Northern Exposure - 56. Chapter 56

 

May 18, 1801

The Peterhof Palace

St. Petersburg, Russia

 

Granger strolled next to the Grand Canal of the Peterhof Palace, reveling in the sunny skies and refreshingly brisk spring weather, a far cry from the frigidness he’d experienced in the Russian winter. He felt the Countess von Lieven’s hand gently holding his arm as he led her toward a small pavilion with a bench, which they sat on. He gazed first toward the palace, which was built in a style which seemed similar to the Winter Palace and Catherine Palace, although with an exterior that was painted a pastel orange color. Granger had still yet to appreciate the Russian passion for painting palaces in bright pastel colors. The building itself, impressive as it was, paled in comparison to the Grand Cascade. Two waterfall fountains descended side by side from the Palace, leaving a space in the middle for a grotto of sorts. These twin water staircases, such as they seemed, were augmented by two vertical jets of water at each level. The grotto in the middle had five water jets, with the center one larger, and additional waterfall levels that went down to the Grand Canal. The entire fountain structure was accented by statues plated in gold, many of them fountains themselves, and with the sun as it was, they seemed to sparkle. At the base of these fountains in the center of the Grand Canal was a large black ‘island’ that contained starkly contrasting gold statues. Granger allowed himself to glance in the other direction, looking down the length of the Grand Canal, which eventually ended at the Gulf of Finland. That was where the pier was, and that was where Granger would depart tomorrow to return home. “I think this is the most beautiful palace I have ever seen,” Granger said honestly. “It is like a fairytale.”

“It truly is magnificent,” she agreed. “It is unusual for the Tsar to come here so early in the season.”

“Perhaps he wanted to show off this masterpiece to the evil foreigners before they left,” Granger joked.

“The Tsar of all the Russias would not stoop to inconveniencing himself merely to impress some inconsequential travelers,” she teased.

“And rightfully so,” Granger agreed, although he knew that the Tsar had planned this excursion for just that reason. He had told Granger that he wanted him to see this most exquisite place, and to enjoy the less formal atmosphere where they could enjoy their last few days together.

She spotted some people at the top of the cascade and that prompted her to stand. “Let us keep walking, lest I am accosted by those ladies and forced to return inside.”

“Forced?” Granger challenged, even as he stood up and began to escort her around the canal again. “I do not think anyone could ‘force’ you to go inside.”

“They will tell me that the wags are talking about me, and about us,” she said.

“And you care what the wags say?” Granger challenged. “This power they have over you is because you have given it to them.”

“You think my reputation is immune to their assaults?” she responded.

“I think that walking with a gentleman, in public, is hardly scandalous,” Granger countered. “They will stand up there and watch us, and only if we vanish into the woods will they hurriedly come looking for you.”

“That is unfortunate,” she said coquettishly, batting her eyelashes at him.

“I am in complete agreement with you,” Granger said. His coupling with her at the Hermitage had not been a single event, but had continued almost daily, especially since they had arrived here. Granger had not enjoyed another woman like her since he’d been with Caroline, and even though his preferences lay with his own sex, he found her to be stimulating both in and out of bed. Between his trysts with her, with Pavel, and most importantly with the Tsar, Granger was all but sexually exhausted. He credited his ability to keep up with all of them to his raging libido.

“Your Lord Daventry has not confined himself to the Dowager Empress,” she said. Granger was well aware that Daventry had become involved with one of the Empress’s ladies in waiting, and was so engrossed in that relationship that he was almost more reluctant to leave Russia than Granger.

“I hope that has not upset Her Imperial Majesty,” Granger said.

The Countess shrugged. “She does not demand that he only sleep with her, only that he sleep with her when she asks him to.”

“Or commands him to,” Granger said, making them both laugh.

“Semantics,” she said dismissively, then her tone changed. “If I thought it would work, I would beg you to stay.” Their conversation made an abrupt transition from happy and flirtatious to one that was somber.

