Free Dazzle The Complete Unabridged Trilogy by Judith Gould

troupe of no talent has-beens?'
    She shook her head, thinking back to that night soon after the pogrom when they had stumbled upon the gypsy-like thea tre troupe, which was playing the villages in and around the Pale. They had unquestioningly, even eagerly, welcomed Senda and Schmarya into their little band since a young couple had recently eloped and left them short of help.
    Schmarya answered himself: 'So we could work our way to St. Petersburg or Moscow. So we could get out of the Pale once and for all and live decent lives.'
    She shook her head. 'That wasn't it and you know it. You only wanted to come so you could join up with the revolutionaries in the cities.' It was her turn to sound bitter. 'That's why you really wanted to join the troupe and come here, isn't it?'
    When he looked at her, his eyes were shining. 'Yes, it was. And it still is. The wealthy oppressors must be fought and defeated. There'll be no freedom in Russia until the blood of the rich stains the soil. Senda, you just don't understand. I know you want what's best for Tamara, but you're unable to look past the hearth. Don't you see? All things in society have to change for the better if our daughter's to be assured a peaceful future. You, better than anyone, should have learned that by now. It doesn't matter if you refuse to have anything to do with it—others will change this world as we know it. And I will help. It's only a matter of time.'
    She shivered suddenly, and knew it was not from the cold.
    Now that she'd allowed fear to creep into her consciousness, two other thoughts crept into her mind. Schmarya always carried a loaded pistol. He hadn't used it to put the horse out of its misery because he didn't want anyone to know he had it. People weren't supposed to be armed. If the police caught him with the weapon, he'd immediately be suspected of anar chy, clapped behind bars, and shipped off to Siberia. And hidden in one of the barrels stuffed with costumes were the ten sticks of dynamite he'd picked up in Riga.
    She was afraid to venture a guess as to what he might have in mind once they arrived at the Danilov Palace.
     

 
    Chapter 4
     
    'Itinerants though you may be, you are considered neither guests nor servants in this palace. You are subject to the same stringent rules and regulations governing any unknown transi ents passing through this household. Unless you are specifically given permission otherwise, you are to remain here in the servants' wing. On the grounds you are not to wander any further than the servants' garden. The public rooms, private apartments, and remainder of the grounds are strictly off limits. There will be no exploring the premises. On those occasions when one or more of you need to leave this wing and gain access to the theatre, which is located among the public rooms, you will do so escorted by one of the footmen. Never, for any reason, will any of you venture about this palace unescorted. This rule shall be strictly obeyed. If even one of you fails to follow it, you shall all find yourselves unwel come here.'
    The theatre troupe was in the servants' wing, located above the stables and garages. They were facing Count Kokovtsov, the Prince's second cousin, chief adviser, and right-hand man. The Count was everything the Prince was not. Overbearingly imperious, sallow, and effetely elegant, he was a tall, crisply unemotional machine of efficiency and no-nonsense who looked more like a spidery-fingered undertaker than a mem ber of the aristocracy. Beside him stood a plump, rubicund woman in her fifties wearing the uniform of chief housekeeper. Her cream-puff hands were laced in front of her, and her usually merry features were dour and compressed. Minutes earlier, Mrs. Kashkin had welcomed them warmly in the spar sely furnished, but pleasant servants' parlour. Upon seeing the obviously hungry and frostbitten condition of the actors, she had sent a girl scurrying for a samovar and sweet cakes, and another to run hot