On the red staircase

by Mary Imlay Taylor

At the first awakening I remembered nothing, and was vaguely astonished at my strange surroundings. Then, suddenly recollecting what had occurred, I sat up, finding, at the same time, that I was very sore and stiff. The cords had been removed, and my clothes were open at the throat, so that I suspected that there had been some difficulty in reviving me at all. Remembering the czarevna’s packet, I felt for it, only to find it gone. Then I looked to see if I had been robbed; but no,—to my astonishment, my money was untouched, down to the last livre, only the ring from my finger—my signet—was gone. My sword and pistols had shared the fate of the packet. It was not difficult to draw conclusions. The czarevna’s precautions had been futile, and I had been tracked from the Kremlin, falling, as I was forced to acknowledge to myself, an easy victim into the hands of the enemy. My reflections were extremely bitter; not only had I failed to execute my trust, but was probably a ruined man. An account of this affair reaching Versailles would scarcely redound to my credit; and if it was as serious as I had every reason to fear, it would cut short my career. I could never again expect to enjoy the confidence of Louvois, at that time virtually prime minister of France, or of my sovereign, for the great Louis grasped every detail of affairs, and even my ill-fated gallantry was not likely to escape that eagle eye. As for the Czarevna Sophia, I was conscious of a miserable desire to escape from future encounter with that princess! I sat for a long time in the middle of the floor in a kind of stupor, partly the result of my experience, and partly caused by my forlorn reflections. But after a while I roused myself, and finding that the door was securely fastened without, went to the window to discover the prospect there.

It was far too high from the ground to offer any means of escape, so that at first I felt my position to be hopeless. It looked down upon a courtyard, and was in the wing of a large house. My first glance gave me no comfort, but my second reassured me; there was a strange familiarity about the place, and leaning out I looked down, and discovered far below a postern in this wing, close to the main building, and then was sure of my recognition; it must be the house of Ramodanofsky. A closer examination of the building satisfied me. If I had not fancied it impossible, I should have recognized the place at once. I was no longer downcast, but, strange to say, elated at the thought of being a prisoner in a room that must be directly over those of Zénaïde Feodorovna. I set about at once devising some means of acquainting Mademoiselle Eudoxie with my predicament. At first it seemed a nearly impossible task, and then I hit upon an experiment which was at least worth a trial. Taking two handkerchiefs and tearing them in strips, I knotted and twisted them into a string of considerable length, and weighting it with my belt, let it cautiously down from my window, until it swung to and fro like a pendulum before the casement directly beneath mine.

CHAPTER XI.
THE RESCUE.

There was so large an element of chance about my experiment that I watched the dangling belt with the interest of a gambler. It might very easily attract the notice of the inmate of the room below, but would that be Mademoiselle Eudoxie? I knew that the room in which she slept had a window opening on the opposite side upon the street, for it was at that window that she was to place her signal in the event of requiring my services. It was a strange reverse of circumstance, that I should be signaling for her help at another spot in the same house. I had lowered my flag of distress until it was directly in front of the window, and the heavy belt, with its silver fastenings, was too conspicuous to escape the notice of some one, friend or foe. I waited for a while, in painful suspense, leaning out over the sill, and looking down at the slowly vibrating signal, all the while hoping to see Mademoiselle Eudoxie’s thin face and sportive gray curls appear below.

At last my uncertainty was ended, but not by the expected vision. Instead, a light-haired, fair-faced girl looked up in genuine astonishment, and Zénaïde’s eyes met mine. She was at first too surprised to do more than gaze at me in perfect bewilderment, and I returned her regard with a stupid amazement. For some reason I had not thought of arousing Zénaïde. She was the first to recover herself, and apparently comprehended something of the situation. She withdrew, and almost immediately Mademoiselle Eudoxie really did look up; and even in that predicament I could scarcely restrain a smile at her evident horror and alarm. She signed to me that they understood, and then her head also vanished, and I withdrew my singular signal, fearing that it might attract the attention of less friendly eyes.

There was nothing to be done now but to await developments, which I did with all the patience I could command. It was some little time before I heard light steps outside my door; and after some fumbling with the fastenings, it was thrown open, revealing Zénaïde upon the threshold, and mademoiselle looking over her shoulder with an expression of astonishment difficult to describe. I was conscious of cutting a sorry figure, for I must have borne the marks of the hard usage of the previous night. Zénaïde did not seem to require any explanation of my presence, probably imagining that it was due to some of her uncle’s violence; but to mademoiselle I had to make a lengthy statement, which had the effect of turning her surprise to alarm.

“Zénaïde, dear, we must get him right out!” she cried nervously. “It is a great risk to delay a moment. Your uncle—the servants—”

Zénaïde glanced at her with that kind of scorn that a strong nature feels for a weak one.

“You forget, dear mademoiselle,” she said calmly, “that my uncle is indisposed to-day; has been so since the czar’s funeral, and the serfs will not interfere with me,” she added, with a certain hauteur which became her well, and which evidently revived the sinking spirits of the older woman. It was plain that she was in the habit of relying on the young girl’s strength of will rather than on her own.

“Nevertheless, Mademoiselle Ramodanofsky,” I said earnestly, “I must escape as soon as possible, for I was the bearer of an important packet, and know not how serious may be the consequences of its loss.”