The Frost And The Flame

by Drusilla Campbell

  The feminine society of St. Petersburg he found less than satisfying to his rather specialized tastes. Innocence did not flourish in so cosmopolitan a city. And innocence had always been his passion. He stretched luxuriously.

  Who had she been, the first little one? After a moment, he remembered her name: Vavara. The little servant with hard sinewy legs and breasts like a boy’s. If only she could have remained innocent and trusting forever; but in time, she had become more willful and wanton than pure. Finally, she was no better than a whore any man could have. Oleg had left her in a tavern in Karabanovo three years earlier.

  The bodyguard, Leo, entered the gornitza. He handed Oleg an elaborately embossed packet of Moroccan leather. “Your Highness, the housekeeper found this sewn in the hem of the girl’s cloak.”

  Taking the packet, Oleg scanned the documents it contained. A look of surprise crossed his face, followed by puzzlement. Here was a coincidence! Katiana Danova, recently of Troitza Convent, was the niece of Lady Natasha Filippovna Kalino, his dead mother’s lady-in-waiting. Amazing, he thought, that this beauty he had rescued was related to a woman he had known in his childhood.

  “Send to Three Rivers for Lady Natasha Kalino at first light,” he ordered and dismissed Leo.

  A man not prone to superstition, Oleg still could not help a sense of predestiny invading his thoughts. He let his mind dwell on the immeasurably desirable house-guest fate had sent him. ’Take care,’ he warned himself. These cloistered virgins were like hothouse flowers—delicate and easily bruised.

  Yes, he would be careful. But he would have her, he vowed. ‘Sweet Katiana Danova.’

  Chapter Four

  Several days passed without further violence.

  Prince Oleg sent his sleigh to Three Rivers for Natasha Filippovna Kalino, and dozens of his men moved through the countryside in search of rebels. In the ancient manor house, dressmakers had plenty to gossip of as they stitched the gowns ordered and designed by Prince Oleg. In the kitchens, the cooks and cooks’ assistants labored for most of the night preparing special foods, delicacies ordered by His Highness. The normally quiet country household rang with activity.

  During this time Katia awakened completely only once. Just hours after her rescue she had come to out of a nightmare, into a strange high-platformed bed with a blue silk canopy. The massive wood furnishings and tapestry-draped walls of the bedchamber were alien, and at first she thought she was dreaming again. Her mind was blank; and then, suddenly, the blood, the noise, the fear, had all come back to her. She lived it again, caught by the memory of Madame Minin lying, butchered and bleeding, half-naked in the snow beside the maroon sleigh. She held her eyes closed tight, but the memory persisted. She thrashed wildly at the silken bedclothes trying to escape it. Someone forced a bitter oily liquid down her throat, and after that she remembered nothing. She dozed in a water-colour world of fading images. But, at last, there came a time when her body refused further sleep, and her mind was strong enough to bear the memory of what had happened to her. She awakened early, feeling remarkably well. Best of all, her mind was clear again. The maid with the breakfast tray was surprised to find Katia up, making her devotions at the icon corner. Later, another servant disturbed her prayers with word that Prince Oleg wished her to dine with him that evening.

  ‘It is all like a fairy tale,’ she thought. But Katia didn’t think she liked living in a fantasy. There were too many surprises after the ordered and predictable life of the convent. It wasn’t that she wished to return to Troitza; far from it. ‘But I wish things wouldn’t happen quite so fast!’ She wanted time to forget what had happened and prepare for her first meeting with royalty. She wasn’t ready for Prince Oleg’s invitation. She had an uneasy bubbly feeling in her stomach and could think of half a dozen reasons to decline the Prince’s invitation.

  For one thing, she was certain she would die of fright. Yes, that was it! Her heart would flutter too fast, the nervous bubbles in her stomach would go to her brain and lift her out of the world entirely.

  ‘I am no one and he is a great prince, the cousin of the Czar! I’m just a convent girl without wit or connections.’

  Yet to refuse was unthinkable! An invitation from a Romanov was the same as a command. She had no choice but to dine with him. But what would she say to him? At Troitza, the sisters called her outspoken and irreligious. They thought her talk was impudent, disgraceful. What if Prince Oleg thought the same?

