As in a dream, Roger realised that, without effort on his part, he had come into possession of the Danish plan of campaign. If he could get it to Gustavus in time, counter-measures might be taken and the tables turned. In view of Catherine's statement before supper it had become more than ever important to aid Sweden in her fight against Russia, and thus delay further Muscovite penetration into Europe. But how could he conceivably escape from his present situation; let alone, as a fugitive pursued by the police of a bitterly insulted Empress, reach Stockholm?
No further time was given him even to consider means by which he might secure a flying start next day. They had returned to the hidden door leading into Catherine's boudoir. She pressed a spring and it swung open. Damp under the collar now, he followed her inside.
Giving him an arch glance from her big blue eyes, she said, "So far I have found your company most stimulating, dear Roje" Christorovitch. In one short evening I have come to know you well enough to look forward with most pleasurable anticipation to your giving me more intimate proof of your regard. I will leave you now, but I will not keep you waiting long. In five minutes you may rejoin me."
As she turned away towards the bedroom he swallowed hard, staggered, and clutched at the table.
Swinging round she looked at him in quick alarm, and cried: "What ails thee?"
" 'Tis nought, Catherina Alexeyevna," he stammered. "Nought but over-excitement. A glass of wine will put me right. I shall be myself again by the time you—you are ready to receive me."
Reassured she walked into her bedroom and closed the door behind her.
In an agony of indecision and distress he looked wildly round him. He knew now that he positively could not 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, Rojé 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.