The Amber Keeper

by Freda Lightfoot

  Abbie gasped. ‘That’s blackmail. Even if I was in possession of such a huge sum I wouldn’t pay you a penny.’

  His lip curled, eyes glittering. ‘This is business. Everything you have should belong to my lady, and now to me. You tell the old woman that Ivan has not gone away and it would be wise for her to do as I say. She cannot hide forever in her beautiful panelled drawing room. I will be back in one week for the money. Make sure you have it waiting.’

  THIRTY-TWO

  By the end of January, the Count and Serge had left Petrograd. Babushka decided to remain as this was where her friends lived, and they did sometimes pay her a visit. Nyanushki agreed to continue as her companion as the old lady’s rheumatism was getting worse and she could do little for herself.

  ‘The poor dear might die of neglect, if I didn’t stay,’ Nyanushki whispered in an aside to me while these negotiations were taking place.

  I’d heard no word from Stefan for almost two weeks, which was driving me half demented. I’d spent many hours trudging about this huge city asking people if they’d seen him, hoping for some clue as to where he might be hiding, so far to no avail. I positively haunted our favourite coffee shop, even though it rarely had any coffee to offer these days. It was most distressing that I could discover no news of him.

  But if I was upset by the cards fate had dealt me, the Countess was in a veritable rage over her own. A divorce was proving to be a mixed blessing. Without her lover, or the settlement she had hoped for, its appeal had diminished somewhat. At one point she went so far as to reject the very idea.

  ‘Why can we not stay as we are, at least until the political situation improves?’

  The Count’s expression as he answered her was uncompromising. ‘Because things could get a whole lot worse. Besides, why would I wish to keep you as my wife? Infidelity appears to be second nature to you. I could personally name many of your lovers, although certainly not all.’

  ‘So you would ruin my reputation?’

  ‘I think you managed that all on your own.’

  Worse, the fact that her precious son had chosen to reside with his father, and not with her, came as a terrible shock. ‘I will not allow you to steal him from me!’ she screamed at the Count.

  ‘I would not dream of doing so. The choice is entirely his. Tell me, Serge, where do you wish to live: here in Petrograd with Mamochka, or with me at the estate, such as it is?’

  ‘With you, Papa.’

  She begged and pleaded with the boy, yelled and shouted at him, but he left her in no doubt over his reasons for making this choice.

  ‘I do love you, Mamochka, but you are never around when I need you. You really only care about yourself, and were horrid to my little sister. How do I know that you won’t get bored with me too one day? Papa and I are good friends, and I shall be a man soon so I wish to be with him. You can come and visit me any time you please, and stay in one of the cottages on the estate, so stop fussing. I’ll be fine, and so will you.’

  The discussion, it appeared, was over, even if her anger continued to fester.

  Much as I had come to love Russia, I was growing increasingly anxious to return home to England, assuming a train or ship became available, just as soon as I could arrange the necessary papers from the Duma. I’d tried on numerous occasions with no success. At my last effort the House Committee had demanded proof of where I had been living these last six years, and who the flat belonged to, which the Countess refused to provide for fear they might come seeking payment or extra taxes of some sort. What should have been a perfectly simple procedure was turning into a nightmare.

  I’d written to my parents assuring them that I was safe. But with no reply I wasn’t even certain they’d received any of my letters. There would be much about Russia that I would miss if I left, not least Nyanushki and Ruth, but I longed to hear English voices, to see smiling happy faces, to leave all of this misery behind me. Except that I still hadn’t found Stefan. Sick as I was of the difficulties in Petrograd, finding him was my number one priority, as I hoped to persuade him to come with me. I certainly had no intention of leaving without him.

  Many of my friends from the British and American chapel had already gone, although not dear Ruth. She often spoke of leaving but had so far set no date to do so. She did advise me to get together some money in preparation for my own departure.

  ‘I tried to draw out some of my savings the other day,’ I told her. ‘Not that I have much left, but was informed that we’re only allowed to draw out one hundred roubles a week. How I’ll get my hands on the money the Count has provided for me is uncertain.’

  ‘Didn’t he give you any cash?’

  I looked around to make sure we were quite alone and not overheard by any wagging ears. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact he did, safely stitched into a secure place. I hope!’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘So if anyone were to find it there, you’d have a bigger problem than just losing the money.’

  We both giggled, as if it were all some sort of joke, when really it could easily turn into a life or death situation. How much money it would take to complete the long journey to England was impossible to say. I knew I needed to be prepared for any emergencies, such as bribing a guard to allow me on to a train, or to persuade someone not to rob me of my precious belongings. Problems of this sort were now quite common. Bribery seemed to be the new currency.

  I let out a weary sigh. ‘I need to go again and ask about my papers. All I’ve had so far are endless promises but no actual documents. Oh, I do wish Stefan was here to help. I really don’t want to leave without him. Where can he be? Have you heard anything?’

  ‘I haven’t seen him, no,’ Ruth said. A little smile lit her face, and I was instantly on the alert.

  ‘But you’ve heard something?’

