Valerie's Russia

by Sara Judge

  On Easter Day, Livadia Palace became one great banqueting hall.

  Because the Lenten fast was over, everyone was able to eat what they wanted and tables were laid out through the downstairs rooms with food and wine available all that day and night.

  There were roasted suckling pigs, lambs, and chickens, geese with apples and many sorts of fish with salted cucumbers. The traditional dessert of rich and creamy paskha was there, as well as Easter cakes covered in white icing and decorated with a cross.

  Later, servants passed around trays of chocolates, caramels, nuts, figs, dates and crystallized fruits.

  Valerie had never seen such an array of food, and the tables seemed to sag beneath so much fare as hundreds of guests arrived to take part in the joyous celebrations.

  It was an exhausting time for Tsar Nicholas and Empress Alexandra for they presided over all the comings and goings, greeting every member of their household with kisses and presents.

  The Empress looked beautiful, but very tired in her long dress of white chiffon, edged with lace.

  ‘It is so nice to have you with us, Valerie,’ she said, leaning forward to kiss the girl twice on one cheek and once on the other. ‘These are our traditional kisses of blessing, welcome, and joy, my dear. And here is a small gift for you on this happiest of occasions.’

  Anna Vyrubova stood immediately behind the Empress, handing her little packages, which were laid out on the table beside her. She gave Alexandra one such package, which the Empress then placed in Valerie’s hands.

  ‘I hope it will please you, dear Valerie, and always remind you of your stay in this glorious land of ours.’

  When Valerie moved away allowing other members of the household and of the court, and of the Imperial Guard, to step forward in their turn, she opened the small box to find a perfect jewelled flower nestling inside.

  Its leaves were of green enamel and mother-of-pearl, with petals of pink enamel, and the stem was of gold with the centre of tiny diamonds bedded in more gold.

  She stared at the exquisite piece in silence. It was the most beautiful – certainly the most expensive – object she had ever owned.

  ‘What have you got?’ Suddenly Olga appeared beside her, peering down at her gift. ‘Oh, I’m so glad it’s that one! I told Mama you would like it, but she always has to make her own choice.’

  ‘It is quite perfect,’ said Valerie huskily.

  ‘Now, now, Valerie, you are getting emotional and that will not do!’ said the grand duchess, putting her arm around the English girl’s shoulders. Then she caught sight of Pyotr advancing towards them, and sighed with relief. ‘Come and distract our Little England’s attention, Count Silakov. She is going to weep all over her Easter present from Mama!’

  Pyotr halted in front of the girls then leaned down to place a kiss on Valerie’s pink cheek.

  ‘Was that for blessing, welcome, or joy?’ asked Olga.

  ‘For joy,’ he said, smiling. ‘And I also have a present for our English visitor, but it will be insignificant when compared to the Fabergé she now holds in her hands.’ His mouth twisted in a mournful grimace. ‘I am ashamed to offer this, Miss Marsh, but it is to wish you a happy first Easter in Russia.’

  Once again Valerie fought to control her emotion. It was all too much this generosity, especially when she had nothing to give in return. But her face glowed at the sound of Pyotr’s deep voice and she held out her right hand for his gift, thanking him with her eyes.

  ‘I have nothing for you,’ she said, ‘because I did not know Easter was such an important celebration here, but I am deeply grateful for your kindness.’

  As she took his package their fingers touched for one fleeting moment.

  ‘Open it!’ said Olga, removing the Fabergé from Valerie’s left hand and leaning forward to see what else her friend had received. ‘I have a feeling your present will be far more valuable to her than Mama’s,’ she told the young officer.

  Pyotr grinned, but said nothing as he watched Valerie open his gift.

  It was a simple egg, which had been hard-boiled then painted with the finest of brush-strokes forming minute pictures of flowers, and birds, and butterflies. The colours were brilliant and as Valerie held it on the palm of her hand, she revelled in such artistry.

  ‘Thank you with all my heart,’ she said, looking up at him with the joy he loved to see. ‘I shall treasure it always.’

  She placed the egg carefully back in its box and closed the lid.

