The Amber Keeper

by Freda Lightfoot

  ‘This isn’t what I asked for,’ she shouted. ‘I don’t care for biscuits.’

  ‘I’m sorry, your ladyship, but the chocolate you requested is not stocked in the village shop.’

  ‘Then you must insist that they do stock it,’ she snapped.

  ‘I hardly think that likely as no one else in the community could afford to buy such expensive chocolate.’

  She gave me a frosty glare, took a bite, grimaced, then held out the half-eaten biscuit to me. ‘You bought it, you eat it.’

  ‘No thank you, your ladyship.’

  ‘Do as I say. Eat it!’

  I drew myself up to my full height, slight though it was beside hers. ‘You have already bitten into it, so why would I want to?’

  ‘What you want is beside the point. I am your mistress, and you’ll do as I say.’ The fierceness of her tone, and the precision with which she uttered these words left me no choice. I took the biscuit from her hand and ate it, even though it near choked me. She smiled in triumph. As I turned to leave, determined to go before I said something I’d be sure to regret, she issued yet another order.

  ‘Send Stefan to me. At once.’

  ‘I’m afraid he’s out, milady, probably exercising the horses.’ In truth I’d no idea where he was, but I’d noticed that he would often disappear unexpectedly, whether into town or country, sometimes for hours at a time. Where he went or what he did, I had no idea.

  ‘Well, he shouldn’t be with the horses, not at this time of day. I need him now!’

  ‘I will pass on your order when next I see him, but I have no idea when he will return.’

  Her eyes narrowed and her fury escalated to such an extent that her normally pale face turned bright crimson. I fully expected her to threaten to sack him the moment he did appear, but instead she turned her wrath upon me. ‘You’re lying, Dowthwaite, no doubt because you’ve taken a shine to him yourself, and you know how he loves nothing more than to make himself available to me.’

  I struggled to hide my shock at these words as I met the chill of her triumphant smile. Was she implying that Stefan was her latest lover? Surely not. Yet he was very good-looking, and there was no doubt she was not a faithful wife to her ever-patient husband. Wasn’t the gardener Stefan replaced once her lover, until she dismissed him?

  Later, when I related this conversation to Stefan, and asked him point-blank if it were true, he vehemently shook his head.

  ‘Absolute nonsense! I’ll admit the Countess has me constantly at her beck and call, acting as her personal chauffeur and footman, as well as handyman and general gardener. Today she wanted nothing more than for me to take her a tray of tea, for heaven’s sake, as if I were her personal servant.’

  ‘But that’s what you are, Stefan,’ I reminded him, wondering why she hadn’t asked me to fetch the tea, yet knowing she’d flaunted this supposed liaison with Stefan to make me jealous, presumably as a form of petty revenge for my alleged failure to buy her the chocolate. To my great irritation, she had succeeded.

  We were keeping our voices low as the children and I helped him to feed the hens, as they so loved to do. Even Serge would happily collect eggs and fill the water troughs.

  ‘We are all at her beck and call,’ I quietly pointed out. ‘Even Nyanushki complains about being given far too many jobs ‒ caring for Babushka, helping with the children, and even acting as the Countess’s lady’s maid while her regular one is away. Her Ladyship is very demanding.’

  ‘And such a drama queen, always making a fuss and screaming at the Count for some alleged failure on his part. He simply walks away when he’s heard enough while she throws priceless porcelain vases after his retreating figure. Why he puts up with her I cannot imagine.’ Stefan shook his head in disbelief as I scooped out the old straw and replaced it with fresh, fascinated despite myself and wondering how he’d managed to learn so much about her.

  ‘She does love to mock people and make their lives a misery, even Babushka, who really is a dear old lady who makes no fuss at all. Unlike her gentle mother, the Countess is completely profligate, with no idea of the value of money. So where were you this morning when you were absent without leave?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t believe I have to answer to her every demand,’ he said, neatly avoiding my question. Then he leaned close to whisper his next words, his warm breath tickling my ear. ‘I have discovered why she dislikes the little girl.’