“I have struggled with leaving, and although I long to stay here, every bone in my body tells me that I must return,” Granger said. She may have thought that was hyperbole, but in fact it was an ongoing struggle. In fact, he and Daventry had made a pledge to leave together, so they would support each other and not waver or delay their departure.

“I am not convinced I will meet someone who understands me as you do,” she says.

“I am convinced that you will,” Granger said. “I think that now that you are letting the real you out for all the world to see, you will find that the men you encounter will be better able to assess your needs.”

“Yet you have made my body do things I did not even think were possible,” she said. Granger blushed, and that made her laugh.

“You will find other men who can do that, and possibly even do better,” he said.

“That is quite an admission to make,” she said, raising an eyebrow. She understood quite well the male ego that could not tolerate being inferior to another at lovemaking, but she did not know that Granger, due to his own preference for men, did not place much store by such a reputation.

“It is true,” he said.

“I fear that they will woo me, and when I finally submit to their charms, it will be quick and unsatisfying,” she groused.

“Then you must train them to do better,” he replied.

“I must train them?” she demanded.

“Yes,” he answered. “Guide them, show them what you like, make them slow down.”

“As if they will listen to me,” she said.

“If they do not, then you should not sleep with them again,” he said. “I am not suggesting you criticize them, as that will have a deflating effect. I am suggesting that you guide them by gestures, and when they do something well, encourage them with your reaction.”

“If I show myself to be so well-versed in the bedroom, they will talk to their friends, and I will get a reputation as a wanton whore,” she said.

“If you are so worried about that that you do not insist on being satisfied, then you will not be satisfied,” he said logically. “If you make a man work hard enough to bed you, he will most likely want to do it again, and the price for that is for him to do a good job.”

“Perhaps,” she said.

“And you must also try to do what he wants,” Granger said. “It is not a one-way street.”

“Have I not done everything that you wanted me to do?” she asked.

“You have,” he said. She had done everything she could, within the limits of her not having a penis. “I am wondering what you will do to occupy your time?”

“What do you mean by that?” she asked, in an offended way.

“You are much too bright to sit around and embroider or play the flute all day,” he said.

“That is what women are supposed to do,” she said.

“You say that, but you know your intelligence, combined with your high spirit, is not restrained by what is expected of you,” Granger said. She gave him a foul look because she knew he was right.

“The world of diplomacy fascinates me,” she said. “But it is a man’s world.”

“That is preposterous,” he said. “Men are easily manipulated by clever and attractive women. You are both of those things.”

“You are kind to say so,” she said, “but you make me sound like an evil schemer.”

“Russia has a history of strong female rulers, but that does not extend down to other positions,” Granger noted. “You will have to be happy with impacting things behind the scenes, as it were.”

She smiled at him. “As with most things, you have given me much to think about.”

“When I first met you, you were nothing but a girl who it seems only left the nursery yesterday,” he said. She frowned at that. “Now I see you as a young lady who is finally becoming her own person and taking control of her life. It has been one of my greatest pleasures to watch you start to bloom into a truly sophisticated woman.”

“I have a good teacher,” she said, and squeezed his arm. Without speaking, they reversed course and headed back to the Palace, where they surreptitiously snuck back to Granger’s room and coupled once again.

 

May 19, 1801

The Peterhof Palace

St. Petersburg, Russia

 

Granger boarded the lugger that was to take them to the fleet and managed to maintain his composure long enough to greet the captain. He could have gone below, but he did not want to be stuck in a stuffy cabin, with Winkler bustling around him worrying about his state of mind. Instead, he managed to make enough small talk to be polite, then strode aft and stood at the taffrail. He opened his eyes wide, hoping the wind would dry his tears before they fell from his eyes.

