Northern Exposure - 53. Chapter 53

May 9, 1801

Stroganov Palace

St. Petersburg, Russia

“We must go to this place and release Chartley at once,” Granger said emphatically. It was inconceivable that Chartley, whom Granger had last seen in Calcutta and whom he had presumed was dead, would suddenly materialize in a Russian prison in St. Petersburg. The horrors of what he must have gone through filled Granger with fear for his safety.

“We must first discuss this,” Pavel said firmly and calmly. “In the meantime, we must care for our Mongol friend.”

Granger swallowed his impulse to charge into the breech, and when Pavel summoned a footman, Granger also sent for Winkler. The footman arrived first, but Winkler was not far behind him. “My lord?” Winkler asked.

“Winkler, this Mongolian chap seems to know where Lord Chartley is. I’m going to make plans to ascertain if that is true and to release him. In the meantime, will you look after him?”

Winkler blinked a bit, both at the news, and at this strange looking man he’d been saddled with. “Of course, my lord.”

“He will need food and drink,” Granger said. “He understands English, but he cannot speak.”

“Is he a mute, my lord?” Winkler asked.

Granger realized that he had not even discerned why the Mongol could not speak. “Why can you not speak?” Granger asked him.

In response, he opened his mouth wide, but where his tongue should have been, there was only a stump. It had clearly been cut out. Granger, Winkler, and Daventry gasped, appalled at such a thing, but Pavel was more thoughtful. Pavel exchanged some words in Russian with the Mongol, then reverted to French to explain things to his English guests. “This man agreed to have his tongue cut out so he could continue to serve Lord Chartley in prison.”

The three Englishmen were stunned at such barbarity and uttered not a word for almost a minute. It was Winkler who broke the silence, speaking French. “My lord, such devotion is truly admirable. I would have you know that while I would do almost anything for you, I would not allow them to cut my tongue off so I could be sent to prison to keep you company.”

“Winkler, I have never found you lacking in loyalty, and I would never ask such a thing, but I would hazard that if I did, you would probably do it,” Granger said to Winkler in a very affectionate tone.

“Perhaps, my lord,” Winkler said, blushing. “I’ll take right good care of the lad then.”

Granger turned to the Mongol. “Go with Winkler.” Winkler was a caring man, and the Mongol must have sensed that, so he nodded his assent and willingly followed Winkler out of the room.

Pavel poured them a glass, then they took their seats, silently digesting what had happened. “I am curious as to why we cannot do what Granger suggested, and go free Chartley?” Daventry asked.

Pavel shook his head. “You do not understand, so I will explain. The prison is called the Secret House because there are few who even know it exists, and even fewer who know what it is used for.”

“Even though it is part of the Peter and Paul Fortress?” Granger asked. How could one hide a prison in a fortress?

“This is Russia,” Pavel said with a shrug. “No one is allowed to know about it. Even if they do, they will say nothing.” That made a lot of sense. People who knew about it would not say anything, lest they incur the Tsar’s wrath. “It is simply a topic too risky to discuss.”

“But surely there are people working in this prison,” Daventry said in a questioning way. There had to be a staff, and surely they would gossip with their neighbors, friends, or family.

“That is true. All those who work in the prison live there. It is as difficult for them to leave as it is for the prisoners. The ravelin is separated from the fortress by a moat,” Pavel explained. “It is most impregnable.”

“They cannot leave?” Granger asked. Pavel smiled ruefully and shook his head.

“The only way into and out of the prison is by way of a drawbridge,” he explained. “There are only four people who may cross it. Of course the Tsar is allowed, as is the Governor General of St. Petersburg, the commandant of the fortress, and the commandant of the prison.”

“These must be very dangerous prisoners,” Daventry noted. “How in God’s name did Chartley end up there?”

“People are sent to the Secret House by the word of the emperor and can be freed by his word only,” Pavel said. That suggested it was a matter of these people being politically dangerous, not physically violent, although that was probably possible.