  ‘I wish you would be less formal with each other,’ said Olga impetuously, ‘and say what you really mean. I know you think of each other as Valerie and Pyotr, so why not say so? But you,’ she said to Pyotr, ‘keep calling her Miss Marsh, and Valerie doesn’t call you anything at all!’

  ‘Olga Nicolaievna, you are a great adviser,’ he said gruffly, ‘but you should not encourage me in my amorous intentions towards the little foreigner.’

  The grand duchess laughed.

  ‘You would not harm our Little England, dear count, for you love her as sincerely as we do. Now, Valerie, control your blushes and come with me before the handsome count decides to kiss you again. There is a ball here tomorrow night and we must go and decide on what to wear. I hope you will be attending, Count Silakov?’

  ‘I shall certainly be attending, Olga Nicolaievna, and hope that you will honour me with a dance?’

  ‘I will gladly dance with you, if Valerie will allow it?’

  ‘Whatever Your Imperial Highness commands,’ said Valerie, falling into a deep curtsey.

  Olga smiled and hauled her to her feet.

  ‘Come on, we’ll go and see how to make ourselves beautiful for the evening!’

  It was a magical evening that night of the ball in the state ballroom of Livadia Palace.

  Tatiana and Olga wore filmy white gowns decorated with lace, and clusters of pink roses adorned their breasts and waists.

  Valerie was in rose-pink chiffon with deeper red roses at her waist and breast.

  All three girls had piled their hair high with diamond pins embedded in their shining curls, and Valerie felt as grand as she had felt at the ball in the Winter Palace in St Petersburg. She longed to see Pyotr and surprise him all over again.

  When they went downstairs, the glass doors at the far end of the ballroom had been opened onto the garden, and Valerie could hear music from an unseen orchestra floating towards her on the warm sea air.

  In the ballroom lights from the chandeliers sparkled onto the hundreds of guests. All the women wore soft floating gowns, many glittering with diamonds, and the men wore crisp white uniforms decorated with gold braid and various medals.

  The younger children were not present, but Valerie saw the Tsar and Empress sitting at a table near the entrance, and she thought how relaxed and happy they looked. Empress Alexandra did not dance, but Tsar Nicholas moved sedately around the floor with several different ladies, and when he had Olga or Tatiana in his arms, the pride on his fine bearded face was a pleasure to behold.

  ‘You are happy, Varinka?’ said Pyotr, who had come to claim her.

  ‘I have never been so happy,’ she said, as they danced in unison to the lilting refrains of a waltz. ‘I wish I could stay for longer in this beautiful land. It is like a fairy tale come true for me.’

  Looking down at her in his arms, thinking she looked lovelier than he had ever seen her, Pyotr decided to wait no longer.

  ‘Would you stay in Russia with me, if I asked it of you, Varinka?’

  ‘Remain here – always?’ She stared up at him, her heart pounding beneath her tight bodice. ‘You want me to stay with you, Pyotr?’

  He nodded, drawing her to one side, out of the way of the other dancers.

  ‘We do not know each other very well,’ he said, finding the words harder than he had anticipated. ‘And it will mean leaving your country, and your father. You will make a new life far away from your family and friends. Would you do that for me?’

  He had to make
sure she knew exactly what she was doing. This was no fleeting, superficial affair like the many he had had in the past. This was total commitment. Till eternity. He was quite certain how he felt, but he had to be sure his Little England felt that way too.

  ‘I will gladly stay with you forever, Pyotr Silakov,’ said Valerie, with a decided nod of her diamond-decked head.

  ‘Then let us go through those doors away from all this noise,’ he said, ‘and all these people.’

  He placed one of her small gloved hands on his arm, then led her out into the garden. They walked past other sauntering couples up a narrow, gently winding path until they were alone in the moonlight.

  Standing together high on the cliffs overlooking the silvery waters of the Black Sea, Pyotr turned Valerie round to face him.

  ‘You know I love you, Varinka, and intend loving you for the rest of my life,’ he said, his eyes black in the semi-darkness.

  She gave a deep sigh. ‘I know. And I love you very much and will endeavour to make you a good wife, Pyotr.’

  My God! She didn’t understand. Why did his plan seem so easy in his mind yet so devilishly awkward to explain?

