The Amber Keeper

by Freda Lightfoot

  Her face creased with anxiety as she instantly guessed that there had been some disagreement between us. ‘Ah, well, in that case let me say that I’m always here, as your friend, should you change your mind.’

  ‘Thank you, Ruth. It’s just that I need to work this problem out for myself.’

  She squeezed my hand in sympathy. ‘So far as the lady’s maid post is concerned, why not agree to do it until Christmas? That should surely allow the Countess ample time to find a replacement.’ And having gained my agreement to this suggestion, she marched me off to the vestibule for a comforting cup of tea. ‘But do take care,’ she warned, handing me a scone. ‘From what I hear, Countess Belinsky is a very manipulative, scheming woman who can turn nasty if she doesn’t get her own way.’

  ‘I’m well aware of that. You only have to look at the way she treats her husband by conducting a sordid liaison with Viktor the chauffeur.’

  Ruth laughed. ‘Ah, so it is true, then, what I hear through the grapevine?’

  ‘She makes no secret of the fact, going off every afternoon for long mysterious drives alone with him in full view of her husband. What else could they be up to?’

  ‘She was also apparently seen out with Dimitri Korniloff the other evening at the Villa Rodé.’

  ‘That wouldn’t surprise me. It’s one of her favourite haunts.’

  ‘The fellow is certainly good-looking, but a more money-grubbing, social climbing, political know-it-all would be hard to find. So if you’re right about her relationship with the chauffeur, that’s at least two men she’s got dangling at her fingertips, and there could well be more.’

  I gave a harsh little laugh. ‘Oh, I’m quite certain there are.’

  Noting the bitterness of my tone, Ruth considered me with sadness in her eyes. ‘Oh dear. Then you have an even bigger problem than I thought.’

  My first challenge as lady’s maid came when Countess Olga began issuing instructions as I helped her dress for her usual evening out and about round town. ‘Should my husband ask for me, you may inform him that I am feeling unwell and have retired to bed early. That is all you need say, and to request that he sleep in the dressing room.’

  ‘Are you suffering from a headache, milady? Is there anything I can get you?’ I politely enquired.

  She gave a tutting sound of exasperation. ‘Aren’t you listening to me, Dowthwaite? In point of fact I’m off to see Anna Pavlova of the Imperial ballet, after which we shall dine at the Café Chantant. My escort usually hires us a box where we can indulge in champagne and caviar, among other things,’ she laughed. ‘Don’t expect me home before midnight, perhaps not at all. All you have to do is visit my room from time to time and pretend to talk to me as if I were lying sick in my bed. Just in case the Count should be listening.’

  I froze in the process of fastening her amber necklace. ‘You are asking me to lie?’

  She gave a wry smile as she lifted her head to meet my shocked gaze. ‘I am giving you an order. Do you have a problem with that?’

  My cheeks grew warm beneath the harshness of her glare. ‘Of course not. Only what if the Count were to come looking for you?’

  ‘You will not let him into my room. Is that clear?’

  ‘Very good, your ladyship.’ I concentrated on fastening the necklace, studiously battling against my natural instinct to refuse to embroil myself in her illicit affairs. But it was not my place to do so.

  ‘No, not those earrings, foolish child. The long amber teardrops that match this pendant.’

  Later, as she slipped out through a side entrance to quietly depart in the carriage with her own personal chauffeur, I couldn’t deny that she looked magnificent in an emerald silk gown with a silver fox fur wrap and amber jewellery. Was she meeting Dimitri Korniloff again, I wondered, or another man entirely? Surely not Stefan, as he couldn’t afford such treats, unless the Countess was paying, of course.

  After she’d gone I spent an anxious night flitting between the children’s rooms and the Countess’s, barely snatching a wink of sleep as my fears mounted over the lie I was caught up in, as well as a deep ache inside over losing Stefan. On the third occasion, hoping against hope she might have returned early, to my dismay I found the Count about to tap on her door. I quickly hurried to his side. ‘Can I be of assistance, milord?’