Last night there had been a big banquet, and that had given Granger the opportunity to bid farewell to the acquaintances he’d made here in St. Petersburg. After that he’d had a final tryst with the Countess, and they had said their agonizing goodbyes. He had not had a problem being faithful to Caroline and eschewing other women until he’d met her, but there was something about her that was incredibly stimulating. She’d told him that she loved him, and he’d told her the same thing, but Granger suspected that neither one of them was being entirely honest. He saw the starry-eyed look in her eyes and tended to write that off to a young woman’s infatuation. He knew that he had grown to care for her deeply, but also knew that there was no future for them. He had hoped he’d laid the groundwork for them to remain friends, and they had pledged to write each other often. Granger was not sure if he’d see her again, and that saddened him, but it did not devastate him.

He’d spent some time with Pavel, and it was ironic that his feelings for the handsome Russian were much the same as his feelings for the Countess von Lieven. Stroganov was a friend, and his family had all but adopted Granger and Daventry. And just like with the Countess, Granger cared for him deeply, while he suspected Pavel’s feelings were more advanced toward him. The connection between him and the Stroganovs was one that enhanced both of their families, giving them trusted contacts in their respective countries. But all that being said, his feelings for Pavel were more in line with his feelings for Treadway or Somers, and not more intense, like his attachment to Cavendish and Calvert.

Then, after his time with Pavel, he’d snuck down to the Tsar’s room and spent the rest of the night with him. Granger thought of the other two people as dear friends that were enjoyable to have sex with, while his feelings for the Tsar were much more advanced. He’d recognized a while ago that he was falling in love with that all-powerful ruler, and that dangerous emotion had only grown over these last few weeks. And just as his feelings for Pavel and the Countess were more of fondness, Granger knew that the Tsar’s feelings toward him were similar to how he felt about Pavel. He’d let himself fall completely in love with one of the most powerful rulers in the world, even when he should have known the relationship was going nowhere. So now, to add to the agony of being torn from a man he loved, there was added pain over knowing that he was really nothing more to the Tsar than a friend, companion, and plaything. The tears began to flow again, and no matter how wide he opened his eyes, he could not stop them.

The lugger cast off and began its journey, and as it did it turned its stern toward the shore. There, sprayed across Granger’s range of vision, was the Peterhof, and the gorgeous Grand Cascade. Granger glanced around to make sure no one was looking at him, then hastily wiped his eyes. As he watched the Peterhof fade into the distance, so he watched his relationship with the Tsar end.

Granger heard footsteps until they stopped next to him, and when they did, he turned to see Daventry standing there. “It’s a bit strange that we were almost stranded here, and now I find myself most unwilling to leave.”

Granger smiled. “Truly that is one of the bigger ironies in my life.”

“I wrestled with that,” Daventry said somberly. “I thought about staying here. I could have sent for Robbie and made a life here.” It took Granger a second to realize he had just referred to his son.

“It was tempting,” Granger agreed. “But we have too many ties to Britain, and if we came here, it is quite likely we would eventually wear out our welcome.”

Daventry nodded. “Ah yes. The novelty of two handsome English peers would fade after they got to know us better.”

Granger laughed. “I think that is inevitable. At least back home they are required to put up with us, to a certain degree at least.”

“Will you tell Caroline about the Countess?” Daventry asked daringly.

“I am not sure,” Granger said. “I really hadn’t thought about it.”

“It was easy to forget our attachments at home while we were here,” Daventry said.

“I suspect I will tell her,” Granger said. “She has pushed the boundaries of marriage enough on her own that she will find it hard to make a big issue out of things.”

“Yes, and women are always that logical and rational,” he said, making Granger chuckle again.

“Do you think I should tell her?” Granger asked him.

“It is not for me to say,” Daventry responded, but the evil look he got from Granger told him that answer wasn’t sufficient. “I think that it is not whether you tell her, but when you tell her.”

“And what of the baroness you were courting?” Granger asked.

“I asked her to come back to England with me,” Daventry said, stunning Granger. “She opted to stay here.”

“Perhaps she foresaw the same challenges being in a foreign country that we just discussed,” Granger said.

“Perhaps,” Daventry said. “It is a little different, and I daresay easier for women to make that adaptation. In the end, she did not love me enough to make that sacrifice.” Granger recognized then that he had selfishly focused on his own trauma and ignored that Daventry was in the same situation he was in.

