On the red staircase

by Mary Imlay Taylor

I was too thoroughly alarmed to hesitate a moment longer, and forced the lock as quickly as I could with the tools that madame had at hand. When it gave way, we entered the anteroom, and crossing it, pushed on into the bedrooms beyond. They were silent and deserted; there were signs of recent occupation, but there was no one in either room. Madame ran ahead of me, and passing into the farther apartment, went to a curtained alcove, and pushing aside the hangings, uttered an exclamation. Following her, I saw that she had uncovered a secret door, a panel in the wall, and it was partially thrust aside. Without a word, she ran for a light and preceded me through the narrow aperture, down a crooked flight of stairs, evidently contrived to facilitate the escape of the occupants of these rooms. As we went, she held the light low down, that we might see the stairs, and I was forced to feel my way cautiously, for they were irregular, and extremely steep. Half-way down madame stopped and pointed, and seeing an object lying at her feet, I stooped and picked up a veil, which I recognized at once as the one worn by Zénaïde on the previous evening. This increased my alarm, and we moved on more cautiously. At the foot of the stairs was a door which was unlatched, and here madame stood aside, shielding her light from the draught, while I opened the door and found myself in a subterranean vault. A gust of air from the other side guided me to a half-opened trap-door, which I lifted, and looked out into the lane behind Von Gaden’s house. We had reached the end of our explorations, and it was not difficult to draw conclusions. I looked out; but there was no sign of any one, and on either side were the gray walls of the house and court. Madame von Gaden stood by the cellar door, shielding her light; neither of us had uttered a word, but each comprehended the other’s thought. I felt that madame suspected that her mysterious guests had departed of their own free will, while I knew that it could not be so, unless there had been some deception used. In any case, no time could be lost. I closed the trap, and madame, comprehending my conclusion, turned and led the way up the stairs, this time stopping to search each step with her light, but without result. Zénaïde’s veil, which was in my hand, was the only proof that she had descended the secret stairs. At the top I closed the panel, and madame, setting down the light, looked about with a kind of nervous apprehension; it was evident that she was terribly agitated and alarmed. If I had had any just cause to doubt her loyalty or her husband’s, it would have been removed by her manifest trepidation. I looked anxiously about the rooms, but there were absolutely no signs of violence; it seemed as if Mademoiselle Eudoxie and Zénaïde might have been quietly sitting there but a moment since.

“Have you heard any sounds to alarm you?” I asked, thoroughly at sea.

She shook her head. “Not a sound,” she replied earnestly; “and it seems impossible that any one has discovered that staircase. No one has known of it but the doctor and myself, and the man who built it is dead. He was a faithful German, and returned to his own country and died there more than two years ago.”

“Yet it is evident that some one found the stairs,” I retorted a trifle sharply, for I was sorely tried.

“Not from without,” she protested; “the fastenings were too secure.”

I had noticed this, and it had increased my perplexity. I went now to the windows and looked out; two of them were on the main street, two on the lane, but it was impossible for any one to scale that solid wall and obtain entrance there. I saw that madame’s solution was the most feasible, but nevertheless promptly rejected it; it was impossible that these two women should secretly flee from the protection of the good doctor; at such a time, besides, nothing could result from the flight but certain disaster. Zénaïde’s quick mind would have rejected such a plan as wholly impracticable, and mademoiselle was far too timid to have either proposed or sanctioned it. I was at my wits’ end, and madame was far too obstinate in her opinion to suggest any other solution of the problem, although she assisted me readily enough in making a thorough search of the rooms for any sign or token which might explain the motive or the cause of the strange disappearance. Remembering that Ramodanofsky and Viatscheslav were at the palace when I arrived there, and that I had left them there when I departed, I questioned madame about the hour at which breakfast had been served to her guests, and found that they had eaten it while I was at the Kremlin; therefore their departure had not only been recent, but had not been accomplished by Ramodanofsky or Naryshkin, in person at least. This, while it was perplexing, was also reassuring. I should have been glad of Von Gaden’s presence and counsel; but he had not yet returned, and I could think of no better assistant than Pierrot.

I went to my own quarters in a state of great perturbation; my anxiety was of the liveliest, and in addition, I saw that my position was becoming hourly more difficult. I cared for nothing at this time, however, except for Zénaïde’s safety. On my way to my house, I hit upon a plan for obtaining information, and as soon as I reached there, took Pierrot into my confidence, and together we considered the advisability of carrying out my scheme. Pierrot, doubtless suspecting how matters stood, showed even more than his usual devotion to my interests. The fellow was faithful, and when fully aroused, clever enough to be an able assistant. I congratulated myself again and again on my own sagacity in having had him instructed in Russian, for his knowledge of the language was invaluable to me now; it made possible the successful execution of my scheme. He disguised himself as a messenger from Naryshkin, so as to gain admittance into the Ramodanofsky house; for it was necessary for me to be assured that Zénaïde and her companion were not incarcerated there; moreover, it was probable that, in any case, he could pick up valuable information among the serfs. There was very little risk that he would be recognized, and I could rely implicitly on his skill in extricating himself from any ordinary difficulty. But, hopeful as I was of this adventure, it was barren of results. Pierrot obtained admission to the house without trouble, and managed to make a thorough investigation, easily satisfying himself that neither Zénaïde nor mademoiselle was there; and further, he was sure that the servants had no knowledge of their fate, unless it were the man Polotsky, who seemed to enjoy a position of confidence, and was too thoroughly disliked and distrusted by his fellow-servants to share his secrets with them. Pierrot was plainly disappointed by the unfruitfulness of his mission, and I was in a state of desperation. I thought of a dozen expedients, but rejected them all as impossible; on every hand I was confronted by a blank wall. Although I was convinced that Zénaïde had been spirited away by some one against her will, there was no proof that she had not left Von Gaden’s house voluntarily, regretting her confidence in me. Clearly, I had no right to pursue her in her flight, and no authority upon which to base an appeal to the Czarevna Sophia, who seemed my only resource.

In the midst of these reflections, Pierrot announced the arrival of two visitors, and hoping for tidings of some sort, I went at once to see them. They were Dr. von Gaden and Peter Lykof. I was surprised to see the latter, but remembering the warning in the Kremlin, greeted him with cordiality; I intended to excuse myself to him, however, and speak alone to the Jew about the disappearance of Zénaïde, but Von Gaden forestalled me by speaking plainly before Lykof, which astonished and annoyed me.

“Have you any news of Mademoiselle Ramodanofsky?” he asked hastily. “Is there any sign of them, or of their probable fate?”

I looked at Lykof, and the doctor, seeing my glance, smiled.