The Spy Wore Petticoats

Elizabeth was a striking woman, not beautiful, but she was pretty and had a look about her that bespoke power.

"Welcome to St. Petersburg, Lady de Toberville," she said.

"Merci," Charlotte squeaked.

Elisabeth smiled at her and Charlotte felt her fear fade.

"There is no need to be nervous. I have read your petition and must confess I have never heard of your brother."

Charlotte lowered her head and began to sob. She had worried that this part would be hard, but the sheer relief she felt made crying easy.

"There, there child. The country is vast and I have many cities and even more nobles. He could be being held by one of them and I should never know. I shall have Victor dispatch riders to all the outlying areas. Until they return, you are most welcome to stay here with us. I shall arrange for you to have rooms here at the palace."

She nodded to a man, who quickly wrote something out and handed it to her. She pressed her ring into the hot wax on the seal and handed it back to him. He descended to the floor and handed the document to Charlotte.

"Follow Georgi," she said, inclining her head to indicate a young officer. "He will take you to the war ministry. Present that letter to Marshal Sikorsky."

"Thank you, your majesty," Charlotte said in Russian.

The great monarch inclined her head and smiled encouragingly.

The young officer guided Charlotte out of the building and to a waiting carriage. He offered his hand and she took it. Once seated he gave an order and the driver whipped the horses.

Once they arrived at the ministry he led her to a small waiting room outside the marshal's office.

"I must get back to the palace. I shall leave the driver with instructions to take you back," he said, before bowing his way out.

"Come!" a voice called.

Charlotte entered the office. The first thing she noticed was the desk. It was huge, one of those used by men in positions of power to intimidate those they were dealing with. The man behind the desk was quite interesting. He was short; she doubted he stood much higher than her breasts and she was by no means tall. His face was handsome, even though disfigured by a scar that ran across one cheek. He had dark, intense eyes that matched his dark hair and the well trimmed mustache and goatee he wore. Upon seeing her he stood and bowed.

"What may I do for you, mam'zelle?" he said in flawless French.

Charlotte curtsied and extended the letter. He opened it and scanned the contents before placing it on his desk.

"I do not mean to discourage you, mademoiselle, but it could take many months to conduct such a search, even if I had the men available to do so. I cannot, however, spare even the bare minimum it would take. The best I can do is send post riders to the various field commands and ask the officers in charge to send detachments as they can. What was your brother's crime?"

"He did not say."

"Ah, that makes it a little less difficult then. I will send a detachment to certain nobles. There are many who are rebellious and not to be trusted, but only a few who would imprison a foreigner on their own authority."

"I thank you for any help you can offer," Charlotte replied.

"All that is in my power shall be done," he promised.

"You are most kind."

"Tell me, where are you staying? So that I may send word to you immediately if I hear anything," he added quickly.

Charlotte was flattered to believe he had another motive. She was also caught between an attraction to the small man and caution. She remembered very clearly the duke's cautionary note about one agent being poisoned after arriving.

"The Tsarina has graciously given me shelter," she replied.

"Excellent. I know now is not the best time, but there is a ball being held tomorrow night. Do you plan on attending?"

"You have me at a disadvantage, sir. I have only just arrived and have not been invited."

"Everyone at court is invited. Would you do me the honor of allowing me to escort you?"

"Gladly," she replied, realizing she meant it.

"I hate this dress," Charlotte complained, tugging the gown this way and that.

"Oh, don't say that. It's very flattering," Madame Deveraou replied as she began tying the ties that held it closed.

"It's ugly, it's overdone and I don't like the color."

"Oh, stop complaining. It isn't as nice as some of those given to you by your admirers, that's for sure, but it's high fashion. You need to make a good impression at your first public appearance."

"But I just look awful in yellow!" Charlotte pouted.

"Now that, you do not. Every man there will be watching you, make no mistake about it."

"Honestly?" she asked, turning to her maid.

"Of course, my dear. Trust your old maid. When you walk into this here ball, every eye will be upon you, and I shouldn't be surprised if your gentleman friend doesn't get jealous."

