Falling Stars

by Anita Mills

  “There is nothing between myself and Kate.”

  “I am not speaking of Ekaterina.” His face fixed on the red-orange flames, he exhaled heavily. “I am asking you to leave.”

  Bell gave a start. “Today? It’s dashed nasty out there, Alexei,” he protested.

  “The morning will be soon enough. I will send you in my own coach, so you will not be excessively inconvenienced.”

  “Because of Kate? Look, I know—”

  “I don’t want you in the same house with Galena Petrovna.”

  “And if I tell you there is nothing there?”

  Alexei shrugged. “It would not matter. There is Sofia, and that is enough. Sherkov is not a fool forever, I think, and we do not need him for an enemy.”

  “I despise the woman. As for Galena—”

  “I do not wish to discuss my sister with you,” Alexei said coldly, effectively cutting him off. “And you do not serve Ekaterina by reminding her of England. She is not this Kate you call her—she is Ekaterina Ivanova Volskaya.”

  “She is overset because of the boy’s death, Alexei.”

  “Precisely.” The Russian’s lip curled disdainfully. “You think I have not seen your climbing boys, eh? But there you make them think everyone is free, and here we do not make the pretense. She will have to learn to live here.”

  “I promised her brother I would see she is well treated.”

  “And you have seen it. Ekaterina Ivanova has everything—everything Lena can buy for her. And when you are back in Moscow, you may write him that.”

  “I see. And will Kate know I am leaving?” Bell managed to ask evenly.

  “When she wakes up tomorrow, I will tell her.”

  But later, sometime in the night, long after everyone else was abed, Bell sat, his feet warmed at the fire, his glass of vodka in his hand, thinking of Katherine Volsky. If he did not say anything to her, she would hate herself for encouraging him, and he couldn’t leave her like that. He had to tell her that it meant nothing to him, that it ought to mean nothing to her.

  She’d been too ill to come to supper, Galena had said, but Bell suspected it was more than that. For some odd reason, Alexei Volsky was jealous, and Bell suspected he did not let her come down.

  His gaze traveled to the still-unwrapped silk scarf, and he felt his resentment grow. They weren’t even going to let him give it to her, they weren’t going to let him see if she liked it at all. Well, damn them all—damn them all to hell! He stood unsteadily and reached for the scarf. He’d be hanged if he let Volsky give it to her. Even if he roused the house, he would do it himself.

  Scarf in hand, he made his way up the long, nearly dark hall. At the end, a sputtering candle burned in a chimneyed sconce, and he stood there uncertainly, wondering which door was Volsky’s. Finally, he rapped on one, ready to demand to see Kate.

  A still-dressed maid answered, her finger over her lips. “Dahma?” he tried. “Ekaterina Volsky?”

  “Da.” She eyed him strangely for a moment, then laid her head on her hands as though she slept.

  He understood. “Volsky? Alexei Volsky?”

  She shook her head.

  Alexei wasn’t with his wife. Bell held out the scarf, then pointed into the room. “For Ekaterina—pour madame.”

  She stepped back, indicating the bed where Katherine lay, then she went to pick up the bottle and held it out to him. He unstoppered it and sniffed. They’d given her laudanum to make her sleep.

  “All right.” While the maid watched him, he refolded the scarf, then he gave it to her. “For Ekaterina,” he repeated. “From me.”

  She nodded.

  It was the best he could hope for, he supposed. At least he wouldn’t be relying on Volsky to deliver his gift.

  January 15, 1815

  It had been perhaps the worst Christmas of Katherine’s life. Despite the exquisite and expensive presents given her, she had felt incredibly lonely and left out much of the time. When Bell Townsend had gone, it was as though he’d taken whatever holiday there was left with him. Not that she had felt much like celebrating anything after the death of the little climbing boy. But that had not mattered to the others—they’d merely been festive without her.

  She’d been glad enough to see them go—Sofia with her flirting manners, Sherkov with his irascible temper, Prince Pahlin with his cold reserve, and Vera Pahlina, his wife, who had spent much of the time regaling her with the horrors of each of five childbeds. Now only Tatiana and Viktor remained, and in five more days, barring more snow, they were supposed to return to school.

