by Sara Judge
‘I am not losing my heart to Miss Marsh,’ said Pyotr. ‘Although I admit to finding her an interesting little person. I want only to share her delight in my beloved Russia for a while. Can you not understand that?’
He studied his companion’s troubled face.
‘Are you not proud of Russia, Andrei? Would you not want the outside world to know us better? I want this girl to go back to England filled with memories of her time here, and I want her to tell everyone that Russia is a magnificent land.’
Andrei shrugged. ‘There speaks the true patriot,’ he said.
‘I want Miss Marsh to experience all the glamour and gaiety of St Petersburg, and then I intend inviting her to Mavara,’ said Pyotr. ‘It will give Tassya much joy to see a new face and to practise her English. She is lonely out there on the estate. And a visit to the Ukraine will give Miss Marsh a chance to see a different part of this great continent.’
‘You would take the English girl to meet your mother?’ Andrei was shocked. Pyotr was really behaving most oddly.
Pyotr nodded. ‘I intend enjoying a few more months of freedom before I have to marry an heiress and then everyone will be happy.’
Chapter Three
St Petersburg
The following month Valerie travelled to the capital to stay with Mr and Mrs Lees, the English couple who had arranged her journey from England.
The first momentous event was to be the Grand Ball at the Winter Palace, escorted by Count Pyotr Silakov. After that, she was to remain with the Lees for a few more days and be shown around St Petersburg.
Olga Nicolaievna had been as excited as Valerie about her forthcoming adventure.
‘You will love St Petersburg,’ she said. ‘How I wish that I were a mere nobody and could explore the shops and the markets like you, Valerie. See as much as you can and then come back and tell me all about it.’
‘I will,’ promised Valerie.
‘First we must make sure you are suitably attired for the Ball,’ went on the grand duchess. ‘All the ladies will be wearing their finest gowns and you must be no exception.’
As Valerie journeyed to St Petersburg, she thought of the dress that Olga had insisted on her wearing. It was of white satin that clung tightly to her slender form. All the unmarried girls wore white, Olga informed her. It was cut very low and Valerie was glad that neither her father, nor Mrs Duffy, would see her so attired for the dress showed her bare shoulders, and more than enough of her small pointed breasts.
But Olga had declared that it was quite correct, with a long train sweeping behind her, and Olga must know.
The grand duchess also lent her some jewellery, making Valerie feel as if she came from the nobility herself, and she hoped Count Pyotr Silakov would be impressed.
She had also been given a maid of her own, called Dashka.
‘Mama says Dashka must accompany you when you travel and make sure you are properly attended to at the Lees’ establishment,’ said Olga.
Valerie was very amused.
She had never possessed a maid servant before and had frequently run errands for her father on her own, all over town. But here in Russia she was learning to adapt to new rules and new ways of living, and was not missing her old life one little bit.
When she arrived at the Lees’ fine white house on Vassily Island, north of the river Neva, Valerie was enthralled by the view from her bedroom window, which looked out onto the frozen waters of Nicholas Quay.
Mr Lees told her that the next time she came to stay it should be in the spring, for then the ice would have melted and activity returned to the river with the arrival of foreign ships and their cargoes.
The Englishman had fallen in love with St Petersburg and enjoyed having an interested guest to impress with his knowledge of the city. He told her that it had been founded in 1703 by Peter the Great, and was made up of nineteen islands, all of which had been claimed back from swamp-land. Thousands of labourers had been employed to drain the swamps and to transport building materials, and eventually St Petersburg had risen above the water to stand in magnificent splendour.
A young Italian, named Rastrelli, had done most of the architecture, Mr Lees explained, and it was his fantastic style that now decorated the many spires and towers and onion domes with the their colours of yellow, and sky blue, and Venetian red.
‘And, of course, the green of the Winter Palace,’ he said, ‘where you will be going tomorrow night.’
The following evening Mrs Lees and Dashka spent over two hours helping Valerie to dress.