  ‘Really?’

  Half-glancing over his shoulder, Stefan pulled me to one side, out of the children’s hearing. ‘Irina is not her daughter at all. She is the child of the Count’s mistress, a woman he once wished to marry but was forbidden to do so by his parents.’

  I stared at him in stunned surprise. So this was the subject Babushka had not wished to examine too closely, or at least was determined to keep secret, since she must know the truth of it. ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I pick up a lot of gossip in the kitchen among the other servants.’

  ‘Would that explain why she is not faithful to the Count?’

  ‘Oh, she was never that. It was an arranged marriage based on politics, land and money, not love in any shape or form. Even on their honeymoon, if you can call it that, she was apparently engaged in an affair with the groom. The story goes that the Count tried to make the marriage work, but soon grew tired of her antics and returned to his first love. Irina was the result.’

  ‘Hence the reason Countess Olga resents her so much. Poor little Irina.’ I looked across at the child, hunkered down chatting to a hen as if it were her best friend. ‘How very sad. She is such a little sweetie who surely deserves a good mother to love her.’

  Stefan gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. ‘Any love that child gets can only come from you, and her father, of course.’

  Blinking back a sudden rush of tears as I recalled Babushka hinting at the very same thing, I nodded. ‘You’re right, and I’ll see that she does. Thank you, Stefan.’

  His hand slid down my back to my waist, sending a little shiver of longing through me at his touch. ‘Love is important in life, don’t you think?’

  I looked up into his face, saw how his eyes scanned mine before focusing on my mouth. ‘I think I’d better take the children inside now to get them ready for lunch,’ I said with a smile, and beat a hasty retreat, quite forgetting that he still hadn’t answered my earlier question.

  ‘Why are you leaving us, Baryshnya?’ Little Irina was sitting up in bed gazing up at me, her blue eyes filling with tears.

  I quickly hunkered down to gather her in my arms. ‘I’m not leaving. Wherever did you get that idea from?’

  ‘Mamochka says you can’t stay in this house another minute.’

  I frowned, wondering what on earth I’d done wrong now, and whether the Countess really was about to hand me my notice. I felt sick at the thought. Despite the difficulties in pleasing her, I was growing so fond of her children that the thought of losing them was extremely painful, if rather unprofessional. Surely it couldn’t simply be that she saw me as a rival for Stefan’s attention and wanted him all to herself? Wasn’t that what she’d accused me of?

  ‘How do you know all this, Miss Irina? Have you been listening at doors again?’ I knew her for a secretive child, who loved to hide under tables or behind doors to listen in on grown-up conversation.

  Putting her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle, the little girl nodded. ‘I was under Papa’s desk. He’d been playing a game with me after tea, and then Mamochka marched in and he whispered to me to hide. So I did. Papa was very cross and said he would make sure you stayed. He knows that you love us, you see. You do love us, don’t you, Baryshnya?’

  ‘Of course I do, sweetheart.’

  ‘Even Serge?’

  ‘I love both of you equally, and I love this job, so I have no intention of leaving. Not unless I have to,’ I quietly adde
d.

  She put her arms about my neck and gave me a warm hug. She smelled of the lavender oil that had been in her bath water, and the jam she’d eaten with her scone at supper. ‘I love you too, Baryshnya. You will stay, won’t you? I don’t want you to leave.’

  ‘Neither do I.’ The voice from the door of the schoolroom caught me by surprise as it was Serge, and this was the last remark I would have expected from him. He sauntered in, hands in pockets attempting to appear unconcerned and quite casual, but there was a tightness about his young face which was very telling. ‘I don’t go in for all this love stuff like my silly sister, but starting over again with another governess would be a nuisance.’

  ‘Yes,’ I agreed quite seriously. ‘I can see that it would be, Master Serge. I do hope you won’t feel it necessary to do so.’