“It sounds much like the Bastille, only it is secret,” Daventry noted, referring to the arbitrary imprisonment that could happen in France during the Ancien Regime.

“Is that why the Mongol had his tongue cut out?” Granger asked.

“I think that is why,” Pavel said with a cringe. “He would have been separated from your friend and not even known where he had gone. As your Winkler has noted, he must be quite devoted.” Granger pondered that and decided that losing Chartley while finding himself in Russia’s capital, miles from home, would have evoked quite a bit of fear in the Mongol.

“Quite,” Daventry agreed.

“I am assuming he was imprisoned by Paul,” Granger said, allowing his annoyance with the prior Tsar to approach something closer to hatred.

“Of that I am sure,” Pavel said. “I am confused because His Imperial Majesty reviewed the list of prisoners and released many, but I do not recall seeing your Englishman on the list.”

“I wonder if there are more prisoners in there that His Imperial Majesty is not aware of?” Granger asked. If Chartley were there, the Tsar would be furious.

“I suspect that if that is the case, those involved will be counting trees in Siberia,” Pavel said. “That is why we must approach this carefully.”

“I don’t understand,” Daventry said.

“If the Tsar sends an inquiry to the prison, it is quite likely that they will disavow any knowledge of any such prisoner,” Pavel said.

“And to back up their claims, they will kill Chartley so there is no evidence,” Granger concluded. “The only refutation of such an act would be the incomprehensible mutterings of our Mongol.”

“And now you see the difficulties,” Pavel said. “We must instead make a plan to ensure that does not happen. We must also be careful that we do not become laughingstocks.”

“Because if the prison is searched and Chartley isn’t there, we will all of us look like buffoons,” Daventry concluded. “People will look at us with contempt because we believed the nods and shrugs of a Mongol servant over those of the commandants.”

“I think perhaps you underestimate the impact,” Granger said. They both stared at him. “If we are wrong, the Tsar will be embarrassed. That will have serious implications for Pavel, for us, and for relations with Britain and Russia.”

“There is another problem,” Pavel said. “The commandant of the fortress is Safonov Pavel Andreevich, major-general and aide-de-camp to Grand Duke Constantine, the Tsar’s brother.” The Tsar had no challenges to his authority or his rule from his younger brothers, but if he irritated them, that could change.

“It is hard to imagine a more tangled web,” Granger noted.

“Well we can hardly leave Chartley there,” Daventry concluded. “He’s a bit of a rake, but a good chap.”

“That is why we must have a plan,” Pavel said.

“Our plan must be quick,” Granger cautioned. Pavel looked at him, confused. “Your household will know of the Mongol in their midst. They will talk to others.”

Pavel was initially insulted that his staff would be disloyal but realized that they would not understand the true impact of the Mongol’s presence here and would view it as a source of idle gossip. “Then we must make a plan today, and I will ensure the staff speaks to no one.”

May 10, 1801

Stroganov Palace

St. Petersburg, Russia

Granger stood in the foyer, looking out onto the courtyard. Their planning had ended up being much more thorough than any of them had first anticipated, but all of the preparations were now complete, and it was time to rescue Chartley, assuming he was in the Secret House.

Because things had taken longer to organize, Alexei had quarantined the palace and refused to allow anyone to leave. That had only heightened the curiosity of the staff, but hopefully after they were allowed to leave and talk to others, Chartley’s fate would be known and it would be anticlimactic.

Granger stared in the mirror and looked skeptically at his reflection. He was wearing the uniform of a Colonel in the Imperial Horse Guards, which was similar to that worn by Fritz von Beckendorf. The former uniform, the one Fritz had worn, had been all white with a black jerkin, while Alexander had dispatched with the jerkin so now the uniform was all white. Granger had a black cravat that was tucked into his waistcoat, which came almost up to his neck, and long black riding boots. Other than the black cravat, boots, and hat, which itself had a large white plume, the only color on the uniform was red, confined to the sleeves, where his indicators of rank were. Granger was most surprised that the uniform had no epaulettes. Granger found the lack of a contrasting color between jacket and breeches to be odd and was glad he was not tasked to wear this uniform on a constant basis.

