by Sara Judge
‘I shall explain to her that cannot be,’ said Pyotr grimly.
It was so clear to him. The enormous problem and the obvious solution.
‘For heaven’s sake!’ he said, wishing Andrei would show more enthusiasm for his idea. ‘Having a mistress is an accepted fact these days, even the Imperial family have experienced it. The Tsar’s grandfather had his Catherine for fourteen years whilst Empress Marie still lived.’
‘You are being carried away by your emotions, Petya. The present Tsar and Empress are the ones Valerie loves and there is no mistress for Tsar Nicholas, as we all know. He and Alexandra are a most devoted couple and it is their example that your Little England will wish to follow.’
‘Not when she hears me out,’ said Pyotr stubbornly. ‘I know my Varinka loves me and when I offer her a home, and all the servants she requires, I know she will agree.’
Andrei shrugged, unimpressed by such fervour.
‘Do not forget that she has proved as obstinate as a mule in the past. And what of Sophia? How is she going to accept this?’
‘Sophia will possess my title, and will be mistress of Mavara, which is what she has always wanted,’ he said.
‘Then I wish you well, my friend, and hope all goes as you desire it. But be prepared for some surprises, Petya. Life has a way of upsetting even the best laid plans.’
Pyotr, however, had been confident and very determined. Nothing and no-one was going to stop him achieving his dream.
But as he waited for Valerie to join him, he decided not to confront her with his plan immediately. That could wait until the warm climes of the Crimea had been reached. All he wanted at present was to see her and talk to her, and bring their stormy relationship back onto an even keel.
And the moment Valerie caught sight of him, her heart rose as if on wings, beating against her ribs like a wild bird desperate to break free from its cage. Pyotr didn’t look angry and was smiling with such genuine pleasure she had difficulty in not running forward and flinging herself into his arms.
But she advanced slowly, then stopped sedately in front of him.
‘Valerie – how I have missed you.’ He reached forward to take her right hand in his. ‘Absence really does make the heart grow larger.’
‘Fonder,’ she said.
‘Fonder, yes, and it was while I was away in Krasnoe Selo that I realized how much you mean to me.’
His eyes caressed her face and his thick, dark hair fell across his brow making her long to smooth back his ruffled curls.
His overcoat lay across the back of a chair where he had flung it, and his fur hat was on the seat, leaving him standing tall and lean and splendid in his immaculate winter uniform.
Everything about Count Pyotr Silakov was magnificent, from the gold epaulettes on his shoulders down to the highly polished sheen of his black riding boots and silver spurs.
‘Is that what you came to see me about?’ she asked.
Pyotr nodded. It didn’t matter that she was wearing her usual grey-blue attire. He had seen her in white satin and pearls at the Winter Palace, and in stunning apple-green and gold at Mavara. His Little England could dress as elegantly as any princess if circumstances demanded it.
He lifted her hand and held it against his chest.
‘I also came to thank you for taking care of Tassya whilst I was away, and to tell you how much I am looking forward to our days down in the Crimea.’
She smiled up at him. He didn’t know about Rasputin.
‘I’m glad your sister is happy,’ she said, ‘and I am also looking forward to the warmth of the south.’
She loved him, she couldn’t help it. And down in the Crimea she would see more of Pyotr, and there would be no Sophia hovering in the background.
‘Indeed, it will be summer when we get to the coast so take plenty of light clothing with you,’ he said, longing to pull her towards him and kiss her joyful face. But there would be time enough for that in the glorious days ahead. ‘You will also be experiencing your first Easter in Russia, Varinka, which will be another occasion to remember.’
He bent his dark head and touched her fingers with his lips.
‘I do not expect we will see each other on the journey, so enjoy your travel with the family but think of me, Varinka. I shall be waiting for you in Livadia.’ He released her hand and bowed, before striding to the door and holding it open for her. ‘Farewell, my love.’
