The Midwife of St. Petersburg

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  Tatiana laid a hand across her forehead. She looked up at the ceiling in her usual manner of frustrated agony. “This conversation is becoming distasteful. It’s little wonder you’ve been treated with small interest at the Imperial Medical College, Karena. One doesn’t go about blaring trumpets and telling everyone you’ve an uncle who isn’t loyal to Czar Nicholas.”

  Karena felt her flush deepen. “Professor Menkin is absolutely loyal to the Romanovs—”

  Ignoring her, Tatiana moved between Alex and Fyodor, looping her arms through theirs. She looked first at one young man and then the other, her small white teeth showing in a dimpled smile.

  “Alex … Fyodor, have you heard my exciting news? We’re having a surprise guest coming tonight after dinner. Before the dancing begins, some of us are going into the great-parlor where he’ll speak to us.”

  Karena shook with anger and embarrassment. Tatiana might just as well have called her a silly little fool in front of the men. Oh! Sometimes I could squeeze that neck of hers! She was tempted to turn away and go up to her room, but she didn’t want Tatiana to think she could be defeated so easily. Why had Tatiana reacted that way? Why had she even invited her to Kazan if all she saw in her was someone with whom she must compete whenever they were with guests?

  Why shouldn’t I be honest with Fyodor? I am not ashamed that Mother is Jewish. And Uncle Matvey is one of the most intelligent men I know.

  Karena refused to slink away. She glanced about for Natalia and vaguely recalled that she’d wandered into the next room with the talkative son of the count. Karena lifted her chin and stood her ground, pretending interest in Tatiana’s conversation with Alex and Zinnovy that deliberately excluded her. Karena noticed the pathetic smile on Fyodor’s face each time Tatiana turned to smile at him, including him in her attentions, her fingers holding onto his arm.

  He looks like a lovesick calf, Karena thought. She could have laughed but found her heart felt sorry for him. She sensed that he wanted to be liked for himself instead of his father’s renowned name in medicine. Tatiana was merely using him for some reason of her own that wasn’t clear. He doesn’t see that she has no more genuine interest in him than in a dandelion. Karena didn’t know what Alex’s response was because she steadfastly refused to look at him, nor could he say anything with Tatiana talking and laughing constantly.

  “I think,” Colonel Kronstadt said with affected gravity, apparently relieved, “that was the dinner announcement we just heard.”

  “Yes, shall we go in?” Tatiana said. “You must prove yourself cheerful company tonight for the general’s sake, Alex. My poor father is in a worse mood than you are. You too, Fyodor,” she added with a quick smile thrown his way.

  As though he were a big-eyed spaniel in need of a pat on the head, Karena thought.

  Tatiana, dividing herself unselfishly between Alex and Fyodor, her arms still looped through theirs, was beginning to lead them away captive when Alex turned back toward Karena.

  He wore a faint smile. “We must not forget Miss Peshkova,” he said smoothly, releasing Tatiana’s hold and extending a hand to Karena with a light bow. “She might be sorry she left Kiev and board the first steamer to the train station.”

  Karena smiled and took his hand, ignoring the glimmer of displeasure in Tatiana’s eyes. His warm hand closed about hers and placed it on his arm, and his reassuring touch made her heart beat faster.

  “I shall hardly run away, Colonel.”

  He looked into her eyes. “No, on second thought, I don’t think you would.”

  FOUR

  The Starets

  Light cascaded from a mass of white tapers in golden chandeliers. The large dining table, covered with ecru lace, sparkled with silver and crystal.

  Alex noticed a change in Tatiana. It was unlike her to be silent. Perhaps she was agitated because he had escorted Karena into the dining room. Following her gaze, he realized Tatiana was watching not the Peshkova girl but the medical student seated beside her. Now why would the moody Fyodor occupy her thoughts?

  Alex leaned toward her. “Not feeling well, darling?”

  “Oh. Oh, yes, quite well.” She smiled at him sweetly. “Why do you ask?”

  He lifted a brow. “You’re too quiet.”

  “Am I?” she laughed. “I’m saving all my energy for the dance.” She paused. “I hope you won’t mind if I dance with others tonight? Fyodor, for instance … I would like to lead off with him. Do you mind?”

