33
Anoushka’s wedding day broke after an ashen night as a glorious sunrise set St Petersburg aflame: the Neva lay still, spread out like a golden sheet. In the early-morning hours, I prayed for her happiness and begged that we would find our way to each other again. I did not know any longer what she felt, or thought, since she refused to talk to me. The more I had guilelessly turned to her in the past years, sharing my joy in life, the further away I had driven her. Menshikov had read her better than I had. I dressed glumly for the wedding ceremony. Mother had sent a pale pink silk gown and a matching parure of pink and white diamonds to my rooms.
In church, Karl von Holstein ignored me, as any jilted admirer would. He knew on which side his bread was buttered. The best tailoring ensured that even his meagre shoulders looked broad in the uniform of the St Petersburg Guards. I was relieved to see him smile tenderly at Anoushka when she floated up the aisle, looking like spun moonlight in her Parisian gown of heavy silver damask. Diamonds and pearls glittered like snowflakes in her dark curled hair, and peonies, the flower of prosperity and happiness, adorned the church, their dewy perfume scenting the air.
‘Dinner will be inside but outside,’ Mother announced as we set off for the Summer Palace. The sails of myriad boats competed with the billowing clouds. In the gardens, decorative arches wound with garlands supported a roof of gauze floating above hundreds of tables laid with white linen and gleaming silverware. The kitchens served a few hundred pounds of caviar, oysters, shellfish, eels and anchovies before we moved on to tender marinated venison, whole suckling pig adorned with apples as well as swans stuffed with chicken, pigeon and sparrows. The wedding cake was decorated to look like the Winter Palace. As I stooped to admire it, I caught my breath. I seemed to see myself, entrapped in that sugar icing. An Ice Princess, frozen in her loneliness and despair, held captive behind the shiny, sweet windows. The guests were oblivious to my misery: they ate, drank and laughed, faces glistening as they stuffed themselves like pigs ready for the slaughter. They chewed me up and washed me down with vodka. Finally, they were so drunk that they pelted each other with pieces of the cake, making a mess on the dance floor, screaming with laughter and rolling in the debris.
Menshikov had placed himself in the position of honour next to Mother, the Tsarina, his haughtiness keeping pace with his thirst for power. Where would he stop – if he could be stopped at all? The thought that he kept Petrushka ‘safe’ in Oranienbaum made me ever-more uneasy. To what end? So far Mother had not designated me as her heir, though I still bore the title Tsesarevna. At least Buturlin was by my nephew’s side. I envied Petrushka the fun and warmth of his company – and more, I thought, as I watched Anoushka gaze lovingly at Karl. She finally had what she wanted: a husband’s hands given licence to touch her, every night of her life as his wife. Though I did not envy her for having Karl himself, the thought of marrying filled my stomach with butterflies. I had saved myself from temptation with the prospect of one day being Queen of France, resisting my attraction to Buturlin. But that hope had vanished like a phantom.
What now for me?
34
‘I think Prince Augustus would like to see Peterhof, don’t you? Right now,’ I said when the Holstein princeling was barely out of his coach after his arrival in St Petersburg. His coat and shirt were sweaty, boots covered in Baltic muck. He bore no similarity to Karl: the red dust of the Russian roads blended with his thick auburn locks, which fell in an unruly tangle to his broad shoulders, curling around a strong neck and echoing the russet freckles on his nose and high forehead. Exhausted shadows lay under his thoughtful grey eyes. He had dimples. It looked as if he liked laughing. Soon, he would be begging to leave.
‘I will stay in Mon Plaisir. Augustus can be in the Marly Pavilion at the opposite end of the park. I will show him the grotto,’ I said, smiling sweetly.
‘You’ll show him the grotto?’ Mother sounded alarmed, but Menshikov shrugged – the quicker he got rid of Anoushka and me, the better. A month had passed since my sister’s wedding. I was overstaying my welcome. Mother’s cheeks looked swollen and her fingers so puffy that the Imperial seal ring had been hammered to a wafer-thin strip of gold. She was constantly out of breath and leaned heavily on Menshikov’s arm.
‘I’ll show Augustus the grotto,’ I said.