‘I wish your dear mother were alive to see you here today,’ said the banker’s wife, her pale eyes awash with tears. ‘And to know that you are a friend of Grand Duchess Olga, and have been invited to the Grand Ball, which opens the season in St Petersburg. How very proud she would be.’
‘I shall write to Father and tell him all my news,’ said Valerie. Although she didn’t think her elderly, over-worked father would understand what she was trying to explain.
Russia was a dramatic land filled with vibrant colours, snow, furs, and biting cold. It was quite impossible for a weary vicar in grey old Putney to comprehend unless he was the possessor of a vivid imagination, and imagination was something Reverend Marsh had always lacked.
‘You look like a princess,’ declared Mrs Lees, dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. ‘Now do take care, Valerie, and don’t trip over that train going up and down stairs, will you, dear?’
Valerie smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Mrs Lees, Grand Duchess Olga taught me how to hold the train properly when I sit down, and when I dance, and I shall be very well escorted, besides.’
Dashka was not accompanying Valerie to the Ball and Mrs Lees felt happy with the arrangement made by the Tsar. If Tsar Nicholas considered it correct for Count Silakov to escort Valerie that evening, then who was she, a mere commoner, to query the Imperial decision?
Let him be proud of me, Valerie prayed, as a man servant knocked and announced that Count Silakov awaited them below.
Pyotr looked more handsome than ever when she went down to greet him in the hall, wearing full-dress uniform of scarlet jacket and immaculate elk-skin breeches. And she saw at once what a good impression the young officer was making on the English couple.
Valerie was also making an impact on the count in her ravishing white satin gown, and he wondered what Andrei Odarka’s reaction would be on seeing her so attired. Gone was the dowdy Miss Marsh, and in her place was a stunning beauty with soft brown hair piled high on top of her small head, crowned with a diadem of pearls.
Little curls danced across her forehead, and her body looked deliciously slim and supple in its clinging satin. Valerie’s waist was so narrow he could easily have encircled it with his hands, and around it she wore a rope of pearls caught on her hip with a buckle of diamonds.
Olga Nicolaievna had played a large part in this transformation, Pyotr decided, as he placed a long black velvet cloak around Valerie’s shoulders.
After he had helped her into the waiting carriage and seated himself beside her, the coachman gave them extra furs to put over their knees for it was a freezing night. Then the man heaved himself up onto the high seat behind the horses, looking like an enormous shaggy bear, and they were off.
The Winter Palace, which took up three vast blocks along the waterfront, was suffused with light and Valerie saw that it was indeed all green and white as Mr Lees had told her. Baroque in style, it had an ornamental balustrade running along the front, topped by various white statues and urns.
In front of the palace, braziers were burning around the base of a tall, pink granite column erected in memory of Alexander 1, which was surmounted by the statue of a winged angel holding a cross.
Valerie’s eyes danced with excitement as their carriage took its place in the line of many others, all waiting to present their occupants at the main entrance.
‘I am glad there will be dancing,’ Pyotr said, looking down at his companion in the semi-dark
ness of the interior. ‘I want to put my arms around your lovely body and hold it close to mine. I have never seen you before without layers of clothing and hats, Miss Marsh.’
‘That is a most flirtatious remark, Count Silakov,’ said Valerie, burying her chin into the folds of her velvet cloak and thankful he couldn’t see the telltale reddening of her skin.
How very different he was now to the grim and rather disdainful cavalry officer, who had met her at Tsarskoe Selo railway station.
‘It was meant to be flirtatious,’ said Pyotr, slipping his hand beneath the furs and covering her fingers, in their long kid glove, with his own. ‘Tonight you are for me, Miss Marsh, and we shall eat and drink and dance together without a care in the world.’
Looking up at him, feeling the warmth of his hand on hers, she smiled. ‘Tonight is for us,’ she agreed, and her heart began to thud beneath her bodice.
‘Then you must call me Petya,’ he said, ‘because we are friends, and I will call you Varinka.’
‘Varinka? I like that. It is softer, more musical than plain old Valerie.’
‘Then come, Varinka, it is our time to alight.’