  Now it was my friend’s turn to glance nervously over her shoulder. Then she carefully dropped her voice. ‘He left a message for you in my hymn book.’

  ‘Oh, tell me where he is,’ I cried. ‘Why didn’t he contact me directly?’

  ‘Because he’s terrified of endangering your life. Listen, he isn’t far away, and wishes to see you too.’ She told me the place and time, and I hugged her with joy. ‘You are the best friend in the world. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.’

  ‘Just be careful. Remember, he’s still a wanted man. He says you must continue to behave as normal. You must keep on trying for your papers and making the necessary arrangements to leave, and when you go to meet him, take a circuitous route, making sure no one is following you. The last thing he needs is for the Countess to find out where he is.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll make absolutely certain of that.’

  It was such a joy and a relief to have Stefan’s arms about me again, to kiss him and hold him and feel his heart beating against mine. Being with him after all these weeks apart was an exquisite pain. Neither of us could speak for some time as we clung to each other beneath the shelter of a bridge down by the river, a safe distance from the centre of the city.

  ‘Show me where you’re living,’ I asked him, when finally we paused to take a breath. ‘I need to know in case something happens and I have to leave without you. I need to know where to contact you.’

  ‘Nothing is going to happen and we are going to leave together, I swear it.’ We both knew it was one promise he couldn’t guarantee to keep. ‘You weren’t followed today, I trust?’

  I shook my head in reassurance, for I shared his fears. ‘I saw no one but an old lady selling flowers. You’re quite safe, my love.’

  His hideout was little more than a shack which, I was surprised to discover, was actually a studio filled with easels, oil paints and brushes. There was also a range of beautiful paintings of local landscapes and sunsets, ships and architecture, birds and animals. I gazed upon them in awe. ‘This is your work?’

  ‘It is.’ He
was almost blushing.

  ‘So is this where you go when you disappear for hours? You took days off to go and paint, not to meet your revolutionary friends, as the Countess imagines.’

  He grinned. ‘Yes, either out in the country, or here in my studio, my secret hideaway.’

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why keep it a secret?’

  He shrugged, for the first time looking vulnerable, almost shy. ‘My painting is very private, my secret creative world, and sharing it is difficult for me. Maybe one day, when I’m convinced I have talent.’

  ‘Oh, you have talent, Nyanushki was right about that,’ I said, remembering a conversation years ago when he’d first come to do the work in the schoolroom. I smiled in wonder at a picture of the blue and white pavilion at Catherine Palace, and one of a tall ship in the harbour. ‘But I do wish you’d been more open about it.’

  ‘You mean I might not be in this mess, if I had.’

  I gave him a rueful smile. ‘Maybe. The Countess likes to keep her own secrets, but is not approving of other people’s.’ I went to put my arms about him. ‘May I tell her that this is what you were doing, painting? It might help to persuade her to drop all charges against you.’

  ‘What if she doesn’t, and the Bolsheviks discover where I’m living?’

  ‘I promise I won’t reveal your hideaway, or give any hint that I know where you are living.’

  ‘It’s too big a risk, Millie. They might wonder why you’ve never mentioned it before and start to question how you know, and where I do this painting. The Countess could make your life impossible as well as ruin mine.’

  As we walked along the river bank sharing the warmth of each other’s bodies, blissfully uncaring of the feathering of snow falling upon our heads as we kissed, we agreed to postpone the decision until I had my papers safely in my hand.

  By the end of February the apartment was refurbished sufficiently for us to occupy a small portion of it. No one could claim it to be comfortable as it was bitterly cold, with very little fuel available. But with only us four women remaining, as even Mrs Grempel, Anton, Gusev and the other servants had all gone their separate ways, we would huddle together in the library during the day. If we were lucky we would find sufficient wood for one fire. On the days we couldn’t, the Countess would order us to chop up a chair or table, and we’d burn that. Anything to keep warm. Once we ran out of wood and the cold became too much, we went to bed.

  We were also starving.

  Today, dinner consisted of beetroot soup and nothing else. The price of food, even if we could find any, was extortionate: seven roubles for a small pack of sugar, eight for a quarter measure of potatoes, and even rice was over three roubles the pound. We’d managed to buy some bread in previous weeks, if only the kind made from rye flour or bran. This week no bread had been given out. Nyanushki had attempted to bake some out of potato flour and bran. It was dreadful and made me feel quite ill.

  As the winter dragged on we lived in constant fear as the apartment was frequently searched by the Bolsheviks. In the first raid they came seeking the Count and his valuables. His work at the Winter Palace and his connection with the Romanovs had not gone unnoticed. That alone put him in danger, as well as his fortune.

  ‘If you possess gold in any shape or form, it must be given up to the new government,’ the soldier informed Countess Olga.

  ‘In view of the bomb, and the resulting fire, we have precious little of anything left,’ the Countess told him in her most regal tones, which did not go down well.

