‘Your sympathy with the peasants does you credit, Grigori—’
At that moment a servant entered the room to announce that the seamstress had arrived. Again the aunts wheedled and coaxed, Sacha grew angry and Uncle Viktor turned cruel, but Caroline resolutely refused to be measured for gowns, or even to look at the swatches of silks, satins, velvets and lace which the woman had brought with her.
In the afternoon Sacha left the house and returned, a little later, with Katya. Every instinct in Caroline’s being screamed rebellion at the sight of them together, and when she discovered that Katya had been brought to the house to try and persuade her that the Czar’s invitation should be accepted, Caroline froze.
‘I fail to see how the matter concerns you,’ she began.
‘My dear, it only concerns me because I care for Alexander and for all those who belong to him,’ Katya returned disarmingly. ‘He has told me why you are adopting this attitude. I can understand only too well how you must be feeling, and why you so desperately wish to be allowed to return to England. But the clock can never be turned back, you know. What has happened, has happened. If you had relatives in England, Alexander would gladly have sent you back. The situation is as painful for him as it is for you, believe me. ’
‘I’m sure he discusses his feelings with you.’ Caroline had meant to sound biting, but her voice was forlorn instead.
‘We are old friends,’ Katya said simply. ‘I want to tell you something of the Czar’s position in Russia, my dear. It is not at all like that of your Queen Victoria, for instance. The Czar’s authority is absolute. He believes fiercely that he has a divine right to rule. Why, many peasants are convinced that he goes up to Heaven once a week to consult with the Almighty, and their belief is not discouraged. One does not lightly rebuff a monarch whose power depends on near-idolatry by his subjects.’
‘I regard such power as medieval and somewhat obscene,’ Caroline retorted. ‘Perhaps it is time that someone challenged it. Now, if you will excuse me, I am rather tired and wish to go to my room.’
She spent a wretched few hours in her bedroom, staring out at the snow-covered street, empty apart from an occasional passing carriage or drosky. When the brief day was ending she decided to go upstairs to the nursery, and read Michael a bedtime story.
Caroline had not been prepared for Nurse Varna’s opposition to such a simple and innocent pursuit. ‘It will over-stimulate his brain and lead to nightmares,’ the nurse said firmly.
‘Oh, surely not! A simple fairytale—’
‘Allow me to know what is best for my charge, mademoiselle.’
Caroline stared at her with frustration and dislike. ‘I wonder if the boy’s father would share your views,’ she began.
Nurse Varna’s mouth twisted in a complacent little smile. ‘I think you will find that Count Antonov trusts my judgement implicitly, mademoiselle. I was nurse to the Princess Vezenski when she was a child, and it was on her recommendation that the Count appointed me.’
The Princess Vezenski—’ Caroline repeated, and then remembered. It was Katya’s title.
She was forced to admit defeat, and to content herself with kissing Michael goodnight. Nurse Varna had made it clear that she reigned supreme in the nursery, and that she would defend her position jealously.
When Caroline returned to her own room she found Natalia’s maid, Lydia, waiting for her. Without Caroline’s knowledge, her one good gown had been handed to Lydia after all for refurbishing, and the maid held it up with pride.
‘See, mademoiselle, I have transformed the bodice and added a flounce to the hem. Now, if you will allow me to attend to your hair ... A simple dinner party with Their Excellencies, the Gromekos, does not warrant as elaborate a style as a ball at the Palace, so I shall not try your patience for too long.’
Caroline contained her anger. It was not the maid’s fault that the family were trying to force her into compliance.
‘I’m sorry, Lydia,’ she said evenly. ‘You appear to have been misinformed. I shall not be attending the Gromekos’ dinner party tonight.’
She was sufficiently incensed, after a bewildered Lydia had left, to storm downstairs and confront those who had so arbitrarily tried to undermine her resolve.
They were all dressed in formal clothes, and Caroline’s treacherous heart twisted at the sight of Sacha in his uniform. Her own appearance, on the other hand, gave him nothing but displeasure.