Winkler had been able to discover that the Mongol was named Batu, which appropriately enough meant ‘loyal individual’. Evidently the Stroganovs had a Mongolian man who attended to the plants in the greenhouse, and he was the one who explained that to Winkler. How Winkler managed to communicate with a Mongolian gardener when he did not even speak Russian amazed Granger, but then again, Winkler was nothing if not resourceful.

Granger saw Batu walk into the room looking terrified, as if he were going to meet God. That wasn’t too far from the truth, since the Tsar was soon to arrive, and for a common subject of His Imperial Majesty, the Tsar was as close to God so as to be indistinguishable. Before Alexander went to the Secret House, he had demanded that he be introduced to Batu, the man who was purportedly stirring up all of this trouble. He understood all too well the fallout from this operation if they were all proven wrong. Granger turned and smiled at Batu, but the man was so afraid he was trembling. “Do not be afraid,” Granger said soothingly. “The Tsar is a good man.” His words were a waste of effort.

Pavel strode in, dressed just as Granger was. “You look most dignified in white,” he noted.

“I feel as if I am a bride about to be married,” Granger said grumpily, making Pavel laugh. Daventry had been summoned to call on the Dowager Empress, which had occasioned much teasing from Granger and Pavel. He was none too happy about being excluded from the big foray to the fortress and prison.

The gates to the palace swung open and a squadron of Horse Guards entered, followed by the Tsar and the actual colonel of the regiment. It was interesting that the Tsar was wearing a different uniform, one that was primarily dark green and loaded with decorations, while he was surrounded by a sea of cavalrymen who were entirely dressed in white except for their boots and hats. Perhaps that was why the uniforms were white: the contrast between the Tsar and his soldiers left no one in doubt who ruled Russia. Fortunately, the weather was quite pleasant today, as St. Petersburg began to shed winter and move into spring.

Footmen rushed forward to assist the Tsar as he dismounted, while Granger and Pavel went outside to welcome him. “Your Imperial Majesty, it is an honor to have you visit,” Pavel said in French, as he and Granger both bowed.

“Your hospitality is renowned,” the Tsar replied in that language. These words were merely for appearances. The Tsar preceded them into the house, and into the sitting room.

Granger went to retrieve Batu from the anteroom, and almost had to drag him in to see the Tsar. He walked into the room and as soon as Batu saw the Tsar, he dropped to his knees and put his forehead on the floor. “Your Imperial Majesty, this is Batu,” Granger said in English. The Tsar spoke fluent English, a fact that made their time together even more intimate.

“Rise,” the Tsar said in a gentle way, and Batu stood up. “I understand you cannot speak?” Batu nodded. “Let us see these carvings on your skin.”

Granger helped Batu remove his shirt and turned him so his back was to the Tsar, something that was normally taboo. Such an act of disrespect made Batu actually shake. “Your Imperial Majesty, these are the shapes that indicated he was with Lord Chartley,” Granger said. He outlined the bell. “The bell is the dominant feature on Lord Chartley’s arms, while the eagle is predominant in the arms of his father, the Earl of Leicester.”

The Tsar nodded, so Granger helped Batu put his shirt on and then pivoted him around so he was facing the Tsar again. “You were attached to Lord Chartley, and he is being held in the Secret House?” Batu nodded. “Do you know where?”

Granger was glad that Daventry thought of this contingency. Batu pulled a paper from his pocket and handed it to the Tsar. It was a rough schematic of the floorplan of the prison, which was triangular in shape, with an ‘x’ where Chartley had purportedly been held. “I was surprised, Your Imperial Majesty, that this chamber does not look like the others,” Granger noted.

“I am surprised by that as well,” the Tsar said, his irritation quite visible. He turned to Batu. “You are willing to swear that Lord Chartley is here, on pain of death?”