  Fortunately, the Count had taken his most precious possessions with him, save for his Russo-Balt black car, as they’d travelled to the country by train. He still employed Viktor the chauffeur to look after it, and the Countess still loved to drive out of an afternoon whenever petrol could be found to fill the tank. Whether the pair were still involved in a liaison was none of my concern, but the outings ended that day when the Bolsheviks spotted the car parked at the door and demanded the key. The soldiers all piled on board and drove away content.

  ‘Damnation upon the lot of them!’ the Countess raged. Then, turning to Viktor, she asked, ‘Where is the carriage? Is that at least still safe?’

  ‘Oh yes, somewhere they’d never think to look.’

  ‘Good, then we can continue with our drives,’ she said with a smile.

  ‘I’m afraid not milady, as they have also taken the horses.’

  Walking for pleasure was not something the Countess was prepared to contemplate; therefore, her afternoons were now spent confined to the apartment. Viktor, who lived in the room over the garage with his brother Ivan, continued to call regularly. Nyanushki and I would exchange a knowing look but say nothing as the pair of them disappeared for an hour or so to her boudoir.

  At the Countess’s instruction, we spent every free moment hiding her jewels in unlikely places. I stuffed some in balls of Nyanushki’s knitting wool, stitched rows of pearls into a long pair of stays. On one occasion we sat up half the night sewing amber jewellery, sapphire and diamond brooches, and many dismounted gems into hems, collars, cuffs and corsets, and even the baby’s clothes. We padded each with cotton-wool so they wouldn’t press into our flesh and hurt when we wore them. Were anyone to discover this treasure and inform upon us, they would receive one-third of its value, so no one could be trusted.

  Just when we were beginning to feel safe, the soldiers came again, this time looking for firearms. ‘What right do you have to search the Countess’s rooms? We have no weapons here.’

  Perhaps it wasn’t wise of me to confront them, but they merely waved a piece of paper in my face then thrust me to one side and began to pull open cupboard doors and drawers in the Count’s office. They even searched the schoolroom, going through the children’s old toy boxes, Irina’s dolls, and Serge’s box of lead soldiers. They found nothing, so turned their attention back to the living areas.

  ‘Do I look like the kind of woman who would know how to use a pistol?’ the Countess asked the captain in her most flirtatious tones, lifting up her arms and pulling back her shoulders in a gesture that revealed her cleavage. ‘Let alone hide one among my children’s old toys?’

  I saw the lust in his eyes as he looked at her, but then she was still a beautiful woman. ‘Your husband might.’

  ‘He isn’t here, so I’m all alone and unprotected.’ There was a teasing note in her voice now, and as I watched her smile provocatively at him, it came to me that there must indeed be a firearm in the apartment. Were the soldiers to discover a pistol we might all end up in prison. ‘It is most alarming to have men riffle through my personal belongings. Now if it were just one man ‒ you, dear sir, for instance ‒ I should have no objection. I would be happy to show you anything you wished to see.’

  The captain cleared his throat, a crimson flush creeping up his throat as he took in her meaning. It was an invitation few men had resisted in the past. For once I did not condemn her, feeling nothing but admiration for her courage. Turning to his men, the captain ordered them outside, then eagerly allowed the Countess to lead him to her boudoir. I was deeply thankful that her mother was asleep in her bed and not present to witness her daughter offering herself as a bribe.

  Nyanushki and I sat in silence, not even daring to exchange so much as a glance as the clock on the mantel-shelf ticked by fifteen minutes before the captain re-emerged, fastening his tunic with a small sigh of satisfaction.

  The whole apartment stank for hours after the soldiers had left.

  The Countess returned to the library without a word, her expression completely bland and unreadable. Later that afternoon as it began to go dark, she drew the pistol from its hiding place among the books on the shelf behind us, and for the first time ever the pair of us took a walk together and threw it in the River Neva.

  Our spirits lifted a week or two later when we received a letter from Serge, addressed to all of
us, not just his mother. He spoke of his pleasure in being in the country, of helping his father to work the land which he so loved to do.

  ‘We have our own vegetable patch now, although we’ve not much wood left. The soldiers seized what we had and did not pay for it. We have to buy it now from the peasants who take it from Papa’s own forests, but there’s no point in objecting. Papa thinks that come next spring the hunger could be so bad that fighting will break out between villages, so we’re working hard to make ourselves as secure as possible, and be a part of the community. At least we have the goats and some milk here, and a few hens for eggs . . .’

  The letter rambled on, giving more descriptions of their farming achievements. We all read and re-read it, savouring every word, thankful to hear that Serge was cheerful, fit and well, and reasonably happy despite the difficulties. I saw the tears in the Countess’s eyes and my heart filled with pity for her. Nursing little Katya on my lap, I fully understood the pain she must be suffering at the loss of her son.

  ‘What a brave boy he is,’ I said, and the Countess smiled, pleased by my compliment.

  ‘He always was.’

  ‘If rather fond of practical jokes as a youngster.’

  ‘He seems to have grown out of that now, thanks to your influence, Dowthwaite. Pity you didn’t have the same good effect upon Stefan.’