  She sat in the huge book room, her chair drawn up to the fire, wondering if this new storm would ever end. Whenever her gaze strayed to the multi-paned windows, she could see that the snow rose above the sills. Three English feet, Galena had told her. At that rate, the younger Volskys would be with them until spring.

  Tati reminded her somewhat of Claire—lovely and spiteful, while Viktor was shy, reserved—more like the absent Paul. But at least he never cast barbs her way, unlike Tati, who pried far too much, then muttered insults when denied. Katherine could almost like Viktor.

  Resolutely, she turned her attention to the book Harry had sent her, Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park. Under other circumstances, she would have been delighted with it, but just now she was rather blue-deviled. It was her pregnancy, she supposed wearily. That and the fact that Alexei now seemed to have completely deserted her bed, saying she needed her rest.

  She stopped and tried to remember what she’d already read. It was no use. Her mind simply would not stay the course. She marked her place and set the book aside.

  “Oh, there you are, Ekaterina!”

  She looked up to see Tati, her face flushed with cold, her body bundled in cherry velvet trimmed with sable, and she felt a stab of envy. “So you have been romping in the snow?” she asked, forcing a smile.

  “Yes.” The girl came in, stomped the snow from her feet before the fire and pulled off heavy woolen mittens with her teeth. “You should have been there—we made a fort and defended it.” Tati swung around to face her. “But I forget—Lena will not let you.”

  Ignoring that, Katherine asked mildly, “Who won?”

  “Lena and Viktor—but then Lena always wins, doesn’t she?”

  “But you had Lexy.”

  “You must be besotted,” Tati decided. “He lets her win, you know. Next time, I shall insist on Viktor.” Moving to the bellpull, she rang for assistance. “I shall have a hot punch, I think—do you join me, Ekaterina Ivanova?”

  “No.”

  “I suppose she does not let you do that either. It must be very tiresome for you here—I do not know how you stand it.”

  Katherine started to deny it, then held her tongue.

  “Well,” the girl sighed, “I should not like it. When I am wed, I shall make sure there is no other woman there to rule in my place.”

  “Tati—”

  “But then I do not mean to be anyone else’s oven. In fact, I am not at all certain I would wish to bear a child at all.” She moved closer to Katherine. “You do not appear very comfortable, you know, but then Sofia said you might have twins.”

  “Leave her alone, Tati.” Chafing his cold hands, Alexei’s youngest brother entered the book room. “Did you order the punch?”

  “If I have not, it is that the fool does not come.”

  “Which fool?”

  “Any of them.” At that moment, a hapless servant dared to show his head, and Tatiana rounded on him, berating him loudly, reminding Katherine of Galena. “Ideeot!” she shouted at him as he quaked before her. Then she made a shooing motion before turning back to her brother. “See, Viktor, you must be firm. Now we have the punch promptly,” she added to Katherine. “Ekaterina, you are too kind, and it gets you nothing.”

  “I told you to leave her alone, Tati.”

  She regarded him haughtily. “You like the English mouse, Viktor? She was a stick, but now she looks like a pear, I tell you.�
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  “Go to your room, Tati.” Even as she spoke, Katherine could not believe she’d done it. When the girl did not move, she repeated, “I said you are to go to your room, Tati.”

  “You order me?” the girl demanded incredulously. “I do not think so, Ekaterina.”

  “And when the snow stops, you will return to school early,” Katherine added evenly. “Until you are civil, I do not want you in my house.”

  “Your house? I do not think you dare tell Lena it is your house,” Tatiana scoffed.

  “I am Countess Volsky, and I have my marriage lines to prove it.”

  “Really?” The girls’ eyebrow raised disdainfully. “And who has the ordering of the servants? And who approves everything? No, Ekaterina, Domnya is Galena Petrovna’s.”