The twenty versty out to Peterhof was one of the most beautiful rides in Russia. Like Kolomenskoye, the rooflines, windows and balconies of the dachy reflected styles of building from all over the realm. Their façades were painted in delicious pastel shades of pistachio, vanilla, duck-egg blue and even mauve, looking like a frosted row of timber birthday cakes.
We should see if this chap could ride at all, I thought, swinging myself into the saddle of the stallion Versailles had sent me. I felt heavier than usual, though: wherever I was, my inner Ice Princess came along, weighing me down from deep inside.
‘Let us go!’ I spurred my horse, not even turning to look at Prince Augustus.
He could eat my dust as far as I was concerned.
How long before me Augustus had arrived in Peterhof, I could not tell. He awaited me, wearing clean, pressed clothes and with his face looking fresh and flushed, as after a visit to the banja, when I cantered into the courtyard before the stables, breath flying and hair tumbling. The sparkle in his eyes was infuriating and I allowed him only the merest of nods when he said: ‘Let me know when you are ready to show me that grotto.’
As soon as I had settled in Mon Plaisir, there was a knock on the door: Augustus’ chamberlain, whose long torso and short legs made him look like a dachshund, was almost concealed behind an enormous bouquet of two dozen lilies. The flowers were artfully arranged and beautifully held together by a silk ribbon. The man also offered me an exquisite tray of sweets, stammering some carefully devised words supposedly given to him by Augustus. They must have had a whip-round for these gifts in Holstein; the state was notoriously hard up. Wooing a Russian Tsesarevna was presumably seen as a good enough reason to loosen the purse-strings.
‘What is this?’ The delicate shapes were adorned with dried berries and chopped nuts. They looked mouth-watering. Augustus must have been informed of my sweet tooth.
‘It is marzipan, a speciality of Northern Germany, made of rosewater and almonds,’ the chamberlain boasted. I sniffed at one of the sweets. It smelled heavenly. The chamberlain’s eyes lit up as he hoped to tell Augustus of my delight.
‘Yuk! It smells like cow’s pee,’ I said, opening my monkey’s cage. The first sweet I gave the animal to nibble at, the rest I tipped onto the soiled floor, shoving them to the centre. The wet straw stuck to the delicate paste morsels, spoiling them. The monkey screeched with delight, stuffing its greedy mouth. ‘My monkey doesn’t seem to mind them. It might, or might not, write a thank-you note to Prince Augustus. We’ll see,’ I laughed. ‘I shall meet your master in two hours’ time in the garden, by the ponds.’
I had hoped to wander about in Mon Plaisir, visiting the Chinese cabinet or seeking out the pantry where we had spent happy times as a family. But those days now seemed like a dream. The memories of our past happiness were too painful. I longed for Anoushka more than I could say. The feeling surpassed even my anger and humiliation at being hawked about to minor German princelings. I stayed in my room, asking my maid to fill me a bath, but even the steaming hot water could not keep the Ice Princess at bay. There was no evading her. She slyly slipped into the tub with me, her smile sickly, her stare frosty and fingers like icicles, picking at my soul. I lay in the water, weeping, until it had cooled, and the lavender-scented soap left a slimy rim on the copper tub.
‘Father had the gardens designed by Alexandre Le Blond, who worked on Versailles,’ I explained to Augustus as we circled the pond, hidden from the view of onlookers by high hedges. The Prince’s retinue waited gamely on the vast terrace, gawping in awe at the park’s many pleasure houses, cascades and fountains. ‘He was inspired by the beautiful French palace.’
‘Are you sad?’ Augustus asked, his grey eyes fixed on me.
‘About what?’ I looked up at him in surprise.
‘About not going to Versailles as the future Queen of France?’
I halted and shielded my eyes against the rays of the afternoon sun. In all those months since de Campredon had fled St Petersburg and my fight with Anoushka, nobody had enquired about my feelings. Augustus waited for my answer, his dancing freckles belying his serious eyes.
‘It is hard to wait for something so long only to be denied it,’ I admitted.
‘I can imagine. And what will happen if Karl is not made heir to the Swedish Crown?’
I had not thought of that before: Anoushka’s disappointment would be crushing. But I would be by her side and do anything to help, if she would allow it.
‘I hope, though, that they are friends enough to weather that storm should it arise,’ Augustus continued.
Friends? What a strange notion of marriage.