That caused Granger considerable consternation, since if Chartley had been gotten rid of or hidden, Batu would pay with his life. Batu had no such qualms. He put his hand over his heart, as if to pledge his soul, and nodded. “You understand that you will be put into a wooden box, and taken to the fortress with us?” Granger asked. Batu nodded.

They went to the foyer where three big boxes waited. The other two were full of foodstuffs as a treat and a distraction for the garrison, while the third was for Batu. It had been modified so there were holes in the bottom and cracks in the side to ensure he did not suffocate. He willingly got in, and the box was sealed shut. Footmen carried the boxes out to a cart that had been rigged to one of the guardsmen’s horses. That poor man looked quite irritated at having to tow this small cart behind him amidst a troop of Horse Guards. Granger, Pavel, and the Tsar mounted their horses and waited for the lead squadron to start them out of the palace courtyard. “I want you to know that I will be most displeased if this turns out to be much ado about nothing,” the Tsar said to Pavel and Granger, making both of them swallow nervously. It was too late to worry about his anger, as the die had been cast, and the plan would go forward.

The troop clattered through the streets and up to the Fortress of Peter and Paul, where they were admitted by surprised guards. Normally the fortress commandant would have been alerted to the Tsar’s visit, but in this situation, it was important that no one suspected they were coming. They trotted through the fortress, through its narrow streets, watching the confusion of those who stepped to the side to make way turn to shock when they recognized the Tsar. They got to the drawbridge, where the sentries on duty looked skeptically at the Imperial Horse Guards, because despite their impeccable uniforms, high status, and martial manner, they were not allowed across the moat. When the chief sentry saw the Tsar, his expression changed, and he immediately gave orders for the bridge to be lowered for them. As he watched the bridge being lowered, Granger could hear the pandemonium in the fortress behind them. They had surprised not only the garrison, but the commandant. Once the bridge was lowered, the Tsar crossed over the moat and passed through the Ravelin to the prison grounds. There was an area on the other side with room for them to dismount, while the prison loomed in front of them.

A man wearing a general’s uniform hurried toward them, remembering to bow respectfully. “Your Imperial Majesty, we did not expect you.”

“Summon all of your guards and officers,” the Tsar ordered. The man looked a bit nervous, but the Tsar soothed his anxiety with his next sentence. “I have come to show them my appreciation.”

Two of the burly troopers unloaded the two boxes with foodstuffs in them and pried open the lid. The commandant smiled and began belting out orders. More than fifty people poured out of the building, flooding the small courtyard. “I cannot thank Your Imperial Majesty enough for such a treat,” the commandant gushed. The reason for the food was to draw out all the guards and staff. If they had not done that, it was quite possible that those left inside could have peered out a window, gotten nervous, and dispatched Chartley and any other unfortunate fellows whom they weren’t supposed to be holding.

The Tsar gave a brief speech in Russian, which seemed to go over quite well based on the cheers. When he was done, he turned to the beaming commandant and spoke in French. “While you and your men are indulging yourselves, my aides and guards will inspect the prison and take an inventory of the prisoners.” The commandant’s face transformed from glee to fear. Granger was surprised at the complete lack of stoicism in this man.

“Of course, Your Imperial Majesty,” he said nervously. “I would be happy to show these men around.”

“That will not be necessary,” the Tsar said. At that point, the third box was opened and Batu hopped out. The commandant’s face drained of all color. He finally tried to save himself by creating confusion.

“Protect His Imperial Majesty!” the commandant shouted. “That man is an escaped prisoner.”

Granger saw an officer and two prison guards attempting to go back into the prison. He nudged Pavel, who shouted at them, ordering them to return to the courtyard. He detailed ten troopers to detain them and guard the entrance. “I am in no danger,” the Tsar said to the commandant with real malice in his voice, enough that it caused even Granger and Pavel to cringe. Granger would have expected that the commandant of the fortress would have crossed the drawbridge by now, but he noticed the steady Imperial troopers on the other side of the causeway. The Tsar must have left a squadron there to block the entrance. He nodded to Pavel and Granger, who with four Imperial troopers as an escort, followed Batu into the prison. Even as they did, they heard the Tsar haranguing the commandant for allowing Batu to escape.

