Chapter 6
Artie opened his eyes and quickly shut them again. Too much sunlight. What time was it? He yawned and stretched, and then Anna came in, fully dressed.
"Good morning, you handsome, adorable thing," she said playfully. "Nice to see you're finally joining us."
"What time is it?" he asked as he went to draw the shade.
"Around a quarter to eleven."
"Quarter to eleven??" he asked, aghast. He never, ever slept later than six in the morning.
"Well, you so exerted yourself yesterday, I suppose you needed the rest," Anna said wryly, as she went to the mirror to re-arrange her hair.
Artie tried to compose a snappy comeback, but came up empty. The best he could do was, "You're something, you know that?"
"So I've been told," she said over her shoulder, as she tried to decide among the five tortoiseshell combs on the dressing table. She chose a light-colored one in the shape of a lyre, and nearly had in place before she felt a pair of strong hands around her waist, and Artie's lips on her neck, with occasional side trips to take a nip out of her earlobes. Her heart began to pound, and she felt almost woozy.
"Mr. Gordon, if you don't cease and desist, I'll faint."
"Promise?"
Regretfully, she removed his hands. "Time to leave the love nest and go fight the bad men."
"You're no fun," he pouted.
Anna was tempted to reply, "That's not what you said yesterday," but that would just have encouraged him. It was really high time to get started on the day. "Going back to the guest house, I hope."
"Yes, indeed. What do you think?" he asked as he joined her in front of the mirror. Preening, he continued, "World's handsomest equipment technician on a required maintenance call, or the most devastatingly attractive city inspector in the United States?"
"Whichever one will remind them least of Timofei Edviva."
"Ah, beauty and brains!" he gushed, while making a beeline for the nape of her neck once more. He was stopped by her hand on his chest.
"Artemus, the sooner you get to work, the sooner –" Her comment was interrupted by a knock on the door.
"Telegram!."
Artie snuck a peck on Anna's cheek before going to answer the door.
He was met by Frankie, whose yellowed face bore a black eye, and a very nasty bruise.
"Actually, three telegrams, sir." Frankie handed them over with his left hand, his right extended to receive his tip.
"Thank you," Artie said coldly while digging for a coin.
As soon as the gold dollar coin dropped in his palm, Frankie gave Artie a disappointed look. "That's all you got?" His expression then changed to a hideous leer. "Y'know, there's cheaper girls down by the docks."
Artie would dearly have loved to give him a black eye to match the other one, but he decided against it. "I could get you fired."
"Nah, pal, I don't think so." Frankie saluted, and closed the door behind him.
Anna met Artie in the parlor, surprised to see his face red with anger as he read the first telegram. "Something wrong? Bad news?"
"Huh? No, no – just that bellhop. I can't guess why they keep him on – I've met stevedores with more class."
"That's surprising – from what I've heard they only hire the best of the best here."
"He's gotta be the worst of the worst – maybe they use him as an object lesson."
"Well, what's the news?" she asked as she put her arm around his waist.
"Routine stuff – greetings from Jim, fifteen Russians apprehended are being questioned. And.... let's see... oh!... here's one from President Grant. He's considering sending troops to Vancouver and Oregon. Huh, wonder why he'd consider it before we have all the data in."
"Political pressure, most likely. It's safe to assume at least one of ths families who lost their home went to a government office to complain."
Artie pulled her closer and planted a chaste kiss on her forehead. "That's why I love you – you're smarter than I am. What will you be doing while I'm out?"
"I'd like to go back to City Hall. I want to know if Mladepovich's home is owned or rented. If he's renting it, perhaps we can talk to the landlord. If not, maybe I can learn who he bought it from. He's not poor – his father was a very wealthy landowner – but I know he's not rich enough to own that mansion, the guest house, and wage war on the scale he's done. If his money is coming from someone in this country we should see what we can do to stop the flow."
Artie placed his hand under her chin and looked her full in the face, the ghost of a smile on his lips. He'd couldn't remember ever having been happier. Hopefully he and Anna could continue to work together. He'd enjoyed his years with Jim, and loved him like a brother, but maybe it was time for someone else. Especially if that someone had her intellect and experience.