  ‘Ah, Millie, there you are. I was wondering how my wife is, whether she is feeling any better.’

  ‘I ‒ I should think she’s fast asleep by now, milord. I gave her a draught for the headache so I certainly hope so.’ Even as I stumbled over the falsehood, I was terrified he might insist upon my allowing him to enter, where her empty bed would instantly reveal his wife’s deception. The consequences of such a revelation would undoubtedly lose me my position, and goodness knows what else besides.

  ‘Then I will not disturb her,’ he said, taking a step back.

  ‘I shall tell her of your concern ‒ in the morning ‒ when she wakes.’

  ‘You are very good to her, Millie. I do hope my wife appreciates your loyalty.’ There was something in his eyes when he said this that made me wonder if he had already guessed about the empty bed. ‘But then you have a generous heart.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  He considered me with a quiet thoughtfulness in his expression. ‘Are you happy here, Millie? Do you ever get homesick for your family?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ I confessed. ‘But I enjoy my work, and I love the children.’

  He smiled. ‘I know you do, but don’t allow my wife to bully you too much.’ As he walked away, shoulders hunched, he made a rather sad and lonely figure in his humble dressing gown, and my heart went out to him. What would this dreadful woman ask of me next?

  It was, of course, impossible to avoid Stefan entirely as we lived and worked in the same apartment. Sometimes I would catch a glimpse of him hurrying along the labyrinth of corridors, or slipping in or out of the Countess’s room, and then I’d dart through the nearest door to escape. There were days when I would find myself looking for him in vain, as he continued to go absent for periods of time. Was he avoiding me too? I wondered.

  But then one afternoon as I walked home along the Nevsky Prospekt on my way back from the governesses’ club, I saw him huddled in the corner of a coffee shop. He spotted me at the same moment and, tossing some kopeks on the table next to his untouched coffee, came rushing out.

  ‘Don’t run away, Millie. I’m desperate to speak to you and explain. Please listen.’

  Unable to resist the appeal in his voice, I allowed myself to be ushered inside. With a coffee set before me, and keeping my gaze fixed on its muddy depths, I steeled myself to listen to yet more lies.

  He took a breath. ‘That kiss you witnessed ‒ I do assure you that it was not instigated by me. I would never do such a thing.’

  ‘You didn’t seem to be resisting too greatly.’

  ‘The Countess has been harassing me for months, dropping big hints that she was mine for the asking, if I played my cards right. Then on catching me alone in the stables that day, she suddenly shoved me back against the wall and flung herself upon me. I was shocked, I can tell you, but what could I do? I was at a complete loss how to handle such a delicate situation. She is my employer, after all, the Countess Belinsky no less, so pushing her away, shouting at her or telling her to leave me alone was quite out of the question. I decided to simply not respond, to endure the kiss without moving a muscle, hoping she would get the message. What would have happened had you not turned up at precisely that moment, I have no idea. But I swear to you, Millie, that I was hugely embarrassed and didn’t know what the hell to do.’

  Dropping his voice, he leaned across the table to take my hand, stroking my fingers one by one. ‘You know full well that it’s you I long to kiss, not Countess Olga.’

  Could I possibly have been wrong to accuse him of betrayal? The Countess
was fascinated by men, with a string of affairs to her credit long before this latest with the chauffeur, including the notorious occasion in the summer house with Lord Rumsley. And there was no denying that Stefan was handsome. Just looking at him made my heart sing.

  I was also aware that Stefan had done his best to avoid being left alone with her, and until the incident in the stables I’d seen nothing untoward regarding his behaviour towards her.

  But if he could choose between a rich and beautiful Countess or a boring little governess, which is how I saw myself, why on earth would he choose me? Could I really be certain of his sincerity? Was Stefan as innocent as he claimed?

  Deep down he nursed a huge resentment towards the aristocrats over the death of his father. That being the case, it was perfectly plausible he could be seeking some sort of personal revenge by embarking upon an affair with Countess Olga. But to what end? What could he achieve by such a ploy? And if I did not believe in him, what right did I have to be falling in love with him, which I knew in my heart to be the case?