  He looked up at me then, a growing boy almost as tall as me. ‘I hope so too.’

  ‘Then I think we all understand each other,’ I said, smiling at them both. ‘Shall we play a game of Snap before bedtime?’

  ‘Ooh, yes please,’ Irina cried and Serge quickly brought the cards.

  Thankfully, nothing more was said about my leaving and, despite my rather inauspicious start, visiting the country came to be a genuine pleasure, a regular event over the coming months. I did, however, continue to keep a watchful eye on Serge in case he tried any more of his little tricks, taking careful heed of Babushka’s advice, but his behaviour seemed much improved. Perhaps our truce since the incident on the ice was truly working. Each day I would take the children down to the village, little more than a huddle of miserable little huts, but they did so love to visit the tiny shop to buy themselves some sweets or biscuits. Not that it had much of interest on sale ‒ mainly black bread, strings of sausages and a few essential household items and cleaning products.

  Stefan would drive us in the cart and, despite my reservations, I couldn’t help but begin to share his concern for the very evident signs of poverty I saw all around. ‘The peasants are having a hard time of it, yet the Tsar doesn’t even seem to notice, let alone care,’ he grumbled.

  ‘Perhaps he does, but is having difficulties putting things right. Poverty is not an easy problem to resolve.’

  ‘I can’t believe that.’

  ‘Why are you so anti-aristocracy? I’ve always enjoyed working for the gentry, and but for them, you and I would both be without a job. Isn’t it good that they at least provide employment?’

  ‘It depends upon what terms, and how much they try to lord it over us.’

  I laughed. ‘I freely admit I have to bite my tongue on occasion over remarks the Countess makes. She did rather um and ah over whether I should be allowed an afternoon off when I first arrived. But I stood my ground and won in the end.’

  He looked at me with new admiration in his eyes. ‘Good for you. So when you dine with the Count and Countess each evening, do you ever hear anything of interest that might give the working classes hope?’

  I frowned, as I still recalled the argument we’d had when first we’d met. ‘I’m not a spy, so stop asking me such questions. In any case, what is there to hear? By all accounts the Tsar and Tsarina live a quiet life in the country with very little formality. Even the servants are apparently instructed to call their daughters by their first name, and not use their titles, which seems quite democratic to me, or so Babushka tells me.’

  Stefan snorted his disdain. ‘Merely putting on a show, in my opinion, safe in their cloistered world. His Imperial Highness has little idea of how real people live, that many are attempting to become better educated and demanding more from life. He has ignored their valiant efforts to improve their lot for years.’

  ‘So what was it that happened back in 1905?’ I quietly asked, feeling the need to better understand Stefan’s point of view.

  He was silent for a long time, hunched over the reins, his face and expression hidden by his collar and slouch cap. Only the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves, and the innocent chatter of the children behind us, could be heard in the silence that followed. Stefan didn’t speak until they were inside the village shop, happily choosing their sweets while we stood waiting for them at the door.

  ‘A party of workers gathered in the streets of St Petersburg, asking with all due respect for their working conditions to be improved. It would include an eight-hour day and a decent level of pay. Many of the demonstrators were women and children, their numbers quickly growing into the thousands, but all very calm and well organised. Then it went horribly wrong.’

  ‘Why? Didn’t the Tsar agree to listen to their concerns?’

  ‘The Tsar and Tsarina were absent. As so often happens, they were at Tsarskoe Selo, where it is considered safer for them to be kept hidden behind wire fences and an army of protectors. Back in St Petersburg, someone panicked at the size of the demonstration and ordered the guards to open fire to dispense the crowds. They did so, not over the heads of the crowd as they have done in the past but into their midst. Over two hundred people were killed that day, including my father.’

  He paused, overcome by emotion, and I gazed upon him in horror. ‘Oh, Stefan, how terrible! I am so sorry.’