  He clutched her shoulders. ‘Valerie, listen to me. We cannot marry, my darling. I thought you realized that. I must marry Sophia.’

  Her body went rigid under his hands as she tried to pull away.

  ‘You said you loved me: You said you wanted to live with me forever!’

  ‘I do! I have worked it all out most thoughtfully and wonderfully. It is truly a good idea, Varinka, and will allow us the love we both desire so much.’

  Pyotr held her tighter, not allowing her to break away.

  ‘I will look after you for eternity – promise you that.’

  His voice deepened, thick with passion. He had to make her understand.

  ‘I want you so much, my heart, and will love and cherish you forever. Say yes, Varinka, say you will come with me and be my love.’

  ‘You mean be your mistress.’ Valerie’s throat was so constricted she could scarcely speak. ‘You mean that, don’t you, Pyotr?’

  What would she tell Olga? How could she explain to the Empress? And how could she write to her father and tell him and Mrs Duffy that she would be remaining in Russia as the kept woman of an impoverished nobleman?

  Of course she should have known that it was not possible to marry Pyotr – but she had hoped. She loved him very much, but she wanted to be his wife. She was not going to be tucked away somewhere and visited when he could spare the time.

  As Pyotr’s hands fell from her shoulders, Valerie turned and walked away from him. She didn’t hurry, but moved with a straight back, her head held high, as her heart splintered into a thousand pieces.

  Chapter Eleven

  St Petersburg

  Although Olga and Tatiana had been longing to hear how her love affair with Count Pyotr Silakov was progressing, Valerie told them nothing. How could she explain that he wanted to share her with another woman?

  ‘Please exclude me from any duties in future when the count is to be in attendance,’ she said. ‘And don’t question me about him. Our friendship has ended.’

  Then she hurried from the room before bursting into tears.

  ‘Do you suppose he tried to seduce her?’ asked Tatiana.

  Olga frowned. ‘She loved him – I know she did. And I am sure he loves her. Something bad must have happened to part them.’

  ‘A voyage on the Standart will do her good,’ said Tatiana philosophically.

  ‘Perhaps.’ Her sister was not convinced.

  A letter from St Petersburg arrived the following day, giving Valerie unexpected pleasure and taking her thoughts away from her own misery.

  Tassya wrote that she was feeling much better and was managing to visit Father Grigorii without being detected. She was longing to see Valerie again as she had a surprise for her.

  ‘… I do not know when the Imperial family intend returning to Tsarskoe Selo,’ she went on, ‘but I hope it will be soon, dear friend. Unhappily news from home is not good as Mother has been taken ill and wants me back. Write quickly, Valerie, and let me know when you will be here again. Your ever loving, Tassya.’

  When Valerie told Olga about the letter, the grand duchess smiled.

  ‘We go north on Friday,’ she said.

  A further letter awaited Valerie at Alexander Palace. Here, winter had only just departed, allowing spring flowers to lift their heads in proud splendour across the Imperial Park.

  ‘… Come on Thursday,’ wrote Tassya, ‘as the Lukaevs have been invited out for the day and I shall plead a headache and wait in the house for you. Please try and come – there is so much to tell you.…’

  As she waited in the drawing room of the Lukaev’s mansion, Valerie had time to feel the thick springiness of the white carpet beneath her feet and to study the many oil paintings on the walls – most of which were beautiful portraits of Sophia.

  Masses of flowers were arranged in huge crystal vases standing on antique furniture and, at the far end of the spacious room, glass doors led onto a terrace.

  Beside the glass doors was a grand piano and Valerie remember ed that evening at Mavara when Sophia had played so well. Then Tassya entered the room behind her and all thought of Sophia vanished.

  ‘There! I’ve caught you by surprise!’ Tassya held out her hands as she was wheeled forward. ‘Oh, Valerie, I have been waiting ages to see you – but now you are here and we have time to ourselves.’

  ‘You are looking very well,’ said Valerie, bending forward to embrace her companion.

  Tassya was dressed in scarlet, a shade that suited her dark hair, and there was colour in her normally pale face and a sparkle in her blue eyes.

  Dunya, standing behind the chair, was also looking plumper than Valerie remembered her.

  ‘We shall have tea now,’ said Tassya. ‘Please tell Kotchka we are ready, Dunya.’

  With a nod the maid-servant departed, leaving the two girls alone.

  ‘I am feeling wonderful,’ Tassya went on, ‘but cannot say the same about you. Why are you so peaky and thin when you have just returned from the south? You are not sickening for something, I hope?’

  ‘I am not ill, just a little tired. But tell me about yourself Tassya. And Father Grigorii. How is he?’

  ‘Father Grigorii is well,’ said Tassya demurely, ‘and I shall only have one more meeting with him before he returns to his village in Siberia and I, alas, have to return to Mavara.’

  ‘But it is your home, Tassya, and you must be worried about your mother. What is wrong with her?’

  ‘Her heart is not good.’ Tassya’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘The doctor says she must rest so I must return to help her, but I am fearful, Valerie. Mother was difficult to please when she was well and busy, but she will make a terrible invalid. Of course I cannot do anything physically, but she wants me to sit with her, and read to her, and write all her letters for her.’

  ‘You’ll have to do your best,’ said Valerie, trying to sound cheerful, ‘and allow wonderful memories of St Petersburg to sustain you. Perhaps, next year, you’ll be able to come north again?’

  Tassya nodded, but said nothing more as Dunya returned, followed by a footman wheeling a tea-trolley laden with freshly baked brioches, a large plum cake, and a bowl of sugared hazelnuts.

  Another man-servant carried in the samovar and placed it on the table beside Tassya’s chair, and a third brought in a tray of crockery.

  ‘What is your surprise, Tassya?’ asked Valerie, once the footmen had departed.

  ‘Later,’ said Tassya, filling the cups with tea and passing one to her friend.

  Valerie sighed, knowing she couldn’t hurry Tassya. But once they had eaten all they could of the delicious food, she could hide her impatience no longer.

  ‘Come on, tell me,’ she said.

  Tassya, with a strange expression on her face, nodded and then called over her shoulder to Dunya. The maid-serv
ant immediately moved forward to stand beside the wheelchair. To Valerie’s astonishment, Tassya then rested one hand on the maid’s arm and her other on the wooden arm-rest of her chair. Then slowly and awkwardly she slid her feet forward and lowered them onto the carpet.

  ‘Now!’ she shouted.

  Dunya raised the arm supporting her young mistress and Tassya released her hold on the armrest, then stood on the white carpet one hand still clinging to Dunya’s rigid arm.

  ‘There, Valerie Marsh!’ she said, her face red with exertion. ‘I am standing on my poor useless legs. Can you see me?’

  ‘Tassya!’ Valerie was clapping her hands, her eyes popping with excitement. ‘It’s a miracle!’

  ‘And I can walk.’ Tassya bit at her lower lip and stared straight ahead of her. ‘Come on, Dunya, one, two, three!’ With enormous concentration she shuffled one foot, then the other, over the carpet with the maid keeping pace beside her. ‘Enough – I can’t do any more.’

  Quickly Dunya stretched out for the chair and placed it behind Tassya before gently pushing her mistress back onto it.

  ‘That’s better.’ Tassya watched as Dunya bent and lifted her feet onto the footrest. Then she looked at Valerie. ‘How about that then, Valerie Marsh?’

  ‘It was Father Grigorii, wasn’t it?’ said Valerie, happiness at last brightening her face. ‘He has brought life back to your legs just as he helps Alexis when he is sick.’

  Tassya nodded. ‘He says it will be many months before I can walk properly, but he is going to pray for me, and Dunya is to help me with my exercises.’ She sighed. ‘It’s awfully hard making my feet move when I am tired, Valerie. But Father Grigorii says I must never give up.’

  ‘But what does Sophia say?’ said Valerie. ‘What does she think has happened to you? Have you told Pyotr? What does he say?’

  How would he react on hearing that the man he loathed was helping his sister to recover?

  ‘Nobody knows but you and me, Valerie, and they are not to know. This is to be our secret until I can walk again. I am going to practise hard then invite everyone down to Mavara for my birthday. I shall have a surprise party for my friends and family!’