An attendant moved forward to open the carriage door for Valerie, then Pyotr followed her out and offered her his arm. Once inside the massive hallway another attendant came to take her cloak and for a moment she stood spellbound, gazing at the splendour around her.
Pyotr watched, amused by the rapture on her expressive face.
Great pillars of jasper, marble and malachite, supported the high gilded ceiling from which hung immense chandeliers of crystal and gold, and ahead of them rose a white marble staircase covered with a wine red carpet.
‘Are you ready to ascend, Varinka?’
She nodded. ‘It is not at all like Putney,’ she said.
Up the grand staircase they floated, with Valerie’s train slithering behind her and Pyotr’s arm firm beneath her hand. Then she was jolted to a sudden standstill as an elderly general, his chest blazing with decorations, trod on her train causing her to exclaim and him to curse.
‘I think you need to fold it over your arm, my dear Varinka,’ said Pyotr.
Aware that she had forgotten Olga’s careful advice, and dreadfully embarrassed at having caused such a fuss on the grand staircase, Valerie looped the offending folds of material over her free arm, nodding and muttering apologies as she did so.
‘Move on quickly,’ she hissed at Pyotr, conscious of the critical gaze of other ladies who, glittering with diamonds, managed their own trains with delicate precision.
At the top of the staircase that branched to right and left, wide corridors stretched away with open doorways leading into state rooms, and others for dancing and dining. On the walls were baskets of orchids, and palm trees in large pots framed huge mirrors, but there was no time to stand and stare as Pyotr led her through the chattering throng towards one of the vast reception rooms.
It was there, in a chamber filled with guests, that Valerie was suddenly aware of being watched. Across from her, several paces away, stood a girl so tall that she could stare over the heads of most people. And she was looking at Valerie with the yellow eyes of a vigilant cat.
Heavens, thought Valerie, who is that?
For a moment she faltered. Her hand was still on Pyotr’s arm but he had turned away from her and was talking to another officer on his left. The girl who was staring was also on the arm of a fair-haired officer, but although he was trying to gain her attention she did not heed him.
‘Miss Marsh, please will you meet my friend and fellow officer Igor Fateyev,’ said Pyotr, introducing Valerie to his companion.
But the moment Igor Fateyev had bowed and taken his leave of them, Valerie turned her attention back to the tall female.
‘Petya,’ she said, ‘who is that?’
The girl was wearing a gown of cream silk, the tone of which suited her black hair and almond skin to perfection. There were no diamonds around her neck but topazes as large as pigeons’ eggs linked with a chain of gold. More yellow stones dangled from her ears and a gold band across her forehead bore one gleaming stone in the centre of her brow.
She possessed thick shiny black hair, which was coiled into a heavy knot at the back of her long neck, and she was the most striking female Valerie had ever seen. And the most unfriendly.
Pyotr had been unaware of Sophia’s presence and as he caught sight of her he cursed Andrei for bringing her to this reception room. There were chambers enough for the guests to dine and dance in. Why had Andrei remained in this one so near the main staircase?
However, there was nothing Pyotr could do about it so he led Valerie forward with a smile.
‘Why, this is Sophia Lukaev, the beauty of St Petersburg,’ he said easily. ‘And this is another good friend of mine, Andrei Odarka. Perhaps you have already met Andrei out at Tsarskoe Selo, Miss Marsh?’
‘I don’t believe so.’ Valerie inclined her head at the fair-haired man who was bowing smartly before her. Then she looked up into the yellow eyes of the raven-haired beauty.
‘Sophia, this is Miss Valerie Marsh from England,’ said Pyotr.
‘Andrei told me.’ Her unblinking stare took in every detail of the English girl’s gown, and the pearls in her hair and around her waist.
The foreigner obviously had money, which was a danger in itself, but far worse was her air of innocence. This Valerie Marsh was the sort of female men would always find irresistible with her soft hair, and soft mouth, and cheeks as round and soft as peaches.
Sophia was angry. This newcomer was stealing the man she loved and flaunting herself on his arm so all could see and gossip about their friendship.
‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance,’ said Valerie, hoping they could now move on. She did not want the evening ruined by the animosity of this lovely girl.
Was Pyotr once her beau? Was Sophia still in love with him? Had Pyotr only agreed to escort her because the Tsar had ordered it?
Andrei also wanted to move away from Pyotr and his bewitching companion. What had happened to the dreary Miss Marsh? What bábka’s spell had turned her into this shimmering vision of white satin and pearls?
‘They are playing your favourite waltz, Sophia,’ he said. ‘Come and dance with me.’
Forcing a smile to her red lips, Sophia allowed herself to be led towards the nearest ballroom. But she was still fuming.
From the moment she was born Sophia Lukaev had been spoilt and adored by her parents, and she had grown up knowing she could have anything she wanted in life. When she was first introduced to Count Pyotr Silakov she had wanted him. She had wanted his title and she had wanted his love.
Patiently she had waited for his proposal of marriage, knowing that her parents, and the Countess Irina Silakov, approved of the match. Now Sophia stared with blank eyes straight ahead of her as Andrei ushered her forward. Somehow she must get Petya away from that little foreigner. He belonged to her.
Pyotr led Valerie in the opposite direction, out into a long corridor flowing with guests, and on to another ballroom.
‘We will be dining with some other friends of mine, and their wives,’ he said, as she remained silent. ‘The saloon where we eat is over there so we can dance in this nearby chamber.’
He remained confident and at ease as they entered a huge crimson and gold ballroom where the chandeliers dripped with crystals. Looking up, Valerie thought they looked like icicles in the winter sunshine.
‘Now, Varinka, smile and look happy,’ he said, taking her hand as they joined a stream of dancers in the slow, processional steps of the polonaise.
‘I would like to know about Sophia,’ said Valerie. ‘Is she a family friend? Have you known her long?’
‘Ah, the Lukaev.’ Pyotr shrugged. ‘She is nothing, Varinka. Quite unimportant. The important one is you, my lovely one, and this evening of pleasure. We are here to enjoy ourselves, remember?’
Valerie pursed her lips. There was to be no explanation. W
ell, so be it. She would dance with Pyotr, and dine with him and his friends, and make the most of this historic occasion. Hopefully, she would not see that uncomfortable beauty again.
‘Where are the Tsar and Empress Alexandra?’ she asked, trying to concentrate on the haunting beat of the music. ‘Olga said they would all be here tonight but I haven’t seen them.’
‘The Imperial family will be in the main reception room,’ he said, ‘meeting a long line of selected guests.’
‘I am glad not to be royal,’ said Valerie, ‘and able to do most of the things I want to do.’
‘Most?’ said Pyotr. ‘Why not all the things you want to do, Varinka?’
‘Because there is so much to see and do before returning to England!’
‘And what do you want most of all?’ he asked.
They were waltzing now and Pyotr was holding her closer than was proper. She could feel the warmth of his body against her breasts and thighs and when she looked up his eyes caressed her lips, as if he wanted to kiss them.
Valerie swallowed hard and turned her head away, trying to gather her thoughts.
‘I want to see more of Russia, and would dearly like to visit the birthplace of the holy man in Siberia.’
‘Not that moujik again!’ Pyotr loosened his hold on her and his blue eyes darkened with distaste. ‘That peasant is no more holy than you or me, Varinka. I hope most sincerely you will remember my warning and have nothing more to do with him!’
‘Of course he is holy! Anna Vyrubova and the Empress both think so and they cannot be wrong.’
‘Nonsense. If you stay long enough in Russia, Valerie Marsh, you will learn exactly what kind of a man Rasputin really is.’ Pyotr began to lead her away from the dance floor. ‘Come, it is time to eat,’ he said.
In the dining room she was introduced to two more officers and their wives, and they all sat at one of the many white-clothed tables and were served lobster salad and cold sturgeon and three kinds of caviar, followed by pastry tarts and whipped cream.
Valerie enjoyed the food, which was very different to the simple meals out at Tsarskoe Selo, but she couldn’t follow the ebb and flow of conversation, so remained silent.
