The Janissary Tree

[ 130 ]

We have orders to admit no one until the disturbance has subsided,” the butler intoned, placing his large body in the doorway of the embassy.

“There is no disturbance,” Yashim said. The butler merely pursed his lips.

Yashim sighed, and held out a small package. “Would you see to it that this reaches Her Excellency the Princess?”

The butler glanced down and sniffed. “And from whom shall I say it comes?”

“Oh—just say a Turk.”

“Yashim!”

Eugenia was coming slowly down the stairs, one hand floating by the rail and the other at her cheek.

“Come in!”

The butler stepped back and Eugenia took Yashim’s hands in hers and led him to the sofa. The butler hovered over her.

“That’s all right,” she said. “We’re friends.”

“From the gentleman, Your Highness.”

The butler handed her Yashim’s packet, and stood back.

“Tea for our visitor, please,” Eugenia said. When the butler had gone she dropped the packet on her lap, took hold of Yashim’s hands again and looked him steadily in the eye.

“I think…we are going home.” She flashed a sudden smile, and squeezed his hands. “Derentsov—my husband—is furious. And frightened. He thinks he’s been betrayed.”

Yashim nodded slowly.

“You know who it was, don’t you?” Eugenia tilted her head back and appraised him with a slow smile. “They all think that you don’t matter. But you are clever.”

She saw Yashim glance away. “Do you want to know?” he asked her, quietly.

She shook her head. “It would spoil everything. I have a duty to my husband, and there are some secrets I can’t keep. He was raving this morning, saying he’d been compromised. No choice but to resign. Determined to return us to St Petersburg, and face the czar.”

“And the balls, and the dinners, and the ladies with their fans. I know.”

“It will be hard.”

“But you have a duty to your husband.”

They laughed softly together.

“What is this?” She said, hefting the packet in her hand.

“Open it, and see.”

She did, and watched him showing her the tiny catch which slipped the dagger from its scabbard.

“It reminds me of something,” she said mischievously. “And someone.”

Their eyes met, and the mischievous look disappeared.

“I don’t think—”

“That we’ll meet again? No. But…I will always dream. Of you.”

“If I told the ladies of St Petersburg—”

“Don’t say a word.”

Eugenia shook her lovely head. “I won’t,” she said. “I never would.”

She leaned forwards, tilting her head slightly to one side so that a lock of her black hair swung free.

“Kiss me,” she said.

They kissed.

Russian or otherwise, a butler is a butler. He is unflappable. He is discreet.

Yashim had gone before he served the tea.