"What?"
"Hmmm?"
"Artemus, you're looking at me so funny – is something wrong?"
"Oh, no. Quite the opposite, my dear."
Anna sighed, then headed to the bedroom to retrieve her purse. Coming back, she asked "I should be back here maybe by three or so. What about you?"
"Dunno – how long should it take to secretly destroy a telegraph system?"
"I don't know – I left my textbooks at home."
"Anna, where do you live when you're not working?"
"Annapolis – I have a tiny little house on Pinckney Street I bought when I received my legacy from Radivil's estate."
"I like Annapolis very much – I've always had an idea about retiring there."
"Well, then, maybe someday we'll be neighbors," Anna smiled.
Artemus smiled back, while wondering if he'd dare say what was on his mind. Throwing caution to the wind, he began slowly, "I think – I think I'd like to be a whole lot more than that."
Anna blushed. "Oh my goodness... how sweet you are. Alas, duty calls. " With that, she left.
* * *
Artie chose to go to the Russian Seamen's Guest House in the guise of refrigeration technician, wearing a blond wig and matching goatee, oversize canvas jacket buttoned to the neck, under which was his suit jacket, shirt and cravat; canvas trousers, and thick boots with two-inch lifts inside. He carried a large leather tool bag on his shoulder, and a clipboard with a work order on phony stationery. In addition to a few tools in the top of the bag, a large compartment in the bottom held a change of trousers and shoes, and the telegrams he'd stolen. He was going to toss them randomly in the telegraph room as if they'd been scattered by a draft.
His knock was again answered by the old woman. "Da?"
"Ma'am, Pete Hagerty, Pettersen-Olsson. Do you realize you're over a month late for the scheduled service for your Pettersen-Olsson unit?" Artie held out the clipboard as proof.
"You wait." The woman not only had no idea what he was talking about, but the paper on the clipboard meant nothing to her. She was illiterate. Returning with one of the cooks, who had a better knowledge of English, she indicated her companion. "You tell her."
"Miss, Pete Hagerty, Pettersen-Olsson. I'm here to service your refrigeration unit."
"Refrigeration? What is?" While the cook had a better understanding of English, and could even read it a little, longer words only confused her.
"The equipment on the third floor that makes the room cold."
"Ah, da." She spoke to the old woman in what sounded like a dialect. As well as he understood spoken Russian, he was only able to pick up a couple of words from this exchange.
The cook left, and the old woman beckoned Artie to come in and follow her. They mounted the stairs and walked to the room with the closet. The door was unlocked. "You go. See me you come back."
"Yes, ma'am."
The unit was running at full blast, powered by a steam generator that Artie had missed on his previous visit. Once disconnected from its power source, the hum of the telegraph equipment became audible. Almost immediately it began to heat up, and eventually it would either explode or the wires would melt and short out the entire system. He decided to speed up the process by taking a match to the wires. An explosion might cause a fire, which, unless immediately contained, would cause the entire building – constructed of wood – to burn to the ground, thereby destroying what might have been valuable information. Once the wires were completely melted, Artie picked up his equipment, tossed the telegrams onto the floor, and left.
Downstairs, the woman was nowhere to be seen. "Hey, lady! Lady?" No answer. So he scribbled a note on the fake stationery, "Refrig. needs new condenser. Some parts wearing out due to overuse. Should be moved. Will contact again," and placed it on one of the end tables. He exited through the front door, then walked around to the alleyway, where he tore off his wig and beard, and changed into the other clothes. A few blocks away, in another alley, he abandoned the bag and clipboard.
On his way into the lobby of the hotel, he was beckoned by Mr. Cornelius. "Mr. Edviva, you have a great number of telegrams. "
"I do? One from the Astors I hope."
"I don't know, sir." Cornelius handed them over. Artie began reading them while walking to the rising room. Most appeared to be from Jim. Questioning had gone well, and now over one hundred Russian troops were in custody. He did not explain how this was accomplished. Maybe he'd brought them all in by himself – it certainly wouldn't surprise Artie. Other telegrams alluded to many more coming. It was starting to look like Grant would have to send troops. If that were to happen, then Jim and Colonel Richmond would remain in Vancouver as Secret Service liaison to the military authorities.