Valerie found herself smiling again, and wanting to sing and dance all the way up the stairs to the next floor. Despite Sophia and her wealth, and despite Tassya’s belief that her brother had to wed the Petersburg beauty, Valerie felt hope rising in her breast.
Miracles did happen. And if her faith was strong enough she would marry Pyotr, and Tassya would walk again.
Chapter Nine
The Crimea – Easter 1914
The Imperial train was a travelling palace and the best possible; way of crossing the wide expanse of Russia. There were rooms for the grand duchesses and for Alexis, as well as a separate coach for the Tsar and Empress, and they were all paint ed white inside and royal blue outside, with the double-eagled crest in gold decorating the sides of the compartments.
When the Imperial family and their servants, accompanied by various court officials, all boarded the train in St Petersburg, Valerie was surprised to see two identical trains standing side by side.
‘Why two?’ she asked Olga, as they hurried along the platform with both engines puffing in readiness to depart, and strings of blue carriages emblazoned with the gold crest waiting behind them.
The girls were carrying light bags with books and shawls for their long journey south.
‘There are always two trains that travel a few miles apart so nobody can be sure which one we are in,’ said Olga. Glancing at her companion’s face she slowed down, putting out her free hand to pat Valerie’s arm.
‘Do not worry, dear friend, we have not been blown up so far, and I cannot believe anything bad will happen whilst you are with us.’
The entire Tsarskoselsky Station was surrounded by armed guards and police, and no other train would be allowed to arrive or depart until the two for the Imperial family had left St Petersburg.
‘Come along, this is the one for us, in you get and I’ll show you our apartments.’
Trying to forget what Olga had just told her, Valerie climbed into the carriage and gazed around her.
The sitting room for the Empress was furnished in her favourite mauve and white, the Tsar’s private study was all green leather and dark brown wood, and the dining compartment held kitchen equipment, wine cabinets, and a long table, which could easily sit twenty people.
‘This is ours,’ said Olga, enjoying her friend’s amazement as she led her into a pretty chintz room, where pink roses and green leaves decorated the chair covers and curtains. Everything was so normal with bookshelves, and a table, and another door opening into a bedroom, Valerie couldn’t believe she was standing in a railway train.
Grand Duchess Olga, to whom all this was commonplace, smiled happily.
‘Mama and Papa have a special bath that is so cleverly designed that water won’t fall out even if we are travelling round a bend!’ she said. ‘But I’m afraid we have to make do with a basin until we reach Livadia.’
‘I don’t mind,’ said Valerie, thinking that a basin would not be too difficult with so many luxuries all about her.
Her first impression of Livadia Palace, built high on the cliffs overlooking the Black Sea, was of warmth. Gone were the frosts and snows that had surrounded Alexander Palace, and here she gloried in the flowering shrubs and blossoms that encircled the sun-kissed residence. It was summer, at last.
‘I knew you would like it here,’ said Olga, on the first day, taking her arm and propelling her along the corridor then down the stairs to a wide marbled hall and out into the courtyard beyond. ‘This new palace was completed three years ago and we are thrilled with it. Come and see the gardens, and the
wonderful view of the sea.’
‘Why is it a new palace?’ asked Valerie, almost running to keep up with her companion. ‘What was here before?’
‘A dreadful old place, ancient and gloomy, all made of wood,’ said Olga.
The gardens were laid out with large triangular flowerbeds amidst the various lawns, and the scent of lilacs and roses filled the balmy air. Behind the palace were tall cypress trees and beyond them orchards and vineyards rose to the hills, protecting the small peninsular from cold north winds.
‘It was worth the journey, wasn’t it?’ said Olga, gathering up her white skirts and dancing ahead of Valerie over the emerald turf.
It certainly was, thought Valerie.
All the girls had changed into white dresses for their stay in such a warm climate, as had the Empress and Anna Vyrubova, and the sight of their large straw hats decorated with flowers, lace-trimmed parasols, long white gloves and white silk stockings, filled Valerie with more pleasure.
