The Seeds of Power

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘Does that mean you belong to me?’

  ‘I belong to the Prince, Your Excellency. But to you, also.’

  ‘Right. Then you must do as I say.’

  ‘Yes, Your Excellency,’ Vassily said uneasily, as he held a bathrobe for Colin to step into. Colin looked at him for the first time. He was a good-looking fellow, in his early twenties, with yellow hair and...unmistakably Bolugayevski features. But he was a servant, and was clearly concerned about just what his new master might wish of him. ‘Will Your Excellency take a drink?’

  ‘Not of vodka, right now.’

  ‘No, no, Your Excellency. Wine.’

  ‘That sounds very civilised.’

  There was a decanter on the table by the bed, which

  he hadn’t noticed before. In fact, he hadn’t noticed much about the room, in his anxiety to get at the bath. Now he realised that apart from being clean, and warm, there was a fire roaring in the grate surrounded by thick red and gold carpets matching the wallpaper and several upholstered chairs. The room was dominated by an enormous tester bed.

  Vassily poured a goblet of wine. ‘Take one for yourself,’ Colin said.

  ‘Your Excellency?’

  ‘It is my wish, Vassily.’

  Vassily poured for himself. ‘Now,’ Colin sat down and stretched his legs. ‘Tell me about the Bolugayevskis.’

  ‘Your Excellency?’

  ‘This family into which I am to be married. Tell me of them. Of yourself, perhaps. Who is your father?’

  ‘The Bolugayevskis are one of the oldest families in Russia, Your Excellency.’

  ‘Oh, come now, Vassily. Surely all families are the same age? When did the first Bolugayevski become a prince?’

  ‘I do not know, Your Excellency.’

  ‘My great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather was ennobled by Peter the Great, Mr MacLain,’ Alexandra Bolugayevska said.

  Both men jumped, Colin to his feet, while Vassily nearly dropped his glass. Colin clutched the dressing robe around himself. The girl stood inside the door she had opened so silently. ‘You may leave, Vassily.’

  Vassily cast a startled glance at his master. But, however embarrassed, Colin understood that if Alexandra Bolugayevska was as inquisitive about him as he was about the entire family, she was a much better bet than the valet as regards information. ‘You may go, Vassily,’ he said. ‘Come back in half an hour, to dress me.’

  The valet bowed, and hurried from the room, closing the door behind him. ‘Does your big sister know that you are here?’ Colin inquired.

  Alexandra went to the table, and to his amazement, poured herself a glass of wine. ‘She would be annoyed.’

  ‘I imagine she would. And do you not suppose that fellow is going to excite the entire servants’ hall with the tale of your, shall we say, invasion?’

  ‘Servants’ hall?’

  He realised again that he was in a situation of which he had no experience. ‘Servants who attempt to tattle about their masters, or their mistresses,’ Alexandra said, ‘are whipped.’

  ‘Even if he is your own brother?’ It was a shot in the dark, but there could hardly be any other explanation.

  ‘Vassily’s mother was a serf,’ Alexandra explained. ‘He is not a member of the family.’

  ‘Ah! Would you like to sit down?’

  She sat in one of the other chairs, some distance away, her glass held elegantly. ‘Vut it is not so in England, I have heard,’ she remarked.

  He assumed she was talking about servants in general, and not her unrecognised half-brother in particular. ‘Not quite so bluntly, perhaps. Servants are sometimes beaten. But if they do not like it, they have the right to leave. And even, if the beating was too severe, to complain to the magistrate.’

  ‘In Russia they have no such rights,’ Alexandra said. ‘Besides, the only magistrate on Bolugayen is Papa. He will be holding a tzemtsvo court in a few days’ time, dealing with all the offences which have been committed in his absence.’

  ‘What is a tzemtsvo court?’

  ‘The tzemtsvo is the village council. The members are senior serfs, and they are responsible for the behaviour of the rest of our people. They have judicial powers, but they cannot sentence. Only Papa can do that.’

  ‘And there are people awaiting sentencing?’

  ‘Several people. There will even, I imagine, be one or two executions. You may find it amusing.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why are you here, Mr MacLain?’