‘You are behaving like a child, Caroline!’ he rapped. ‘There is still time to get ready for the dinner party—’
‘I am not going,’ she interrupted flatly.
Aunt Natalia looked distracted. ‘But you cannot stay here alone all evening! I’ve told the chef that dinner will not be required, and he and his staff have made their own plans for the evening. Unless you come with us, I shall have to give orders—’
‘No, Aunt Natalia,’ Sacha stopped her. ‘If Caroline insists on behaving like a child, she will be treated like one. Unless she decides to join us she will, like a defiant child, go to bed without dinner.’
Caroline smiled bleakly. ‘That will be no punishment, I assure you. I’m not hungry.’
They left soon afterwards, and she was alone. The servants had retired to their own quarters in the garret and only the ticking of an ornate French clock disturbed the silence.
Caroline felt too restless and unhappy to go to bed, for she knew that she would not sleep. Instead, she began to wander aimlessly from room to room, admiring the priceless imported furniture which formed such an incongruous contrast with so much that was primitive about Russia.
In the library she examined some of the books, hoping to find something in which she could temporarily lose herself. But the books were all scholarly works or sermons, and she turned away. As she did so the sound of Michael’s terrified screams reached her from the nursery wing, directly above.
Picking up a branch of candles, she lifted the hem of her gown with her free hand and ran upstairs. As she flung open the door of the day nursery Michael hurled himself at her.
‘Marisha—Marisha—Marisha!’ he sobbed.
‘Hush, darling! Take a deep breath, and then tell me—’ She set the candles down on a table and picked him up in her arms. He pressed a wet cheek against her own and tried to control his sobs.
‘I wanted—wanted a drink of water,’ he hiccupped. ‘But Nurse Varna didn’t come—and it was dark—and I couldn’t find the door handle...’
For the first time Caroline realised consciously that there was no sign of the nurse. Her anger grew as she recalled how the woman had forbidden a bedtime story on the grounds that it would cause Michael to have nightmares. And then she had calmly gone away, and left the child entirely alone!
‘It’s all right, my love,’ she comforted Michael. ‘Let me take you back to bed—’
He shuddered. ‘I thought I saw—things—in the dark. Things with eyes. Couldn’t I sleep in your bed, Marisha?’
‘I’m afraid not, Michael.’ Searching for something with which to distract him from his recent terrors, she had a sudden inspiration. ‘Listen, why don’t you show me your secret hiding place?’
‘In the dark?’ he asked doubtfully.
‘I have candles, remember?’
‘Very well, Marisha.’
He gripped her hand tightly as they walked along the corridor to what was obviously an unused wing of the house. He stopped suddenly, and pointed to what appeared to be a carved panel resembling exactly all the other carved panels lining the corridor.
‘This flower-shape is different from the others,’ he explained. ‘Don’t you think it was clever of me to notice? It has seven petals instead of five. Now watch, Marisha.’
As his small fingers manipulated the carving the panel suddenly swung inwards, revealing a small, empty cupboard with a shelved wall facing them.
The cupboard was not quite empty after all, for Michael proudly pointed out his ‘treasures’ which had been distributed on the sh
elves. There was a length of twine containing several different knots, a dead beetle in a small jar and various other trivia beloved by small boys.
Caroline pretended to be duly impressed by his ‘treasures’ and by his secret hiding place, but it seemed odd to her that some Antonov forebear had taken so much trouble simply to design a secret cupboard. As she swung the branch of candles above her head she guessed that the cupboard was merely a facade. A slight vertical groove in the shelved wall suggested that it was, in fact, a door. If the shelves had been filled with books, for instance, the tell-tale groove would have been completely hidden from sight.
Making a mental decision to explore beyond that second door at some later opportunity, Caroline led Michael back to the nursery. This time he consented to be put to bed, on Caroline’s promise that she would stay with him until Nurse Varna returned.
He was fast asleep by the time Caroline heard the door to the day nursery being opened. She rose, and grimly went to confront Nurse Varna.
