by Stacy Gregg
“Did I ask your opinion?” Yuri had snapped back.
Yuri resented the junior groom’s gift with horses and yet he could not get rid of him. Vasily was the most talented horseman in the Count’s stables. So Yuri made him work twice as hard as the rest. It was Vasily alone whom the head groom charged with the task of preparing the stable for the Arabian’s arrival. And Vasily who was sent out to meet Count Orlov’s party at the gates of the estate.
Anna went with him, desperate to see this “very special” horse that had kept her father away during their darkest days. For hours she stood at Vasily’s side as the snow fell, and then finally when the night was drawing in, she saw riders in the distance. There were about a dozen men on horseback. Count Orlov rode at the head of the party and when Anna saw the horse that her father sat astride she was bitterly disappointed.
Smetanka looked so plain! A chestnut with a narrow chest, Roman nose and stocky limbs “He does not look like he is worth a hundred roubles even!” Anna muttered.
“Oh no, Lady Anna.” Vasily shook his head. “That horse, he is not Smetanka! Look! The grey stallion, in the middle with no rider, that is him …”
The Count was not foolish enough to ride his valuable new acquisition on treacherous roads. Instead, he had reined Smetanka in the midst of his riders, surrounded by a cluster of mounted soldiers. The ruse was pointless, however, because alongside the soldiers’ ordinary, thickset carthorses, Smetanka’s singular, exquisite beauty stood out like a shining star, so bright it eclipsed them all.
He was the colour of highly polished silver and his coat looked as if it had been buffed to the sheen of precious metal. His neck arched like a fountain, and his limbs were so fine and delicate it seemed impossible that those slender legs had journeyed over the mountainous terrain of Turkey. And yet even though he had been travelling for the better part of a year, Smetanka strutted out with the flamboyance of a dancer, as if he were sashaying to some unheard music, sinew and muscle rippling under his glistening coat.
Just as she had been instantly intoxicated by the sight of the Siberian tigers, Anna now found herself falling in love all over again. It was not just the physical beauty of the stallion that drew her, but something deeper. His dark eyes spoke to her deeply and she was reminded of the way she had felt gazing into the black teardrop diamond for the first time.
Instinctively she felt for the necklace at her throat, grasping the stone tight in her fingers. It was a reflex, a habit she had developed to soothe herself ever since her mother passed away. Had it really been a whole month since her death? Anna had been so desperately lonely without her. She had not seen her father in almost a year.
The horses shook their manes, bits clanking in their mouths. They were snorting and blowing from their long journey. Count Orlov, his cape dusted with snow, fur hat pulled down low across his brow, dismounted from the narrow-chested chestnut and walked towards his daughter. For a long while, he said nothing at all, and Anna did not dare to speak. Any words she might have wanted to say were knotted tight in her throat.
“You have grown,” Count Orlov said, without any emotion in his voice. “And yet, with my blood I would have expected you to be taller still.”
A look of annoyance crossed his face. “Why are you here, child? And where is my son?”
It took Anna a moment to find a reply.
“My brother, Father?”
The Count gritted his teeth. “Yes, your brother. Where is he?”
“Ivan is at the palace, Father.”
Count Orlov cast a glance at Vasily. “Take the Arab to the stables. See that he is well looked-after. It is colder here than he is accustomed to.” And then, without another word to Anna, the Count remounted his horse. He set off at a gallop, his men closing ranks behind him, heading for Khrenovsky Palace, his home and his son, the only child who mattered.
CHAPTER 4
Boris and Igor
Hot-blooded Smetanka had not been bred to survive the bitter cold of a Russian winter. As the weather became bleak and the coarse carthorses grew thick, shaggy fur, the Arabian remained fine-coated, shivering and miserable. When the snowdrifts gathered outside his stall, Vasily piled the horse with layers of rugs to try to keep him warm. All the same, the cold chilled Smetanka’s bones, and the stallion rapidly lost condition. By February he was reduced to nothing but rib and sinew.
“I worry for him,” Vasily confided to Anna. “He is so thin and always anxious. When I arrive at the stables before dawn he is always at the door of his stall. I have not once seen him sleep.”