He put his arm around Daventry in a supportive way. “That is asking a lot of someone, and it is possible that while she loved you, that wasn’t enough to overcome the fear of leaving home.”

“Shouldn’t love define one’s actions?” Daventry asked philosophically.

“No,” Granger said simply. “If it did, we would not be on this lugger.” Daventry did not know what a master Granger was at hiding his feelings.

“The philosophes would not agree with you,” Daventry said.

“They would not,” Granger said. “I recall a conversation that I had with Lord Spencer when I was getting ready to leave for the Mediterranean. He was confounded by Nelson’s relationship with Lady Hamilton and stunned that he would ruin his reputation with such a scandalous affair.”

“You see, for Nelson, love was more important,” Daventry said.

“That is evidently what he thinks,” Granger said. “But I remember sitting there with my fellow aristocrat, both of us stymied that Nelson would forsake his duties and obligations for an open relationship, when that is something neither one of us was prepared to do, nor could we even comprehend it.”

“You’re saying that Nelson was too much of a bourgeoisie to realize the proprieties of society?”

“I am saying that for him, chasing love was the right thing to do. For me, for Spencer, and for you, it would not be,” Granger said.

“You are a good friend,” Daventry said meaningfully. “Let us find out what there is to eat on this vessel.”

“That is a most alluring proposition,” Granger said, and the two of them went below decks, smiling. As soon as he arrived in the wardroom, Winkler looked at him in surprise, as he’d expected Granger to still be an emotional wreck, which only steeled Granger to hide his sadness from everyone. Granger ate, then finally his seaman’s instincts kicked in and he went up on deck to watch the operation of the lugger. This particular ship was attached to the Tsar’s personal service, so it was no surprise that she was commanded by a sprig of the aristocracy, a young man named Drubetskoy, who had the rank of commander and was probably all of nineteen years old. Granger had to pull himself back from scorning at this unseasoned youth when he remembered that at nineteen, he’d been posted as a captain. It was evident, however, that Drubetskoy did not have much experience and relied on his lieutenant, a grizzled old officer who seemed to seethe with resentment, although of course none of that was visible. Granger felt like he was in a Spanish ship, where the captain did not usually disdain to interfere in the sailing of the ship; that task was handled by the master. The lugger was fast and handy, and with a fair wind she was making good time on her voyage down the Gulf of Finland.

Drubetskoy hosted them to a wonderful supper, one that left Granger’s appetite fully sated. “Thank you, Captain, for the wonderful food you have provided for this brief voyage,” Granger said.

“My lord, I agree that the food is most excellent, but you must credit that to His Imperial Majesty, who transferred a chef as well as the stores he required to this vessel,” he responded.

Granger exchanged a surprised look with Daventry. “Then we will have to thank His Imperial Majesty as well,” Daventry noted.

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of a shout from the deck, although it sounded like it actually came from the tops. Drubetskoy acted as if nothing had transpired, and continued to calmly drink his port, while Daventry gave Granger a smirk to acknowledge Granger’s desire to rush on deck and see what had transpired. After a few minutes passed, Granger’s patience was overwhelmed. “I think I will repair to the deck to enjoy the last remaining hours of daylight.”

“As you wish, my lord,” Drubetskoy said, but made no move to follow.

Granger emerged onto the deck to notice that it was now dusk. He looked at his watch and noted that it was nine o’clock at night. It was fascinating how great an impact the seasons had on the daylight hours. Now that it was late spring, the sun generally rose around five in the morning, and would remain with them close to ten at night. He took his glass and scanned the horizon, and was shocked to see a large array of ships in front of them, albeit still some ways off. It was easy enough to discern that this was Nelson’s fleet, and soon Granger was able to identify the individual ships, or at least most of them. Granger smiled because Nelson’s flagship, the 98-gun St. George, eclipsed her accompanying two-deckers in size, much as Nelson tried to do with his public image. “Jacobs!” Granger shouted. It was a small enough ship that his voice was easily heard below decks.