The woman looked startled at first, then defiant. ‘Mademoiselle, I must ask you not to disturb my charge like this when I turn my back for a moment—’
‘Please, Nurse Varna, do not insult my intelligence. You have been out of the house, for you are wearing a cloak and hood. And far from disturbing your charge, I came to see why he was screaming with terror!’
Nurse Varna looked frightened now. ‘Mademoiselle, please—I beg you—do not tell Count Antonov!’
‘I’m afraid I can’t promise to keep quiet. If it is your habit to do this kind of thing, then the child is not safe in your care. Anything could have happened while you were out. A fire in the nursery—some accident—’
‘Mademoiselle,’ the nurse pleaded, ‘this was the first and only occasion when I have done such a thing. It was a matter of urgency and importance, and unfortunately the nursery maid is ill with an infection, so I had no alternative but to leave the boy alone for a few hours—’
‘And what was so urgent and important, Nurse Varna?’
‘It was necessary for me to bribe a government official, mademoiselle, and I only heard, late this afternoon, that he is to leave for Odessa in the morning. Tonight was the only opportunity I would have of seeing him—’
‘You had to bribe an official?’ Caroline interrupted, frowning. ‘Why?’
The nurse shrugged resignedly. ‘My nephew is in prison in Moscow, and the prison food and conditions are very bad. If I did not bribe a great many officials my nephew would not survive his sentence.’
Caroline’s mind was reeling. ‘Why is your nephew in prison?’ she asked faintly.
‘He offended the Imperial dignity, mademoiselle. He made a joke, in public, about the Czarina’s absorption in religious matters. It was reported to the Czar, and my nephew was sentenced to six years’ imprisonment.’
Caroline was silent, appalled. A mask had shifted slightly to reveal the true face of Russia.
In the circumstances, she promised Nurse Varna that she would say nothing to Sacha about the incident, and Caroline went to bed. She lay awake for a long time, thinking over what she had learnt from the nurse.
Nothing which Katya or Sacha or anyone else could have said to convince her of the Czar’s position in Russia, could possibly have painted as vivid a picture as Nurse Varna’s resigned story tonight. And if the woman’s nephew could be sent to prison for six years merely for making an innocuous joke about the Czarina, what would happen to someone who pointedly snubbed the Czar by ignoring his personal invitation? It was all very well to protest that she was a British subject, but how much would that count for in this land where corruption seemed to be regarded as normal, and the Czar had absolute power?
But afraid as she was, she would not capitulate the next day and ask that clothes should be made for her after all. She saw the matter now as a war of nerves with Sacha, for he must know far better than she did the consequences of her not joining the Czar’s party at the opera that evening. By the afternoon, she was confident, he would admit defeat and whisk her on the way to Odessa, to board the first available ship for England.
But afternoon came and went without Sacha making any kind of move. At nightfall Caroline was in her bedroom, nervously pacing the floor and wondering what chance the illegitimate daughter of a disgraced Englishwoman stood against the Czar’s wrath, when the door burst open and Sacha entered the room, carrying a leather box.
He tossed it on the bed, and opened it. Clothes spilled from it—silken gowns, cloaks of velvet trimmed with ermine, garments frothy with lace and slotted with ribbons.
‘Fortunately,’ he remarked grimly, ‘Katya remembered that you have the same measurements as herself. She chose the wardrobe for you, and three seamstresses worked throughout the night on it.’
Caroline had grown rigid at the mention of Katya’s name. ‘Take those things out of here!’ she cried violently. ‘I want none of them—’
‘You’re joining the Czar’s party tonight,’ Sacha said through his teeth. ‘You’ll wear the blue silk gown.’
‘Never!’
He strode towards her, pinning her against the wall. His hands fastened on either side of her bodice, ripping the garment from her body until she stood before him, clad only in her chemise. Her flesh seemed to burn beneath his hands, and she cried jerkily.
‘You—barbarian! Have you no decency—no propriety?’
His hands grew still, and he gazed down at her. ‘I’m your brother,’ he said dully, but it was a reminder to himself rather than a justification. ‘Your brother ... and so there can be no impropriety. Can there?’