  Alex stifled a grin. “Dance to your heart’s content. Just watch your wee toes. He may be good with a scalpel, but don’t trust him to do the light fandango gracefully.”

  She laughed again. A moment later she sobered and murmured, “Alex, do you think Fyodor is as handsome as his father?”

  “I’ve not given the matter much thought,” he teased, “but—”

  “Oh, bother!” she grabbed her napkin from her lap and touched it to her velvet skirt. “I’ve spilled a dash of wine. I need to go up and get my lady to clean it.”

  Alex stood, pulling back her chair. “I’ll escort you.”

  “There’s no need, Alex. Do stay and enjoy your meal. I won’t be long.”

  Alex looked down at her chair before reseating himself and noticed her linen napkin. He picked it up. It was unsoiled—there’d been no wine spilled.

  Karena was conversing with Fyodor, and her sister with the count. The entire table of guests appeared occupied with those seated near them. A minute later, Alex left the dining room.

  In the foyer, a few serving people were moving quickly about. The butler hovered nearby, keeping a watchful eye on the dinner party. Alex looked over at the grand staircase. “Did Miss Roskova go up?”

  “She did, sir, just a moment ago.”

  “Where is her room?”

  “Down the corridor to your right, sir. The end of the hall.”

  Alex went up the stairs. He found the second floor quiet except for the faint murmur of voices and music that drifted up from below. Tatiana’s bedroom door was shut. He tapped. There was no response. From down the corridor he heard movement in one of the rooms. He walked there and found the door ajar. He saw enough to know that this was the room assigned to Karena or her sister. Tatiana stared into the open box in her hands, so entranced that she didn’t hear him enter as she removed its contents.

  “Not very hospitable of you, darling.”

  Her breath caught, and she whirled. “Alex!”

  “Yes, and you should be grateful it isn’t one of your cousins.”

  “I wasn’t stealing it!”

  “I didn’t say you were.” He came up beside her, carefully removing the pendant from her hand.

  “Alex—oh, you can’t think I’d take it from them!”

  “No, I don’t.” He lifted her chin gently and studied her eyes.

  She shook her head. “They have so little. I’d never take from them. I—I was just looking at it.” She placed her trembling palm against his hand. “I want you to believe me,” she whispered.

  “I do, Tatiana.” It was a deliberate act of his will to believe.

  She let out a sigh of relief. Tension fled from her face. “Thank you, Alex.”

  He caught sight of a red hat by the wardrobe. Karena … He frowned. Why can’t I get her out of my mind?

  Tatiana stepped back, oblivious to his moment of frustration, and brought her handkerchief to her eyes.

  He looked down at the pendant and examined it. “Exceptional.”

  “Yes. Very.” She sank onto the edge of the chair. “That’s what made me so curious. Jewelry of this value would be hard for the Menkins to come by.”

  “Then the pendant isn’t your cousin’s?”

  “Oh no. Karena has very little. The Peshkovs are not wealthy. Uncle Josef—Mother’s younger brother—is a wheat farmer. You saw Karena’s gown tonight. Quite dull, actually. I had to give her and Natalia silk stockings. They’re country gentry. But I love them dearly, of course.” She stood, making j
erky movements with her hands. “That’s why the pendant is so curious to me.”

  “If it isn’t your cousin’s, whose would it be?”

  “Well, they say it belongs to their mother, Madame Yeva, from the Menkin side of the family—the Jewish side. Natalia says she borrowed it from a safe and brought it here to wear to the ball. Karena was very upset about that.”

  “Then Madame Peshkova doesn’t know Natalia borrowed it?”

  “No, and Karena made a terrible fuss and refused to allow her to wear it tonight.”

  “Undoubtedly wise. Other than its value, why are you so taken with it?”

  A flash of resentment showed in her eyes, then diminished. “I’ve seen two other pieces like it, and I can’t understand how Madame Yeva would have come by it.”

  Alex kept silent. He thought he could see down the path Tatiana was taking. He knew almost nothing about the Peshkov family of Kiev and even less of Madame Yeva and her Jewish roots.

  “Why didn’t you go to your cousins and ask to see it again?”

  “Karena made such a fuss over Natalia having it here, as I’ve said.”