They hurried down the hallways of the prison, focused on reaching Chartley, even though Granger could not resist wondering who all these people who were locked up actually were. They arrived at the place where Batu had told them Chartley would be, a strange cell located in what seemed to be the tip of a triangle. Batu began banging on the door, and croaking. “Batu, is that you?” Granger heard Chartley ask weakly. Granger was at once concerned for his friend’s health, and very relieved that he was actually here.

Pavel snapped at one of the troopers, who attempted to pry open the lock. In the end, he took out his pistol and shot it at the lock, causing the door to all but burst open. Granger was annoyed that they hadn’t warned Chartley, who could have been wounded by the ball, but put that aside as he followed Batu into the cell. Batu ran over to Chartley, who was sitting up in his bed, and hugged him in what was a very touching gesture.

Granger had been worried that this prison would be like some of those he’d seen in England, where they were damp, dark, and vermin infested. This was nothing like that. It was plain, with walls painted white, and even a few pieces of furniture, but it was dry and clean, and adequately ventilated. “George!” Chartley exclaimed, once he looked beyond Batu. “You cannot know how happy I am to see you!” He tried to stand up but was frail and was only able to do so when Batu helped him.

Granger walked over to him and embraced him, trying to push some of his strength and energy into his fellow peer. “I can imagine,” Granger said with a smile. “We have come to rescue you.”

“I am most appreciative,” he said.

“This is Count Pavel Stroganov,” Granger said, switching to French as he introduced them.

“I have heard much about you,” Pavel said. “I am hoping your captivity was not too traumatic.”

“I can live without the memory of it, in any event,” Chartley said. “I am sorry I am so frail, but I have been sick these past two months, and am only now recovering.”

“What has been the matter?” Granger asked.

“It was the fever, come back to haunt me again,” Chartley said ruefully. Granger gave him a consoling look, because he knew that scourge all too well.

“We must go,” Pavel said in French. He was most anxious to inform the Tsar of their success, which just showed Granger how much this whole affair had weighed on him. The Stroganovs had risked much to save a wayward English peer.

“You will shortly meet His Imperial Majesty Alexander I, Tsar of all the Russias,” Granger said. Chartley blinked in surprise and was still for a moment, then wrapped his mind around that fact quickly enough.

“One moment, please,” Chartley said. “Batu, please help me on with the other jacket. And a fresh shirt.”

“I will go and inform the Tsar we have found him,” Pavel said. He left two of the troopers with Granger and took the other two with him.

Granger stood there impatiently while Batu helped Chartley change clothes. A clean shirt, a tattered jacket, a spritz of perfume, and a brief stint with a comb served to polish his appearance up enough to meet the Tsar. Batu then closed up his chest and hoisted it onto his shoulders, which stunned Granger, because Batu was so small and the chest, even without anything in it, looked to be heavy. The troopers thoughtfully tried to assist him, but Batu would not let go of it. Granger gestured toward Chartley, so instead a trooper got on each side of him and helped him walk down the halls. He was clearly still very weak, as by the time they got to the entrance of the prison, they were all but dragging him. “A moment, please,” Chartley said. They paused for a minute to let Chartley catch his breath, then they hauled him out into the courtyard. Chartley squinted at the bright sunlight as he was dragged over toward the Tsar.

“Your Imperial Majesty, allow me to present Lord Chartley,” Granger said formally. Chartley pushed the troopers away just enough to allow him to perform a courtly, if stunted, bow.

“If it were not for your man, I would not have known you were here,” the Tsar said to Chartley. “We will take you to Stroganov Palace where you may recover, then you will call on me in two days’ time.”

“As Your Imperial Majesty commands,” Chartley said, bowing again.

“Lord Granger, you may take your friend to the palace,” the Tsar said. “I would be pleased if you would call on me this evening to acquaint me with how things are going with him.”

