“Let’s not speculate yet.” However, Arianna felt a frisson of excitement bubbling through her blood. “Thank God that Orlov and the bishop have such a low opinion of women, which works to our advantage.”
“Actually most men do,” murmured Mrs. Schuyler as she led the way through an arched portal into another building. “It’s rather frightening how often such puffed-up hubris allows us to get the better of them.”
As Arianna had hoped, Orlov listened with ill-contained impatience as she spouted flowery congratulations and passed on the tsar’s felicitations, along with her confections.
The prince handed the box to an attendant and then dismissed her with a curt wave. “I’ll send an escort of monks to bring you and my bride to the cathedral in a half hour.”
Widening her eyes, Arianna let out a horrified gasp. “You must be jesting, sir! Good heavens, we can’t possibly finish our toilette and dressing in less than two hours.”
The bishop fixed Mrs. Schuyler with a look of loathing and said something in Russian.
“I’m sure your Almighty God—and Tsar Alexander—would be most displeased if a prince’s bride appeared for the holy sacrament of marriage in a state of undress,” replied the American coolly.
“Let us humor the ladies, Bishop Sergius,” said Orlov. “Another two hours will make no difference.” A malicious smile curled on his lips. “She’ll be my wife by the time night falls and it’s time to retire to the nuptial bed.”
Arianna repressed a shudder and feigned a nervous titter. “Oh, dear. Come, Mrs. Schuyler, we had better hurry back and have a long talk with Countess Tatiana as we dress for the ceremony.”
With Orlov’s mocking laugh echoing in their ears, they quickly backed away and retreated to the outer vestibule.
“I hope to Heaven that we can make sure he’ll never lay a violent hand on a woman again,” said Mrs. Schuyler. She took Arianna’s arm. “This way. On a previous visit here, one of the Tsar’s courtiers showed me a side entrance to the cathedral reserved for church and state dignitaries.”
“Thank you,” said Arianna, shaking the snow from her hooded black cloak once she was inside the tiny entryway. “I’ll return to the room as quickly as I can.”
The door closed, leaving her shrouded in gloom. She waited a moment, letting her eyes and ears adjust to the muted light and sounds of the cathedral’s interior. The design was crowned by a single dome set on a high drum circled with sixteen narrow windows that let in a scattering of natural light.
Stepping softly—the soaring Corinthian columns lining the main nave seemed to amplify every little creak and groan in the cavernous space—Arianna crept out of her alcove and kept to the shadows as she crossed the transept and made her way through the north Angel Door in the iconostasis—a richly decorated wall hung with icons and other religious paintings—and then slipped into the sanctuary.
The heavy scent of incense perfumed the chill air with an exotic spice. Looking around, she quickly spotted the icon’s niche through the serpentine curls of smoke from the candles illuminating the space. It was set between two fluted marble columns. Taking down one of the candles from its holder, Arianna drew in a deep breath and eased into the narrow space.
The flickering flame played over the icon. It was painted on a wood panel made up of three slender boards, and unlike many of the other famous Russian icons, which featured sumptuous colors, glittering gemstones, and rich gold leaf, this one depicted the unfinished head of Christ in muted earth-tone colors. Its stark simplicity made it all the more striking. There was something mesmerizing about the portrait’s solemn eyes and features. She slipped off a mitten and moved closer—close enough to touch the crackled paint . . .
And to reach around to the back of the panel and begin feeling between the crossboards that held the panel together.
Nothing.
Arianna swallowed a spurt of disappointment and made herself think. The clue was too compelling to give up so easily. There was no sign of anyone else in the sanctuary. Did she dare . . .
After making a quick check of the outer area, she darted back into the niche and tilted the icon up from its bracket, just enough to peek in at the back of the boards.
Oh, you clever, clever lady, thought Arianna, sending up a prayer of thanks to the murdered Madame Gruzinsky. A taupe-colored pouch hung by a gossamer-thin silk string fastened to the bottom of the lower crossboard. She had missed it using touch alone.
Holding her breath, Arianna reached out and carefully detached it, then lowered the icon back into place. Her fingers trembled slightly as she unknotted the string and shook the pouch’s contents into her upturned hand.
Her palm began to tingle, as if the mellow gold of the magnificent medallion was lit by some inner fire. It was exquisitely beautiful. At its center was a double-headed heraldic eagle, with the feathers and talons artfully etched in the precious metal. Set on its breast was a round ivory inset painted with a portrait of Rurik, the legendary founder of the Russian state. Radiating out from beneath the eagle was an eight-pointed star, forming a circular shape. Each of the arms was decorated with tiny rubies, with a glittering ice-clear diamond at its point.
The candle flickered as a draft stirred the air, breaking the medallion’s spell. Arianna quickly returned it to its bag and tucked it away in a hidden pocket sewn into her bodice. She mustn’t linger here a moment longer.
The sanctuary was still quiet as a crypt. Praying that her luck would hold, she crept out of the niche and made her way back to the door in the iconostasis. She eased it open a crack to check the surroundings . . .
Only to freeze at the sound of voices.
Chapter21
Orlov and Bishop Sergiuswere facing each other at the foot of the steps leading from the nave up to the painted wall of icons. The prince had a smirk on his face, which suddenly goaded Sergius into a shrill exhortation.
“God’s Bones—our moment is nearly here, Dmitri! Keep your thoughts on the throne, not on the corrupting flesh of women.” His long grey beard quivering in fury, the bishop shook his fist. “I command you to give up your damnable earthly pleasures.”
“Corrupting flesh?” Orlov let out a mocking laugh. “Pray tell, what do you know about earthly pleasures, Uncle?”