  Nevertheless, even as she wondered and fussed and worried, Katia could not help a growing excitement. She was eighteen and beautiful and this would be her first party.

  That evening, before dinner, Katia looked at herself in the long gilt mirror in her bedchamber. She wore her first European-style gown. It was made of cream coloured silk brocade. The lace shawl collar left her arms uncovered and the wide vee neckline accented her high breasts and left an embarrassing amount of skin uncovered. That night, at Prince Oleg’s direction a maid had arranged her coiffure with the ringlets and natural waves of lustrous brown pulled gracefully back and up, creating an abundant cascade of curls that brushed silkily against her back. A simple amber choker had been sent by Prince Oleg. Katia held it up to the lamp and the red-gold lights shone like a thousand fires.

  The seamstress rose from her knees at last, and looked on her handiwork with obvious satisfaction. She seemed to be in good spirits as she brushed her hands together and made preparations to leave.

  “You look beautiful, Miss. Just beautiful.”

  “If that is so, I have you to thank,” replied Katia as she thought, ‘I shall die of shame in this gown! Surely no decent woman reveals herself so brazenly!’

  “Now I expect you’ll give them two more cause to fight at one another.” The seamstress giggled wickedly, covering her mouth with her hand. “Their Highnesses, Prince Oleg and Prince Alexei, will both admire you. Miss. That’s all I meant to say.’

  “And who is Prince Alexei?” asked Katia.

  “His Highness’ cousin, Miss,” replied the seamstress with a nervous sideways glance at the door. “We be forbidden to speak of family matters, Miss.”

  “But I do not wish to pry. I only wonder…”

  A voice from the doorway interrupted Katia’s wondering.

  “The dressmaker is quite right, Katia. It is extremely bad manners to question a servant about family matters.” Natasha Filippovna waved the woman away. “I am ashamed of you, Katia. The Troitza sisters taught deportment, did they not? You really should know better!” She sat down heavily, groaning a little.

  Before their awkward reunion earlier in the day, Katia had known almost nothing of the woman she called Aunt Nikki, for they had been separated when Katia was scarcely five years old. She was a maiden lady, well-born, who lived on free land in Three Rivers. Now Aunt Nikki was here in the manor, summoned by Prince Oleg. And what a startling coincidence to discover that her own aunt had been lady-in-waiting to Prince Oleg’s mother years before.

  Natasha Filippovna Kalino was of medium height, considerably overweight, and slightly out of breath from wearing her corset laced too tightly. She fried to blame the discomfort for making her cranky. But she knew better. It was the evening ahead that troubled her. The prospect of an entire meal eaten with Prince Oleg Romanov filled her with trepidation.

  When the sleigh bearing the Romanov crest had come for her in Three Rivers, her instinct had been to refuse the Prince’s offered generosity. But, no matter what, Katia’s safety had to be Nikki’s first concern; and she would have been foolhardy to risk the famous Romanov temper by rejecting his kindness. Everything would be alright, she told herself. ‘Soon the child will be rested sufficiently to permit our return to Three Rivers. Prince Oleg will forget about us both before we reach home.’ In the meantime, there was this long evening to worry her mind.

  From a jewel box on the dresser, she took a pearl studded rosette and pinned it to the shoulder of Katia’s gown. “You are lovely, child.”

  ’Too lovely,
’ thought Natasha Filippovna. Why couldn’t she be pinch-faced and puny for just a little while?

  Nikki urged her toward the door and admonished, “See you watch your manners tonight. Remember everything the sisters taught you, and don’t call attention to yourself. Speak when you are spoken too.”

  “Who is Prince Alexei, Aunt?”

  Nikki sighed with exasperation. “You are confoundedly curious, Katia.”

  “Only because I have been kept ignorant of the world for eighteen years.” Katia’s voice had a determined edge that did nothing to lighten Nikki’s worried mind.