Once things in Vancouver were under control, the mission would be nearly ready to wrap up. All that remained would be to collar Mladepovich and his local supporters. Francis Warriner as well. Every time Artie thought of him, he'd get an ominous feeling. Anna was very confident that he could be taken down – but something told him that it would be at a terrible price.
She was still out, so he decided to go out and pick up their photographs. The photographer had made four sets, two sets as cabinet cards, and two as carte de visites. Artie went through them before paying, and was most impressed. He'd never considered himself particularly photogenic, but these had turned out pretty well, and the ones with Anna were just exquisite.
The photographer handed him another one: a slightly blurred image showing a laughing Anna looking to her left. While her photographs were being taken, Artie had stood off to the side, teasing her and making corny jokes. Obviously, for this one the camera went off when neither she nor the photographer was ready.
"I'm sure you don't want this one, but I thought I'd print it anyway so you could see."
Artie smiled broadly. "I want copies of that one, too – I think it's the best in the group."
From there he wanted to go to Gump's to buy frames for the cab cards. Halfway up the block, he decided to go back to the photographer's studio and take a look at his selection. Sometimes, photographers had more and better frames than the department stores.
The studio was empty of customers when he left, but on his way back he could see through the window that there was customer. And, judging from the body language of the photographer, he was trouble in some way. As soon as Artie came through the door, the man's body language started to relax.
"Mr. Edviva, so glad you've come back! I've been trying and trying to explain to this gentleman–"
Artie saw in the mirror behind the photographer that the "gentleman" with his back to him was Frankie.
"... well, you just don't come into my studio – or any photographer's studio-- and demand prints of somebody else's photographs without proper authorization."
"Naturally – yes, one of the few great things about this country. We do everything on the up and up, eh, Frankie?"
"Nuts to you," Frankie said angrily, then left the shop.
"He wanted prints of my photographs? What for?"
"Mr. Edviva, I think you should know that when you and the lady came here yesterday, I noticed him watching from across the street. Now, ordinarily, I'm too busy to notice what's going on outside – there are people walking by all day long. But for some reason I noticed him. He stood right across the street –" the photographer pointed to a cigar store with a huge wooden Indian beckoning beside the door. "And he just didn't move, just watched. And a minute or two after you left, he began walking in the same direction."
"Well see that you don't ever make copies of my pictures unless I or the lady comes in for them."
"Yes, sir."
Does Frankie have anything to do with Mladepovich? Very odd.
About a block from the hotel, he noticed Anna walking about a half block ahead of him. He ran and stopped a few feet behind her and said, in a voice a little higher-pitched than his own,. "Glory be, now I can believe there's a God! For only He could make a woman as beautiful as you, madam." Anna did not turn around. "I mean you in the purple dress, my dear." She still did not acknowledge him. "And the lovely black hair and that charming little hat. What color is that? Lavender or lilac?" Still nothing. He moved to her side and grasped her right arm; Anna was about to punch him with her left. She had nearly connected when she recognized him.
"Good heavens, you know I could have deprived you of at least one of your teeth," she said with irritation.
"No, I can't believe that." Artie grinned has he clasped her right hand and kissed it.
"No? Try me."
"When? Where? I do so love a challenge. I'm not much of a boxer, though. It'll have to be a wrestling match. Yes, let's wrestle."
At that, Anna couldn't help laughing. "How did your appointment go?"
"Very well, but there's a troubling new development."
"Oui?" Anna lapsed into French since they were about to enter the hotel. "Mon amour, it's the same avec moi. Un tête-à-tête is called for, yes?"
Tête-à-tête, lips-to-lips, whatever you'd like, my darling," Artie said as he continued to kiss her hand. "Mr. Cornelius, anything for me?"
"No, sir."
"Wonderful. My eyes are getting so tired from reading."
"Yes, sir."