Charlotte sat carefully on a stool and Madame Deveraou began the laborious task of braiding the fine net of gold weave into her mistress's hair. She knew her mistress was fishing for compliments and she was happy to oblige. A young lady should be worried about her appearance and worried about how she would be received. She had noticed a great many changes in her charge, changes she approved of. She could well do without the cloak and dagger nuisances, but she persevered. After all, bringing a young lady along was what she excelled at, and it was why Mademoiselle Julia had hired her.

"Where's Monsieur Ivan?"

"He has gone to see his sister, at my urging."

"Here in the capital?"

"No, she lives in Kiev. I believe it's a long way from here. He promised to return quickly, but I hope he does not."

"Tired of his company?" the maid asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Not at all, but a man's family is all he really has. A man who loses that, loses much of what he is. I think Ivan will be a much happier fellow if his sister receives him well and he can rebuild his relationship with her. I miss Julia terribly," Charlotte said in a pensive voice.

"I know it's hard dear, but sisters are like that. Perhaps it will do the great oaf good to see his family, but I shall miss Gustav."

"Gustav isn't going. Ivan rode alone. Apparently, Gustav is no more comfortable on a horse than Reginald."

"Reginald?"

"A long story," Charlotte said, her mood lifting appreciably when she remembered Reginald's ride.

"A man you've not told me about?"

"Hardly a man and not worth talking about."

"Ah, one of those. So tell me, what will Gustav do?"

"For the moment, he is staying as my unofficial charge d'affairs."

"Which means?"

"Which means I like his company and needed a reason to keep him here. Luckily, the Russians still believe a woman needs a man to handle her affairs. Just as luckily, Ivan never formally introduced himself at court, so Gustav wasn't identified as his manservant."

"So he will be staying here?" her maid asked, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically.

"Yes, and he'll be available to give you a tumble now and again, but I expect you to share," Charlotte said with a smile.

"Of course, he can handle us both I think."

"Indeed," she said, lapsing back into her pensive mood as her maid's ministrations soothed her.

When a knock came on her door, Charlotte jumped up and started for it, only to remember she should let her maid get it. When Madame Deveraou opened the door Charlotte felt herself flush and butterflies seemed to invade her tummy.

Victor, despite his stature, cut a dashing figure in his uniform: black riding boots, white pants, a red sash, white tunic and deep blue coat. His sword was a rapier, and he wore it with the confidence of one used to it. His coat had a lot of gold braid, but the medals on his chest were testimony to his bravery.

"If mademoiselle is ready?" he said, offering his arm.

Charlotte took it, holding her fan in her other hand, and allowed herself to be lead away. Matching her pace to his was something of a problem, because he had a much shorter stride. She quickly found she did better simply stepping slowly than trying to take multiple small steps.

"You look ravishing," he said with a smile.

"And you look quite dashing."

"You are too kind. Tell me mademoiselle, how is it that such a lovely young woman as yourself is not already married?"

"I have not met the right man," she replied.

"I would say that is a pity, but since it means you are available to attend the ball with me, I shall have to count myself very lucky."

Charlotte felt a blush rise to her cheeks. His compliments seemed sincere and they were having a great effect upon her. There was something about this man, something she couldn't put into words, but he made her feel...something. It wasn't exactly comfortable, although she did feel safe with him. Nor was it excited, although she felt that too. It seemed a collage of emotions, some stark, some subtle, some familiar, many new to her.

As they entered the grand ballroom all eyes turned to her. To her astonishment, she felt no panic, no uneasiness. If anything, she felt elated, proud of herself and in a strange way at ease with the scrutiny. Victor was steering her towards the dance floor when a young officer walked up and saluted.

What followed was a rapid fire exchange in Russian. Charlotte caught little of it, but surmised he was needed at the ministry.

"My lady, I apologize, but something of gravest importance has come up and I must attend to it. I shall return as quickly as possible."

"I understand," Charlotte said, although she heard disappointment in her own voice.

He caught her hands in his and leaned close. His eyes bored into hers and she felt the blood pounding in her temples.

"Do not forsake me and find another, I shall return," he whispered, before kissing her. It was a light kiss, a polite kiss, just a brushing of his lips over hers, but Charlotte wished it had been more. She watched him leave and sighed. Now that he was gone, she found herself pondering her reactions and actions. She decided she must be more careful around him. She couldn't understand her feelings towards him, but her desire to be open and honest with him was dangerous.