  After a moment he continued more slowly with his tale, keeping his voice low so that passers-by could not overhear. ‘Those who fled from the massacre were hunted down and killed by the Cossacks and mounted guards. Bloody Sunday indeed,’ he said, bitterness harsh in his tone. ‘My father was found some streets away, so must have run for his life. But even he, fit as he was, could not outrun a galloping horse. If only the Tsar had been present at the Winter Palace and agreed to meet with the deputation, then everything would have been different. Now he faces an almost impossible task regaining the loyalty of the working classes.’

  ‘I should think so,’ I conceded. ‘Even though he clearly did not give the order, as he was not in St Petersburg at the time. Do you know who did?’

  ‘Rumours were rife but it’s not certain. Certainly a grand duke was assassinated by the revolutionaries some weeks later by way of retaliation, so maybe it was him. There’s little doubt that it was one of the Tsar’s autocratic relatives. I had other things to worry about at the time. Losing my father destroyed my mother, while I could only watch helplessly as she faded away and died of grief. I’d just turned seventeen and went a bit off the rails for a while. It’s an impressionable age. Even now the anger created in me that day still churns within.’

  ‘I’m sure it does.’ My heart went out to him in sympathy. I longed to put my arms about him, but didn’t dare risk it, not in this public place.

  At length he asked, ‘I don’t suppose the Count has ever said if the Tsar is yet willing to improve the lot of the workers?’

  Sighing, I shook my head. ‘No more questions, Stefan, please. What would I know? I’m a simple country girl from Westmorland who never understood politics in England, so attempting to get to grips with it here is a lost cause.’

  ‘As is Russia in many respects,’ Stefan murmured.

  ‘I don’t believe that for a moment.’ Reaching for his hand as it gripped the horse whip he was flicking against his thigh, I gave it a little squeeze, the nearest I dared offer by way of comfort. ‘Don’t upset yourself by talking about this any more. Let it go.’

  He looked into my eyes and, taking a deep breath in an effort to regain control over his emotions, gave me a little smile. ‘You’re right. There must be more interesting things you and I could talk about, not least the way you stand up to the Countess. I rather admire that brave spirit in you.’

  I gave a little grimace. ‘I do have a very bad habit of speaking my mind. My father says I should try to engage my brain before I open my mouth.’

  He laughed out loud, and the atmosphere between us lightened considerably. ‘You’ve also risen to the challenge of dealing with those spoiled children without losing your temper,’ he said in a soft whisper a
s he lifted Irina back into the cart, applauding as Serge jumped in without asking for assistance. Clicking the reins to urge the old horse to walk on, he said in a low voice. ‘I think even young Master Serge is falling under your spell.’

  I thought about this for a moment and smiled. ‘You may be right. Certainly our relationship has improved of late.’

  ‘That’s because you have an undeniable charm, Millie. May I call you Millie? And you are looking particularly fine today in that pretty blue gown. I like the way your hair is tied into a braid on top of your head, as tidy and well-organised as you are yourself, although I’d love to see it flow loose and free on occasion. You too, for that matter.’

  My cheeks were flushing bright pink at these compliments, remembering that Liam had once said something of the sort about my hair. But I wasn’t interested in Liam now. I loved the way Stefan was looking at me in that teasing way he had. I could scent the delicious maleness of him, feel the pressure of his hard thigh against mine. ‘Perhaps it would be safer to stick to politics after all,’ I said, and we both laughed.

  How could I have imagined for one moment that he was involved with the revolutionaries? It pleased me that he meandered home at a slow pace, as I was greatly enjoying his company.

  FIFTEEN

  A flicker of spring sunshine broke through the clouds as Abbie drove down the leafy lanes towards town, her mind still turning over her grandmother’s story, filled with admiration at her courage in handling such a tricky situation with a young, clearly disturbed young boy. How brave she was, but also vulnerable when it came to Stefan’s charm. She smiled. So now it was her turn to step into her grandmother’s shoes and prove she, too, was up to a challenge.