Artie indicated the rising room, but Anna shook her head. He found her attitude to be very disappointing. The rising room fascinated him and, although he had explained to her how safe it was, she wouldn't budge. And so they once more climbed the grand staircase arm in arm.
As soon as the door to their suite was closed, Anna took him in a tight embrace, resting her head on his shoulder..
"What's all this about?"
"I missed you."
"But you saw me.... four hours ago."
"Indulge me, Artemus. You're the sort a girl dreams of."
"I am, am I? " Artie beamed, "Well, then – carry on."
"You mentioned wrestling."
"Yes, what about it?"
"Would you – would you like to teach me?" she asked, her eyes flashing.
"I'd love to," he whispered as he sought her lips while she slowly unbuttoned his shirt.
* * *
Early in the evening, Artie rang downstairs for a room service dinner. It was delivered a short time later, and included flowers and candles..
"Love, before we get started, would you open a window? It's rather too warm in here."
"It wouldn't be if you hadn't insisted on putting your clothes back on. You know, there's a reason the Greeks and Romans depicted their goddesses nude."
Anna rolled her eyes. He was adorable, certainly, but he could also be a bit much.
"Goddesses are not known for rolling their eyes, Miss Radivilovna."
Anna tried not to smile. "The window, Mr. Gordon."
Artie complied.
"Artemus, I think I was followed this afternoon. There was a man – an odd sort of person with bushy whiskers – wearing a uniform I did not recognize. It didn't look quite military, nor did it look like what you see police or other civic authorities wearing. I must have walked five miles or more today, going from office to office, and I saw him four times."
"What do you remember specifically about the uniform?"
"Sort of a charcoal gray, unusually long jacket, epaulets, silver buttons."
Artie thought about the uniforms he'd seen in the guest house. They seemed to come in three styles, but one, he remembered, had longish jackets. The colors were dark, but had not been enough light in the room for him to make out actual shades. "How close did he come to you?" he asked with concern.
"Maybe... ten yards or so."
"Sounds like one of them. Did you find anything out about the properties?"
"Mladepovich owns both, he has for about two years or so.. I'm guessing he raised quite a bit of money before he showed up in this country. The people he bought them from are now deceased."
"How convenient for him," Artie said with frustration.
"And how did things go for you?"
"Fine, up to the point where I realized I too had been followed. Somebody trying to get copies of our photographs."
"Why?."
"I don't know." He didn't want to mention that it was one of the hotel's bellmen. He didn't want to scare her. Anyway, Frankie seemed like a coward – the type who entertained himself by intimidating other people, although the only thing truly intimidating about him was his smell.
Just then, a draft blew out the candles. Artie searched his pockets for his match safe and came up empty. He'd always had it on him, but now – had he accidentally left it in the telegraph room? What an awful thought. It wasn't an expensive item by any means, but it was engraved "To Artemus Gordon with Gratitude," and had been a gift from Jim after the Pistoleros incident. Should Mladepovich or one of his people find it, they'd be sure to put two and two together. And there was no point in going back for it – it would be too dark to find it at night, and he couldn't risk going back in the daytime.
"Lose something?" Anna asked.
Artie shrugged in reply. He couldn't give voice to the reply in his mind, which was "the game, maybe."
* * *
Around three in the morning, Artie got out of bed, unable to sleep. He'd had a very unpleasant dream, something about a very high wall. He was on one side and Anna was on the other, and he couldn't figure out a way to get to her side, or for her to get to his. He paced the suite until he finally felt sleepy again. Back in the bedroom, there was just enough moonlight to watch her sleep. Her hair was loose and spilling over the pillow, her cheeks rosy, her lips a luscious shade of red. Sleeping Beauty. Artie smiled to think how amazingly lucky he was. When the assignment was over, and they were back in Washington, he'd propose marriage. And we'll live happily ever after.
He began to feel a little sorry for Jim. Things would change a lot for him, naturally, and Jim wasn't the type to welcome change. Artie would have to break it to him gently.
As he watched, suddenly the clouds moved and the light of the full moon fell on her face. The effect was awful. Suddenly, her face looked white and waxen, as if she were dead. Artie quickly closed the drapes, and got back into bed, taking her into his arms.
