The Amber Keeper

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘And that cold fish of a wife of his, who spends all her time knitting scarves and crocheting silly shawls.’

  ‘Those are for the poor, and she isn’t a cold unfeeling person at all. The Tsarina is simply shy, very sensitive to the needs of others and a devoted mother.’

  Countess Olga gave a snort of disdain, which I did not wonder at since no one could lay such an accusation upon her. While taking great care not to appear to be listening, since servants are supposed to be deaf, dumb and blind, I was silently miming to Serge, attempting to persuade him to sit back in his chair.

  The Count continued with his complaints, oblivious to this pantomime, or else politely ignoring it. ‘I am most fond of my cousin as he is a fine gentleman, a quiet man of honour who takes his role very seriously. But Nicky is incapable of making up his mind on anything, save for his conviction that liberal reform would be a recipe for disaster for Russia, and that as God’s ambassador on Earth he is the only one capable of resolving the problems.’ Stopping to take a breath, he smiled at his wife. ‘But enough of all that. What about your own day, my love?’

  ‘Much of it was spent choosing and being measured for a white satin gown for the coming candlelit ball at the Winter Palace,’ she told him with a sigh, as if this proved her day had been far more trying than his.

  I let out a small sigh of my own as Serge slid back into his seat with a self-satisfied grin on his face, while worrying what else he had been up to down there, so I didn’t at first hear when the Count spoke to me.

  ‘Pay attention, Dowthwaite,’ the Countess snapped, and he politely repeated his question. ‘I hope you are settling in well?’

  ‘Oh, yes, thank you, I’m most comfortable,’ I hastened to assure him. Smiling, I took a sip of China tea which smelt strongly of wood-smoke but was hot and delicious, most welcome after my own busy day. I watched astonished as the Count poured some of his into the saucer and drank from that.

  ‘Old habits die hard,’ he laughed.

  The Countess suddenly slammed her own cup down in her saucer. ‘What have you got in your mouth, child?’

  Startled, I turned to look at Irina, whose mouth was indeed bulging with food, eyes wide and rapidly filling with tears. It was not difficult to work out what had happened. The plate of lemon wafers was half empty.

  ‘Stand in the corner at once with your hands on your head, you greedy little madam,’ her mother ordered. ‘Sometimes I think this child was born with the devil inside her.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ chuckled her father. ‘Just look at her, a perfect little angel with those innocent blue eyes and curly locks.’

  ‘She is not in the least innocent. Do as I say, child, before I think of a worse punishment for you.’

  Irina shuffled off to do as she was bid, her mouth too full of biscuit to permit any argument. The Countess then turned her ire on me. ‘I am seeing little evidence so far of any benefit at all in employing you.’

  I was stunned into silence by this attack. How could she allow her son to crawl about under the tea table carrying out his ‘practical jokes’ without a word of disapproval, while the moment little Irina did something wrong she was banished from the table? The Count quietly took another sip of tea from his saucer, then smiled at his wife. ‘My love, Miss Dowthwaite has been with us only a few days. You must give her time.’

  ‘Tush! If she cannot perform her duties efficiently then she is of no use to me and will have to go.’

  I felt something quake inside me as I wondered where exactly I might be expected to go. Then a voice from the corner suddenly shouted, ‘There, I’ve finished it, Papa, can I have another?’ At which point the Count burst out laughing.

  ‘Come here, my poppet.’ He held out his arms and to my complete astonishment Irina ran into them to be lovingly nestled on her father’s lap. The Countess continued to simmer and glower in silent fury, clearly knowing better than to intervene between father and daughter. I was simply delighted that someone at least loved this child, whether she be angel or devil.

  Before the first week was out I was convinced that my new job would be even more difficult than I’d feared. The children seemed to be constantly squabbling and up to mischief, sliding down the banister, rolling about the floor fighting over some toy or other, punching each other and pulling hair, or ringing the bell to call a servant to fetch some item they were perfectly capable of finding for themselves, as I gently pointed out.