Jacobs appeared before him quite quickly. “My lord?”

Granger handed him his glass and gestured toward the fleet. “That three-decker is the St. George. It will be dark before we are upon them. I want you to mark her location and stay focused on her.”

“Begging your pardon, my lord, but how will I do that when it gets dark?” Jacobs asked.

Granger smiled. “Because she will shortly begin to show a light.” That was to be expected when a fleet was at anchor.

“Aye aye, my lord,” Jacobs said, a bit embarrassed. Granger was distracted when the grizzled lieutenant summoned the hands and was clearly intending to heave the lugger to. That was probably their normal protocol at night, but Granger was determined not to spend the night on this Russian lugger when the fleet was in reach.

“What are you doing, Lieutenant?” Granger asked him. He was fortunate that the man spoke French.

“I am preparing to heave the ship to, my lord,” he replied with the slightest bit of surliness.

“We cannot heave to,” Granger said firmly. “We must reach the fleet tonight.” He shook his head, which infuriated Granger. “Pass the word for the captain!” he shouted. The two men stood staring at each other, waiting for him to arrive.

Drubetskoy climbed up to the deck in a laconic matter. “My lord?”

“This man is preparing to heave the ship to, when we are clearly able to reach the St. George,” Granger said.

He turned and began to chatter with the lieutenant in Russian, which was really the height of rudeness, then turned back to Granger. “It is not safe to travel at night with other ships so close.”

“Nonsense,” Granger said. “There is plenty of light to get close to the fleet, and they will soon show lights to guide us in.”

Drubetskoy argued with his lieutenant then turned back to Granger. “My lord, I must see to the safety of my ship. Surely you can see that?”

“Captain, it is imperative that I reach the St. George tonight,” Granger said firmly. “It is perfectly safe to traverse this sea. I will not be delayed.”

“You ask the impossible,” he responded.

“It is not impossible,” Granger said. “But since you think so, I will assume command and guide us in, then you can hold me accountable if there is a mishap.”

“My lord, while you are certainly a distinguished naval officer, you have no right to even ask me to relinquish control of my command,” Drubetskoy said defiantly.

“Why did the Tsar send one of his chefs aboard, and why did he provide a table with delicacies that one would normally find at an Imperial dinner?” Granger challenged, adopting an aggressive tone that was truly Russian in character. “Is it because you are that popular and esteemed by His Imperial Majesty?”

“I hardly see how what we eat has any bearing...” he began to argue.

“Captain, you give yourself airs above your station,” Granger said in a menacing way. “There are affairs of state at stake which you could not begin to understand. So the choice is yours. Do as I order, or I will dispatch a report to His Imperial Majesty explaining how I was unable to complete my mission because you were unwilling to sail an additional ten miles in the darkness.”

“My lord,” the man said, almost a plea.

“By God,” Granger said loudly, “I will see you both sent to Siberia if you interfere with my mission!”

Drubetskoy shrugged and turned to his lieutenant. “You will follow Lord Granger’s orders.” Without waiting for a reply, the young captain went below, presumably to eat more food.

“Alter course a point to starboard,” Granger ordered. He went to relay Granger’s order, but Granger stopped him. “You will acknowledge my order!”

“Aye aye, my lord,” the lieutenant answered, a bit cowed by Granger’s attitude.

The lugger was easy enough to sail, so with the lieutenant relaying his orders, things were easy enough. For Granger, it was exhilarating to not only be at sea again, but to be in command. He let that pleasant emotion soften his mood. Once the ship was on course, Granger turned to the lieutenant again. “I will need you to have the two guns in front loaded without shot and run out.”

“You are planning to fire at them? They will sink us, my lord!” the lieutenant exclaimed.

Granger ignored him. “Pass the word for McGillivray!”

He arrived promptly. “My lord?” McGillivray asked.

“I’ll need you to make sure the two guns in front are loaded without shot. Alert me when that is done,” Granger said.