While waiting for his return she found her self examining the people in the crowd. It was while doing so that her eyes came to rest upon the most beautiful girl. It wasn't her beauty that held Charlotte's gaze, however; it was her dress. It was jade green and made of crushed velvet. Startlingly simple, it had a scoop neck, shaped bodice and puffy sleeves that turned to lace. The lace extended half way down her arm, then veeed to a single strand that crossed the top of her hand and looped over her middle finger.

She was standing alone and Charlotte found herself making her way to where the girl stood. She paused and curtsied twice, exchanging greetings with noblemen in their finery.

"Hello," she said to the girl as she curtsied.

"What a beautiful gown!" the girl exclaimed, before remembering herself and curtsying.

"This old thing? It's nowhere near as beautiful as yours," Charlotte said.

"Oh, I think it's gorgeous. I'm Ivanna, Ivanna Orlov."

"Charlotte de Toberville."

"You are the woman from France, aren't you? My father told me you would be here tonight. He told me to beware of you."

"Beware? Of me?"

"Daddy is terribly old fashioned. He thinks all foreigners are devils with designs on Russian territory. He has forbidden me from traveling outside Russia," she pouted.

"I see," Charlotte replied thoughtfully.

"Can you tell me about your journey? It's rumored you spent time at the Prussian court and have the favor of King Fredrick!" she said excitedly.

Charlotte found the girl an avid listener and soon they were conversing like old friends. She seemed particularly interested in the fashions at Louis's and Fredrick's courts and Charlotte found herself having to really think to answer some of her questions.

"Truly? The king himself gave you a dress?"

"Yes. It's exquisite," Charlotte replied.

"I wish someone would give me a gown," her companion said wistfully.

"The one you are wearing is quite lovely," Charlotte observed.

"But it's so plain! And everyone has one like it. I want to be different!"

Charlotte thought to point out there was none like it that she had seen, but she was suddenly seized with an idea. The question was how to broach it.

"Well, I think it's lovely. I would gladly trade this one for one like it. Do you remember where you got it? Might I be able to order one like it?"

"Oh, I don't think you could get one like it. It was made by a tailor in Moscow," she said quickly.

Charlotte smiled inwardly. She could see the girl's mind working and she could tell she was being lied to. The girl was obviously as taken with Charlotte's gown as she was with the Russian girl's.

"Mores the pity," Charlotte said.

Charlotte was getting very good at reading people, even women, although the young girl seemed totally open and was making no effort to hide her feelings. It was still a feat she felt proud of. She could tell the girl was desperately eager to propose they exchange gowns. She could also tell she was too shy to say so.

"It occurs to me that I like your gown much better than my own and you seem to like mine much better than yours. Would you consider trading?"

"Yes!'

"My rooms are nearby. Let us go quickly," Charlotte said, lowering her voice.

They made their way out and quickly down the many halls. Charlotte opened her door only to see a half naked Madame Deveraou and a fully naked Gustav beating a hasty retreat from her bed.

To spare them she turned quickly on the girl.

"Are you sure about this? Your father won't object?"

"He'll be furious, but I can handle him," she replied self confidently.

Charlotte nodded and showed the girl into her room.

"Madame Deveraou, come at once!" she called.

The maid hurried out of her room, but froze when she saw the girl.

"Help me out of my gown, quickly," Charlotte commanded.

The maid gave her a dubious look and glanced again at the girl, who was already struggling with the ties on her dress. She wanted to say something, that much was clear, but she shook her head and began helping Charlotte undress. Once out of her gown Charlotte turned and began helping Ivanna remove hers. She saw Madame Deveraou retreating towards her room and smiled.

"I did not dismiss you!"

The maid stood there embarrassed as Charlotte helped Ivanna get the gown over her head. She glanced at her maid and winked, then caught up her yellow gown and helped the Russian girl into it.

When she finished she turned to find Madame Deveraou holding the girl's green gown, with a disapproving look on her face. Charlotte laughed gaily and struggled into the beautiful green gown. Ivanna was preening in front of the mirror as Madame Deveraou tied the ties.