She had had some dresses made for her of cotton and muslin, which were deliciously light and cool to wear and made her feel very feminine and attractive. She hoped Pyotr would be impressed by her new look when he next saw her.
‘Mama likes us to go around the various sanatoria at least once a week,’ Olga told Valerie on their second day. ‘You may come with us, if you’d like.’
‘I would love to,’ said Valerie. ‘I can see by your face that it’s one of your favourite duties.’
‘I love it! Tatiana is not so keen and Anna does her best when she accompanies Mama, but she finds it very wearisome.’
The following afternoon, early after lunch, the carriage was waiting for them and the three girls set off with Count Pyotr Silakov in attendance.
‘Mama and Papa do not like us travelling alone even in this peaceful part of the world,’ said Olga, smiling across at Pyotr. She was sitting beside her sister in the open carriage and Valerie and the young officer faced them.
It was the first time Valerie had seen Pyotr since leaving Tsarskoe Selo, and she noticed how the strong southern sunshine had already darkened his skin, making his eyes a more vivid blue and his teeth appear even whiter.
‘How are you enjoying the Crimea, Miss Marsh?’ he asked formally, as the carriage began its slow progress up into the hills.
‘Very much, thank you,’ said Valerie, feeling her own cheeks darken and wishing he was not sitting quite so close to her.
‘For someone who has been in Russia for such a short time, you have seen many parts of our great land,’ said Pyotr, thinking how fresh and pretty she looked in her white lace, edged with pink ribbon. His Little England was like strawberries and cream – good enough to eat. ‘You have seen St Petersburg and the frozen north, been down to Mavara in the Ukraine, and are now in the Crimea. Whatever next, I wonder?’
‘The Standart next,’ said Olga. ‘Our beautiful yacht, which will take us along the fjords of Finland and then on to the hunting lodges of Poland for the autumn.’
Valerie was shaking her head, making the rosebuds on the brim of her straw hat bobble and dance.
‘I cannot believe all this is happening to me!’ she cried. ‘I keep thinking I’ll wake up in Putney and find I’ve been dreaming.’
‘It is not a dream,’ said Tatiana firmly. ‘This is truly you, Valerie Marsh, riding in a carriage with two grand duchesses and a count, not forgetting the coachman,’ she added quickly, making them all laugh.
The rest of that afternoon was spent in sombre mood with Valerie and Pyotr walking behind the grand duchesses as they made a tour of a sanatorium.
Although their backs were aching, their feet burning, their heads spinning, from hours of standing and walking and talking, the two sisters remained as interested during the final farewells as they had been when entering the institution.
It was only when they were back in the carriage and making a faster downhill trot homewards, that Olga leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes, knocking her hat askew.
‘My feet!’ she whimpered, kicking off her smudged white shoes and crinkling up her toes in her now grey stockings.
‘It’s my back!’ yelped Tatiana, who was tall like her mother, and some inches bigger than her sister.
‘Everything aches in my body,’ said Valerie, ‘and I didn’t have to talk and ask intelligent questions.’ She smiled across at her two tired companions.
Olga nodded. ‘We’ll visit another place soon,’ she said.
‘But not tomorrow!’ cried Tatiana and Valerie at the same time.
As Pyotr watched the weary, contented faces opposite him, he wished everyone in Russia could know the Imperial family as he did, then he glanced down at Valerie’s tired face and wanted to smile. He was sure 1914 was going to be the start of a good life for them. He would tell her his plans as soon as he could get her on her own.
Easter, as Pyotr had informed Valerie, was another occasion she would never forget. Although she was a parson’s daughter and had always thought her father a deeply religious man, he was not as devout as Empress Alexandra.
They arrived in the Crimea on the Saturday before Palm Sunday, and the Empress attended services in the chapel twice a day in Holy Week.