  “Now don’t start that again, Katia. I told you this afternoon…”

  “You told me that I will know my parentage when the time is right. You told me that I must be content knowing that I am loved and will always be cared for.” Katia’s voice rose. “In one way or another, you have told me the same half-truths, the same evasions that I heard at Troitza. When will it end, Aunt Nikki? For how much longer will you keep me ignorant?”

  In Katia’s expression Natasha Filippovna read all the accumulated longing of a lifetime. She realized it would be kinder for her to break her oath of silence now and tell the child the whole truth. But there was the necklace, the nine large emerald pendants, to think about as well. Natasha Filippovna sighed. No, she could not possibly sacrifice those. Katia had waited eighteen years to know the truth of who she was. A little longer would not matter.

  “Why do you not answer my question, Aunt?”

  “Because it fatigues me exceedingly to repeat what I have said time and time again. You must be content and wait a little longer. Cultivate stillness as a lady should.” Natasha Filippovna softened, seeing the exquisite blue almond eyes fill with tears. “Do not weep, Katia. You’ll spoil your appearance. I know that life seems hard now, but all will be explained to you soon enough. Why can you not be cheerful? This party is in your honour, Katia. Come,” Nikki held out her jeweled hand, “their Highnesses await us.”

  The gornitza was a large rectangular room decorated with wrought iron and carved wooden furniture and upholstery in tawny shades of gold and umber. For warmth, the floors and walls alike were covered with heavy rugs and tapestries and furs. Katia supposed that in the summertime the half dozen windows overlooking the courtyard would be thrown open to freshen and brighten the room that now was shuttered and draped to retain the more than adequate heat provided by two massive stone fireplaces situated at either end of the room. The warmth from one of these, as well as the excitement of the evening, gave a tawny glow to Katia’s fair skin.

  His Highness, Prince Oleg, appeared every inch a noble gentleman of wealth and prestige in his navy blue cutaway coat and gold embroidered vest. When he offered her a glass of champagne, Katia was awed and almost frightened by his urbane manners and appearance. She would not have dared refuse him. The wine bubbled in her nose surprisingly, and she gasped. Aunt Nikki and Prince Oleg were amused, but the incident embarrassed Katia. It only served to remind her of what she already knew too well. She had so much to learn!

  Even in remote Muscovy, French was the language spoken by the Russian aristocracy; and Katia, who in the past had only heard and spoken the language in a classroom situation, listened intently, not wishing to miss a word spoken by Prince Oleg. She felt enormously grateful to him and wondered how she could ever show her appreciation for all his kindness.

  The Prince refilled her crystal goblet saying as he raised his own glass, “You are lovely, my dear. I must commend the Sisters of Troitza for the excellence of your education and preparation for society.” He laughed suavely. “But then, how could they fail with such an exquisite creature as yourself?” The Prince had milky blue eyes, and for some reason their lingering gaze of appreciation made Katia uneasy. She was painfully conscious of her gown’s fitted bodice and revealing neckline. Blushing—and perturbed with herself for doing so—she turned away.

  At that moment, the door from the outside stairway swung open, and a rush of icy night air invaded the gornitza. A handsome man, tall and dark and powerfully built, strode into the room swirling a fur cape from off his shoulders. The door slammed shut behind him.

  ‘He must be Alexei Romanov,’ thought Katia, and her heart fluttered strangely.

  When they were introduced, Katia’s blue eyes were held by the dark—almost black—of Alexei’s. She tried to look away as girlish modesty dictated, but something kept her from it. Her heart was beating madly as the breath caught in her throat and the color rose in her cheeks. Alexei Romanov was astonishingly handsome. Dark and chiseled of feature, there was something fierce and magnificent about him and the way he dominated the room with his masculine assurance.

  “Mademoiselle,” he said in perfect French and bowed crisply from the waist. The silver heels of his high black boots clicked together, and she knew she loved him.