‘Now, what is it about this pond that you particularly wanted to show me?’ he asked, leaving me no time to consider the idea further.
‘Look,’ I said, and moved a lever hidden in the hedge. With a brief humming sound, three copper ducks emerged from the water, amongst gushing white foam, making quacking sounds.
‘Splendid!’ Augustus laughed.
‘Just wait.’ I moved a second lever. A metal dog leaped from the waves, chasing the ducks in circles. ‘I have never seen the like,’ Augustus marvelled. As he reached out, as if to touch the metal animals, I spotted a faint star-shaped tattoo on his wrist.
‘What is this?’ I asked, but he quickly covered the inky shape with his shirtsleeve, embarrassed. ‘Oh, that. A little liberty I took some years ago. I wanted to be a sailor, but my father belted me too severely for me ever to make it to Kiel harbour. Now I am a sailor in the Holstein Navy. In name, at least. I still love ships, though, just as your father did.’
What a paltry attempt to bond. Time to get serious. ‘If you liked this pond, you should see the grotto,’ I tempted him.
‘Gladly. Is it down by the sea?’ He turned to the Bay of Finland whose steely water matched his gunmetal eyes. The salty air had parched our lips; I smeared a paste of beeswax and honey on mine, pouting and smacking them, but did not offer Augustus any.
‘As you wish,’ I said coyly, and walked ahead, swishing my pale green damask skirt. White gravel crunched underfoot as we followed the paths down to the shore. Waves lapped at the dark sand. The seagulls refused to settle on the shore that day; they bobbed up and down further out to sea. The grotto’s mouth lay amongst piled up rocks and boulders, artfully overgrown with creepers and guarded on either side by an enormous bronze statue. Augustus rapped on these admiringly and they gave a metallic, hollow sound. ‘Those are trusty warriors,’ he joked. ‘I shall fear their wrath.’
I smiled deeply. ‘Indeed. Step inside, it is quite wondrous.’
He stood in the cavern, tilting his head, admiring the mosaic of tiles, precious stones and shells that covered both walls and ceiling. I slipped along beside the wall, reaching into a hidden niche. Hidden between two large conch shells, I found the secret button – and pressed it.
‘Marvellous,’ Augustus said, as a slight movement from the entrance caught his attention. ‘But… I must be going crazy. Haven’t the guards just spun around?’ he asked. ‘And did they have their guns raised before?’
‘I really don’t know,’ I chirped – and hit the lever beneath the button.
‘What the—?’ he started to say, but the statues were already spouting seawater at him, full force, making him stagger. His knees buckled and he gulped for air while the jets pelted him mercilessly. As he shielded his face, gasping, he struggled to rise, trying to evade the force of the onslaught, but now the water also rose from a myriad pipes and nozzles in the floor. It foamed underneath his feet, making him slide. The more he tried to escape, the more he slipped, stumbled and fell – it was hilarious to watch.
‘Amazing, isn’t it?’ I shouted, tears of laughter in my eyes. Water bombarded him from all over the grotto, drenching him to the skin. I was helpless with mirth, holding my sides and cupping my face, until, very slowly, the streams abated. The metallic guards slotted back into position, facing the sea. All was silent. Augustus stood before me, trembling and soaked: his hair stuck to his head and water dripped from his eyelashes, nose and ears. His fine breeches, waistcoat and jacket were destroyed, clinging to his, I had to admit, tall and lean body. Menshikov must settle the bill for a new wardrobe for him before Augustus’ return to Holstein.
‘Sorry, I had no idea that could happen,’ I cackled, wiping my eyes. ‘But how funny! Don’t nice German maidens like a bit of a joke?’ I gathered my skirts in my hands before I stepped over the wet floor: our gentle little walk was as finished as our acquaintance. All I longed for was the silence and peace of Mon Plaisir. I tried to slip past Augustus and back into the garden.
‘Not so fast!’ He seized my wrist and reeled me in. I gasped – nobody bar his awful cousin Karl had ever dared touch me like that. Was this a Holstein thing? He was holding me almost painfully tight, his eyes dark with anger. ‘Nice German maidens do not drench their suitors,’ he said, his jaw set.
‘Stick around and there will be more where that came from,’ I snapped. ‘Now let me go.’ I wriggled to free myself, but in vain.
‘I shall let you go, Tsarevna,’ he said, ‘but not quite now.’
