Free Rebel Princess by Evelyn Anthony Page A

with his back towards her, in a corner of the room. She noticed quite impersonally that he had grown taller.
    The Empress followed Catherine’s glance and set her wine cup down quickly.
    After all, she had been warned.…
    â€œPeter!” called Elizabeth. “Come here.”
    The figure in the corner turned round and walked a few paces forward.
    â€œWell,” it said to Catherine, “do you recognize me?”
    Suddenly the walls of the great gilded chamber seemed to close in on her, and the floor on which she stood heaved dangerously. Like people in a dream, the Empress, her women, Narychkin and the Countess swelled and swayed before her eyes, while a huge head, completely shaven under a wig that had slipped awry, bobbed up and down like some monstrous thing; the swollen features were encrusted with smallpox sores, so cruel and deep that they were still unhealed.
    The horror that was Peter tried to smile, and the question came again through his disfigured lips:
    â€œDo you recognize me?”
    â€œYes,” whispered Catherine, and it was Leo Narychkin’s strong arms that caught her as she fell.
    It took Elizabeth’s physician some time to rouse the Grand Duchess from her fainting fit; in fact Her Imperial Highness lay speechless and stony with shock upon her bed, stubbornly resisting all efforts to rouse her, the tears coursing down her face, her eyes fixed unblinkingly upon the canopy above her head, while Countess Roumiantzov chafed her cold hands and ordered that her dress and corsets should be slit.
    At length the Empress’s doctor abandoned all pretence of gentleness and smacked his patient sharply across both cheeks; he was gratified to observe her sensibilities return and express themselves in a flood of hysterical tears. With assurances to her ladies-in-waiting, he departed to make his report to the Empress.
    Elizabeth received him in her boudoir, lying in deshabille on a couch with a decanter of wine at her side. She listened to his reassuring words with an impatience that the learned man could not fail to notice.
    He noticed something else, though his shrewd eyes were blandly deferent, something that was already whispering its way through the palace corridors and gradually finding a place in diplomats’ despatches.
    Her Imperial Majesty was drunk. She held the wine cup in hands that were unnaturally careful lest a drop be spilt, and her powdered head nodded while he spoke.
    Elizabeth’s eyes were bloodshot and their stare was hot and angry. She refilled her wine cup and ended his report with an irritable gesture.
    â€œEnough about the Grand Duchess!” she said. “It was a foolish display of weakness and my idiot nephew is weeping over his scars at this moment because of it. His face will heal in time; but he is the one that concerns me, not Catherine. Speak no more about her fainting fit. Tell me, how long before I can arrange the marriage?”
    The physician groaned inwardly; the question was a very awkward one and he dreaded Elizabeth’s reaction to the answer he must give. He shrugged and tried to soften the blow.
    â€œThe Grand Duke is not strong enough yet, Your Majesty. Perhaps when he has gained a little flesh it would be easier to tell.…”
    The Empress snorted angrily.
    â€œDo you take me for a fool, with your babble about smallpox! I know very well he is weak, that is not the question. Is he a man yet? Can he give the Grand Duchess a child? Why, God’s blood! My father had a trail of bastards across Russia when he was Peter’s age!”
    The physician folded his hands under his coat tails and said nothing.
    If Elizabeth wanted the truth she must arrive at it herself. In his private opinion, the Grand Duke’s virility was on a level with his mentality, but he knew better than to say so and be knouted for his pains.
    The Empress drained her cup and rose unsteadily from the couch. “He plays with dolls!” she