  ‘I am told it is to marry your sister.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘I don’t suppose it will do me any good to tell you this,’ Colin said. ‘But I have been kidnapped as a husband for Dagmar.’

  ‘Do you expect me to believe that?’

  ‘It is the truth.’

  Alexandra finished her wine and stood up.

  ‘I would really like to know why,’ Colin said.

  ‘Why don’t you ask her?’ Alexandra said, and went to the door. ‘I will send Vassily to you.’

  *

  ‘Is it true that there is an Englishwoman on the estate?’ he asked Vassily as he was dressed for dinner.

  ‘I believe that may be so, Your Excellency.’

  ‘You mean you do not know? You must know.’

  ‘There are four thousand people on Bolugayen, Your Excellency. Three thousand eight hundred of them are serfs. I believe the foreign woman is one of those. I do not know them all by name.’

  Shades of the Deep South in America, Colin thought. Except that he doubted there were that many slaves on any one cotton plantation.

  Dagmar waited for him at the foot of the stairs; she wore black. ‘Grandmama died two hours ago,’ she said.

  ‘I am very sorry,’ he said.

  She gazed at him for several seconds, then she nodded. ‘I believe you. You are a perfect English gentleman, Mr MacLain. Can we not be friends?’

  ‘I will be your friend, Your Excellency, when you have told me the truth of this whole affair, and when you have permitted me to resume my freedom of action, remembering always that I am an English gentleman, and intend to behave as one.’

  Once more she considered him, her head slightly on one side. Then she said, ‘Well, I suppose few husbands and wives are actually friends. Will you give me your arm?’

  He was tempted to refuse, but reflected that would be ungentlemanly: whatever else, she continued to be his hostess. She tucked her gloved arm through his, and escorted him towards the drawing room. Here the family waited, together with one of the priests, the doctor, and a man and woman. ‘Father Alexei,’ Alexander Bolugayevski said. ‘Dr Simmars. My steward, Nicholas Smyslov, and Madame Smyslova. Lieutenant MacLain.’

  The steward bowed and his wife gave a brief curtsey. ‘I am sorry we have to meet in such sadness, Mr MacLain,’ Smyslov said.

  ‘Permit me to offer you my condolences, Prince,’ Colin said to Bolugayevski.

  ‘Thank you. I am sorry my son could not be here. But a son-in-law is an acceptable substitute, is he not?’

  Colin opened his mouth and closed it again. He would gain nothing by another protest, and it would be bad manners to make a scene in these circumstances.

  ‘The wedding will take place tomorrow morning,’ Alexander Bolugayevski declared.

  Colin’s head jerked. ‘How can that be, Your Excellency? Are you not in mourning?’

  Bolugayevski nodded. ‘It will be a family affair. But it was my mother’s dying wish.’

  *

  Colin stood at his window in his dressing gown and watched the snow clouding down. He wondered where Jennie was, and if she knew of his arrival.

  The door opened, and he turned. Dagmar placed the glowing candle on the table beside his bed. She wore an undressing robe over a silk nightgown.

  ‘Contemplating your escape?’ she asked.

  ‘I would be, were it at all possible.’

  ‘I am glad you are sensible.’ She fluffed out her hair, which was loose. ‘I gather
my baby sister paid you a visit this afternoon.’

  ‘She was curious.’

  ‘And what did you tell her?’

  ‘The truth. I’m not sure she believed me.’

  ‘She is a curious child. However, she will not visit you again, I promise you.’

  ‘You haven’t harmed her?’

  ‘Of course I haven’t harmed her. I merely gave her six strokes of the cane.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘In Russia we are great believers in corporal punishment. When you are legally my husband, I will let you cane her, if you like.’

  ‘For my pleasure, you mean?’

  ‘Oh, I am sure you will enjoy it. But in Alexandra’s case, there is always a reason. She reads too much. And dreams too much.’ She smiled. ‘And perhaps, plots too much. She needs to grow up.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I grew up long ago.’ She sat on the bed. ‘There are some things I wish to explain to you.’

  ‘I wish you would.’

  ‘Tomorrow, as Papa has said, we will be married. It will have to be a muted ceremony, unfortunately, because we are in mourning. However, I would be very disappointed if you attempted to disrupt it, in any way.’