‘No.’ Suddenly, anything was preferable to having him standing there so close to her, looking down at her half-clad body with a torment which he could not disguise.
She pushed at his chest. ‘Go—go away, Sacha. You don’t have to dress me by force. I’ll wear the blue silk gown, and join the Czar’s party. Only—for the love of God—go away!’
CHAPTER
FIVE
The opera was a sombrely dramatic Wagnerian composition, the Czar’s party a stiff and formal affair by comparison with the Imperial ball which Caroline had previously attended. The fact that Sacha and Katya had been invited too, and that they were being treated by everyone as an established couple, was an added refinement of torture to her.
The evening seemed interminable. After the performance at the opera house the Czar and his entourage left in the Imperial carriage, flanked by a bodyguard of six mounted Cossacks, and led the way back to the Winter Palace for supper and games of chance. Caroline watched as fortunes were being made and lost at the tables with a casualness which shocked her. One young man, impressive in a uniform trimmed with velvet and heavy with gold buttons bearing the Imperial crest, simply shrugged when a turn of a card robbed him of a great deal of money.
‘I shall recoup that,’ he remarked, ‘when next my dues are paid.’
Someone laughed. ‘Don’t you wish, Nikita Pavlovich, that you were the officer in charge of travel permits from Astrakhan instead of St Petersburg?’
‘Why Astrakhan?’
‘Haven’t you heard? So many people are trying to leave it, because of the plague, that it must surely be the most lucrative post in the Empire!’
‘I don’t agree,’ someone else observed cynically. ‘Plagues pass, but Siberia will always be with us. Think of the price a few privileges could command there!’
Slowly, Caroline made sense of this exchange which had seemed meaningless at first. When the splendidly dressed young man, Nikita Pavlovich, had talked of his ‘dues’ he had meant bribes. Far from considering the demanding of bribes in any way reprehensible, the assembled company took it for granted as a perquisite of the powerful. Even a plague lent itself to exploitation.
She thought of Nurse Varna’s nephew, languishing in gaol, his health and perhaps his very life dependent on bribes. And then she looked at the Czar in all his Imperial splendour, a total monarch with total power over his subjects. For al
l its sophisticated veneer, Russia was still rooted in the Middle Ages. The ruling classes were venal and corrupt and battened on the poor and defenceless.
At last, as dawn was breaking, the Czar rose, giving the signal that the festivities of the night were over. Outside, the coachmen and sledge-drivers were dozing over the ashes of the fires which had kept them warm during the long and bitter night.
Caroline took her place in the carriage beside Sacha and Katya. In that confined space she was painfully conscious of his hard, muscular body pressing against her own. He must have been equally aware of the contact, for he turned deliberately towards Katya, his arms across her shoulder, his mouth brushing her hair. Caroline stared bleakly out of the window.
A rough wind had sprung up, and was scooping powdered snow from the drifts and swirling it in the air. Apart from homeward-bound revellers and a few beggars the streets were deserted. Then, as the carriage turned a corner, the snow-covered scene exploded into life and noise.
At first Caroline couldn’t see what was taking place, for the air was thick with papers blowing about in the wind. She wound the window down and one of the papers entered the carriage on a gust of wind. Mechanically, she grabbed it, and saw that it was some kind of placard printed in Russian and French, and addressed to the Romanov Dynasty—the Czar and his family.
Sacha had glanced at the paper too. Tersely, he spoke to the coachman. ‘Is it possible to turn the carriage, and take a different route home?’
‘No, Excellency, I regret. The road is made narrow by snowdrifts.’
The coachman’s voice was drowned by the noise in the street. Now Caroline could see what the commotion was. A ring of spectators was egging on—or perhaps hurling abuse at—several Cossacks who were grappling with four fiercely-resisting people dressed in long fur caftans. The carriage had been forced to slow down, and was about to lumber past the scene when Caroline caught sight of the faces of the people who were being manhandled by the Cossacks. Two of them were familiar.
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