From Governess to Countess (Matches Made in Scandal #1)(21)
He pulled her into his arms, kissing her deeply. ‘For now, Aleksei bids the delectable Allison goodnight.’
*
The next day, Allison was not feeling in the least delectable, but rather a completely confused Miss Galbraith by the time they had finished the tour of the palace. Her head was reeling with the magnitude of the task she faced, and she had no difficulty whatsoever in forgetting all about the previous night.
‘Have you seen enough?’ Aleksei asked as they re-entered the huge central rotunda on the second floor which she thought, but could not be certain, had been their starting point.
‘Enough to conclude that it’s highly unlikely any poison—if there was poison—was contained in food from the kitchens,’ she said, relieved to be able to make even this basic deduction. ‘All the food that is sent to the dining room is delivered in communal platters, and the leftovers are returned to the kitchens, where they are given to the servants. Since they are all still hale and hearty then it seems reasonable to conclude—well, a different method must have been used. The poison may have been mixed with a drink. Or it may have been administered directly on to the skin.’
She bit her lip, desperate to reassure Aleksei before he departed, but unwilling to create a false sense of hope. ‘That implies a level of physical proximity. Poisoning is often an intimate crime. If it was a servant, then it must have been a trusted one—butler, valet, that kind of person.’
Alexei frowned. ‘But we come back to the fact that my brother was a duke. If he was murdered, then it must have been for a very good reason. And if you did commit such a murder, whatever the reason, you’d flee the scene of the crime, wouldn’t you? And since all of Michael’s personal servants are still here...’
‘Save for Anna Orlova. You don’t think she could be hiding in the palace?’ Allison said, only half-teasing. The rotunda was an immense domed space with two rows of Doric columns marking its circumference, and a highly polished and treacherously slippery wooden marquetry floor. A second row of columns stood sentry around the shallow gallery which ran around the rotunda at the next level, and above that, light coursed down through the central glass skylight. ‘This place is so huge, I’m sure I would get hopelessly lost if left to find my way about alone.’
‘Just don’t wander down any of the back stairs,’ Aleksei joked. ‘It could be months before your skeleton is discovered.’
‘How very reassuring! In England we tend to keep our skeletons safely hidden away in closets.’
‘Is that where yours reside?’
For a split second, Allison wondered if The Procurer had betrayed her, but that was foolish. Aleksei was simply teasing, and a welcome relief it was too. ‘If what you say about St Petersburg is true,’ she retorted, ‘there must be a spacious skeleton closet in every home.’
‘It is de rigueur.’
‘Are yours behind this set of doors? I don’t think that we’ve been inside, though I could not swear to it.’
‘You’re right. Not a skeleton closet alas, but in fact the largest room in the palace.’
‘Then it must be vast. No one could ever accuse this place of having a homely feel.’
‘Certainly not. This is the Derevenko Palace, the residence of one of the richest families in Russia, and this room is designed to ensure that anyone who enters it is left in no doubt of that.’ Aleksei threw open the double doors with a flourish, bowing low before her. ‘Pazvol’tye mnye predstavit, Miss Galbraith,’ he said, with a theatrical bow. ‘Which means, may I present to you, Miss Galbraith, the Gala Reception Room.’
The chamber was quite empty, which made it seem even more immense. The marquetry floor was worked in a complex pattern which seemed to lead the eye to the line of tall windows at the far end of the chamber, looking out on to a huge formal garden which, Allison deduced, must be at the rear of the palace. Arched windows alternated with matching arched doorways, adding to the sense of symmetry and grandeur, with Corinthian pillars of dark-red marble set in between. The doors were worked in gilt—or what might well be gold leaf. And above, the frieze depicted a series of scenes from...
‘Homer’s Iliad,’ Aleksei told her, his gaze following hers. ‘What do you think?’
Overblown and slightly preposterous, if truth be told. ‘I think if the objective is to overwhelm the visitor then it succeeds admirably.’
Something of her distaste came through in her tone, but rather than take umbrage, Aleksei burst out laughing. ‘You don’t feel inclined to fall to your knees in obeisance, I take it.’
‘Is this what it’s used for? Is there a throne?’
‘Actually, there is, though it’s not always here, because mostly this room is used for receptions and balls. My mother had all those mirrors hung. She liked to see her reflection, she was as vain as she was beautiful.’
‘And you do resemble her,’ Allison said, recalling the portrait, ‘though I don’t think anyone would ever call you beautiful.’
‘Spaseba,’ Aleksei said. ‘I think. Shall we go?’
‘I’m sorry. It hadn’t occurred to me that this might be painful for you.’
‘Every room redolent with memories?’ Aleksei’s smile was twisted. ‘My mother died ten years ago, and my father five years before that. As an adult, I’ve spent very little time in St Petersburg and of late, thanks to Napoleon, none.’