I was breathless with shock as he lifted me up and swung me over his shoulder, like a sack of barley. I drummed his back with my fists and kicked the air with my feet, screaming for help, but Augustus sprinted down the path from the grotto and onto the pontoon. Ahead of us lay open water.
‘No!’ I shouted, but it was too late. He gathered speed, laughing.
‘Yes! Now it is your turn to be soaked. Enjoy!’ He leaped ahead into the sea. I screamed as we were both submerged in an almighty splash. Salt water swirled all around me, filling my mouth and nose, dissolving my hairdo and soaking my new silk dress. I gasped as I came up, thrashing and ranting, then felt gravel and mud beneath my embroidered slippers. We were not far from the pontoon: the water barely reached my waist. Augustus stood close by, stroking back his wet hair from his forehead, water drops running over the star tattoo on his wrist.
‘You look splendid, Elizabeth,’ he laughed. ‘Like a wet cat. I wish I could have you painted like this, to keep the memory forever.’
‘The memory you may keep. I myself am not to be had.’ I leaped at him, ready to scratch and maim. He seized my wrists and smiled: ‘I am not so sure about that.’ He bent my arms behind my back, forcing my body closer to his. My breath caught in shock: one more tug, one breath closer…
‘Don’t you dare—’ I struggled against his grip, but it was useless. The world beyond seemed to disappear. I felt his chest against mine and Augustus’ strong heartbeat. My breath flew from me, shallow and hot. His mouth was close to mine, smiling to reveal white, straight teeth in the face of my spitting, clawing anger. I fell silent, stunned, held hostage in his grip. He murmured, ‘I wanted to do this before, when I saw you at the Winter Palace.’
‘What… ’ I started to say. He kissed me. First, I wriggled, but then held still as a slow warmth spread through my veins. His lips were careful yet confident, tasting me, searching for my reaction. Though I tried to break free once more, by some strange natural law I slid closer to him. Even as he eased his hold on my wrists, I clung to him, which made his kisses deeper, hungrier. I felt so awkward and naïve – what was I supposed to do? Open my mouth? Close it? And then any thoughts dissolved in a maelstrom of feelings as his mouth held me captive more surely than his grip did. I heard a sigh – was that me? – as I softened, losing my footing and melting against him. Standing in the cold autumn waters of the Bay of Finland, I felt miraculously warm.
‘I could have drowned,’ I gasped.
‘No. I know how to swim. A sailor saves his girl
. Always,’ he whispered.
‘His girl?’ I hesitated for a heartbeat before I went on tiptoe and cupped his face in my hands. Now it was I who kissed him. His mouth tasting different with each kiss: Strawberry. Smetana. Medovik honey tart – all my favourites. The waves came and went, washing me closer to him. I clung to his neck, dissolving with sudden desire. Hesitantly, I spread my hands on his chest, not even taking the time to breathe, dizzy with fear of the unknown, feeling his smooth skin and the strong body beneath. I shivered. He gently kissed my fingers before he smiled at me. ‘I admit defeat. You have spirit enough for ten. Come.’
We waded back to the pontoon where he heaved me onto the planks. He stroked my soggy hair from my face, his star tattoo visible once more. He remained waist-deep in the cloudy water, eyes sparkling as he smiled – that funny, warm, smile of his – and said: ‘Marry me, Lizenka.’
Marry me. I caught my breath. Was it that easy? A firework went off in my mind, showering me with happiness as well as doubt. Everything came flooding in: my parents’ blessed marriage, Ekaterina’s battered face, Anna Ivanovna’s miserable, penurious widowhood, my confused, barely restrained desire for Buturlin that was not to be, Karl’s assault, Anoushka turning her back on me, and finally Augustus’ lips, which laughed, kissed and spoke the words that offered me freedom.
It took me but a breath to decide.
‘I will.’ My words were as simple as his. Viewed up close, I could see the blue Peterhof sky reflected in his steady grey gaze. I thought about counting his freckles but in vain – I would leave that for another moment. We were to be married. There was plenty of time. He kissed my hand once more, his gaze shiny with delight. Behind us, we could hear footsteps and shouting. Our servants came running along the sea channel, calling out and jostling each other, falling over their own feet.
The Tsarina's Daughter Page 16