‘We don’t go quite so often,’ Olga told Valerie, ‘and you needn’t come with us as you are not of the Orthodox Russian faith. But please come on Holy Thursday, as that is a very special day for us.’
Happily Valerie agreed to accompany them and, although she couldn’t understand what was being said during the service, she loved the musical sound of the Russian language in her ears, and the smell of incense in her nostrils.
From every corner of the church golden icons glittered in the candle-light and from the iconostasis, the high screen before the altar, diamonds and emeralds and rubies blazed out their fabulous wealth. Yet peasant women wearing simple cotton headscarves were standing next to court officials and their wives, and Valerie felt very content in the atmosphere of such deep faith, and the drawing together of people from such different walks of life.
On Easter Eve there was a procession with candles all through the courts of Livadia Palace led by the priest, Father Agathon, who looked remarkably like Grigorii Rasputin. He wore his black hair long on his shoulders and also possessed a full black beard.
But there were no black robes nor long black boots for Father Agathon. Instead, he wore a magnificent coat embroidered with silver and gold, and was almost enveloped in a cloud of blue smoke from the swaying censer in his hand.
To Valerie’s surprise, and joy, Pyotr slipped into step beside her carrying a candle in his right hand.
‘Wait and see what happens when we reach the church, Varinka,’ he said.
Olga and her family were right up at the front of the procession so Valerie, following some distance behind them and surrounded by strangers, was delighted to have Pyotr beside her.
Like a river of light the mass of people wound its way between marble columns and across tiled courtyards, until it reached the door of the chapel. Father Agathon looked inside and, finding it empty, turned to face the crowd of expectant people behind him. With a great cry of triumph he shouted into the warm night air.
‘Khristos Voskrese!’
Tears stung Valerie’s eyes at the sound of exultation in his voice, and excitement rose in her heart. She knew what those words meant. Christ is risen!
Then a huge roar went up all around her as the people replied.
‘Voistinu Voskrese!’
Through her tears, Valerie muttered – ‘He is risen indeed.’
Easter had never been like this during her father’s austere, rather stern services. Was it because her own people lacked the vibrant, passionate, almost gypsy-like character of the Russian folk? There was warmth in their voices and in their enraptured faces, which awakened strong emotions within her own breast and, looking up at Pyotr so tall and immensely virile beside her, she desired him more than ever before.
As if feeling her burning gaz
e, Pyotr glanced down and then placed an arm around her shoulders and gave her a tight bear’s hug.
‘Oh, my Varinka, was that not wonderful? Was it not a very special occasion?’ He held her close as the crowds milled around his lips against her hair.
‘It was the most moving church ceremony I have ever witnessed,’ she said, pressing her face against his light shirt and feeling the heat of his body, and the thudding of his heart, through the white cotton.
‘This is my Russia, Varinka,’ he said fiercely. ‘The land I will gladly give my life for!’
‘Don’t say that!’ Valerie drew away from his embrace and frowned up at him. ‘Don’t ever speak of death, Pyotr Silakov. You must only think of life.’
Her eyes flashed as she clutched at his sleeve, wanting to shake him out of such morbid patriotism.
‘Life and love, Little England?’ At once he was smiling, amused by her anger and delighted by her concern.
‘Life and love,’ she agreed, leaning against his powerful body once more. This was the Crimea, this was summer, and she would worry about morals and good behaviour once she returned to the icy north.
‘You must go in now,’ he said, as they walked slowly hand-in-hand back towards the palace apartments, ‘and I must return to my duties. But I will see you tomorrow, Varinka, to wish you a happy Easter Day.’
Pyotr pulled her round to face him. He bent forward and touched her forehead with his lips, then the tip of her small nose, before lowering his head and covering her mouth with his.
It was the first time he had kissed her since that night at Mavara, so long ago it seemed now, and as the parched earth absorbs the summer rain Valerie opened her lips, and her arms, to receive his searching, demanding love.
Chapter Ten
