The Summer Day is Done

by Mary Jane Staples

  ‘Oh, you aren’t commanded, but please come. Dear Colonel Kirby, what is the ball to Tatiana and me if you aren’t there? We have saved dances for you but you need not dance at all, we can walk in the gardens instead or watch Tatiana. You’ve no idea how lovely she looks tonight, her hair is up and she’ll never forgive you if you stay away, if you don’t see her in her new gown, if you don’t tell her how nice she looks. And see?’ She was running on, breathlessly outside her limits now as with gestures of her gloved hands she drew his attention to her own gown, to her hair and her jewels. ‘This is all for you, I took so much care—’

  It was a rush into silence then, and the uncontrollable colour surged as she realized what she had said. He could not help himself, he had to tell her that the care she had taken had not been wasted.

  ‘Olga, you are always lovely,’ he said, ‘and now, look, you are more than that. You are quite beautiful tonight, has no one told you so? And of course I’ll come, since if Tatiana looks only half as splendid as her sister it would never do to miss her.’ He smiled as he went on, ‘I’ll suitably attire myself, then, but you shouldn’t wait, I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

  She was aflame with vivid colour, with the unspoiled richness of youth and innocence.

  ‘I am not going without you, I am not,’ she whispered.

  ‘You should, you know.’

  ‘Colonel Kirby, it isn’t what one should do but what one does that really matters.’

  They went together in the end. He wore a white jacket and black evening trousers. Uniforms did not impress Olga a great deal, except that she thought her father looked Imperially handsome in his. The gaiety of the ball had become infectious and Olga was radiant now. Cossack officers were dancing, their sabres floored, the music compelling blood to take fire, the men spinning and leaping. Tatiana came in shimmering swiftness, her face alight to see Kirby.

  ‘Oh, Ivan Ivanovich, you’re disgraceful,’ she cried happily. She gave him her hand, he kissed it. ‘But how maddeningly gallant you look with your wounded arm and wooden leg, and how nice that you’re here at last. Even Papa says his chicks are doleful without you. Tell me, do you like my gown, do you like my hair up, am I quite the loveliest thing?’

  Tatiana, with her tiara adorning her gleaming auburn head, seemed crowned by silver and gold. Dear Heaven, thought Kirby, the beauty of this Imperial family. He would have spoken lightly, joked a little, and Tatiana’s eyes were bright with laughing suspicion that he would indeed make fun.

  Instead he said, ‘Yes, Tatiana, you are. Quite the very loveliest.’

  Tatiana laughed in delight. People were looking, people who found the Grand Duchesses’ preoccupation with the Englishman much more intriguing than the dancing Cossacks. If Olga was sensitively aware of this, Tatiana did not give a fig.

  ‘Olga,’ she said, ‘do you think he meant that, do you think he’s serious?’

  ‘I’m sure he’s doing his very best, darling,’ said Olga.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ said Tatiana, ‘he has a lot to make up for, staying away from us for hours and hours.’

  ‘Let Alexis give me a good talking-to tomorrow,’ said Kirby, ‘I can face up to it better when it’s man to man.’

  Olga thought that richly amusing. And Tatiana thought how much more easily joy and laughter came to Olga when it was Ivan Ivanovich she was in company with. They watched the dancers. Tatiana slipped her arm through Kirby’s.

  ‘You’re such good fun, Ivan,’ she murmured, ‘and the one we all love the best.’

  ‘I shall always love Livadia, Tatiana, always love the Imperial family.’

  Tatiana glanced up at him. He was smiling but his eyes were strangely dark.

  ‘I know,’ she said softly.

  Olga, on the other side of Kirby, could not hear their murmured talk above the noise of the stamping dance. But she saw that Tatiana had her arm in his and was exchanging the most affectionate of smiles with him.

  Kirby danced, after all. He said that now he was here he was going to be extravagantly active. He took the cards of the Grand Duchesses. There were several vacant numbers on each card. He signed for two dances on each. Olga said nothing for the moment but when she returned to him after a mazurka with an elastic-limbed young guardsman, she remarked how safe his choice had been.

  ‘Safe?’

  ‘Why, yes,’ said Olga, ‘if you choose to dance twice with me and twice with Tatiana, that’s very safe, isn’t it?’

