The Shadow of Tyburn Tree

make love to that lecherous old woman who was undressing beyond the carved and gilded door. No, not for all the riches or power in the world. Not even to save Europe from a cataclysm. He had got to get away from her. But how? How? How?

His mind had gone blank and refused to work. Vaguely he looked at the rail that guarded the spiral staircase. He could dash down it. But if he did, what was he to do then? She would call him in another few minutes, and if he did not appear, she would send her guards after him. They would catch him before he had even got out of the palace, and, despite all her natural clemency, Messalina baulked of her pleasure would exact a dire vengeance. To break in upon her now and tell her to her aged, painted face, that he could not go through with it, would serve him little better. The cheated nymphomaniac would smother the kindly woman in her, and he would be dragged off to that ghastly dungeon at Schlusselburg to repent his momentary assertion of his rights as a man during months of incarceration in a living tomb.

Suddenly his despairing glance fell upon the vinegar-bottle on the table. He loathed vinegar, and even a dash of it in a sauce was enough to make his mouth dry up and the perspiration break out on his fore­head. Grabbing the bottle, he tilted it to his mouth. In two, frightful, choking gulps he swallowed its whole contents.

His eyes bulged from his head, his stomach heaved with nausea. Fighting it down he lurched to the door and threw it open. Catherine had just got into bed, and she drew aside the curtain to smile a welcome. Only a nightlight was now burning in the room but its steady glow was sufficient for her to see his condition.

Leaning against the doorpost for support, he gasped out: 'Succour me I begl I am faint, dizzy, near collapse' My stomach burns! I think I have been poisoned!'

In a moment she had thrown aside the bedclothes and came hurry­ing towards him.

Through her thin nightdress he glimpsed her squat repulsive body. Her legs and thighs were swollen to such a size that it seemed a miracle that her little feet could still carry her. As she reached him the sweat was pouring down his face and the tears streaming from his eyes. He retched, staggered out into the boudoir and collapsed upon a chair.

Seizing the silver soup-tureen she held it for him while he vomited. When he got back his breath he panted. 'Your—your pardon, Madame. Someone must have known of your—your intent to honour me. And— and out of jealousy put poison in the claret you—you refused at supper —knowing that you never drink it. I—I beg you to allow me to retire— and to send your doctor to me.'

Without a word she hurried back to her room and picking up a handbell rang it vigorously. As he was being sick again she returned with a chamber-robe now pulled over her nightdress, to hold his head, and, a moment later, two of her ladies-in-waiting ran in.

Concealing her annoyance, she now spoke kindly to him, smoothing his hair and soothing him like a mother, as she begged him not to dis­tress himself on her account. With quiet efficiency she gave brief orders to her women. They assisted him down the staircase to his room, helped him to undress to his shirt, and tucked him up in bed.

They had hardly done so when the old German who had given him his medical examination arrived upon the scene. He looked at Roger's tongue, felt his pulse, gave him an emetic, and waited by the bedside until he was sick again. After examining the nauseous mess the doctor told the two women that they might return to Her Majesty and report that the patient was in no grave danger. He intended to give him a sleeping-draught and had good hopes that he would be recovered by the morning.

The ladies-in-waiting tiptoed away and, much against his will, Roger was compelled to swallow the draught. The doctor then lit a nightlight, blew out the candles that the women had lighted, and softly left the room.

Roger lay quiet for a few moments. He still felt shaken and queasy but he knew that he dare not remain inactive for very long, or the deeping-draught might overcome him. His eleventh-hour inspiration to make himself ill had saved him from his terrible dilemma and given him a real chance to escape. It was only a little after ten and unlikely that anyone would come to inquire after him till six, so he reckoned that he had the best part of eight hours before him. His money, sword, pistols and travelling-clothes were there beside the bed. If he could succeed in getting out of the palace unchallenged he should be able to reach Oranienbaum well before dawn. There, his gold would enable him to bribe the captain of a coaster to take him along the south shore of the Gulf of Finland to Reval, without asking any awkward questions. At the bigger port there should be no difficulty in finding a neutral ship that would carry him to Sweden. By far the worst fence that he had to surmount was getting out of the palace undetected, as he had only the scantiest knowledge of its geography and not the faint­est idea where the sentries would be stationed. But he was full of resolution now and, if caught, meant to attempt to fight his way out rather than tamely submit to capture.