  “It is Alexei Petrovich’s.” Moving swiftly into the book room, Galena stopped before her youngest sister. Before the girl could raise her arm in defense, the woman struck her hard, leaving a hand print on her face. “And you will do as Ekaterina Ivanova tells you—do you hear me, Tati? Go to your room and have your maid pack your clothes for school. You also, Viktor.”

  “Lena, I did nothing,” he protested.

  “You did not protect Ekaterina from her words.”

  “He tried,” Katherine spoke up. “And it is not his place. Please—I do not mind if he stays until the next term starts.”

  “How long, Lena? How long do you think you—” Tatiana got no further.

  Galena slapped her again, this time sending the girl reeling. “You will hold your tongue, Tati, or Lexy will not pay your allowance,” she said coldly. “Apologize to Countess Volsky.”

  “Your pardon,” the girl mumbled, her posture giving the lie to her words. As she passed Katherine, she muttered under her breath, “Gloopee meesch!”

  “What did she say to you, Ekaterina?” Galena demanded.

  “Nothing of import,” Katherine lied.

  “She called her a foolish mouse,” Viktor said.

  “That girl! She will not bother you again—I swear it. If she has to go to school in Siberia, she will not insult you again.” Galena moved to put her arm about Katherine’s shoulder. “I am so sorry—so truly sorry, Ekaterina. You must not let her behavior upset you.”

  Katherine pulled away. “The truth, Lena, however it is said, is still the truth.”

  The older woman appeared hurt. “Ekaterina, I only do for you what you cannot yet do for yourself.” She peered more closely into Katherine’s face. “You are beset by blue devils again, little one?”

  “Yes. Perhaps it is the weather.”

  Viktor regarded her sympathetically. “It is different here, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “When you have grown old here, you will think of yourself as Russian,” Galena assured her. “You will wish for nothing of England.”

  “Would you like to play chess, Ekaterina?” Viktor asked suddenly.

  “Well, I am not very good at it,” she conceded.

  “At least you will have company.”

  “Yes. Yes, I think I would.”

  “Very well.” Galena spoke rapidly to the boy in Russian, and he replied shortly in kind. Satisfied, she turned to leave. “I am going up to see that Tati packs everything, mes enfants.

  “Yes, Little Mother,” he murmured.

  She spun around suspiciously. “What did you say?”

  “I only meant that you are more like the Great Peter’s Ekaterina than our Ekaterina is.”

  “See that you remember it always,” she snapped.

  As soon as she was gone, two serving boys returned with a steaming bowl of punch and cups. As they were arranging the silver tray, Viktor began setting up the chess board on one of the reading tables.

  “I warn you, Ekaterina—I am the best in my school,” he told her.

  “Well, I must surely be the worst of your opponents,” she murmured, taking the chair across from him. “In fact, I am not at all certain I can remember how to play it at all.”

  “Then I will be kind.” He turned his head to say something to one of the servants, then returned his attention to her. “I told him that you would like a shawl as it is chilly in here.”

  She smiled. “Now that reminds me of Lexy—he is forever saying I must take care of myself.”

  He looked up, regarding her soberly. “I hope I am different from Alexei Petrovich. I should prefer to remind everyone of Paul before he married Olga Vladimovna. It seems to be the fate of the Volskys to be ruled by strong women,” he added, sighing. “My mother was such a one before Lena.”

  “This is not a very happy family, is it?”

  “Was yours?” he countered.

  She thought of her brother and her father, then of her mother and her sister. “No, I suppose not. We were divided, Papa, Harry, and myself on the one side, Claire and Mama on the other.”

  “So are we. I think perhaps every family has its secrets, Ekaterina Ivanova.” He stared at the board for a moment, then made his first move. “Your turn.”

  “I don’t suppose you would wish to call me Kate?” she ventured wistfully.

  “Kate?” He appeared to consider the name for a moment, then shook his head much as Alexei had done. “I don’t like the sound of it.”

  “Surely there must be an informal name for Ekaterina here.”

  “Rina—or Kati.”

  “Oh. Well, I cannot say I like the sound of those, either.”