  ‘I didn’t think about it being safe, only rather greedy. Have I asked for too much?’

  She framed a word with her mouth. He was sure it was ‘Coward’. Olga had grown up. He danced with her. His arm was no real problem. Olga was light and graceful, but she became a little concerned about the necessity of avoiding other dancers. He might get his arm knocked by some ruffian of a young officer, she said. The kind, she said, that he had thought she would like to dance the ball through with.

  ‘Did I say that?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, it was very clear that you were disposing of me in just that way,’ said Olga. ‘Colonel Kirby, please keep to the outside. If anything happens I don’t know what Dr Botkin will say. Not until he takes your plaster off can you be considered yourself again, then you can fling your arm about as much as you like.’

  She whirled, returned to him, whirled and returned again. He said, ‘I’ll have to be back in St Petersburg soon, they’ll take my plaster off there.’

  She would not let him disturb her happiness. She said, ‘I’ll speak to Papa, you’ll see. We are not permitting you to be in St Petersburg while we are still at Livadia.’

  He danced with a lady-in-waiting who had a fondness for him because he liked the Imperial children so much. He danced with Tatiana, who thought he managed extremely well.

  ‘Oh, goodness,’ she gasped as they circled, ‘for a man with a crooked arm and a wooden leg, Ivan, you are so adaptable.’

  ‘What’s this about a wooden leg?’

  Tatiana, unsparing of vitality on a night as gay as this, took in air before answering, then said, ‘Well, a crooked arm is no excuse for not coming to a ball, so it must be that you’ve got a wooden leg as well.’

  ‘Tatiana, you are very endearing.’

  ‘And you are just a little dark yourself, do you know that?’

  ‘Surrounded by youth I have lost my own.’

  ‘Oh, poor old bones,’ said Tatiana. ‘Ivan, isn’t Olga just beautiful tonight?’

  They circled amid others. He said, ‘Preciously beautiful, Tatiana.’

  It was far into the night when the ball reached the final number. The orchestra sighed its way into the opening chords. Kirby, not engaged for the waltz, was talking to old General Sikorski. Tatiana appeared. Had the general forgotten he was obligated to her? The old soldier begged her forgiveness for his remissness, Tatiana put her hand on his arm and he led her proudly on to the shining floor. Tatiana had denied a score of young gallants and happily given the privilege of the last dance to the general. It was entirely within character.

  Olga was talking to her father, Nicholas still resplendent and genial. He signalled to Kirby and Kirby went over. Officers were in attendance behind the Tsar.

  ‘Ah, my dear fellow,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘Your Highness?’

  ‘It’s been splendid, don’t you think? So many delightful young people.’

  ‘Completely delightful, sir.’

  ‘But I shall be glad to get to bed.’

  This was friendly but meaningless. Kirby looked at Olga. She had her eyes on the dancers, on the colour and magic of the waltz. She should be dancing herself. He had thoughtfully avoided signing her card for the final number. He did not want Alexandra to shake her head. The Empress would be bound to ask.

  Olga had one white slipper thrust forward, it was tapping. Kirby looked at the Tsar’s officers. They were relaxed but oblivious.

  ‘Highness?’

  Olga turned her head. Her look plainly told him what she
thought of that. He put out his hand, she laid her gloved fingers on his arm.

  ‘With your permission, sir?’ he said to Nicholas.

  ‘Tatiana tells me you dance divinely for a man with a wooden leg,’ said Nicholas and burst into laughter.

  Kirby faced Olga preparatory to leading her into the rhythm.

  ‘I thought,’ he began but Olga shook her shining head.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said calmly, ‘it’s dreadfully risky to dance three times with me and only twice with Tatiana. I wrote your name in for the waltz. Do you think I’m a Grand Duchess for nothing?’

  They danced the waltz. The light from the chandeliers, seemingly reflected by a million jewels, soared in final brilliance as the flame of a candle soars just before dying. It bathed the dancers in incandescence. But Olga’s radiance was muted, her lustrous head bent, her eyes lowered. She said nothing to all his attempts at light converse.

  ‘Olga?’

  She did not answer.

  ‘Olga?’