"Lets go!" she cried and rushed towards the door.

"Wait for me for just a moment, I need to discipline this one," Charlotte said.

The girl nodded and stepped out into the hallway, closing the door. As soon as it clicked shut, Charlotte's maid smacked her behind.

"You should have seen your face," Charlotte giggled.

"I thought you were about to take that girl to your bed."

"And if I was? Angry because I had need of it?" Charlotte smiled.

"No, though I admit it's better suited than mine for games. What exactly is this all about?"

"I love this gown. She wanted mine. So we decided to switch," Charlotte said, unconsciously preening before the same mirror she had smiled at the girl for preening in.

"Of all the childish foolishness," Madame Deveraou grumped.

"Oh, spare me. This gown is ten times more lovely than that yellow monstrosity. I think Julia only got it to punish me. I must go," Charlotte replied, kissing her maid on the cheek before hurrying out the door.

Their return to the ballroom attracted a lot of attention, but they mostly received smiles. A few of the older dames gave disapproving stares, but Charlotte cared not. She felt absolutely stunning in her new dress and she knew many of the frowns were more from jealousy than anything else.

She was just finishing a dance with a handsome young man when Victor entered. He scanned the crowd, and to her surprise made his way to her.

"You woman and your clothes. Do you often change between dances?" he asked with a grin.

"Isn't it beautiful?"

"Oh, it's lovely indeed. Even more lovely on you, but it seems to me I remember it on Duke Orlov's daughter when we arrived?"

"You're very observant," Charlotte said.

"A man in my position cannot afford not to be. But enough about me, would you care to dance?"

"Charmed," she replied.

The rest of the evening went by in a blur. Victor was an excellent dancer and the two of them ended up on the floor alone while everyone watched on two occasions. He was intelligent, widely read and even more widely traveled. He often had her giggling with his dry sense of humor and almost as often had her blushing with his sincere compliments.

When he left her at her door, he kissed her cheek. Charlotte found herself wishing he had been more forward. She floated into her room and gushed about her date and the ball the whole while Madame Deveraou was undressing her.

It was only when she was in her bed and the velvety darkness surrounded her that she found time to really examine her feelings. Try as she might, she couldn't dispel the disquieting feeling that she was acting very strangely, almost as if....

"Thank you for receiving me on such short notice," the heavyset duke said.

"An intelligent woman does not refuse the request of such a person as yourself."

"No, she doesn't. Nor does she attempt to fill his daughter's head with treasonous thoughts."

Charlotte, who had been facing the window, whirled on the startled man.

"You men are so....stupid!" she said, searching for the right word.

"Now see here!" he spluttered.

"No! You see here! You have a lovely young daughter. She wishes to wear nice clothes and to be the center of attention. She doesn't give a damn about your politics. She's just being a young woman and you are being an overbearing oaf!"

"But..."

"But me no buts! How can you claim to love her and deny her such simple and harmless pleasures as a French gown? The kind of thing all young girls wish for?"

"I do love her," the man said, his head downcast, "But I know little of girls. Would that her mother was still alive."

Charlotte picked up on his change in tone and adjusted hers immediately.

"I understand your feelings, milord. Truly I do. I do not suggest you send her to France, merely that you allow her to be a woman without imposing politics upon her. It will not lessen her love of Russia, or of her father, to wear French gowns. And you can allow her some pleasures without spoiling her."

"You have become her closest friend, mademoiselle, and it concerns me."

"You fear I am filling her head with foreign ideas?"

"Yes."

Charlotte changed strategy again. Moving closer, she placed her hand on the big man's arm. When he looked into her eyes, she smiled.

"I am a woman, milord, and have no head for politics. I am lonely here in this strange land and desire a friend I can talk to and do things with. If you truly object, I shall cease to call upon her."

He blushed and stammered something inaudible. Charlotte knew she had him now.

"I apologize. I have obviously misread your intent. Please, feel free to call up on us whenever you desire," he said, bowing formally.

"Thank you, milord."

He seemed ill at ease and she could tell he was trying to say something. She wasn't sure what, but had the intuitive feeling she would have to help him towards whatever it was.