  ‘It is your task to tidy your toys away at the end of the day,’ at which they gave me a look of utter disbelief and walked away, leaving me no option but to do the job myself. Which reminded me that the children still had nowhere properly to store their toys, and, as instructed, I really must start making plans to improve the schoolroom.

  ‘Do you know of a carpenter we could employ to build a toy cupboard?’ I asked Nyanushki, but she only shook her head.

  ‘No one the Countess would consider worthy.’

  The Countess also insisted that the children were provided with a good English diet, including such dishes as rice pudding, baked apples and lots of vegetables. Serge was quite tall, thin and wiry. Irina was short for her age and rather plump. She had golden-blonde hair, a slightly freckled complexion, a round chin and somewhat podgy cheeks. Not at all the beauty her mother might have hoped for, but she was an affectionate child and very generous with her hugs and kisses. I wrote out a diet sheet for Anton the French chef, hoping it would help Irina to grow without putting on too much weight. But she did have a bad habit of sneaking down to the kitchen to beg one of the kitchen maids for a biscuit.

  One morning I gave the children porridge, which Irina ate in sulky silence. Serge threw his dish upside down on the floor. ‘I want cake, not this mush.’

  Aware of Nyanushki sitting in the corner knitting one of her many scarves, I made no comment. In any case, engaging in an argument about the unsuitability of cake for breakfast at this delicate stage in my relationship with the boy was not a good idea. I mopped up the mess and gave him the boiled eggs and toast I’d already prepared, nestling the eggs in a napkin which I was assured was the Russian way.

  ‘You haven’t cut off the tops for me.’

  I quietly did so with the spoon, slipping the egg into a small glass for him to eat.

  ‘And why is my toast cut into strips?’ he complained.

  ‘In England we call these soldiers, which you can dip into the yolk.’ He tried out my suggestion and must have enjoyed the result as he ate the rest of his breakfast without further protest. Maintaining her sulky silence, Irina began to play with her new doll, taking off its nightdress to pull on a frock. She was struggling to fasten the buttons when Serge suddenly snatched the doll from her and yanked off one of its arms. The little girl screamed, then rushed to her bedroom in floods of tears.

  ‘Oh, Master Serge, that was naughty,’ I cried, picking up the doll to see if I could repair it. ‘You must go at once to apologise to your sister.’

  ‘Won’t!’ and he stubbornly folded his arms across his narrow chest.

  ‘I think you will.’

  He glared at me. ‘You can’t make me.’ His small eyes glittered with such anger that I was struck dumb. Master Robin and Miss Phyllis had been easy to deal with, so affectionate and loving. In that moment I felt completely inadequate, without the experience necessary to deal with such wilful disobedience. ‘Would you like it if Irina smashed your new train set?’ I softly asked.

  ‘She wouldn’t dare! And don’t think you can tell me what to do. If I so wish it, your job here won’t last five minutes. I can get rid of you as easily as I did Mademoiselle.’ Then as if to prove his point he began to empty the milk jug on to the floor in the wake of the porridge, followed by the orange juice, egg shells and contents of the jam pot. I started to protest but Nyanushki put a gentle hand of restraint on my arm, and gave a little shake of her head as if warning me against
taking further action. With a big grin on his face, Serge marched off to play with his train. Swallowing my anger and heart beating like a drum, I began to mop up the mess, feeling very much as if this small boy had declared war.

  Each evening the children were expected to take dinner with their parents. I too was expected to attend, something of a trial as I found it embarrassing to have my chair pulled out for me and to be waited upon by the white-gloved butler as if I were a member of the family. It was so very different from the life I had led at Carreck Place. But it was good for the children to be included in such an occasion in what was evidently a very cosseted and sheltered life. Even so it came as something of a shock to discover that they were quite incapable of dressing themselves.

  Nyanushki and I helped Irina, and Serge was assisted by a manservant in the privacy of his bedroom. Irina would put up her arms for Nyanushki to slip the dress over her head, making no attempt to do up the buttons, or to put on her stockings and patent leather shoes. Not for a moment had it occurred to me that they would be completely helpless without assistance.

