“I, too, am sure our connection will be a profound one.” Arianna let a moment slip by, then casually added, “Given all the recent turmoil in the world, I imagine you think of her as a redeemer of sorts.”
He looked surprised . . . and then delighted. “Why, I hadn’t thought of it that way, but yes, that’s a perfect description.”
The reply did nothing to clarify Madame Gruzinsky’s cryptic statement. If Mrs. Schuyler wasn’t known as the Redeemer here at court, that begged the question of who was . . .
Saybrook and Sophia were just finishing their circuit of the room and came over to join them.
“I see no sign of tampering with any of the locks,” announced the earl. “Picks and other tools leave scratches, however minute.” He took a long moment to tuck his quizzing glass back into his waistcoat pocket. “Just a last question for now. Are you sure there isn’t anyone else who has access to the ring of keys to this room, other than yourself? Your wife, perhaps? A trusted courtier?”
Arianna saw Tsar Alexander shift his eyes—only for an instant, but the evasion stirred a frisson of alarm.
“No,” he answered. “I am the only one with a key that opens the locked drawer.”
She was sure he was prevaricating. And she had a good guess as to why.
Chapter12
The next twodays passed in a blur, but at last, the formal court presentations were over, and all three of them were now accepted as members of the St. Petersburg elite.
Arianna cast a baleful look at the silver salver on her dressing table, which already held a mountainous pile of invitations. “This city is the seat of government for a vast empire, and yet it seems that the ruling class does nothing but indulge in sybaritic pleasures,” she mused, “like drinking, flirting, and dancing until dawn.”
“Like the French of the last century, they are partying atop a powder keg, and God only knows when it will explode,” said Saybrookas he accepted a starched cravat from his valet. “But mark my words—explode it will. It’s simply a matter of time.”
Arianna watched in the looking glass as her maid arranged the last few hairpins in her upswept topknot. They were dressing for the French ambassador’s ball—their first foray into the social whirl ofthe city—and she couldn’t help feeling a flutter of nerves.
Tonight she would meet the American adventuress . . . and their personal duel of wits and willpower could very well determine the fate of the Russian Empire . . .
As if sensing her thoughts, Saybrook asked, “You really think that Mrs. Schuyler possesses a key to theImperial Jewel Room?”
“I think that in his present state of mind, Tsar Alexander would be malleable as putty in the hands of a clever woman,” she replied. “So, yes, we must consider it a distinct possibility. Or, even if she doesn’t have a key, given their intimacy, she could very well have slipped the chain off his neck as he slept, and stolen the medallion without him knowing.”
“If she has stolen the medallion, then I wonder what she plans to do with it?” he mused. “If she’s simply acting in her own self-interest, one would think she might just offer it to the highest bidder.”
The same grim idea had occurred to her. “She may already have done so. Still, we need to alert my brother and Wolffy to such a likelihood and ask them to keep their ears open to any rumors.”
“Major Prescott is also well positioned to hear any hints of the item being offered for sale. Should we inform him of our suspicions?”
Arianna considered the question. “For now, I’d prefer to hold off on sharing our information with the major.”
He hesitated. “Does that mean you won’t mention it to Sophia?”
“No, we’ve learned the dangers of keeping secrets among ourselves,” she answered reluctantly. “I trust that Sophia won’t allow emotion to override loyalty.”
Saybrook didn’t look quite as sanguine. But he merely shrugged and slipped into his evening coat. “Are you ready?”
She rose and fluffed out her silken skirts. “Indeed. Let us fetch Sophia and be off.”
The French ambassadorresided in one of the palatial mansions built along the Nevsky Prospect and the Moika Canal. Like most of the grand buildings constructed on the once-swampy northern tract of land chosen by Peter the Great for his new capital city, the material had all come from other places—marble from Italy, porphyry from Sweden, granite from Finland.
As for the designs themselves, noted Arianna as she looked out the glass-paned window, they also reflected foreign influences, from Italian palazzos to French Baroque.
“It feels a little like one is on a theatrical stage,” observed Arianna as their carriage joined the long line waiting to discharge their passengers at the imposing front portico. “Everything is perfectly beautiful, but there is something unreal about the setting.”
“Prescott said much the same thing,” murmured Sophia.
The major had been present at several of the receptions they had attended over the last few days, and Arianna had noticed that he had made a point of spending time conversing with her friend.
Perhaps too much time.