“Of course, Your Imperial Majesty,” Granger said. They put Batu and Chartley in the wooden boxes they’d brought with them, but they did not seal them this time. The two of them looked as if they were chickens being hauled off to the market. Even as Granger, Pavel, Batu, Chartley, and a squad of Imperial troopers spurred their horses to leave, he saw the Colonel of the guards dispatching his lieutenants into the prison to search through the papers of the commandant and his staff.

“I am glad that we found your peer,” Pavel said. “I would not want to be the commandant right now.”

When they crossed the drawbridge, they were stopped by the commandant of the fortress, a general dressed resplendently, and decked out with medals of all kinds. “What are you doing?” he demanded rudely. Pavel’s eyes flashed fire as he fiercely glared back at this pompous officer.

“This man was imprisoned without the Tsar’s knowledge,” he said, gesturing toward Chartley in his box. “His detainment in the prison was not reported to His Imperial Majesty even when he demanded a list of the prisoners,” Pavel said with venomous precision. “Perhaps you can explain that?” Suddenly the general realized that this whole thing could blow up on him.

“I know nothing about that,” he muttered.

“Let us hope you can convince His Imperial Majesty that is so, otherwise you may find yourself in the prison instead of commanding the fortress in which it sits,” Pavel said. He prodded his horse forward, all but pushing the man and his aides aside.

The ride to the fortress had gone quickly, but the return trip seemed to take forever, although Granger knew that it was actually the same, and only skewed by his perception. They arrived at the palace where Granger and Pavel hurriedly dismounted and went over to tend to Chartley. “We will take you inside and feed you,” Pavel said.

“I am most appreciative not only for my rescue, but for your warm hospitality,” Chartley said graciously. Granger had no idea what kind of travails he had been through but was singularly impressed that he managed to retain his courtly manner.

They led Chartley into the palace and found Winkler there, ready to assist. “It is good to see you, my lord,” he said with concern.

“Winkler, of course you would end up here with George,” Chartley said, and embraced Winkler. They were a bit surprised when Batu became not a little irritated and tried to physically pry them apart. “It is alright, Batu,” Chartley told him soothingly as he broke off his embrace with Winkler. “We are old friends.”

“Someone is quite devoted to you,” Granger observed.

“Indeed, and it is a mutual devotion,” Chartley said.

Pavel interrupted them in French. “Would you like to have some time to compose yourself, or would you prefer to dine first?”

“Sadly, I cannot do much more with my appearance, so as long as the perfume hides the odors my body must be emanating, I would prefer food,” Chartley said.

“The perfume seems to be working quite well,” Pavel said. He gave orders for a footman to take Chartley’s chest to his room, one near Granger and Daventry.

“Winkler, perhaps you can help Batu put together some clothes for Lord Chartley,” Granger said. “I will not be needing Major Treadway’s old uniform, so there is the possibility it could be modified once again to accommodate a brigadier.”

“Of course, my lord,” Winkler said. “I will see that the uniform gets another promotion.” He went to follow the footmen, taking Batu with him, while Granger, Pavel, and Chartley went into the dining room.

Pavel paused to issue orders to the staff, then poured them a glass of wine. He had just finished that task when Daventry burst in. “Chartley!” he exclaimed in English. “Rumors of your death were evidently wrong!”

“They were, but just barely,” Chartley said. He used the table to pull himself up to greet Daventry. Daventry embraced his fellow peer warmly. “I am surprised that the Tsar has allowed a rogue like you to remain in the empire.”

“Daventry has found a reason for the Tsar to retain him here in St. Petersburg,” Granger said in French, to bring Pavel back into the conversation.

“Indeed?” Chartley asked, as he sat back down.

“Charles has become enamored with the Dowager Empress,” Pavel said, “or perhaps it is more accurate to say that the Dowager Empress has become enamored with Charles.” Granger could not help snickering, which of course made Pavel do the same.

“We must make use of whatever talents we have,” Chartley said, hiding his smile. They sat there for a few moments, with Daventry scowling at them, and then they burst out laughing.

“I do my best,” Daventry finally said.