Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy (53 page)

His lips tightened across his teeth. Infernal woman! Who
did she think she was? Damned if he was going to help her
and that miserable child of hers escape the country. Not if he
could help it. And help it he could. So far, everything was going altogether too smoothly to let her put a crimp in his
well-laid plans. Even the revolution was playing right into his
hands. Once he and the Danilovs reached Geneva . . .

He found the Prince where he had guessed he would be—
in the Chinese Room. His cousin was still feeding sheafs of
documents into the roaring flames of the fireplace. The Prince
looked up. 'What is it?'

'Are you soon finished?' Mordka asked silkily. 'I thought
all the necessary papers had already been transferred to the
train.'

The Prince fed another batch of documents into the fire, his
face flickering in the light of the dancing flames. 'They have,
but I see no reason why these should be left lying about to
make things easier for those criminals.'

'I do,' Mordka lied smoothly. 'We had best get to the train
immediately. Is the Princess ready?'

The Prince nodded. 'She is in the next room.' He studied
the folder in his hand.

'Good. We will leave at once.' The count took the folder
out of his cousin's hand and dropped it to the carpet. 'You
must forget about burning the rest of the papers. They will be
burned more efficiently by others.'

'What do you mean?' Vaslav stared at his cousin.

'I have just received word that a mob is headed this way.
With the intention of burning the palace.'

The Prince's face paled, and for a moment he could not
speak.

'The train!' the Count urged, grabbing Vaslav's arms and
shaking him. 'The train is waiting, cousin! Don't you understand? We can't procrastinate any longer! Do you want us to
die at the hands of a mob?'

'Of course not. Have you received word from the messenger
I had you send to Madame Bora?'

The Count nodded. 'She has already left her apartment and
is headed for the train,' he lied glibly. 'She will meet us there.
I have arranged that she and the child travel with our personal
servants. The Princess need not be compromised in any way.'

Satisfied, the Prince drew himself up with dignity. 'Then we
can go,' he said.

'But quietly.' The Count held up a cautioning finger. 'There
is no need to advertise our departure.'

Five minutes later, the Count, Ivan, and the Danilovs drove
swiftly off into the night, leaving the palace gates yawning
open behind them.

As the minutes torturously dragged by, Senda's impatience
increased to the verge of panic. Where was Vaslav? Why was
he keeping her waiting so long? Couldn't he get away from
the Princess for even a few minutes? He'd always found time
for her before. Didn't he
want
to see her? Had she overstepped
the boundaries of propriety by coming? But these tumultuous
times certainly required initiative, didn't they? Dread and irri
tation rose like bitter bile within her, twisting her stomach,
stabbing her heart. He owed it to her to help, damn it. She'd
shared her bed with him. He'd kept her.

Damn him to hell!

She glared at the steadily ticking lyre clock on the jasper-sheathed console and froze. Thirty-two minutes had passed
since they had been ushered into this room! 'Something's
wrong', she muttered tightly, tucking her chin into her chest
and heading for the door.

'Where are you going?' Inge called out.

'Stay here,' Senda said grimly. 'I'll be back.'

She marched purposefully through the corridors, not begin
ning to know where to look. She knew only too well how
enormous the palace was, how easy it was to get lost in it. Without help it could take hours to find Vaslav, searching
from room to room, wing to wing, top to bottom. There were
hundreds of rooms. Counting vestibules, anterooms,
stairwells, hallways, and bathrooms, the number could easily
swell to the thousands.

It was too daunting a search.

Suddenly she stopped, cocking her head to listen. Then she
swiftly continued down the endless corridor. She scowled.
How many doors were there in this palace? She'd never had
to open so many. And where had the footmen gone? She
thought she heard something again, and now, as she was inexorably drawn to the source of the sound, it increased in
volume. She tightened her lips in annoyance. Music? she
thought in disgust. So many,
many
voices? Singing? It sounded
like a party. And in the midst of all the violence and turmoil!
It was unthinkable! Unbelievable!

But the fiendish sight which greeted her when she flung open
the doors of the Music Chamber was even more incredible. She could only gasp and take a staggering backward step.