  Dinner was sumptuous, and though Oleg several times apologized for the “simple country fare,” the meal was grander by far than any Katia had known before. The long oak board was covered by a damask cloth lavishly embroidered in a golden floral design that matched the broad gold borders of the crystal and china. Behind each guest’s chair stood a footman liveried in forest green with droops of gold braid affixed at the shoulders. No sooner did Katia finish one dish than it was removed and another—richer and more exquisitely flavoured than the last—was placed before her: creamy potato soup flavoured with chive, a pickled fish that was both sweet and sour to the taste, a pair of tender young pullets, as well as savoury pastries, a hearty stew of succulent venison and root vegetables, and roast pig stuffed with apples and spicy sausage. The parade of eatables both delighted and disgusted Katia. ’There’s sinfully too much for just the four of us,’ she was thinking as she sampled each item eagerly, filled with a greedy sense of adventure that overcame her guilt. Anesthetized by the bland convent diet, it was as if her sense of taste had suddenly been born.

  The bad blood between the cousins became increasingly apparent to Katia as they dined. Through the last several courses, Alexei Romanov goaded his cousin with libertarian talk. The rich over-bounty of Oleg Romanov’s table seemed to stick in Katia’s throat as she listened and shyly glanced across the table at Prince Alexei. The talk was all of rebels and fighting.

  “You need me, Cousin Oleg. If it were not for my presence in your home, the peasants would have attacked you days ago. I don’t know how much longer they will hold back.” Alexei’s strong narrow mouth curled nastily. “But if they once decide they want your blood badly enough, my being here won’t stop them!”

  “Come, come, cher cousin, you do exaggerate your influence over the rabble.” Prince Oleg turned to Katia with a smile. “A dubious distinction, eh? My cousin has come to believe the myths about himself and his black bodyguard. They claim he has a friend in every village, a bed at every hearth. The rabble calls you Liberator, Alexei; and you’re the fool who believes them!”

  Alexei laughed. “Is that what they say of me down here?” He seemed genuinely amused. “How that must gall you, Oleg!”

  “I care not what is said of you until I hear the news that your treasonous activities have been punished as they should be. In the meantime, ladies, I cannot say how much I regret the necessity of my cousin’s inclusion this evening. I am ashamed that such a man would sit at my table and eat of my bread. Nevertheless, I cannot send him away without putting his life in danger. The peasants are a flighty and inconsequential bunch for the most part, but their passions are notoriously volatile.”

  “As I’ve told you before, Oleg, you underestimate the anger and cunning of those who have been denied their freedom.” Alexei’s look of disgust faded as he turned to Katia. His expression was quizzical but she could find no derision in it. “What do you think about all this, Mademoiselle Katiana?”

  “Katiana cannot be expected to have an opinion on such a subject as freedom, Cousin. After thirteen years in Troitza Convent; she is better versed in prayers and liturgy.” Oleg seemed t
o have regained his good humour. His manner was amused now, and slightly bored.

  His condescending laughter irritated Katia. She had been an excellent student at Troitza, and she had read avidly from an early age. In the schoolroom at Troitza Katia had learned of such disparate things as the American Revolution fifty years earlier and the theories of Copernicus. For many years, learning had provided her life with its only adventure and challenge.

  She answered Prince Oleg’s amusement with a boldness that surprised yet pleased her. “Your Lordship must forgive me for disagreeing. Though I have lived a closed and narrow life, it happens that I have thought much on the subject of liberty. From my own experience, I have come to think that freedom is the birthright of all people.” She saw Prince Oleg’s expression darken at her honest words and bit her tongue.

  Natasha Filippovna exclaimed in a shrill, giggly voice, “Forgive a naive child. Highness. That’s all she is, Highness. A child. What does she know of real life? A few months in society will teach her better.”

  “And what if she doesn’t learn? What then, coz?” demanded Alexei cheerily. “What then, Oleg?”

  Katia looked uncertainly from cousin to cousin. The tension between the men was galvanized. Then Oleg’s mood abruptly changed.

  “A convent angel with opinions all her own. And the boldness to speak them. How refreshing you are, Katia.” He gestured a footman to refill her glass with champagne. “I will say, however, that I agree with your aunt. A few months in society will teach you the wisdom of our system here in Russia. Natasha Filippovna, your niece has a bright, enquiring mind. You showed intelligence when you put her in the care of the scholars at Troitza. Why did you not choose the Petersburg house? I understand that life there is less harsh than in the Moscow house.”