  Perhaps I’d inadvertently allowed the Countess to ruin the special feelings growing between Stefan and me by not giving him the benefit of the doubt. I noted the anguish in his green-grey eyes, and an emotion I might once have interpreted as adoration. ‘I do want to believe you, Stefan.’

  ‘Thank heaven for that,’ he said with a sigh of relief. ‘I swear she is pursuing me with a vigour that is terrifying, which is why I have to keep hiding away in coffee shops.’

  I found myself almost smiling. ‘It’s rather a nice coffee shop.’

  ‘But you haven’t touched your coffee,’ he said with just a hint of his famous crooked grin.

  ‘Neither have you.’

  With one accord we each proceeded to take a sip, looking at each other across the rim of our cups, then both of us pulled a face as the coffee had long since gone cold. Stefan quickly ordered fresh cups.

  ‘We could always find other jobs,’ he said and, taking both my hands in his, lifted them to his lips to kiss each one in turn. ‘Why don’t we run away and start a whole new together life far from the Count and Countess? She means nothing to me. It’s you that I love, Millie, and always will.’

  ‘Oh, Stefan!’ I was overwhelmed with emotion. His plea sounded entirely genuine and heartfelt. ‘But the country is at war. Jobs are hard to find. From what I hear Russia can’t even afford to equip its army, or provide it with sufficient ammunition. Thousands of men are being killed and I certainly don’t want you to be one of them, forced to join up because you are unemployed.’

  He looked deflated by this, probably knowing there was some truth in what I said. ‘I may be called up anyway. In the meantime, how do I handle the Countess’s advances? How do I hold her off?’

  I was silent for some moments. ‘I could speak to her, ask her to stop harassing you.’ The words came out of my mouth of their own volition, surprising even myself as Stefan looked at me in stunned disbelief.

  ‘Would that be wise?’

  The image of a pair of legs and a bare backside came into my head. ‘It might well be necessary,’ I chuckled.

  ‘She wouldn’t listen. It would never work.’

  ‘You’re probably right.’

  ‘Marry me, Millie. More than anything I long to make you my wife. I can’t imagine life without you.’ His arms came about me then, despite the very public nature of the coffee shop, and my heart melted with love for him.

  ‘Oh, Stefan, at any other time I might be tempted to say yes, but we can’t, not with the war and everything.’

  ‘They say it will all be over by Christmas. We could do it then.’

  I gave a little laugh, a mix of excitement and panic. ‘We mustn’t rush into it. I love my job, and the children, so I’m in no hurry to leave. I always was ambitious, and we’re both young, so let’s bide our time. Perhaps it would be best if you just kept on trying to avoid being alone with her.’

  Stefan readily agreed. ‘That is good advice I will do my utmost to follow, if you promise to forgive me.’

  ‘Oh, I do. I’m sure that kiss wasn’t your fault.’

  We walked home together by the canal and his kisses beneath the bridges set me on fire. I never realised it was possible to love a person so much, or to feel so loved.

  NINETEEN

  By August 1915 the war was so bad that 450,000 Russian soldiers were being killed every month, with over a million and a half men lost in one year. Russia had won some victories over Austria, but Germany was proving too a big a force for them to defeat. I could read the papers sufficiently well by this time to understand that the country simply didn’t possess the necessary resources to conduct a war, even if the politics behind it all remained something of a mystery to me.

  It was a glorious summer’s day and I’d been reading a long-delayed letter from home while I sat watching the children swim and splash in the river. It reminded me so much of Carreckwater that a wave of homesickness hit me. I couldn’t help but worry about how my dear parents were surviving this dreadful conflict. How I longed to be with them in that moment. They wrote how Miss Phyllis and Master Robin were quickly growing up, Robin now almost fifteen. I turned to the newspaper seeking some sort of hope that the war might end soon, before he too was called up. Struggling as best I could with the Russian, in the end I tossed it aside in disgust.