A party
was
in progress. A drunken, celebratory baccha
nalia of servants who at long last could savour for themselves,
however fleetingly, the good life they had spent their lifetimes
helping provide their masters. Champagne corks popped and
flew across the room; Cristal and Dom Perignon gushed lav
ishly out of foil-wrapped bottlenecks and spewed, unheeded,
onto the priceless parquet floors and Savonnerie rug. In front
of a mirror, a cluster of maids preened in finery that obviously
belonged to the Princess. In a corner, a footman sang mourn
fully, strumming the large gilt harp between glassfuls of cham
pagne. Dirty boots and shoes rested on marquetry tables,
oblivious of the treasures they marred; behind a sofa a
gardener and a maid necked, and a lively parlour maid was
stretched out atop the Bösendorfer grand piano on her belly, kicking downward with the tips of her bare toes to produce
teeth-gnashing chords. A fat female cook, still in her grease-splattered kitchen whites, was wrapped in a lynx stole, and
puffed teary-eyed on a cigar, laughing and coughing intermit
tently. All the while, the gramophone blared raucous Amer
ican jazz from its speaker horn.

One of the footmen spied Senda. 'Wellllcome!' He laughed
drunkenly, throwing her a noisy wet kiss. He swigged from a
bottle of Cristal and spat it out, weaving happily around the
room. 'Join the parrrrty! Pa-arrrty, everyboddddy!'

Senda stared, her face putty-coloured, and then she hurried
after him. 'Wh-where is the Prince?' she managed to stutter.

'Parrrrty! It's a parrrrty!'

Senda clenched her fists and shook them in frustration. With
everyone drunk, who was able to tell her where Vaslav was?
She gazed around in desperation, her eyes searching for help.
Then the maid slid off the piano, nearly fell, and somehow
managed to regain herequilibrium. Scooping up two
champagne glasses, she traipsed carefully toward Senda, walk
ing with that concentrated, overly cautious poise of the inebri
ated. 'Have champagne,' she slurred, thrusting a glass at
Senda and burping noisily.

'No, thank you,' Senda declined politely. 'But I'd appreci
ate it if you could tell me where I might find the Prince.'

'Who cares?' The maid's tawny eyes gleamed drunkenly.
"There's food, cham . . .' She paused to burp again.
'. . . pagne, clothes, and cigars for the taking!' She tossed her
head back, drained one glass in a single draft, and tossed it
against the wall, where it shattered, showering the floor with
crystal shards. 'No money, though,' she said with a pout. 'They
took all that. But you can't 'spect everything. Can you?' She
leered and giggled.

Drawing the maid aside, Senda lowered her voice confiden
tially. 'You see, I'm supposed to bring the Prince something.
I have to get it to him.' A lie, but what did lies matter, now?

The maid's face wiggled toward her, the tawny eyes open
in perfect twin O's. 'In Shwisheland?'

'Switzerland!' The very word made Senda's knees go weak.
'But I was told he is
here!'

'Was
here. Left. Over half an hour ago. To Ge-ne-
va
! Been
drinking ever since!'

'Left? For Geneva?' Shivers of cold dread passed through
Senda, chilling her to the very marrow of her bones.

'Left.' The maid was nodding emphatically again. 'To their
train. Overheard 'em. It's been waitin' for 'em.'

Senda clutched the maid's arm and shook it. 'Do you know
where
the train is?'

The maid shook her head.

'If you know, you must tell me!'

'Ouch! You're hurtin' me!' The maid pouted and stared
down at the deep red impressions Senda's fingers were gouging
in her forearm.

'I'm sorry,' Senda apologized quickly. She withdrew her
hand. 'But you see, it's urgent. If I reach the Prince in
time . . .' Lies born of desperation were beginning to coast
glibly off her tongue, coating the untruths with promises. 'He'll give whoever brings it to him five . . . thousand . . .
roubles.'

Tawny eyes blinked, bulged. 'F-five th-thousand?'

Senda heard the sharp intake of breath and nodded. 'Five
thousand,' she repeated shamelessly.

'Vladimir! Vladimir knows!' the maid cried triumphantly.
'He took some stuff to the t-train.'

'Which one's Vladimir? You must tell me.'

Now it was the maid who clutched Senda's arm. 'I gets half!'
she slurred, greed glittering like diamonds in her eyes. 'Two
thousand, five hundred roubles.'

'Yes!' Senda promised. 'Yes! You get half! And Vladimir
gets a thousand!'

Lies, lies, but what did they matter?