For a few hours each day, Vasily would take the stallion out of his stall and let him loose in the small field near the stables. This was the time that Anna most looked forward to. She loved to see the Arabian in motion, the flamboyance of his high-stepping trot and the smoothness of his canter. Smetanka, unaccustomed to the snow, found the cold drifts around his legs intolerable. He elevated himself with every stride, as if he could not bear to make contact with the ground for more than a split second. To gallop with his tail held erect and his head high was the only respite for poor, unhappy Smetanka.
“He hates it here,” Anna told Vasily. “I can sense the homesickness in him.”
Vasily did not argue. “Lady Anna, his blood is high born, bred for the desert.” He shrugged. “Heat and dust are all he has known his whole life. To be brought here to the bleakness and the cold, it is no wonder he is so unhappy.”
Yuri would not listen when Vasily tried to tell him how depressed Smetanka had become.
“Oh very sad, it is,” he mocked. “Poor horse, waited on hand and foot. I should be so lucky to be priceless Arabian instead of worthless head groom!”
Yuri’s dislike of Smetanka only deepened when Count Orlov tasked his head groom with finding a potential mate for the prized stallion. Yuri began by parading a selection from the Count’s own stables for consideration. He was dismayed when Count Orlov rejected every single one of them.
“Inferior!” The Count waved them all away with a dismissive hand. “None of them are worthy of my stallion! Increase your efforts and widen your search!”
Next, Yuri sent his riders out to hunt for mares, first to farms around Moscow, and then the whole of Russia, but without success.
“You bring me another ugly cart-beast!” Count Orlov fumed. “I am trying to breed the best carriage horse in Russia and you, Yuri, bring me pig-slops as his bride!”
In the end, it was Count Orlov himself who found Smetanka’s perfect match. The mare’s name was Galina, and she was a carriage horse from St Petersburg. Dark brown with a very pretty face and four white socks, Galina was descended from the Empress’s carriage stallion.
“She has strong legs and a powerful chest,” Count Orlov assessed. “Let us hope she will pass on these traits when her blood mingles with Smetanka’s.”
The merging of bloodlines was an obsession for the Count. Anna was beginning to notice how often her father spoke of breeding, not just in his animals but in humans too. If he singled out a noble of the royal court to comment upon he would always note their “blood” and whether it was good or not. To the Count, the blood you carried inside you was of the utmost importance, as were your physical attributes. Anna, with her blonde hair, lithe limbs and pale ivory skin, could not help but resemble the Countess.
“Your mother was of excellent blood, descended from royalty,” Count Orlov had told Anna as they watched Yuri parading yet more unsuitable mares. Anna was surprised to hear him speak of her mother at all. From the moment of his return to Khrenovsky, Count Orlov had insisted that every trace of the Countess be removed from the palace. It was as if she had never existed. Her portraits were taken down from the walls and her room was cleared out. Anna had been devastated to discover that all of the Countess’s beautiful evening gowns had been disposed of, burned on a pyre. She would have so loved to keep them, so that one day she could wear them to grand balls in opulent palaces just as her mama had done. But Count Orlov made
sure that nothing was left. The black diamond jewel which Anna wore at her neck was the only memento of her beloved mother.
***
As the icicles froze solid on the bare limbs of the trees it became clear that Galina was in foal. The tigers too, were expecting a cub. Anna was the one who saw the signs of pregnancy before anyone else. She noted how Veronika, the tigress, was so grumpy, snarling and growling at Valery for no good reason. Then the swell of the tiger’s waist confirmed it. There was a cub on the way.
Anna spent every minute she could with Veronika. She would set up camp on the lawn and Katia would ferry out her breakfast and lunch on a tray, only insisting that her young charge came back in at nightfall for dinner. Even Clarise gave in to Anna’s pleas and agreed to tutor her as she sat beside the cage – albeit shouting her instructions from the safety of the terrace – so that Anna could watch and wait for the baby tiger to be born.