  ‘You mean I would be caned?’ he said, sitting in a chair opposite her.

  ‘How may my husband be caned? But there is a custom in this country, and I am sure in England as well, whereby a highborn youth, of either sex, while spared the rod themselves, may yet be punished, by means of a deputy. Is that not true?’

  ‘A whipping-boy. So, if I “disappoint” you, Vassily will suffer, is that it?’

  ‘Vassily?’ She gave a little laugh. ‘Would the sight of him, exposed naked on a triangle, his back a mass of bleeding lacerations, concern you? I think that would be a waste of time. Fortunately, we possess a more emotive substitute. Or so Georgei assures me.’

  Colin’s head jerked. ‘Jennie Cromb? You would not dare!’

  ‘Here on Bolugayen I can do whatever I wish. So can you, when you have properly settled in.’ She stood up. ‘I have put up with your behaviour, because I understand your notions of masculine superiority, masculine rules. Now we are in my home I need do that no longer. Papa supports me in everything I do, or wish to do. I make the rules here. Tomorrow we will be wed, and you will come to my bed. Then you will be my husband in all ways, at all times. Understand this.’ He glared at her, but she continued to smile. ‘As I will be your wife, at all times, and in every possible way. I will wish you good night.’

  She went to the door, but he was there before her. ‘Do you realise I could strangle you here and now?’

  ‘No, you could not, Colin. That door is not locked. None of the doors on Bolugayen are locked. And there are four of my people waiting in the corridor. A single cry for help, a single untoward sound, and they would be in here.’

  ‘And supposing I was only beating you? I am told you enjoy that.’

  ‘Then I would send them away again, Colin. Now let me pass.’

  He hesitated, his hands curled into fists. To let the anger inside him explode would be utterly self-defeating. But he could not resist saying, ‘And do you intend to spend the rest of your life with four guards standing at your door?’

  ‘It will not be necessary, when you have come to your senses.’ She stepped round him and turned the handle. ‘You will, you know.’

  ‘I wish to see the girl. I must know that she has not already been ill-treated.’

  Dagmar shrugged. ‘If that is what you wish. You will see her tomorrow morning before the ceremony.’

  ‘To speak to.’

  Another shrug. ‘All right. But it really would make very little sense for you to tell her any of our intimate secrets. It would only distress her, I am sure, to know that she is a hostage for your good behaviour.’

  *

  He slept fitfully, anticipating and apprehensive of tomorrow. Vassily was there to bathe and dress him early; the wedding was to take place at eight o’clock. Colin had decided it was a waste of time talking with Vassily; the servant was too conditioned to his situation.

  He drank a glass of vodka, and felt better. There was a tap on the door. Nicholas Smyslov stood there. ‘I am to be your groomsman, Lieutenant,’ he said. ‘But first, I believe there is someone you wanted to meet.’

  He stepped aside, and Colin drew a sharp breath. The woman who entered wore a cloak, and a shawl over her head. But he would have known her eyes anywhere. ‘Mr Colin?’ Her tone was incredulous.

  He stepped towards her, then checked. ‘Do any of these people speak English?’

  ‘I have never heard them do so, sir.’

  ‘Let me look at you.’

  She pulled the shawl from her head, letting it lie on her shoulders. Her hair remained as he remembered it, long and straight, an auburn stain on the whiteness of her neck. Her face and complexion were as he remembered them too. He could not see her body beneath the fur coat, but he could remember that as well. Was it possible that she had not changed at all, despite her ordeal? She had spent eighteen months with these people, and borne a child.

  ‘I am told you have a son.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I should like to see him, some time.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Her eyes flickered to Vassily, and back again. Colin realised that she knew the valet, and perhaps very well. ‘Are you going to be staying here, sir?’ she went on.

  ‘It looks as if I may be doing so, for a while,’ Colin said. ‘But when I leave, I will take you with me. I promise.’

  ‘Why should you wish to do that, sir?’ she asked.

  *

  By nine o’clock Dagmar was Mrs Colin MacLain. Or was he really Mr Colin Bolugayevski?

  There were certificates to sign, and a great deal of embracing. ‘I am so happy for you,’ Anna said, as she hugged him.