  ‘Perhaps a few more skills need to be learned here,’ I quietly suggested, pointing out this failing.

  Nyanushki blinked in surprise. ‘Indeed not! No lady is expected to do a thing for herself when she has a maid who can do it for her. Nor any gentleman either, save perhaps for the Count who takes rather a different outlook, being so very practical. I’ll admit there’s nothing his lordship likes better than to help in the garden whenever we are in the country, whereas most aristocrats would not demean themselves with such peasant-type activities.’

  ‘I’m delighted to hear it.’ I was beginning to be increasingly intrigued by this man who would be paying my wages, and looking forward to getting to know him better.

  When the children stood before me ready for inspection, I was instantly perturbed by the expression on Serge’s face, recognising the signs of further rebellion.

  ‘How very fine you look,’ I said, anxious to calm him as he twitched and tugged at his new clothes. He was dressed like any well-to-do young English boy, in a smart green tweed suit with Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers.

  I smiled with relief as he preened himself at the compliment, but then Irina started to giggle. ‘You look very silly, Serge.’

  Her brother glowered at her. ‘So do you in that fluffy pink frock with that big green sash and stupid hair ribbon.’

  ‘It’s better than your soppy tie and big collar,’ she shouted back.

  Serge instantly started tugging at the tie, trying to take it off, at the same time attempting to ease the stiff Eton collar.

  ‘Please don’t do that, Master Serge.’ I hastily put out my hands to stop him, but he slapped them away.

  ‘Don’t like it. Won’t wear it!’

  I half glanced at Nyanushki, again wondering how best to deal with such outright disobedience. She gave a resigned little shrug as if she’d seen this many times before. ‘I’m afraid they do tend to become rather quarrelsome when shut up too long in this flat. What would you like to wear, then, my lovely boy?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t care! Not this,’ he yelled, and snatching up Nyanushki’s sewing scissors he chopped off the tie just below the knot. Then as his sister burst out laughing he quickly turned on her and chopped off the ribbon, together with a chunk of her hair.

  Irina screamed, instantly falling to the floor to drum her heels in a fit of hysterics. Terrified that the Countess might hear this dreadful noise I rushed to pick her up and quieten her. Overwhelmed by a sense of failure at not having guessed his intent, matters went from bad to worse as despite my begging her to hush, her hysterics continued unabated.

  Then Nyanushki spoke in a calm, firm voice. ‘If you don’t stop this noise at once, Miss Irina, I shall have to call Mama, and you know what she will do.’

  Silence followed this threat as Irina instantly stopped screaming. Rubbing the tears from her eyes she got slowly to her feet, making no further protest as I retied her hair, carefully disguising the missing lock. Nyanushki fetched Serge a new tie, and even he appeared chastened despite his glum expression.

  ‘What would the Countess do?’ I asked Nyanushki in a whisper.

  ‘Fasten up their naughty mouths with sticky tape,’ she softly replied, sliding her plump fingers over her lips to demonstrate.

  I was horrified. ‘But they would not be able to eat, let alone speak.’

  ‘Indeed not. That is the point. The children live in fear of this punishment, although there are worse.’

  Recalling the incident over afternoon tea I dreaded to think what further punishments the Countess could inflict upon her children, particularly on Irina. ‘I have an idea,’ I quickly announced, anxious to calm their fears and stop the tears and sulks. ‘If we get ready quickly I’ll teach you how to sing Pop Goes the Weasel and Diddle Diddle Dumpling. I love silly rhymes, don’t you?’

  ‘Ooh, yes please,’ Irina said, and we had a jolly sing-song, Serge particularly enjoying I Went to the Animal Fair, which we sang in French.

  One afternoon after taking the children out for their daily walk, I returned to the schoolroom to find Ruth taking tea with Nyanushki. ‘Oh, how lovely to see you,’ I cried, giving my new friend a warm hug.

  ‘I thought I’d call to see if you’d settled in all right, and if I could help in any way,’ she told me.

  ‘Why don’t you take your friend to your room to talk? I’ll look after the children for a while.’