  Her hand tightened on his shoulder. They stopped. She took her hand from his shoulder and rested it on his arm, her eyes on the open glass doors that led to the terraces and down to the gardens. They walked from the heat of the ballroom into the cool quietness of the night. There was no moon, there was only darkness and silence. The palace was warm with light behind them, Livadia velvet with night before them. Still she said nothing, but he felt her gloved hand moving down his arm. He took her hand, her fingers closed around his and clung.

  ‘Olga, are you unhappy?’

  She spoke very softly then.

  ‘I am never unhappy when you are here.’ She hesitated and suddenly rushed into words jerky and impulsive. ‘But we were dancing and the ball was nearly over. I thought how you had been in such neglect of us, you wouldn’t have come if— oh, did you think I’d consent to let you stay away, did you think I’d consent to dance the waltz with someone else? Papa had his own way of showing you that until I’m a Crown Princess I’m free to dance with whom I most wish to. You did not dare to let me stand neglected in front of him.’

  He could not speak. The clasp of her fingers, the break in her voice and the intensity of his love bound his tongue. His arm was touching her shoulder. He was close, too close, to the warmth and softness of her.

  ‘Colonel Kirby? Please?’ Her voice was a whisper.

  He looked down at her upturned face. The glitter of her tiara was subdued by the night, outshone by the glitter of her tears.

  ‘What is it, Olga, what must I say?’

  ‘That you’ll never neglect me again, I cannot bear it.’

  He had hurt her more than he had realized.

  ‘Neglect you? Olga, I love Russia as much as I love my own country, and I cherish the Imperial family more than any other. I shall come to see you and your sisters get married, I’ll be there to see you become the loveliest Crown Princess of all. I shall be there on all these occasions, whether I’m invited or not. I can’t be neglectful, Olga, though I can be imperfect.’

  She did not respond to that for a moment, then she said shakily, ‘And if I don’t choose to become a Crown Princess?’

  ‘Then you’ll play another part for your country. I shall watch you grow into a most stately Grand Duchess, I’ll come to all your birthday balls, and you’ll still be dancing even when you’re old – but only with those whom you most wish to. By then I’ll probably have two wooden legs.’

  Her smile was tremulous. It flickered, was gone, and came again.

  ‘Yes, perhaps we’ll both become very old and doddering, but we shall still have fun, we shall still laugh together, and we will always be the dearest friends, will we not?’

  ‘Always, Olga.’

  They walked in the night gardens and they talked until Olga was happy again. They stood on the terrace to watch the carriages drawing up to take away departing guests, and when the palace was finally quiet they went in. The Tsar was just retiring with Tatiana, but Tatiana broke away to go swiftly and affectionately to her sister, saying, ‘Olga, how exciting it all was, but now, whew! I’m quite done up.’ She hugged Olga’s arm and glanced up at Kirby. He smiled. It was the tenderest and warmest of smiles. And Olga was smiling too. But Tatiana thought her eyes were suspiciously bright.

  Kirby went up the wide, shining staircase with them, Tatiana slipping her arm through his and talking her tongue away. The familiarity of the gesture, harmless though it was, gave Olga queer hurt. Kirby said goodnight to them. Tatiana extended her hand in the grand manner, he bowed and kissed her gloved fingers.

  ‘Oh, you are quite delicious, Ivan,’ laughed Tatiana and came up on tiptoe to kiss his face. Olga turned away.

  In their bedroom, simply furnished by comparison with guest rooms, Olga took her sister by the shoulders.

  ‘Tasha, how you can dare I do not know!’

  ‘But, Olga, what is it I can’t dare?’

  ‘You know what. To truly hurt me. Oh, you’re so much prettier than I am.’

  Tatiana stared.

  Oh, goodness, Olga was unhappy again.

  ‘Olga, oh, you silly, you must stop this,’ she said. ‘You should have heard what everyone, just everyone, said about you tonight, then you’d know who was prettier. And your Colonel Kirby, as you will call him, simply adores you, he said so.’

  The betraying crimson surged to Olga’s face. She trembled, she gasped, ‘Oh, I told you, Tatiana, he could not – he must not – Mama will send him away.’

  ‘Goose, he isn’t going to say anything to Mama. Shall I tell you what he said?’