"Ummm, Artemus?".
"Yes, sweetheart."
"I love you," she purred.
"May I ask a favor, darling?"
"Anything, Artemus," she yawned, pulling him closer.
"Don't ever leave me."
"Do you mean that?" she asked, while sleepily nuzzling his chest.
"Anna, all my life I've attracted pretty, empty-headed women. Now I've been blessed with someone beautiful, and intelligent, and sweet, and.... Well, it would kill me to lose you."
"I promise you'll never get rid of me, even if you want to. I'll haunt you," she giggled.
"Don't say 'haunt,'" he said, trying to conceal the urgency with which he said it.
"You don't like that word?" she said as she reached into the sleeve of his nightshirt to feel his muscles. "Umm, big strong man no like harmless little word."
"Well, 'haunt' sounds like 'ghost' and 'ghost' sounds like 'dead,'" he choked. "I'm sorry I woke you, sweetheart.."
"I was having a wonderful dream, Artemus, and you were in it, and we were... Would you like to hear more?"
"Sure," he smiled, holding her ever tighter.
"Well, you were Adam and I was Eve, and–"
"I think I know how where this is going," Artie said, just before removing his nightshirt.
* * *
Mladepovich was deep in thought. Was this following Edviva even worth it, as Tereschevsky had insisted? All because Edviva had suddenly disappeared from that foolish vodka party? Yes, the next day he noticed his telegrams had gone missing, and now they were back, but that probably had nothing to do with Edviva – they might have just blown off the equipment. But it was odd. Then somebody comes from the manufacturer of the refrigeration system claiming to be a technician, and the telegraph system – a five thousand dollar telegraph system – is irretrievably broken, and the engineer on his staff says that it was broken on purpose – not just because the refrigeration unit was turned off. And then a match safe with the name "To Artemus Gordon with Gratitude" is found in the telegraph room. To cap it all off, Ivanovich claims a secret source told him that this Artemus Gordon and Timofei Edviva are one and the same, and that he is a government agent.
The fête would be in two days – maybe he could ask Edviva point-blank Or maybe he could flush out this secret source.
* * *
Although Anna said they should meet with Mladepovich twice before the fête, both she and Artie were too busy researching manifests of ships that might have brought his supporters and troops over from Russia. The idea was to construct lists of names, and forward them to Washington for further research. It was dull, time-consuming work, so much so that both actually looked forward to the fête, which promised to be interesting.
For the fête, which was a white-tie event, Anna decided to pull out the stops, wearing an extremely low-cut white duchess satin ballgown and faux diamond tiara.
"Anna, you look like a dream," Artie marveled.
"So do you, love, so do you." Artemus was so very handsome. What a pleasure this assignment has been.
Coming down the grand staircase at the hotel, they nearly stopped traffic – such an attractive couple, so beautifully dressed. The evening was warm, so it was pleasant to ride in an open carriage.
"Do you and Jim often get these types of assignments? Hobnobbing with the wealthy and criminal?" Anna asked. She'd done similar work in Europe, but most of what she did in the United States was conducted in far humbler circumstances.
"Sometimes, but mostly we work out in the snakebite belt."
Anna laughed and reached for his hand. "Part of me wants to be working on this assignment forever. I know I'll miss you something awful when it's over."
"Miss me?? I remember vividly that a few nights ago you promised you'd never leave me. You promised, Miss Radivilovna." Artie tried to sound playful, but the thought of her just wandering off after the assignment was over felt like a knife in his heart.
"Did I? Hmmm… oh, yes, now I remember. Do you honestly want me around all the time?" Anna was no stranger to romance, and had plenty of men over the years claim to be in love with her, but the only one who'd truly stirred her feelings was Artemus.
Artie leaned over and gave her a passionate kiss. "Anna, there simply aren't enough words to say how I feel about you."
Anna was surprised to see a tear glistening in his eye. She nestled closer to him. "Oh, how dear and sweet you are, Artemus," she smiled. "But we're both of us employed by a concern for whom love and romance mean a little less than nothing."