  ‘Thank you, Nyanushki,’ I said, with heartfelt gratitude.

  It was such a relief to have some time in private, to be able to share my concerns over the recent squabbles and misbehaviour and how inadequate I felt at dealing with the children.

  ‘According to Nyanushki, the last governess took such a dislike to Serge that she deprived him of his food and half starved him,’ I said. ‘No wonder he’s such a trial, the poor boy doesn’t trust anyone. Even his own mother is either over-indulging him, or encouraging him to play silly practical jokes.’ I finished by telling Ruth what had happened back home at Carreckwater when he’d almost drowned Irina in the lake.

  She was shocked. ‘It is important to set out your rules and acceptable standards of behaviour from the start. But it shouldn’t be necessary to impose dreadful punishments. A little talk, perhaps, or sent to bed for a rest until they recover from their tantrum.’

  ‘Quite. It seems to be mainly Irina who suffers. The child was made to stand in the corner with her hands on her head at tea the other day. She might have been there for ages had her father not intervened,’ and we were soon both laughing as I told the tale.

  ‘I’m sure matters will improve. They’re just testing you. Anyway, the real reason I called was to offer to help you buy the right clothes. Winter is coming and you can’t wear that old shuba of mine for church or the theatre. It’s an absolute disgrace. We really should go shopping. Then I’ll introduce you to the British and American chapel.’

  ‘Oh, that would be lovely.’

  Nyanushki agreed to sit with the children the following afternoon, and the outing was duly arranged.

  My new job had not begun well, due largely to my lack of experience. But I realised that if I was to hold on to it, and protect the children from their bully of a mother, I would need to quickly improve.

  TEN

  It felt wonderful to be out and about discovering the delights of this beautiful city of canals, rivers, islands and bridges, with its well-deserved title of ‘Venice of the North’. Ruth took me to see St Isaac’s Cathedral with its classical pillars and golden dome, and then we made our way to the Palace Square, or Dvortsovaya Ploshad, dominated by the magnificence of the Winter Palace, before entering the Nevsky Prospekt. This seemed to be the very heart of the city, a busy thoroughfare with impressive architecture, amazing statues, street artists and any number of fascinating shops.


  ‘I’m already growing quite fond of the children,’ I told Ruth as we strolled along arm in arm, ‘particularly Irina, despite their naughtiness at times. But it’s good to enjoy a little adult company for a change, and be free of the worry and responsibility of them for an hour or two.’

  ‘I know the feeling,’ she laughed.

  I bought a new warm coat, complete with hood and fur lined, although with cony, not beaver; a pair of woollen trousers that fastened underfoot; and beautiful beige felt Valenki boots that came right up to the knee.

  ‘They are so soft and warm,’ I said, hugely impressed.

  ‘You can wear them indoors to keep warm on cold winter days, or when outside you can slip a pair of galoshes or rubber boots on top to keep out the wet. You’ll find this particularly necessary when the thaw begins.’ The shop assistant hurried away to fetch me a pair of those too.

  Ruth next insisted I buy a large packet of envelopes, and carefully wrote out my new address in Russian on one of them. ‘Now you can copy that address on to all the other envelopes and send them home for your parents to use.’

  ‘Wonderful! You have been so kind to me.’ We were standing on a bridge overlooking the canal, admiring the golden cupola of a nearby church glittering in the bright sunlight. This beautiful city with its gilt spires, blue and green domes and white houses had proved to be beyond my expectations. I was beginning to grow quite fond of Russia.

  ‘We ex-pats must stick together. Speaking of which, we’ve just time to pay a quick visit to the British and American Chapel.’

  It was a typically plain Congregational-type building, very spacious with simple wooden pews where I could imagine ladies sitting very properly for Sunday service in their best hats. And as Ruth had explained, it was not simply a place of worship, but very much a social club.

  ‘It provides evening classes, a library, picnics, a chess club, a choir and many other cultural activities. I’m usually here every Sunday morning and on Wednesday afternoons, as today, when we governesses get together to enjoy tea and a gossip.’