The Blood Royal(138)
She turned at last to face Lily directly and spoke with emphasis. ‘In San Francisco there are no Romanovs. No Tatiana, no Tsar, no Tsarina, no Tsarevich.’
‘How can you be so certain?’ Lily’s voice was scarcely audible as she at last made sense of the familiar features and the appalling answer struck her. ‘Who are you, Anna?’
With a wide gesture, the woman swept off her hat and ruffled her hair with a hand. Hair cut short as a boy’s. And not the black hair Lily was expecting. It gleamed and glinted like a cap of bronze around a lovely face in the morning sunshine. Dark eyes looked down at her with the bitter mischief of a Peter Pan.
‘I wish I knew! I have been so many people in the last five years I can’t be certain. I do know there is one man who will tell me who I am. But I’ll remember the manners I used once to have and introduce myself properly, shall I?’ The Russian tilted her head in an old-fashioned gesture of greeting. ‘You have the honour of addressing the Grand Duchess Tatiana Nikolaevna of the House of Romanov. How do—’
In mid-sentence two rough hands caught Lily off guard. They encircled her wrists and jerked her forward on to a raised knee that knocked the breath from her body. She felt herself being pushed towards and rolled over the broad rim of the parapet as though she were no more substantial than a doll. Thrashing and scrabbling uselessly at the stonework, Lily was held dangling yards above the filthy water that swirled between the arches. One by one, her shoes fell and were sucked down into the whirlpool. Her feet tried for a toehold on the smooth stone facing and found none. Her only link with the world above was the capricious grip of a woman who hated her and all she stood for.
‘Nothing to say? Your eyes are begging to know why. Well, listen! It’s short. I won’t keep you in suspense.’ The jibe was accompanied by a burst of laughter which told Lily she could expect no mercy. ‘Your prince should have paid with his life for my brother: your king for my father: your queen for my mother. A modest demand; I would have been satisfied with three lives, though the debt is much greater. But you put yourself in my way. Poor, silly creature. They’ve abandoned you, your handlers. Had you guessed? A sacrificial sop! They’d be relieved if I worked through what they assume to be my murderous rage by killing you. They don’t care to leave witnesses of their bad behaviour lying about.’
She broke off, and with a disturbing change of mood directed a dazzling smile down into Lily’s terrified eyes. ‘But I’m not quite that unhinged. And besides, you’re lucky, Miss Wentworth. For the best of reasons – the very best of reasons – you catch me in a frame of mind which is neither suicidal nor murderous. I’m going to let you off with no more than a cold swim to teach you a lesson … you and your meddlesome handler Sandilands.’
She let go Lily’s left hand and enjoyed the squeal the abrupt imbalance jerked from her victim’s lips. She lunged over and grasped Lily’s right arm in a two-handed grip. Lily responded by reaching up and clamping her free left hand about her attacker’s wrist. When she dropped, she would at least take this mad girl with her.
‘If the master is impregnable, one can always thrash his horse. Believe me, this little punishment will annoy Sandilands almost as much as it annoys you. Take a deep breath! It’s quite possible, you say? To swim to the Savoy? Were you telling me the truth? Let’s see.’
Lily had heard the blast of a police whistle coming from the southern end of the bridge. A voice called out and the whistle blasted again. Nearer. A second later, a concerned voice called from the north end. This voice was close. Very close.
‘Hang on, miss! I’m coming. Hold tight!’
The girl above looked from one side to the other, assessing her situation. With interference approaching fast on each side and her victim like a limpet to her arm, the instinct for self-preservation that had served her so well came again to her aid. She made a swift decision. ‘Help! Suicide!’ she yelled. ‘She’s trying to jump! I can’t hold on to her any longer! Help me!’
A pounding of feet and two large male hands reached down and grabbed Lily firmly under the armpits. The Russian released her grip with a loud sigh. ‘Ouf! Thank you, sir. She would do it. Wouldn’t listen to me! Perhaps you could speak to her?’ And then: ‘Well, I never! You look like just the fellow to make her account for her sinful behaviour!’ Her whoop of amusement was completely spontaneous.
Lily was hauled upwards to the sound of a patter of applause and a few ragged hurrahs from a small crowd hurrying now from all sides to see the drama. She took in the sober black suit, homburg hat and ecclesiastical dog collar of her rescuer. She thought the face above the collar was the finest sight she had ever seen. He looked down at her in concern. Strong arms hoisted her over the parapet, carried her to a nearby bench and set her down. The clergyman sat down alongside, trapping her body against the side of the bench, and put round her shoulders a comforting yet restraining arm.