One day Vasily came up to visit her and found Veronika pacing the bars while Anna pressed right up to them, stroking the plush fur of the gigantic cat as she swept by.
“Do you want to lose an arm?” he asked, horrified. “Pull your hand out! She is about to attack!”
The tigress was emitting a strange, deep growl. It sounded fearsome, but Anna knew better. “Listen! Do you hear that?” She smiled. “Veronika is purring to me!”
All the same, Vasily dragged her away from Veronika, enlisting Anna’s help down at the stables.
“Your father has ordered me to break in Smetanka so that the stallion can be ridden under saddle,” Vasily explained. “I need a lightweight rider to put on his back the first time.”
“Me?”
“You are a good size, Lady Anna.”
“But I have never broken a horse before,” Anna said.
“I have seen you ride every horse in this stable,” Vasily replied. “You have a good seat and kind hands. You are never afraid and I have never seen you fall. I think you will do.”
As they approached the stables, Anna’s stomach was tied in knots.
Smetanka fretted and stamped in the loose box as Vasily put on his saddle and bridle. Anna watched the stallion moving about restlessly and marvelled at his beauty. Smetanka could have been carved from marble. Anna stepped up to the horse, admiring the way his ears pricked in a curve so that the tips came in and almost touched. She delighted in the way his nostrils widened with excitement, taking snorty, anxious breaths. Instinctively she crouched down in front of him and put her face close to his muzzle, and then she breathed too, long and low, deep and slow breaths. Soon Smetanka’s breathing slowed down too until they were both calm.
Anna reached out her fingers to stroke the stallion’s beautiful dished nose. “Don’t be anxious,” she told him. “We are going to have fun together, you and I.”
Vasily led the horse out of the stables into the field beyond. The snow was falling lightly, and Smetanka shook his mane repeatedly.
“Do not ask too much of him today,” Vasily said to Anna. “Walk him perhaps, or trot a little, no more than that. It is his first time with a rider on his back.”
Anna raised her leg, signalling that she was ready, and Vasily took hold of her thigh and boosted her up.
Smetanka surged forward at the strange sensation of weight on his back, and he danced a little, but he did not buck or rear or try to run. When Anna took up the reins and began to steer him, guiding him with her hands and her legs, he soon understood what he was required to do. It was not long before she was walking him without Vasily at her side, and then trotting him. His paces floated above the ground as if he were lighter than the air itself!
“It is like riding a cloud!” she giggled.
Vasily frowned. “Be careful,” he warned her. “He is very powerful. That is enough for one day, I think. Slow him and bring him back to me.”
But Anna was having such fun on the horse that she was no longer listening. Smetanka was so biddable, so clever, and she felt so safe on him. She gave a quick pulse of her legs and cried out with delight as Smetanka responded by breaking into a canter. The fluid beauty of his stride suspended her and she could think of nothing else except the wonderful feeling of flying. For the first time since her mother’s death, she was happy.
Anna never wanted to come down again, but she knew that she could not ride Smetanka forever. Besides, Vasily was now shouting at her to halt. So eventually, she turned the magnificent stallion back to the stables and cantered him all the way until they were at the gates.
“He is amazing,” she told Vasily as she dismounted and passed him the reins.
“He is a great horse,” Vasily said. “And a very valuable one. You must listen to me next time, Lady Anna. Do not go racing off like that! 60,000 roubles and you treat him as if he is your riding pony!”
Never mind that Vasily was grouchy with her, Anna was elated by her ride. She made the long walk back to the palace, feeling the pleasant ache of her tired muscles. Katia had drawn a bath and laid out a dinner gown on her bed. After she had changed and brushed her hair, Anna went downstairs to the main dining room.
Since his return to the Khrenovsky estate, Count Orlov had seldom made time to have dinner with his children. In the grand dining room, at a table large enough to seat thirty guests, Anna and Ivan ate alone. Anna had given up trying to engage her brother in conversation at these dinners – usually he sat at the far end of the table and refused to speak to her. Today, however, when she entered the dining room, Ivan called out to her.
“Anna! Come over here!”