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said.

They could see lights appear in the masts of the fleet, which was drawing much closer. “I want a red lantern astern, and a blue lantern in front.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” the lieutenant said, and went to get that done.

“Jacobs, help the helmsman stay on course for the St. George,” Granger ordered. Granger didn’t hear his acknowledgement as he focused on the ship, gauging the wind. It was fair enough that they would not have to tack and could sail directly to the British flagship.

“Aye aye, my lord,” Jacobs said, and with gestures managed to communicate effectively with the Russian.

“Ready, my lord,” McGillivray shouted.

“Fire!” Granger ordered. The foremost gun went off, sending a bright yellow flame out of its barrel, causing Granger to realize that it was almost dark.

“Why do you fire at them, my lord?” Drubetskoy asked respectfully. Granger hadn’t even noticed that he had returned to the deck.

“We fire a gun to announce our presence, so there is no question that we are trying to surprise them,” Granger said. “Since it is too dark to fly a flag of truce to indicate we are coming in peace, we show the same lanterns that they do.”

“I understand, my lord,” Drubetskoy said. His demeanor was much better, which Granger attributed to the good wine the Tsar had sent.

“I would be obliged if you would make sure there is a white flag over Russian colors flying, nonetheless,” Granger said, then went on to explain his order. “They will ultimately fire a flare when we get closer.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Drubetskoy said.

They sailed on in relative silence until the lights were much closer, at which time Granger fired the other cannon. The response to that was a flare from the nearest ship of the line, which Granger imagined to be the Defense. That was confirmed when he heard Lord Henry Paulet’s voice. “Lugger ahoy! What ship’s that?”

“Russian lugger, carrying dispatches for Lord Nelson!” Granger shouted in reply.

“Gads Granger, is that you?” Paulet asked.

“It is indeed,” Granger shouted back, and heard laughter from that quarterdeck. They sailed past Defense and noticed that she had hung a yellow lantern from her foremast and had lit a Bengal lantern.

“What does that mean, my lord?” Drubetskoy asked.

“They are signaling to the fleet,” Granger said. “It has been a while since I have consulted the signal book, but I believe they are indicating that we are carrying dispatches.”

“We do not take such risks as you do, only to gain a little time,” he mused thoughtfully, referring to the Russian navy in general.

“We are used to taking risks, but the trick is to know when such an action is warranted. In this case, there is a reason,” Granger said. “There is also an ingrained motto in most of our captains to not delay.”

“Is not your motto ‘lose not an hour’?” he asked with a smile.

“That is the motto of the man on that ship,” Granger said, gesturing at the St. George, which conveniently enough shot off a flare, briefly illuminating all of them. Drubetskoy looked at him curiously. “The commander of this fleet is Lord Nelson.”

“He is here?” Drubetskoy asked with wide eyes. “He is the greatest naval officer of all time.”

“Let us anchor, and then you can come with me and I will introduce you to him,” Granger said.

Drubetskoy got a star-struck look in his eyes. “I would be honored.” Granger surmised that Nelson would appreciate the worshipful attention of this Russian fan. As Granger guided the lugger past the ships of the fleet, each fired a flare to light her up and to guide her way, a singular honor. “Do they always do that for a ship approaching the fleet, my lord?”

Granger ignored his question for a bit, so Daventry answered. “They do not. This is a singular honor the fleet is paying to His Lordship.” Granger pretended as if his whole attention was required to sail the lugger and that he could not be bothered to respond to their conversation, even though he knew Daventry was right. He hoped such a display would not irritate Nelson, who jealously sought the limelight.

They arrived quite close to the St. George when Granger brought the lugger to and dropped the anchor. Granger paused to take in the scene around him, courtesy of another flare from the St. George. He saw a gig casting off from the flagship, which would save the lugger the effort of manning a boat. He saw Daventry standing there, observing the situation with what appeared to be amusement. “And you see, Captain, that is how you do it,” he said to Drubetskoy.