His head buzzing with these new plans, he sat up. As he did so he suddenly saw that the door leading onto the corridor was slowly opening. A white-clad figure glided inside. The nightlight flickered as he moved and shimmered on the ash-blonde hair of Natalia Andreovna.

Closing the door carefully behind her, she ran across the room and, with a little gulp, flung herself full length on the bed beside him. Surprised, annoyed, and acutely worried by this new complication he put his arms round her without enthusiasm, and waited for her to speak.

After sobbing wildly for a few moments she began to choke out bitter reproaches. 'Oh, Roje Christorovitch, how could you! How could you bring yourself to do such a thing when you know how much I love you?'

'Do what?' he inquired tersely.

'Why pay court to that horrible old woman, and induce her to take you as her lover.' ,

He was itching to be on his way, and the last thing he wanted was to be delayed by a lengthy explanation with Natalia. Yet, even as he sought for the quickest means of getting rid of her, it occurred to him that she might prove a most valuable ally in his escape. He had meant to go out by one of the windows, but it was certain that sentries would be patrolling the terrace and grounds. She would be able to tell him where they were stationed or, perhaps, better still, give him the pass­word for the night, so that he could walk confidently out of one of the doors.

'I learned of it but ten minutes back,' Natalia went on tearfully. 'All of us were still up at a table of cards when she rang her bell for the two ladies in immediate attendance. On their return they told us what had occurred, and they had your name from the Empress her­self. Oh, Roje Christorovitch, I would have secured your freedom had you but been patient. Did I not vow that I would do so? How could you conceive so hideous an idea as to get someone to arrange for you to be brought before her, so that you might deliberately tempt her with your looks, merely to escape another week or so in prison?'

'I did no such thing,' Roger assured her, now tightening his em­brace. 'The thing was sprung upon me a few hours back without a word of warning. Even so I managed to evade her embrace. I....'

Suddenly he paused. A footfall had sounded on the top step of the spiral stairs. Next moment there came the voice of the Empress. 'To whom are you talking? Who is that with you down there?'

The footfalls came again, almost at a run. They were both staring up from under the canopy of the bed at the dimly-lit corner of the ceil­ing. Before they had time to move apart, the white blob of a face showed, peering down at them over the carved banister-rail.

With a cry of fear Natalia wriggled off the bed. Roger drew the sheets up round him. Like the knell of doom the Empress's footfalls echoed hollowly as she descended the remaining stairs. As she approached the bed Natalia floundered into a trembling curtsey.

'Sol' said Catherine coldly.' 'Tis the Baroness Stroganof who thinks fit to pay midnight visits to the chamber in which her mistress lodges her own chosen friends.'

She swung upon Roger. 'And you, Chevalier! It seems that you have made a remarkably quick recovery, that you are well enough so soon to wanton with one of my ladies!'

Thrusting aside the clothes, Roger slipped out of the far side of the bed. Picking up his cloak, that was lying on a chair nearby, he drew it round him; then he came round the foot of the bed and bowed to her.

He had seen at once that the only course now was to make a clean breast of matters, so he said gravely: 'Your Majesty has less cause than you can realise for anger. This is no spontaneous amour of the moment in which you have surprised us. I told you, Madame, of my love-affair in Sweden that led to Count Yagerhom's attack on me. The Baroness Stroganof was the lady then concerned. I accompanied her to Russia and for the past two months we have been lovers here. 'Twas but natural that, hearing of my condition, the Baroness should come to see for herself how I fared.'

The Empress looked down at Natalia and said coldly: 'I recall now that 'twas you who first presented the