When the chocolates were gone, Arianna rose to take her leave, unsure of whether the attempt had been a waste of time or not.
The countess’s cryptic replies all seemed to suggest that a closer look at Prince Orlov’s family was in order. But Arianna had already made inquiries, based on the hints from their last meeting, and found nothing.
The performance was still going on as she slipped into the ballroom and found Sophia and Prescott among the spectators. Steel clashed as a dozen Cossack dancers dressed in jewel-tone silks and fur-trimmed hats spun like whirling dervishes to the thrumming notes of the balalaikas. Higher and higher they jumped, swords cutting intricate patterns through the air.
The crowd cheered as the music reached a crescendo and the dancers flashed through a last set of moves and saluted the audience with their glittering weapons.
“As you see, Russians are a strange mix of East and West,” murmured Prescott. “There is an elemental wildness beneath the veneer of civilization, and the two are constantly in conflict with each other.”
“Which side of you is winning the battle, Major Prescott?” asked Arianna.
His mouth curled up at the corners. “As I consider myself an English gentleman, the question is moot.”
She didn’t press him, but instead turned to Sophia. “I’m feeling a trifle fatigued. I shall return to our residence.”
“I, too, would welcome a respite from the noise and crowds,” replied her friend. “If you’ll excuse us, Major—”
“But of course,” he said smoothly. “As it happens, I, too, must take my leave for another engagement.”
“Enjoy your evening.” Arianna feigned patting back a yawn. “As for me, I am looking forward to a quiet evening at home.”
“Stop looking at the clock,my dear,” counseled Saybrook, as he looked up from cleaning his pistols. “José and Tomás are experienced at this sort of thing. If the right deal is to be had, they will strike it. If it’s too risky, we shall explore alternatives come tomorrow.”
Arianna and Sophia were already dressed in men’s clothing, their weapons primed and laid out on the parlor table, ready for action. The heavy coats and fur hats hung by the door would make their masquerade even easier.
“Going by sea under the cover of darkness is the best way to take the American adventuress by surprise,” muttered Arianna.
“I don’t disagree. But we may have to improvise—”
The sound of steps hurrying up the stairs caused all three of them to shoot up from their chairs.
Tomás entered without knocking. “We’ve found a willing captain, Milord. A fellow who’s happy to help a gang of thieves escape from the city and make a quick getaway across the bay, so they can flee by land.” He paused to catch his breath. “But we need to move quickly. He wishes to be back at the wharves before dawn.”
It took only a few moments for them to gather up their things and depart.
Arianna was grateful for the thick covering of fox fur that protected most of her face from the icy air. The night was brutally cold, and as they crept along the wharves to where José was waiting and slipped into the boat, the swirling winds cut like a knife against her cheeks.
Ropes groaned and canvas snapped as the crew cast off and raised the sails. Nobody spoke. Money had done all the necessary talking.
Heads down, the five of them—the two footmen were coming along as extra muscle—made their way to a well near the bow of the boat and huddled down as the captain set a course through the ink-dark waves.
Senses numbed, Arianna lost count of time.
The rocking motion of the boat must have drawn her into a fitful half-sleep, for the next thing she knew, Saybrook was nudging her awake. Shifting her frozen limbs, she peered out over the railing, barely able to make out the shadowy silhouette of land in the scudding moonlight.
As the boat cut closer to the shore, the contours of the stone landing set at the end of a spit of land took shape, and beyond it the elegant outlines of a small, two-story Italianate building. From the engraving in her guidebook of St. Petersburg, she recognized it as the Hermitage Pavilion.
No glimmer of light illuminated the Palladian windows. It appeared quiet as a crypt inside.
The crew lowered the sail, allowing the boat to ghost in, its hull kissing up softly against the stone. Keeping his voice low, the captain said something to José, who gestured for them to be quick about scrambling onto the landing. Arianna’s foot was still in midair as one of the crewmen pushed off and the helmsman swung the tiller around to point the bow back to the city.
Drawing a pistol, Saybrook signaled for Arianna and Sophia to fall in step behind him, with José and Tomás bringing up the rear. Fog flitted through the bare trees lining the snow-covered walkway. Their tracks would give away their presence by daylight.
But by then it wouldn’t matter. The confrontation would be over, and she had every intention of ordering the Tsar’s servants in the Peterhof Palace to drive them back to St. Petersburg in the sumptuous comfort of an Imperial sleigh.
A dry moat surrounded the pavilion, with a narrow bridge affording access to the palace and its terraced grounds. Saybrook stationed the two footmen within the holly bushes by the bridge to stand guard.
“Let us circle around the outside perimeter before deciding on where to enter,” he whispered.