  Now you can stop pretending,’ Alexandra suggested, presenting her cheek for a kiss.

  ‘You will excuse us,’ Dagmar said, and beckoned the servants forward, with fur coats. ‘My husband and I have a duty to perform.’

  ‘Now?’ Prince Bolugayevski asked.

  ‘I think now is the best time, Papa. Will you walk with me, Colin?’

  Colin was encased in coat and gloves and sat down to have thick boots pulled over his shoes. Dagmar sat opposite him while she was equally equipped to face the morning. The family stood around, awkwardly, as did the Smyslovs and Dr Simmars. ‘We shan’t be long,’ Dagmar said, wrapping a scarf round and round her face so that only her eyes were visible; her fur hat was pulled down over her forehead.

  Footmen opened the doors for them, and they went out of the back of the house. ‘Did you see Jennie?’ Dagmar asked, her voice muffled.

  ‘Yes.’

  And thus you are reassured, I hope?’ Her boots crunched on the snow as she led him across the lawn.

  ‘Yes. Thank you. Does she belong to you, or your brother?’

  ‘Georgei has given her to me.’

  ‘Just like that? As if she were some Negro?’

  ‘Well, really, Colin. Your racial prejudice is showing. Can only Negroes be slaves?’

  ‘Of course, I am mistaken,’ he said. ‘So can British army officers.’

  ‘I really would like us to be friends.’ She had reached the end of the lawn, where there was a high hedge, with an arch cut into it. She went through the arch, and emerged on to another lawn, smaller than the first. Here the snow lay as thick as anywhere else, but protruding from it there were several crosses.

  ‘My mother is buried there.’ Dagmar pointed. ‘With the son who caused her death. There is my grandfather, and over there are my great grandparents. There and there are my uncles, and there and there my aunts.’

  ‘Is this where your grandmother will be buried?’

  ‘Of course.’ She glanced at him. ‘You expected a vault?’

  ‘It is more usual, where members of one family are accumulated.’

  ‘My great grandfather was, ab
ove all other things, a pastoralist. He decreed that we should all lie under the vault of heaven. I will be buried here, in the course of time. As will you, and our children. But I have brought you here today that we may offer a prayer on this grave,’ Dagmar said.

  She had moved to one side of the little park, and Colin stooped beside her, slowly deciphering the Cyrillic letters on the cross: ALEXANDER BOLUGAYEVSKI. BORN 4 JUNE 1846; DIED 2 FEBRUARY 1847. MY CROSS TO BEAR. ‘I named him after Papa,’ Dagmar said. ‘This pleased Papa.’

  He looked up at her. ‘So there you have it,’ she said. ‘He did not even live long enough to make it all worthwhile.’

  ‘You mean you were married before?’ he asked. ‘No, I have not been married before,’ Dagmar said. ‘It was the greatest scandal of the year, 1846. I am surprised you did not hear about it in England.’

  ‘My God,’ he said. ‘So...’

  ‘My name was, and still is, banished from polite society. I am not received in either Moscow or St Petersburg. Their majesties refuse to recognise that the Countess Bolugayevska exists. As for marriage...’

  ‘But what of the man? The father?’

  ‘The father is irrelevant, now. He was not in a position to marry me.’

  ‘And was also ostracised?’

  She hesitated for a moment. ‘No one ever discovered who he was. He withdrew himself from society. Men of talent, of course, can never truly withdraw from public life; they are too valuable. Shall we go in? I am chilled.’

  He walked at her side. ‘I am terribly sorry for your tragedy, Dagmar. But...could you not have gone away somewhere to have the child, and then farmed it out.’

  ‘I...we were betrayed, by a servant. All St Petersburg knew that I was pregnant.’ Dagmar gave a little sigh. ‘Mama took it badly. I believe it was responsible for her death. This is a great burden for me to bear. Papa...Papa stood by me then, and has stood by me ever since. He has also turned his back on society, save where it is necessary for business.’

  ‘Again, I am most terribly sorry, Dagmar.’ They had regained the back porch of the house, and servants were waiting to open the doors for them. ‘But do you think kidnapping me as a husband can possibly regain your place in society?’