The wolf sat on its haunches and watched. Sylvia clicked her tongue to beckon it nearer, and the candles flickered, and the wolf stood beside the bed, and then sat.
She gurgled with pleasure and lay down and reached out to stroke him, yet her fingers felt only air.
She closed her eyes and reached out again, and her hand stroked through soft fur. She traced her fingertips round the edge of its ears, and ran her hand over the firm neck. Her fingers probed the coarse fur along his back, and the skin felt tight and hard over toned muscle. The shoulders rose and fell with the rhythm of his panting.
She opened her eyes and her hand stroked air.
Her mind whirled and bright lights flashed behind her eyes. She fell backwards and felt sick. She squeezed her eyes tight shut, and the wolf appeared as if from a fog and trotted away, and she followed.
Red and green and purple lights blazed and rolled and pitched and settled into a block of pure white light that dazzled her. The whiteness blinded, and then its intensity diminished, and she saw grey clouds, and felt the soft warmth of long green grass between her toes.
She was on a hillside, with the wolf lying beside her. Below, a muddy track ran along a valley floor and disappeared into a grove of trees. She gurgled with pleasure. This was the first time a companion had accompanied her on a “vision,” and she rejoiced that it was the wolf. Or had he led her? She wasn’t sure.
Then the wolf’s ears pricked alert, and he sat up. She listened, and heard far away, the rhythmic trundling of carriage wheels as they rolled over uneven ground.
Six carriages rounded the shoulder of the hill, each one pulled by four horses, and behind them came mounted soldiers in red uniforms. They swept past in a flurry of jingling harnesses and snorting horses, and disappeared into the trees.
The wolf stood and ran to follow. She leapt to keep up, and the hill and the grass and the sky shuddered and tipped and rolled and split into jagged shapes, so that she didn’t know if she flew or fell. The wolf never wavered, and through the whirling movement he remained her steady guide.
Her feet scraped against sharp objects, and the swirling colours settled and turned solid, and she saw the grey sky and, in front of her, Parklands. The gravel on the drive in front of Parklands dug into her feet. The wolf watched with her, panting.
The carriages rolled up to the huge front door, and halted, and the mounted soldiers lined up beside them. The drivers jumped down and opened the carriage doors. A tall man in a top hat walked up and down and shouted, and out of the carriages stepped white-faced people who shielded their eyes against the light, and stumbled towards the House. Two of them didn’t walk very well, and the drivers gathered round to give them support.
The man in the top hat followed the white-faced people into the House, and the door shut behind him with a deep clunk.
Parklands melted like hot butter, and she fell backwards through light and colour and felt the familiar warmth of her sheets, and the lumpy softness of her mattress. She opened her eyes and her mouth, and waited for the first spoonful of food. Nothing happened. Was Peggy still on the floor?
She huffed and grumbled to attract her attention. Time to feed, and she hit the mattress with the palms of her hand. Candlelight flickered and shadows weaved strange shapes across the walls. Where was she?
She pushed upwards on her elbows. The silver bowls swung on their chains, and the candles burned with steady flames. Everything usual, as normal except, no Peggy.
Chapter Thirty
“We don’t have much time gentlemen.”
The Chief strode into the study, slammed the door, and joined Hood and Buffrey by the fire, where they sat in high-backed leather chairs and cradled glasses of brandy.
“We need to begin the questioning.” He flopped into a vacant chair and rested his head against the soft upholstery. “I suggest we interrogate them individually. One of us questions one of them. Make notes, the Russians are bound to lie, but parts of their story may be consistent, and it’s that that we need to work on. We need information, and fast, before their disappearance is discovered.”
“Well that won’t take long.” Hood swirled his brandy in lazy circles. “The Russian Ambassador’s wife is rather a conspicuous figure at present.”
“And if we have enough leads to begin a search,” The Chief continued. “I want to be able to conduct it without a fuss. We will lose that advantage when the story breaks.”
“Exactly.” Buffrey’s voice shrilled with fear. “And how are you going to explain that when it happens? What crazy lies are you going to invent to cover this mess?”
The Chief closed his eyes. Why was their support so fractious? He hoped, with perseverance, and a little luck, that time would teach them the soundness of his actions, but the struggle needed to achieve that happy result seemed insurmountable.
“I am going to announce that I have put the Ambassador’s wife under house arrest.”
“And escalate the crisis in the Holy Lands into a full scale war? Is that wise?” Hood’s distaste for this rash action was clear; even if his comment was less than sound.
The Chief massaged his temples. He longed for sleep, if possible for a hundred years, and this cosy study with its warm fire would be the ideal starting point. Just forty winks even. He pinched his cheek until the pain forced his blurry mind to engage. “Well,” he replied at last; “That might happen.”
“Can’t we forget all about it Chief?” whined Buffrey. “I mean does the diamond really matter anymore? Nobody knows about it except us, and if it does go back to Russia, well so what? It’s ancient history.”
The Chief shut his eyes and marshalled his thoughts. “If the Russians have the diamond they will use it to wage war on the Holy Lands. They want to re-establish the Orthodox faith in the lands of the diamond’s origin, and with the Russian White in their hands they can justify their wish to invade those lands by calling it a Holy War. It is of course a smoke screen to hide their real intentions of taking control of the Straits of Constantinople and that, gentlemen, I cannot allow to happen.”
Hood cleared his throat. “Are you sure about this? Without the Russian Ambassador to verify such a statement, aren’t you just whistling in the wind?”
“I can’t waste time waiting for my men to find the Russian Ambassador.” He opened his eyes and gazed at the ceiling. “His wife told me all about the Tsar’s plan.” He sat up, his mind flicking through the extraordinary events of two nights ago. “I was, I admit, surprised that she knew so much about it. It seems that she and her husband work together, something I hadn’t expected.” He glared into the fire. “She frightened me. Of course she was gloating over the recovery of the diamond, but she spoke about it with such fervour, as if it were a living thing. It would unlock the “Russian spirit,” she said, encourage the people to perform great deeds for the Motherland, and as she spoke, her whole being seemed suffused by the unshakeable belief that whatever she said or did concerning the diamond was absolutely right. Trying to discuss the diamond in a rational way was out of the question. It is the Tsar’s wish to reinstate it as a Russian icon. She reveres the Tsar like a God. They all do. So the idea that the diamond will tear the State and Church apart is wrong. The recovery of the diamond will strengthen the Tsar’s God like status.” He flopped back in his seat. “When the diamond returns to Russia they will go to war in the Holy Lands. When they hear that I have kidnapped the Russian Ambassador’s wife, they may go to war to avenge what they will see as an act of aggression. It will certainly cause a stink. Either way, we are in a cleft stick.”