  “You are homesick, aren’t you?”

  “Terribly,” she admitted.

  “Your friend Townsend did not stay long.”

  “He is not precisely my friend—and no, he did not.”

  “Lexy was jealous,” he said matter-of-factly.

  “I cannot think why.”

  “You have known him a very long time, Ekaterina?—this Townsend, I mean?”

  “Yes. But only through his friendship with my brother. He and I never used to deal well together.” She made a tentative move, then sighed. “I used to despise him, you know. I’m afraid he was never a very admirable person, particularly where females were concerned.”

  “Neither is Lexy.” He shook his head. “Now that, Ekaterina, was a very bad move. Look—you will lose your pawn already.”

  “I told you I do not know the game very well,” she reminded him.

  “Very well. We will clear the board, and I will try to teach it to you.”

  “All right.”

  She watched him turn the chess board at an angle so that she could better see what he did. He was as much an enigma as the rest of his family, this solemn boy who sat across from her. There were so many questions she wanted to ask him, and yet she could not, for she was afraid of the answers.

  Viktor Volsky was very patient, pointing out each mistake gently, showing her how to anticipate his strategy. But he still won quickly.

  “Oh—your pardon, Ekaterina—have you seen Lena or Madame Popov?”

  It was Alexei. She half rose to stop him before he disappeared. “Wait—”

  He stopped. “Something is the matter?”

  “No, of course not,” she said hastily. “It is just that—well, I have scarce seen you today.” Not wanting to beg for his company, she indicated the chess board. “Viktor teaches me, and I thought perhaps you might wish to play.”

  “No. I am sorry, Ekaterina, but there is a matter I must attend. Perhaps later.”

  He was gone. She sat back, her disappointment evident, then she managed to square her shoulders. “Well, where am I?” she asked, looking again to the chess board.

  “About to lose your queen.”

  “I am not a very good pupil, am I?”

  Viktor’s hand covered hers, squeezing it briefly, then he released it. As she looked up in surprise, he said quietly, “You have a friend in this house, Ekaterina.”

  “You?”

  “Yes. I know how empty everything is here.”

  For a moment, she was taken aback, but there was nothing in his ex
pression to distrust. And he certainly did not appear to be a boy in the throes of calf love.

  “Thank you, Viktor—I shall always remember that.”

  “Please do.”

  “Yes—well, if I am about to lose again, I think I shall withdraw from the field. I am rather tired, you see, and my back pains me.” This time, she rose with effort, grimacing. “It feels as though the little fellow is sitting on my spine.”

  “Shall I ring for assistance?”

  “No. I have but to walk up the stairs to my chamber.” She stopped at the door, then turned back to him. “Thank you for entertaining me this afternoon, Viktor.”

  “I had nothing else to do, Ekaterina.”

  She climbed the stairs slowly, thinking how much breath the babe took from her. She felt incredibly weary at the top, so much so that she held onto the baluster for a moment before going on. She did not know how she could wait another three months before delivering her child.

  Once inside her chamber, she found herself alone, and instead of ringing for Maria, she sank into a chair. Using one foot to remove the slipper from the other, she looked down and saw that her ankles swelled. It was all of a piece, she supposed. She’d been plain before, but now she was simply ugly.

  Acute loneliness washed over her, and with it came the most intense yearning for Harry and England she’d felt since her arrival in Russia. Her gaze swept the room as her mind attempted to bolster her spirits. She had everything, she told herself—everything. Even the gown she now wore was of the best silk Alexei’s money could buy. She was as pampered as a princess, if clothes, jewelry, and luxurious surroundings meant anything. But she was alone amid all the opulence.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the bright silk scarf Bellamy Townsend had brought her; the scarf he’d not even stayed to give her. On impulse, she rose and went to pick it up, shaking it out, wrapping herself in it. It belonged to a peacock, not a sparrow, Tati had said. Odd, but he’d once called her that also—”a sparrow with lion’s teeth,” he’d said. Only she didn’t feel like a lion at all. Just now she felt more the wounded sparrow.