  ‘The newspaper has no solutions, just stories of political treachery. Why is that, I wonder?’ Believing myself to be alone, I’d spoken my question aloud.

  ‘It’s not easy to explain, as Russia has rather a long and complicated history, but there is a growing awareness of democratic ideas brought in from the West by political activists.’

  I’d been completely unaware that the Count, who loved nothing more than dabbling in his beloved garden, was close by weeding a flower bed.

  Leaning on his garden hoe, he paused in his labours as he went on. ‘There is also an ongoing resentment at the treatment of peasants as well as the poor conditions experienced by thousands of workers. In addition, millions of peasant farmers have been forcibly conscripted into the army, which has led to a serious shortage of manpower on the farms and a corresponding fall in food production. Prices are rising as a consequence, not least because of the relentless increase in taxes to pay for this war. But wages have failed to keep pace. The country seems to be rapidly sinking into economic depression.’

  I listened, engrossed, grateful that the Count treated me with sufficient respect to take the trouble to explain all of this to me. ‘It must be so painful for you to see your beloved Fatherland suffer.’

  He came over to sit beside me on the grassy bank. ‘I like to think that I am not entirely oblivious to my tenants’ concerns.’

  ‘I’ve seen with my own eyes that you are not,’ I assured him.

  He nodded. ‘I am always grateful for your help, and your faith in me, Millie, is much appreciated. However, certain members of the aristocracy continue to live their lives oblivious to these food shortages, and to the fact that vital raw materials are becoming increasingly difficult to import.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s because, unlike the poor, they can afford to pay whatever is necessary for their food.’ I hid a smile, for it was true that Countess Olga showed no inclination to allow something as boring as a war to spoil her pleasures. She never gave a thought or a care for anyone but herself ‒ not for the soldiers dying, or her servants striving to find sufficient supplies in the shops and markets to keep up with her high standards, and certainly not for the Count, who was dealing with an increasing number of problems at the zemstvo.

  ‘Will the war end soon, do you think?’ I asked, feeling quite comfortable with this conversation and the growing respect between us. He was so kind it made me quite cross to think of how badly his wife treated him.

  The Count gave a sad shake to his head. ‘The sense of unrest is growing, Mi
llie, not lessening. Who knows what will happen?’

  By 1916 the value of the rouble had fallen substantially, causing prices to soar even higher, yet the Countess continued to ignore such trivialities as cost or availability, expecting dinner to be served at the same standard as in pre-war days. When Anton served cabbage soup and fish, on this occasion stuffed herring, for the third time in a week, she pushed her plate away in disgust.

  ‘I need to get away,’ she complained. ‘Perhaps to the French Riviera. It must be years since we visited our villa there.’

  ‘I’m afraid that is quite out of the question,’ the Count calmly informed her. The children groaned their disappointment. They loved their holidays in the sun and as autumn approached, the flat was growing colder by the day.

  ‘Why?’ she snapped.

  The Count tucked into his fish with gusto, but then he must have worked up quite an appetite as whenever we were in town he was back and forth to the Winter Palace throughout the day about his ministerial business. ‘I am too busy for one thing.’

  ‘Tush! We can manage perfectly well without you.’

  I ate my own meal in silence, suitably deaf as required when they argued. I knew the Countess would prefer her husband to be absent, as that would allow her to embark upon yet another holiday romance while I, of course, would be left to mind the children. Not that I had any choice in the matter even if I was fast losing patience at being constantly expected to cover up her indiscretions. Two Christmases had come and gone since I’d been burdened with the extra task of acting as her lady’s maid, and all hope of finding a replacement seemed to have vanished. But then with a war on I really didn’t feel able to object.

  The Count’s words echoed my own thoughts.

  ‘There is also, don’t forget, the small issue of a war being fought in France,’ he reminded her.

  ‘We shall go nowhere near the battlefield. In any case, I’m sure the war isn’t half as bad as you claim.’