The woman smiled very faintly in acknowledgement of this progress. ‘All in good time. You must understand, this is no ordinary contract of employment that I offer you.’
Extraordinary. Allison’s grandmother had always told her that was what she should aspire to be. Ordinary, Seanmhair always said, was for life’s passengers. Would her grandmother expect her to grasp at this straw? The answer was a resounding yes, but did she possess the courage to do so? The answer to that was suddenly both clear and unambiguous.
‘I flatter myself,’ Allison said, ‘that I have demonstrated myself capable of the extraordinary. As you pointed out, I have succeeded against the odds.’
‘I take it then, that you are willing to consider my proposal?’
It took Allison a few moments to recognise the fluttering in her belly. Not fear, but anticipation. She had not dared allow herself to hope, but suddenly here was hope, and—oh, good heavens—she wanted it so much.
‘Well?’ The Procurer raised one perfectly arched brow.
‘Yes.’ The relief was almost overwhelming. ‘Yes,’ Allison repeated more firmly. ‘Just tell me what it is you require me to do.’
But for several long agonising moments The Procurer said nothing, studying her closely through heavy-lidded eyes, as if she were a specimen in a laboratory. Allison held the woman’s gaze, clasping her hands tightly in her lap to stop herself squirming. The woman’s smile was slow to dawn, but when it came, it would be no exaggeration, Allison thought, to liken it to the sun coming out.
‘A very wise decision on your part and on mine too, I believe. You will do very well for the vacancy I have been asked to fulfil. Now, to business,’ The Procurer said briskly. ‘Before I disclose the nature of your appointment, I must apprise you of a few non-negotiable ground rules. I will guarantee you complete anonymity. My client has no right to know your personal history other than that which is pertinent to the assignment or which you choose yourself to divulge. In return, you will give him your complete loyalty. We will discuss your terms shortly, but you must know that you will be paid only upon successful completion of your assignment. Half-measures will not be tolerated. If you leave before the task is completed, you will return to England without remuneration.’
‘Return to England?’ Allison repeated, somewhat dazed. ‘You require me to travel abroad?’
‘All in good time. Do you understand me, Miss Galbraith? This conversation, the details which I am about to unveil, are given in complete confidence. Unless I can guarantee my discretion to my clients—’
‘I understand you very well, madam,’ Allison interrupted. ‘Discretion is—was—intrinsic to my calling too.’
‘Another trait we have in common, then. Do I have your word?’
Allison startled the pair of them with a peal of laughter. ‘Madam, you have ignited the flame of hope I thought was quite extinguished. You have my word of honour, and you can have it signed in blood if you wish it. Now please, tell me, where is it I am to go, and who is this mysterious client of yours?’
St Petersburg—six weeks later
The voyage across the North Sea to the Baltic coast had been both speedy and surprisingly comfortable. Standing on the deck of the ship as they docked at the port on the delta of the Neva River, Allison wondered if The Procurer had, amongst other things, arranged for the winds to consistently blow in the most advantageous direction, and instructed the sun to welcome her arrival. It beamed down from the cobalt-blue sky, making the majestic buildings which fronted the river glitter as if studded with jewels.
Allison had been prepared, by several enthusiastic fellow travellers, for the grandeur of St Petersburg, but the city known as the Venice of the North by dint of having been constructed from thirty-three islands, was, in reality, infinitely more beautiful than she could have envisioned. She gazed around her, quite dazzled by grand frontages in pastel colours, huge pillars supporting imposing porticoes, golden domes soaring into the sky, and as the Neva River wended its way into the heart of the city, a vista of bridge after bridge spanning its banks.
A flotilla of small boats bobbed on the azure-blue waters. Stevedores called to each other in what she assumed was Russian, the words like no others she had ever heard, and Allison began to panic. The Procurer had assured her that French and English were the languages used by the aristocracy and their entourages with whom she would be mingling, but what if The Procurer was mistaken? What if this was an elaborate trap? What if The Procurer was in actual fact a procuress? What if she had been brought here under false pretences, to serve not as a...
‘Miss Galbraith?’ The man made a bow. Just in time, she noticed he wore a royal blue-and-gold livery, and spared herself the embarrassment of addressing him as her new employer.
‘I am come to escort you to the Derevenko Palace,’ the servant said, speaking just as The Procurer had promised, in perfect, if heavily accented, English. ‘I have a carriage waiting to take you there.’
Allison picked up her travelling herb chest by the brass handles, staggering under its weight, but waving the servant away when he made to take it from her. ‘No, I prefer to keep this with me, the contents are extremely precious. The rest of my baggage...’
‘All necessary arrangements have been made. The journey is a brief one. If you will follow me?’
She did as he bid, swaying a little as her feet adjusted to the solid ground beneath, coming to an abrupt, awed halt in front of the transport which awaited her. The carriage was duck-egg blue elaborately trimmed with gold, a coat of arms emblazoned on the doors. Another servant in the same livery sat on the boxed seat, holding the reins of two perfectly matched white horses. Inside, the plush squabs were the same royal-blue velvet as the groom’s livery, the floor covered in furs.
Peering through the large window as they trundled into motion, Allison observed that they turned immediately inland, following a road alongside a canal. The waters sparkled. The grand houses glittered. The sun shone. Everything looked so very perfect, so very beautiful, so very, very foreign and strange. A bridge spanned a small river not straight enough to be a canal, and the carriage followed the embankment for a short distance, passing ever more majestic mansions, before slowly drawing to a halt.
The groom opened the door and folded down the step. ‘Welcome to the Derevenko Palace, Miss Galbraith.’
It was indeed a palace. The edifice faced out over the river, on the other side of which was a vast expanse of open ground where what looked like a cathedral was under construction. Her first impression of the Derevenko Palace was that it reminded her of Somerset House on the Strand, neo-classical in style, three storeys high, with two wings stretching from the central portico, terminating in two smaller pedimented wings set at right angles, the shallow roof partially hidden by a carved balustrade. Above the central section, which was constructed almost like a square tower, a massive eagle-like stone bird was perched, gazing imperiously down its vicious curved beak at the shallow, sweeping staircase, and on Allison, who stood in trepidation on the bottom step. She shivered, thoroughly intimidated and battling the urge to turn tail and flee.
And where did she think she would go? Back on to the ship, back to the reclusive life she had been so delighted to leave behind?
Absolutely not! This was her second chance. She would not fail the woman who had presented her with it. More importantly, she would not fail herself. Not this time. Reluctantly handing her herb chest over to the groom, Allison straightened her shoulders, gathered up the folds of her travelling cloak and followed the manservant inside.
* * *
The