She listened intently as he moved through his account. He confirmed that the girl had been found close to death on the doorstep of the British consul in Murmansk in northern Russia. On recovering sufficiently, she had begged to be given a passage to Britain where she knew members of her family were living. The consul had wired Swinburne aboard his ship, which was patrolling the Arctic waters, and he’d agreed to take her on board and bring her back to Portsmouth where he was due to call in for a refit in the autumn.
He was quite certain that none of this was fresh news to the Russian lady but she listened intently to every word, seeming to value his first-hand report.
He told her how pleased the ship’s doctor had been with the patient’s progress. The best food the galley could provide, fresh air, exercise and the stimulation of a late summer’s cruise along the coast of Norway had almost restored her to full physical health. The captain was careful to explain that the ship had been conveying back home a consular family who had gladly lent one of their maids as nurse cum chaperone so all the proprieties had been observed.
The Russian acknowledged this with a tilt of the head and an understanding smile.
But it was the girl’s mental state that he needed to lay out for her future guardian. ‘She has suffered unbelievable hardship … torture would not be too strong a word … and three years of unremitting squalor. Anyone less strong and tenacious of life would not have survived. But it will be some time before she’s fully recovered. It’s possible that the services of an alienist might be called upon with advantage.’ A radical suggestion, but the princess seemed not to be offended. She even nodded in acceptance and Swinburne felt emboldened to press his point. ‘There are physicians in London with certain skills acquired in the war … Anna’s condition is in some ways similar to what I have witnessed in men experiencing the prolonged terrors of the battlefield. And, survivor that she is, she deserves the appropriate treatment. I would like you to be aware of this. I will not leave her in any situation that I do not judge to be capable of responding to her condition.’
He knew he was going too far. His stewardship was officially at an end; he had to recognize the superior authority of the noble lady to whom he was daring to dish out advice and demands. But Captain Swinburne was not a man to retreat from a position he’d taken up, whether his feet were on the deck of a gunboat or on a silken rug in a douce London drawing room.
She looked up at him sharply, scanning his weatherbeaten features and standing firm before the challenge in his very English blue eyes. He steeled himself to receive the set-down he’d merited.
But the princess’s response when it came was thoughtful. ‘Captain, it occurs to me that losing your support could constitute yet another blow to Anna’s well-being.’
‘I did what I could. Believe me, ma’am, it was her choice to break the bond we have established.’ The words stretched between them, vibrating with a resentment he had not intended. He hurried to add: ‘But an encouraging sign, I’m sure you’ll agree. She’s ready to move forward. She recognizes now that she has a future and I do believe she is making plans for it.’ He broke off, unwilling to say more, and indicated that he was ready to bring her in.
As he turned to leave the room, Swinburne’s attention was caught by a photograph, the one at the forefront of a cluster of silver-framed portraits arranged on the grand piano. He exclaimed and went to examine more closely a group of five or six earnest-looking young women dressed in nurse’s uniform, a flutter of angels gathered in a semiformal pose around a bed in a hospital ward. The wounded soldier at the centre of their attention looked suitably overawed.
‘There she is! That’s Anna! Good Lord. She actually was a nurse. So much she didn’t tell me …’ Responding to the invitation in the Russian’s expression, he smiled, his eyes returning to the photograph. ‘One of my crew was careless enough to cut his leg to the bone on a day when our doctor was ashore in Trondheim. They brought him to me, dripping blood and swooning, and Anna, who was with me on deck, snapped out of her torpid state and had the chap sedated, stitched up and bandaged with all the skill of a medic in no time. Saved the leg, I reckon.’
The princess chuckled. ‘She was always a fine needlewoman. But none of these girls was truly a nurse, you know. Amateurs all, some more capable than others. Some with decorative merit only. You’re looking, Captain, at the contents of the topmost drawer of the Russian aristocracy doing their bit in wartime for their country. The Empress Alexandra herself led by example and floated through the wards in cape and wimple dispensing comfort. Though I ought not to disparage their efforts – they meant well, and, in Anna’s case, acquired a genuine skill, they say. But, Captain … you do well to pick her out amongst so many beauties, all wearing an unflattering starched headdress …?’
The question was lightly put but Swinburne picked up an underlying tension. Was he being quizzed in some way? Had the photograph, prominently placed as it was, been set there deliberately as some kind of test? The captain was a straightforward man, who couldn’t be doing with traps and subtleties. His reply came at once.
‘Be assured ma’am, I’d know her face anywhere. It’s the line of the nose, like a Greek statue, and the dark eyebrows – they have the sweep of a gull’s wing. She’s the one on the far left. I’d no idea this was her world.’
The princess, who had been tugging at the pearls at her throat in some suspense, sighed with relief at his identification and stopped her fidgeting. She came to stand at his side, looking at the photograph with him, relaxed now and companionable. Whatever test she’d just administered, he seemed to have passed it. ‘Yes, Captain, that is indeed our Anna. My poor cousin Peter’s daughter. I held her in my arms the day she was born.’
He was pleased to note in her voice the tremble of an emotion she could no longer hold back, the tears gathering in her eyes, the furtive hunting in her sleeve for a handkerchief. She accepted the crisp square of linen he offered and put it to use with grace and murmured thanks. After a moment, she spoke again more brightly. ‘As a child, Anna spent many summers with us in the Crimea … she will feel at home here with me now. But I share your dismay at a world so abruptly and tragically torn from us. Anna would have made a good marriage. She could have had her pick of the finest young men of Europe. Probably not royalty but a count at the very least … a duke perhaps? Sadly now all dead or dispersed and she herself ruined beyond any hope of—’
She suppressed the alarming thought and her tone became crisp. ‘But that is all past, and we must look, as you say, to her future. You may leave her with us in total confidence. I have heard your words and understood the deeper concerns on which you are tactfully silent. I say again – I will provide the care she needs.’
Swinburne had heard the same tone from admirals and generals. There was only one acceptable answer: ‘Yes, sir. Of course, sir.’ This tiny, decisive woman he had no knowledge of and no reason to trust had, unaccountably, got under his defences. He nodded his superfluous agreement. ‘Yes, ma’am. Of course, ma’am,’ he said, and he smiled as he spoke.
Swinburne bowed and made to leave.
‘Wait, Captain!’ She hesitated for a moment, then picked up the photograph and handed it to him. ‘If you will keep it for your eyes alone you may have this – some slight reward for your care. But be discreet. We aristocrats all have a price on our heads still and are pursued. London is full of ruthless men, not a few of them our enemies.’
As he took it from her, murmuring his thanks, he caught a flash of indulgence and pity in her eyes. She’d guessed his secret in minutes. Time he was gone.
The two women ran into each other’s arms, exclaiming softly in delighted recognition. Swinburne skirted silently round them in the hallway, glad enough to hear: