The Red Staircase

by Gwendoline Butler

  Downstairs, I thought, the servants believe that you have an alliance with the Devil.

  ‘I won’t, of course. No, I am well pleased with what you have already done. I am glad I got you here. And it was I that did so, Dolly may say what she chooses.’

  ‘She doesn’t say anything very much.’

  ‘You must learn to read between the lines with my great-niece,’ said the old lady, a little grimly, I thought. I wondered if she meant it as a warning. ‘She pulls and I pull and we will see who wins.’

  Buoyed up by the new life she claimed I had given her, even some of the facial twitches that I had observed on my first visit had ironed themselves out. She looked at once younger and yet more desperately frail. Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad way to die, I thought, to go believing yourself immortal.

  ‘Of course, you will go to Shereshevo, and a dull time you will have of it, too. No neighbours to speak of, none that we could visit, a provincial lot far beneath our notice. There is Vyksa, of course, but the less said about that the better. Dolly tells me it has changed lately and that they have some manufactories and some rich men have sprouted.’

  ‘But I suppose you couldn’t visit them either?’ I was fascinated by this glimpse of provincial life in Russia seen through the eyes of the ruling class.

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know what Dolly does. Certainly I could not have met them. My own good taste would have prevented me if my husband’s position – he was a Marshal of the Nobility and we had no social equals in the neighbourhood – had not precluded it.’

  Marvellous, I thought with amusement, remembering the village at Jordansjoy where the richest man was a jute merchant from Dundee to whose splendid parties we were all glad to go. None of us would have felt that our good taste should keep us away. Champagne and quail in aspic are great levellers. Of course, we had our own snobberies, and perhaps we laughed behind our gloves at the alacrity with which our jute merchant got himself into hunting pink and offered to underwrite the hounds, but we rather liked him for it. As a matter of fact, the jute merchant, who was called John Heggie, was always particularly nice to me because my father had helped Heggie along the road when he was starting out. It must have been the last occasion on which my father had any ready capital to spare. And so the social wheel went round.

  ‘No, there is nothing to do at Shereshevo but let the peasants curtsey and bring flowers, and to sit under the mulberry tree and gossip. Of course, we love our peasants and they love us. We are one family, and though they kick against us, they could not live without us. You wouldn’t understand that.’

  ‘I shall try to understand,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘I want to comprehend, because I am going there to help. But it doesn’t sound much like Scotland.’

  ‘You have a sister?’ the Princess said suddenly. ‘Unmarried, I believe?’

  ‘Yes, so far.’

  ‘If she is as pretty as you, it will not be for long. But then you are poor,’ she observed, ‘so there will be no dowry?’

  ‘I think Grizel will manage without a dowry,’ I said with a smile.

  ‘Is that her name? It sets one’s teeth on edge.’

  ‘Short for Griselda,’ I said.

  ‘Then why not call her that?’ She was getting a little sharp as she tired. Her false youth was melting fast. ‘And you have a brother? Still at home?’

  ‘Yes, for the moment. But he will be going away to school soon.’

  ‘Oh, that barbarous English habit. A tutor at home would be much better. Of course, we have the Emperor’s Corps des Pages, but that is quite different.’

  ‘We couldn’t afford a tutor. Alec will be happy enough at Eton.’

  ‘You can afford that?’ she said, sharp again.

  ‘His godfather has offered to pay.’

  ‘Then I advise you to ask him to pay for a tutor,’ she said.

  I kept quiet. The notion of ‘advising’ Admiral Norris, that peppery fellow, to spend his money on a tutor, made me dizzy.

  ‘Ariadne went to a school. Against my advice. And look what it did to her.’ Fatigue was making her talk jerkily; I knew I must leave soon.

  ‘I think she is delightful,’ I said, ‘and I must be glad she left her school, otherwise you would not have had me.’ I stood up. ‘Now I will say goodbye and go. I can tell you are tired.’

  ‘No, wait. I have something for you. She rang a small silver handbell. ‘Anna, get the box.’ She turned back to me. ‘This is why I asked you to come.’

  Anna had come back into the room carrying a small but beautifully made wooden box. ‘Take it,’ Irene commanded.

  I held it up in my hands, admiring the delicate carving. ‘It’s beautiful. And from the delicious smell, it must be sandalwood. And then there is another darker wood.’

  ‘Yes, yes, it came from Povarov’s, the dark is pear-wood. But open it. It is what’s inside that counts.’

  I raised the lid. Inside was a round ball of onyx threaded with a lattice of gold. Inside each golden lozenge a brilliant sparkled. ‘Goodness,’ I exclaimed. ‘Is this for me? What is it?’

  ‘Press the gold stud on top and look,’ she ordered.

  Solemnly I pressed a little gold button on the ball, and slowly the ball split into two. A photograph set in an oval frame rose up as if on a spring. I found myself looking at a young woman in the full pride of her beauty. Dark hair lay in a smooth roll round her face, her eyes were large and expressive, a little smile quirked her lips. In her hair, at her ears, and round her throat, jewels glittered.

  ‘It’s you,’ I said at once.

  ‘Yes.’ Princess Irene nodded with satisfaction. ‘I am not yet so much changed.’

  But it wasn’t true: she had changed. There was nothing left in her face of that arrogant young beauty seen in the photograph. I had simply made an intelligent guess.

  ‘But why have you given this to me?’ I looked down at the box and the onyx ball. ‘It’s so valuable.’

  ‘I know I have to give way to Dolly on taking you to the country,’ she said, her voice suddenly fretful. ‘So you must take this picture of me with you. Look at me every day as I was, and think of me.’

  ‘I should probably do that anyway,’ I said, which was almost true.

  She returned sharply: ‘I know enough of human nature to know that this bauble will fasten your thoughts more securely. No, don’t flush with anger. What a girl you are. Just like your great-grandfather. You know he fought a duel for me?’

  ‘I have heard,’ I said soothingly.

  She relaxed, satisfied for the moment. ‘He fought with the sword, your great-grandfather, not pistols, he said it was more Russian. But he would not kill. He could have given the coup, no one would have held it against him, but he would not do it.’

  ‘I think you should go to bed now. You are tired.’ I looked round the room. ‘You seem to have had people here already.’

  With dreamy dignity she said: ‘I have had a party of my friends here. We talk politics.’

  ‘I’m sure it can’t be good for you.’ I stood up, clutching the onyx ball in its box. ‘To bed now, because I am going. Goodbye.’ I bent forward and kissed her softly on her cheek.

  Her eyes widened and she smiled, but she said nothing.

  ‘Anna,’ I called. ‘I am leaving now.’

  ‘She knows; she listens all the time, she knows everything,’ whispered the Princess. ‘She will come when it suits her. Anna is one of your enemies now, remember that. And there are others. Remember that, too. Take care.’

  I asked: ‘What do you mean?’

  Quite clearly she said: ‘But why do I talk of taking care? The Queen of Heaven herself will look after you.’ And her head fell forward. For an alarming moment I thought she was dead, but then I saw that she had simply fallen asleep.

  I put the box containing the onyx ball on the table beside her. It was my intention to leave it behind. But Anna suddenly rushed into the room, grabbed it and thrust it at me. ‘Take it, take it. Her Excelle
ncy wishes you to take it. You must take it. If you do not take it, she will die.’

  When the time came to leave St Petersburg for the country Dolly went off first in her own motor-car, and to my surprise Peter announced he would drive me to the station.

  ‘You go off, Ariadne, and take all the luggage,’ said Peter. ‘And I will drive Miss Gowrie myself in my own car. That is, if she will allow me?’

  Ariadne made a face. ‘I would rather drive with you in your car and let Miss Rose go in the Rolls with the luggage.’

  ‘I want her,’ said Peter.

  Ariadne departed with a good grace. ‘Very well, I shall have my little dog in the Rolls with me. I always wanted him and he is very good company.’

  Peter took out his watch. ‘We will give her five minutes and then set off. I have no idea of riding in her dust.’

  And he really meant it. He studied his watch and measured the minutes. They could be so astonishingly literal, these Russians, and just when one least expected it.

  Peter Alexandrov’s car was long and low, painted pale grey outside and upholstered in a deep blue leather. He told me it was a Hispano-Suiza; he had this car and Dolly had a Delarge and the Rolls. ‘You must learn to drive,’ he said. ‘Would you like to?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Do you think I could?’

  ‘It’s not very difficult. When I come down to Shereshevo – I’m not coming immediately, but I will be joining you there in a couple of days – I’ll teach you. You’ll soon learn.’

  We had reached the Nevsky Prospect and were driving down it. Never had St Petersburg looked more beautiful to me, with the light reflected from the water that was everywhere in the city, and then striking off the pale yellow stone so characteristic of the city’s buildings. Never anywhere else, either, did I see buildings painted a pale blue, but here, whether in the heat of summer or – as I was to see them later – in the frozen winter, they looked entirely in place and very beautiful. In this short drive with Peter Alexandrov, I seemed to see the city with new eyes. Perhaps it was because of my happy excitement.

  Peter was talking about Princess Irene.

  ‘Oh, yes, Dolly told me of your meetings in the Red Tower. My aunt does a lot of entertaining up there. She likes to keep it all secret, and certainly people do slip in and out of her gatherings that we know nothing about. Of course, some of them come secretly because their political feelings are not such as are welcomed by the government. Oh, don’t mistake me, they are not emancipators and liberators up there in the Red Tower. On the contrary, they are ‘plus royalistes que le roi’. In other words, they want the Tsar to make his government more imperial and more autocratic, not less. They think he is soft.’

  ‘And they meet in Princess Irene’s room to talk about this?’

  ‘As long as they do nothing but talk,’ he said.

  ‘But they could not want to harm the Tsar?’

  ‘Not harm him, but replace him, perhaps.’

  ‘And Princess Irene knows about this?’

  ‘I’m not sure, she’s a secretive old thing; but she’d probably like nothing better than to go back to the days of Peter the Great. But I think the people about her make use of her, more than she realizes.’

  ‘Is it dangerous?’ I asked.

  ‘The police, the Third Bureau, have a spy in there, I expect, but I doubt if they will do anything, since their sympathies incline that way in any case. They too are in favour of reaction.’

  ‘I see,’ I said thoughtfully, aware, though, that a true understanding of Russian political life was as yet beyond me. The city about me looked so beautiful and strong, but Peter’s words made me wonder if the buildings were any stronger than cardboard, with such strangenesses hidden behind their facades.

  ‘No, it’s not people like my great-aunt who interest the Third Bureau, but those who want to overthrow the whole established order.’

  ‘Like the anarchists who tried to bomb the Imperial Library?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes. They too have a long history. The Decembrists, the Land and Freedom Movement, the People’s Will – names written in blood in our history, Miss Rose. We Russians are a people in love with secret societies. Yes, that is what lies behind all the structures you see, and these are like rats nibbling away at our foundations.’

  He was driving much faster now, too fast, I thought. ‘Careful,’ I said.

  He took his eyes off the road for an alarming minute. ‘You look quite white, Miss Rose. Are you frightened? By Russia? Or by my driving?’

  ‘Not frightened, no. Startled, I think.’

  ‘Oh, come now, Miss Rose, you are a well-informed young lady and certainly knew in your quiet Scotland the way things are with us in Russia. And in the Denisov home we are like Russia itself; a microcosm, you might say.’

  ‘But in Scotland all seemd so far away and unreal. Now I am part of it.’

  Seen in profile, his expression was impossible to read. The car swung round at the railway station and stopped. Peter turned towards me. ‘Yes, you are in the middle. But you can go away. You can go away, Miss Rose Gowrie, if you want to. Do you want?’

  I shook my head. ‘No, I won’t leave.’

  Peter leaned forward and took my hand and kissed it. ‘Thank you, Rose Gowrie.’

  Russian men always kissed your hand, and it meant nothing, I had to remind myself.

  By the train Edward Lacey was saying goodbye to Ariadne and Dolly Denisov. Today he seemed as interested in the mother as the daughter.

  We said our goodbyes and the train moved slowly out of the station. I stood at the window, looking out. I was leaving St Petersburg behind me.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Ariadne leaned back in her seat and took off her gloves. ‘Oh, Edward Lacey has such panache, hasn’t he? I shall miss him at Shereshevo. What a pity they couldn’t travel with us. We are going to be nothing but a house of women at first.’

  The estate in the country was called Shereshevo House, after the nearest village. Or perhaps the village had been named after their house.

  ‘Is there no company for you in the country?’

  ‘Not much. We are miles from anywhere. The Hertzovs are our nearest family and they take a day’s driving. One of the Hertzov boys is quite fun. Dull at heart, though, I fear, but better than nothing.’

  I laughed. ‘And there’s Madame Titov. She said she lives near you.’

  ‘Oh yes, so she does. But nowhere is very near. You will understand when you see it. Now I am going to sleep. I always sleep on journeys. Like mother, like daughter, you know.’ She glanced across to where Dolly already had her eyes firmly shut, and closed her own.

  The journey by train to Spala, the railway station nearest to Shereshevo, was comfortable but slow. From there we would be driven many miles along dusty roads to the estate near Shereshevo. One way and another I had plenty of time both for my thoughts and to observe provincial Russia.

  So many impressions formed in my mind that it was hard to draw any conclusions at all. No sooner had the train passed through a village that looked poor and depressed than we had stopped at a small town that was obviously prosperous, and where comfortably dressed businessmen and merchants waited on the station platform. Russia was a country of contradictions. But on the whole the small villages which I caught fleeting glimpses of as the train rushed past, with their huddle of low houses – shacks one might better call them – following no plan but just squatting next door to each other, looked squalid places without dignity. The peasants seen standing about were badly dressed and worse shod. However, their animals looked healthy enough, and the fields of crops were well tended. I took it all in with a country girl’s eyes.

  Ariadne, blinking awake from her slumber, saw what I was doing. ‘You are studying us,’ she said. ‘I can see it in your clever eyes. So this is Russia, you are saying, what a strange world. And we are too, I dare say.’

  ‘Very different from anything I have ever seen before,’ I admitted, turning back from the window. ‘The landsc
ape is bigger, the colours are deeper, not exactly richer, but more of the earth.’ And it was true; if I had been painting the landscape before me, I would have used ochre, sienna, and a deep rich brown.

  ‘And the people?’ asked Ariadne. ‘Are we earthy too?’

  ‘I think the peasants are,’ I answered thoughtfully.

  ‘Oh, I am earthy too, underneath. Wait until we get to Shereshevo and then you shall find out what I am.’ And Ariadne yawned like a little cat and went back to sleep.

  It was dark by the time we arrived at Shereshevo, and I could get only an impression of a low, white house of classic proportions before I was hustled off to bed by friendly servants, to fall asleep between cool linen sheets that smelt of lavender. But already I had noticed the dry, sweet quality of the air, and taken in the great silence that lay all around the house.

  As I drifted into sleep, I seemed to hear a grumbling old woman’s voice saying: ‘So this is the one, is it? This is the miracle-maker? Well, God help us all, that’s what I say.’ Then the voice receded into the distance as if the speaker had gone away, and I was asleep.

  When I opened my eyes the room was full of bright sunlight. I closed them again, and thought. I remembered being led up a wide staircase by a couple of cheerful servants bearing candles. One of them had helped me to undress, and the other had opened the bed and then tucked me into it, all with easy good humour. Afterwards, I had a confused idea that someone had come into my room, and spoken as I fell asleep. But that might be no more than a dream. Still, it had been a cross old voice, and the speaker not well disposed towards me.

  ‘Are you awake then?’ said a soft voice.

  I opened my eyes again and propped myself on one elbow to look. At the door stood a plump, red-cheeked girl in full blue skirt and white apron, with a little pleated handkerchief on her head.

  ‘I’m Nina.’ She curtsied. ‘I look after you.’