we tend to keep our skeletons safely hidden away in closets.’
‘Is that where yours reside?’
For a split second, Allison wondered if The Procurer had betrayed her, but that was foolish. Aleksei was simply teasing, and a welcome relief it was too. ‘If what you say about St Petersburg is true,’ she retorted, ‘there must be a spacious skeleton closet in every home.’
‘It is de rigueur.’
‘Are yours behind this set of doors? I don’t think that we’ve been inside, though I could not swear to it.’
‘You’re right. Not a skeleton closet alas, but in fact the largest room in the palace.’
‘Then it must be vast. No one could ever accuse this place of having a homely feel.’
‘Certainly not. This is the Derevenko Palace, the residence of one of the richest families in Russia, and this room is designed to ensure that anyone who enters it is left in no doubt of that.’ Aleksei threw open the double doors with a flourish, bowing low before her. ‘Pazvol’tye mnye predstavit, Miss Galbraith,’ he said, with a theatrical bow. ‘Which means, may I present to you, Miss Galbraith, the Gala Reception Room.’
The chamber was quite empty, which made it seem even more immense. The marquetry floor was worked in a complex pattern which seemed to lead the eye to the line of tall windows at the far end of the chamber, looking out on to a huge formal garden which, Allison deduced, must be at the rear of the palace. Arched windows alternated with matching arched doorways, adding to the sense of symmetry and grandeur, with Corinthian pillars of dark-red marble set in between. The doors were worked in gilt—or what might well be gold leaf. And above, the frieze depicted a series of scenes from...
‘Homer’s Iliad,’ Aleksei told her, his gaze following hers. ‘What do you think?’
Overblown and slightly preposterous, if truth be told. ‘I think if the objective is to overwhelm the visitor then it succeeds admirably.’
Something of her distaste came through in her tone, but rather than take umbrage, Aleksei burst out laughing. ‘You don’t feel inclined to fall to your knees in obeisance, I take it.’
‘Is this what it’s used for? Is there a throne?’
‘Actually, there is, though it’s not always here, because mostly this room is used for receptions and balls. My mother had all those mirrors hung. She liked to see her reflection, she was as vain as she was beautiful.’
‘And you do resemble her,’ Allison said, recalling the portrait, ‘though I don’t think anyone would ever call you beautiful.’
‘Spaseba,’ Aleksei said. ‘I think. Shall we go?’
‘I’m sorry. It hadn’t occurred to me that this might be painful for you.’
‘Every room redolent with memories?’ Aleksei’s smile was twisted. ‘My mother died ten years ago, and my father five years before that. As an adult, I’ve spent very little time in St Petersburg and of late, thanks to Napoleon, none.’
‘But this was your childhood home. You must have some happy memories of the palace.’
‘I remember Michael and I used to ride our wooden horses here in the winter. You have to understand, Allison, over the years, we spent very little time in one another’s company. By the time I was sent off to military school at the age of six, Michael, at ten, was already spending most of his day taking lessons in our family history, in etiquette and the traditions and rules of the court, in the running of the estates and many palaces he would one day inherit.’
‘An unfair burden on one so young.’
‘My thoughts exactly. You can have no idea,’ Aleksei said wryly, ‘how relieved I was when Elizaveta finally gave birth to a son.’
‘And will your nephew receive the same upbringing as his father?’
‘He is the Duke, it is how things are done here.’
‘Poor little Nikki.’ Allison grimaced. ‘I confess, I never thought I’d feel sorry for a duke.’
‘The boy knows no different. Most people would think him very fortunate indeed, though not I.’ He gazed around the vast space of the Gala Reception Room. When he spoke he made no attempt to disguise the sneer in his voice. ‘St Petersburg was built on vanity, and it thrives on it to this day. They say that tens of thousands of serfs and Swedish prisoners of war died building the city. Or rather whisper it behind their hands and their fans, as they do when they gossip and speculate endlessly.’
‘You really don’t approve of polite society, do you?’
‘No more than you, from what you told me last night.’
Last night. The atmosphere between them changed in an instant. Or was it her imagination? The air between them wasn’t really crackling. There was no actual cord pulling her towards him. She could easily brush away his hand as his fingers trailed lightly over her cheek. His touch was cool, that was why she shivered in response. When she reached up to mirror his action, to touch his cheek, it was a reflex, that was all.
‘We should not. Not here. We are working, we agreed we need strict demarcation lines,’ Allison said.
‘We did.’
His hand smoothed down the back of her gown to rest lightly on her waist. He did not urge her to step closer, but she did anyway. ‘Yes,’ she said, tilting her head and closing her eyes.
‘Yes,’ Aleksei whispered, before his mouth covered hers.
The most fleeting of kisses, too little and far too much. They sprang apart.
‘Time is marching on,’ Aleksei said, ‘we need to concentrate on the matter in hand.’
‘Yes,’ Allison agreed, refusing to meet his gaze. ‘We should inspect the herb garden before the children return.’
* * *
‘These are fabulous,’ Allison exclaimed, standing on the terrace which overlooked the formal gardens at the rear of the Derevenko Palace. ‘How fortunate you are.’
Aleksei had only ever considered the gardens of Derevenko Palace a vast playground, when he was a boy. Now, he had no interest in them whatsoever, and while he could see that the expanse of green manicured lawn, the formal flower beds, symmetrical paths interspersed with small fountains and statues were pleasing to the eye, he could see little in the vista to elicit the rapturous look in Allison’s eyes. ‘Not so very different from many gardens I’ve seen in England. Or France. Or even Italy, for that matter. In Spain, the climate is arid. There is less greenery,’ he said vaguely.