  ‘No!’ Olga was desperate. It was all coming dangerously close to a confrontation with her mother. Tomorrow her mother would know that Colonel Kirby had attended, after all, she would ask affectionately phrased questions and perhaps discover that she, Olga, had gone to his suite to persuade him to attend. Then there would be a kind but firm talk with Colonel Kirby and the following day he would announce he had been recalled to St Petersburg or even to England.

  ‘I’ll keep it to myself, then,’ said Tatiana, ‘but no one else shall know, I promise. But how you can’t want to know yourself, I simply—’

  ‘Tell me. Tatiana, tell me!’

  ‘It was lovely. I asked him what he thought of you and he said you were preciously beautiful. Preciously! There!’

  ‘That isn’t— Tatiana, that isn’t to say he loves me.’

  ‘Oh, what a goose you are,’ sighed Tatiana, ‘you are afraid of him loving you, aren’t you? You are afraid because of how worried it would make Mama.’

  ‘You are the goose,’ said Olga quietly, ‘it isn’t his feelings I’m afraid of. Tasha, how wonderful it must be to be free to be loved.’

  Tatiana seemed to wake up almost as soon as she fell asleep. The dark bedroom was quiet. Why had she woken?

  Because it wasn’t quiet.

  In the other bed Olga was weeping into her pillow.

  Love, thought Tatiana, must be awful.

  He lay in bed, deep in thought. The light was without sun this morning, the sky cloudy. Karita brought him a late breakfast, singing to herself. Karita often sang to herself at Livadia. It was a divinely satisfying life here. At Karinshka there had often been so little to do for a good part of the year and then it would become all rush, confusion and scramble to see to the arrival of Princess Aleka Petrovna and to the wants of innumerable noisy guests.

  She was full of pride and pleasure because Ivan Ivanovich stood so high in the affections of the Imperial family, and their regard for him was reflected in the friendly way they treated her.

  She could speak quite a lot of English now and he never laughed at her when she pronounced a word wrongly. He only tried a mild correction.

  ‘Not singk, Karita. Sing. Sing.’

  ‘Yes, I said that, singk.’

  ‘Well, you singk very sweetly, Karita.’

  He was very droll. She was so glad she had not married Oravio. It was far nicer to be with Colonel Kirby. Whenever he was esp
ecially pleased with her or she said something to make him laugh, he would put his hand under her chin and kiss her. That was always very nice.

  But he did not seem especially pleased with her this morning. He lay there saying nothing, looking up at the decorative ceiling. He was dark and frowning. Well, it wasn’t her fault if he had drunk too much at the ball last night and had got to bed too late. But she would have to bear the brunt, she supposed. She knew aristocrats. Whenever they woke up liverish they would groan, and show how they disliked other human beings, especially servants. Ivan Ivanovich wasn’t groaning, but he was brooding and far away. This was very unusual in him but she supposed it had to happen sometime. The first thing that he would do would be to tell her to take his breakfast away. She would do no such thing. She liked to battle with Ivan Ivanovich. Besides, she herself had helped to prepare it in the palace kitchens.

  ‘Do you wish breakfast?’ she asked, having drawn back the curtains to let in the cloudy light.

  He blinked. Then he smiled. It took some of his darkness away.

  ‘Hello, Karita. I didn’t hear you come in.’

  ‘But you have been looking at me when you weren’t looking at the ceiling.’

  ‘Oh, really? Well, that’s a mark against me. How fresh you look. You make me feel jaded. How old are you, Karita?’

  ‘Twenty,’ said Karita. He lay there with his right arm folded under his head, his mending left arm over his chest. She began to set out his breakfast on a glass-topped picture tray. When his magnificence was ready he would sit up.

  ‘What happened between you and Oravio?’ he asked.

  ‘I told you, he found someone much more suitable.’

  ‘Did he, by God? I’d like to have a look at her, then. Karita, never mind about that, just pour me some coffee. Is it late?’

  ‘It’s the middle of the morning. Their Imperial Highnesses are up and so are the children. You are probably the only one still in bed. The Tsarevich said someone ought to pour cold water over you, he said that is how to get lazy soldiers up. He’s so sweet, isn’t he? Here’s your coffee. No, you can’t drink it unless you sit up.’ He sat up. He took the coffee. ‘The Grand Duchesses are all talking about the ball. How gay it was, I was allowed to peep in.’