It was a little strange that he called out but did not stand up from his chair in the usual gentlemanly fashion to greet her. Then she noticed the golden bundle of fur on his lap.
“What is that you have?” she asked anxiously, her breath caught in her throat.
“It is my new toy.” Ivan looked smug.
Anna stepped closer, hardly believing her eyes. The bundle on Ivan’s lap was moving! She saw a little face rise up, black stripes against burnt amber fur, a pink button nose and tiny eyes jammed closed in newborn blindness.
“Ivan! How did you get him?”
Anna moved closer, arms outstretched, but Ivan raised a hand to shove her away.
“He’s mine and you can’t touch him. Father said so.”
“You have Veronika’s cub!” Anna gasped. “Ivan – he is a new-born living creature, not a toy! He should still be with his mother!”
“His mother?” Ivan hissed. “Hah! His loving mother is the one who tried to kill him!”
“You are lying!” Anna was shocked. “Veronika would never do that!”
“Yes, she did!” Ivan shot back. “I saw her. He had only just been born and I saw her grasp him with her teeth and try to eat him!”
Anna groaned in disbelief. “Ivan, don’t you know anything about tigers? She wasn’t trying to eat him! She was carrying him. Tigers pick their cubs up by the scruff like pussycats do.”
“No, she wasn’t!” Ivan’s face had turned crimson with rage. “She was biting him!” he said. “If it hadn’t been for me getting rid of her this cub would be dead.”
Anna’s blood ran cold. Had Ivan hurt Veronika?
“Don’t worry,” Ivan scoffed. “The vicious tigress is still alive. I sent the cowardly serfs into the cage and they lured her off with fresh meat while I grabbed the cub.”
“Ivan!” Anna pleaded. “You must give him back! Veronika will be heartbroken!”
“Niet!” Ivan shook his head. “He is mine now. Father has given him to me.”
“What?” Anna couldn’t believe it. “You’ve never shown the slightest interest in the tigers before now! What will you do with a tiger?”
Ivan picked the cub up with one hand so that he could drape his napkin over his lap in preparation for the meal. Then he raised the cub in front of his face. The baby was still blind to the world, his new-born eyes shut tight. “I am going to train him to eat you. Aren’t I, kitty?”
“Is that supposed to
be funny, Ivan? Because—”
The door to the dining room swung open and Katia came in bearing a large silver platter filled with meats and caviar.
She put the platter down, and then as she left the room Ivan plonked the tiger cub on the dining table. He left the tiny creature tottering about blindly on wobbly paws while he picked up his fork and began to stab at the slices of meat, transferring them to his plate.
“Ivan, niet!” Anna was horrified.
“What?” Ivan glared at her. “Don’t make a fuss. He can stay on the table while we eat, he’s quite clean.”
“I am not worried about that,” Anna replied. “He is too close to the table edge – he might fall.”
Ivan laughed. He reached out with his fork and gave the tiger cub a sharp poke in the ribs. “Get back, kitty!”
The tiger cub mewled in distress, and Ivan laughed and jabbed him again. He had that familiar cruel smile on his face; Anna knew the expression only too well.
“Please, Ivan. Stop it!”
“He likes it!” Ivan gave the cub another jab with the fork.
“You’re hurting him,” Anna cried.
“Shall we build him an obstacle course?” Ivan began to set up objects on the table in a circle round the cub – salt-shakers and cream jugs, a large bowl of black caviar. Then he began to poke the cub over and over with his fork, making him take a step forward, then sideways, then another forward again.
With each jab the cub would mewl pitifully. He staggered about while Ivan continued to delight in his torture. “You see? I am training him!”
Anna couldn’t take it any more. She stood up from her chair, raced to Ivan’s end of the dining table, and carefully took hold of the cub’s tiny body.
“Give him to me … owww!”
Ivan had jabbed his fork into the back of Anna’s hand.
“Argh! Are you insane?” Anna jerked her hand to her chest. She could see three drops of blood welling up where he had broken the skin.
“My tiger!” Ivan’s face turned dark. “Go get your own toys if you want to play.”