"You wouldn't want to quit? We could spend all day every day in bed," he whispered as he nuzzled her neck.
"If we don't work, Artemus, how will we eat?" she laughed.
"Eating is overrated -- I know, I've done it all my life. I'm up for something a little more..." He paused to take a nip out of her earlobe. "...a little more exciting."
Anna wrapped her arms around his waist, and rested her head on his shoulder. "Whatever happens, you'll always be in my heart, and I hope I'll always be in yours–"
"Oh, yes – no doubt about that."
For the rest of the ride no words passed between them. Funny. He'd fallen in love, or at least become infatuated more times than he'd had hot dinners, but he'd never been even remotely as happy as he was in Anna's company.
Outside of Mladepovich's mansion was a line of hansom cabs and fancy carriages of every description from which issued men and couples attired in the most expensive clothes to be had in St. Petersburg and Moscow.
"Let's be shocking," Artie proposed as he stroked Anna's breasts.
Anna was getting that woozy feeling again. "Oh, my..."
Under his palm, he could feel her heart beating faster. "With your permission, miss." Artie buried his head in her cleavage, then moved upward, planting kisses all over her bare skin, finally settling on her lips. The group mingling outside, enjoying the warm evening before going into the party, watched in horrified fascination. This behavior was simply not acceptable in polite society – not in Russia, not elsewhere. The consensus was that the man was either drunk or an idiot, or both. Either assessment fit Artie's modus operandi.
Under the porte-cochere, he and Anna alit from the carriage just as the uniformed footman appeared at the door. Once inside, all the attendees were announced – in Russian - before taking their place at the dining table. Artie and Anna were the last announced; the address translated as "Timofei Edviva and lady." At the head of the table, Mladepovich clapped, but most of his guests were looking at the couple with greater or lesser degrees of hostility.
"Ladies, gentleman, tonight we honor our brother, Timofei Edviva, who has promised to make plans for Alaska reality. Mr. Edviva born in this country, yet understands best hope for future of United States of America is under flag of Russia." This opening comment was also translated into Russian by Tereschevsky "And you, my friends, who will underwrite the takeover of this land from the Pacific to the Atlantic, as your leader, and soon to be your tsar, I salute you. Mr. Edviva, you would like to address us?"
Artie rose smiling. "Unfortunately, as a son of Russia who had the misfortune to grow up in this backward wilderness of a nation, populated and governed by barbarians, I cannot yet speak the Russian language. For those of you who do understand English, I say this, "Long live Mladepovich!"
He sat and dinner was served. In the middle of the second course, Ivanovich approached Anna with a bottle of wine in one hand, and a full glass in the other. "Mladepovich offers French lady special Russian wine – he desires to promote Russian wine, would like French lady's opinion."
Anna behaved as if she hadn't understood, so Artie relayed the message in French. "Merci," said Anna as she took the glass enthusiastically, "please to thank Monsieur Mladepovich." The wine had a odd scent and the taste was very fruity, not unlike tokay, but more like something added to make a bitter-tasting medicine palatable. In her opinion, the Russian wine industry had a very long way to go.
"Mr. Edviva, would you like to try some?"
"Yes, thank you."
Ivanovich returned with an empty glass, and allowed Artie to fill it himself from the bottle. It wasn't the worst wine he'd ever had, but it sure needed work. From there Ivanovich offered it to the other guests, some of whom partook, others who stayed with the French wine that had been provided. In spite of his antipathy for the French people, Mladepovich was dearly fond of French wine.
After dinner, there were a number of toasts, all very predictable, followed by dancing in the ballroom. As the guests of honor, Artie was permitted on the dance floor first, but rather than Anna, one of the guests had pushed his wife into Artie's arms. Anna stood alone watching, fanning herself. The dance seemed to go on forever, so Anna decided to look around. After peeking into all the rooms on the first floor, she found herself near the portico, where Ivanovich was smoking with another man, who was out of her range of vision. He must have been American; Ivanovich was speaking to him in English.
"San Francisco – whole city? Can blow up whole city?" Ivanovich asked incredulously.