‘Gardens are not really your cup of tea, I take it,’ Allison said, eyeing him with amusement.
‘Not really.’
‘Then I will explore them at my leisure, or with the children. Let us concentrate on the herb garden.’
Aleksei led the way down the steps and on to the path leading to the walled area. Opening the wooden door set into the high wall surrounding the herb garden, he stood back to permit her to enter first.
‘Oh!’ Allison gazed about her with delight. A wide paved path split the garden into two halves. Low, neatly trimmed box hedges set in groups of four formed planting areas, and smaller gravel paths ran between each. Against each of the four walls, other borders were planted, and the walls themselves had been used to support a huge variety of small trees and shrubs. Aleksei could not put a name to a single plant, but even he could see that the riot of late summer colour was pretty enough, the perfumed scent heady.
‘Oh, how wonderful,’ Allison breathed ecstatically, before setting off down the path to the first box enclosure, grabbing his hand and forcing him to accompany her. ‘Here are some of the most common herbs,’ she said. ‘Mint, peppermint, and skullcap. Various forms of thyme. Lemon verbena. Comfrey. Parsley. Chervil. Lovage. All fairly hardy, and so in the most exposed location, do you see?’
He saw only lots of plants, but fortunately Allison either expected no response, or else took his silence for acquiesce. ‘Here we have fennel, dill, comfrey. Angelica. Oh, and St John’s wort, valerian, and you don’t need me to tell you that is lavender,’ she added, gesturing at the silvery line of plants which marched along one long border. ‘Rosehip here, and rosemary too, in the sunniest part of the garden.’ On she dragged him. ‘Those flowers that look like daisies are echinacea, and over here we have the various berries, and there—’
She broke off, making a wry face. ‘But you’re not interested in a lesson in horticulture, are you? You want to know whether any of these plants could have poisoned your brother. And the answer is—oh, Aleksei, I wish the answer was straightforward, but it’s not. Many of these plants, in the correct combination, could be lethal. Yet in a different combination they can act as curatives. The problem is though, that constructing the correct combination, of dried leaves or fresh, seeds or flower parts, roots—it requires a great deal of knowledge and skill.’
‘Which neither of our suspects possess, you mean?’
‘Which very few people possess, I mean. I think we must look for something simple and easily obtained. If your brother was poisoned, given what you have said of the risk and the consequences, then the murderer would have to ensure that he committed as near the perfect crime as possible—no one else involved in making a poison, no one suspicious of any poison purchased, and a poison which produced something which looked enough like an apoplexy to fool a very well-respected doctor.’
‘A perfect crime, or a perfectly natural death. You think I am—what is the phrase, jumping up the wrong tree?’
‘Barking,’ Allison corrected, smiling, ‘and no, I don’t. I think you need to be sure, one way or another. I will do my best to help you, and hopefully by the time you have found Madame Orlova, I will have something definitive to tell you.’
‘I plan to head first for the Orlova family home and pick up the trail from there. You must not worry, Michael—dammit, Nikki’s man of business will look after things.’
‘It’s the children I’m worried about. I am a complete stranger to them.’
‘You know that I’m not really expecting you to teach them, only to ensure that they are taken care of? They have been perfectly content with their nanny and an escape from the schoolroom these last months. Time enough for them to return to their normal routine when this is over.’
‘Yes, but I would like to help them in any way I can. My heart goes out to them.’
‘I thought that you would be happy to be spared teaching duties, but you must do as you see fit. I trust you.’
‘You do?’
He drew her closer. ‘I do. I have every faith in you.’
She smiled up at him. ‘Thank you.’ Her fingers clutched his tightly. ‘You have no idea how much that means to me.’
‘Allison, before I leave I need to ask you if you regret last night.’
‘No, I don’t.’ A blush stole up her throat, but she met his gaze fully. ‘I am thirty-one years old. I will not pretend to innocence, though my experience is limited, for my vocation matters more to me than any man, and always will. But I am sick of the double standards which require a professional woman to be beyond reproach. I am tired of suppressing my feelings and I’m weary of having to disguise my looks. Last night was...’
She was blushing furiously now. ‘I think it was perfectly obvious how I felt about last night, but for the sake of clarity, since we have no time to dance around the subject, then let me tell you that I would be more than happy to—to carry on from where we left off on your return, on the strict understanding that it doesn’t interfere with our task.’
She looked so adorably flustered he wanted to kiss her. Which was the thing she’d asked him not to do. ‘Then for the sake of clarity, let me reassure you that I am similarly more than happy to continue on those terms.’
‘Then we have a deal.’ She held out her hand, the gesture of an English gentleman, intending to shake his, but that was a step too far for Aleksei. He kissed her fingertips lightly. And she exhaled sharply. And despite their agreement, his resolution weakened. She stepped towards him. He moved towards her.
‘Your Illustrious Highness. Forgive my interruption.’ The servant’s voice made them leap apart ‘You asked to be informed immediately His Serene Highness Duke Nicholas returned.’
‘Who?’ Allison asked bemusedly.
Aleksei grinned. ‘Nikki, and presumably his two sisters. Come, Madam Governess, it is time for you to meet your charges.’