"Sure," his companion replied.
"But not this house. Is nice house."
"Yeah, this could be spared – I might like it for myself."
At that Ivanovich laughed, but his friend didn't join in "Won't be trouble with U. S. government?" he asked.
"Sure. But just blow them up. Blow up, blow up, blow up. It's easy if you know what you're doing."
"When?"
"Maybe a week, depends. I have to go, my job is done here for tonight."
"Tomorrow, then."
"Yeah, awright bub."
Anna backed into the hallway, and ran to the ballroom. Artie was scanning the crowd for her, and when she finally ran into his arms, he breathed a sigh of relief. "Where were you?"
"En tournée. La maison est très belle.."
Just at that moment, Mladepovich approached them. "Mr. Edviva, you don't dance with French lady friend?"
"Well, all these Russian lovelies... but, well – Arnaude, may I lead you in a waltz, or two?"
Anna was panicked, but since she realized there wasn't much she could do that moment, she fell into Artie's arms, while smiling at Mladepovich.
"Enjoying yourself, Arnaude?" Artie asked.
"Oui, mon couer." She began to nip at his earlobe, which cause the witnesses to move away in disgust. As soon as they were far enough, she whispered, "We've got to leave as soon as possible."
"Give me four more waltzes. I think the fact that I disappeared from the party the other night bothered Mr. M."
"Alright, then." After awhile, one dance seemed to run into the next, and it began to feel stifling in the ballroom. By the fourth waltz, Anna was very dizzy and began feeling slightly nauseous.
"Darling, can we go now?" Alas, Mladepovich was back.
"French lady dance well. May I?"
The last thing Anna wanted to do was to continue dancing, especially with Mladepovich, who stunk of cigars. But if it would reflect well on Artie/Edviva, she had no choice.
As Mladepovich spun her around the floor, he began to speak to her in Russian. She pasted a smile on her face, and tried to play tipsy and, of course, uncomprehending. What Mladepovich was telling her was even more troubling than what she'd heard from the portico. His Muscovite accent was very thick, but what she made of it was that Mladepovich had his suspicious about Edviva, there was talk that he wasn't who he said he was and, if that were true, it would be his pleasure to personally tear him limb from limb. Or maybe hand him over to a Mr. Warriner, to test explosives on him. The entire time this speech was uttered, Mladepovich grinned at her. Just before the dance was over, Anna fainted.
Everything came to a stop, and once more the crowd backed away from her as if she were a leper. Artie ran and picked her up, speaking to her in French. To Mladepovich, who stood by, still with a ghost of a grin on his face, he offered apologies. "So, sorry, tovarich, I told her to go easy on the vodka – you know how weak the French are."
Mladepovich signaled on of the attendants to bring water, then led Artie, carrying Anna, out to the sitting room, where Anna was placed on one of the sofas. She revived, whispering, "Merci" when the water was offered to her.
Mladepovich stood by, a concerned look on his face. "French lady feeling better?"
"Oui, monsieur." Then, appealing to Artie, she said, "Timofei, si'l te plait, return me to hotel, mon amour. I wish not to spoil the party."
"With your permission, sir," Artie said.
"Naturally," said Mladepovich. "You will come back to the party, I hope."
"Yes, of course."
"Very well, then." replied Mladepovich, who then walked out in the direction of the ballroom.
"Darling, are you alright?"
Anna wasn't sure what to answer. "Please... the hotel."
As Artie moved to pick her up, she said, "I can walk" However, as soon as she got up, she felt horribly nauseous and so she sank again onto the sofa. "Well, perhaps not" she said with a wan smile.
Once in the carriage, Artie nestled as close as he could to her. "That was very clever."
"What was?" she asked.
"The fainting – you said we needed to talk, and I'm guessing whatever it is, we couldn't talk about it there."
"Yes," Anna said uncertainly as she looked away. She was feeling feverish and the heat from Artie's body was just making her feel worse. .
"You did do it on purpose, right?"
Anna struggled with what to say, but she realized sooner or later he'd know, so she told the truth. "Artemus, I believe I've been poisoned. "