  He looked at her. “So what were you planning to do?”

  “To borrow it for just an hour to show it to Fyodor and see if he agreed it’s part of the countess’s set.”

  Alex’s temper flared. “A grave mistake. It is none of your affair.”

  “And if it is part of Countess Zinnovy’s set?” she asked defensively.

  “Regardless, you would embarrass your cousins and cause a furor. Just imagine if you rouse Fyodor’s suspicions. Once he gets riled, he’s like a hound. Do you want Karena and Natalia to be questioned and persecuted by someone as powerful as he? It would lead to trouble all around.”

  She lowered her eyes. “I see what you mean … I hadn’t realized the consequences. I was merely curious and thought he could explain.”

  He studied her for an uncomfortable moment. “Let me handle this, will you? Say nothing whatsoever to Fyodor, or anyone else.”

  “Yes, Alex, of course I will.”

  He placed the pendant back into the box. “Is there a key to the box?”

  “Natalia keeps it in the crystal container. Earlier, I watched to see where she put it. It’s over there—on the vanity table.”

  He locked the box and had Tatiana carefully place it where she found it. After returning the key to the cut-glass container, he glanced at Tatiana. She looked uneasy with herself, and he was encouraged by it.

  “You’ll not mention this pendant to Fyodor?” he asked.

  “I’ll say nothing.”

  “We’d better return before we’re missed,” he said. “All we need is to be caught by your cousins, after hovering over their mother’s pendant.”

  Tatiana had returned to good temper and seemed normal again. She smothered a silly giggle. Alex playfully pinched her dimpled chin.

  “Out, my girl. And make it quick, or one of these days, I will stop flying to your aid.”

  “Do so, and I shall mourn and waste away.”

  He gave no response. She reached up suddenly, threw her arms around him, and kissed him.

  Alex propelled her from the room into the corridor. He could just imagine bumping into Karena as he was exiting her room, Tatiana’s lip rouge on his mouth. He rubbed it off with his kerchief.

  After dinner, Alex reluctantly joined the dozen or so special guests in the great-parlor. Rasputin was to arrive soon with the Crow sisters, and Tatiana had gone out to greet them.

  The great-parlor with connecting terrace, which overlooked the river full of twinkling houseboats and barges, was a pleasant area with comfortable damasked furnishings and fine paintings. Across the room, Alex noticed Karena beside Fyodor. The medical student’s sullen mood was gone, and he seemed more animated than before. Karena listened and smiled.

  A patient young woman, Alex thought. And modest. She and her sister were the only women wearing gowns that concealed beauty instead of displaying it. The other women showed no restraint in donning low-cut dresses and weighty jewels. Accustomed to seeing more than he should, Alex found himself intrigued by Karena. Was she religious? Jewish, she had said, but if she, her mother, and her sister practiced Judaism, they would need to live “within the pale” in Odessa, where the czar insisted all practicing Jews must live. Since they were wheat producers from Kiev, he assumed she had adapted to worshiping in the Russian Orthodox Church.

  Alex joined Karena and Fyodor by the terrace. They stood with Natalia and the count’s son beside the grand piano. “Are you prepared to meet Grigori Rasputin, Colonel Kronstadt?” Fyodor asked, turning toward him.

  He smiled. “With breathless anticipation.”

  Karena was listening to the casual exchange and turned toward him, as if to judge his seriousness.

  “He was in Kiev, visiting our famous monasteries, before his recent pilgrimage,” she said.

  Alex looked at her directly to interpret her remark. He recognized a subdued flicker of pleasure in her eyes over his presence. He was irritated that he could find more stimulation in her small response than in Tatiana’s overly amorous attention.

  “Do you follow your cousin’s enthusiasm for Rasputin’s spiritual guidance?” he asked her.

  “At the risk of being misunderstood, I’m not impressed with the starets, Colonel Kronstadt. I told Tatiana so earlier this evening, and I’m afraid her feelings were nettled.”

  “Oh?” He studied her face, hoping she would reveal her thoughts.

  “My uncle knows about him, and I trust his judgment,” she said in a low voice that even Fyodor might not hear. “He happens to know the trends in society and says the starets’s pilgrimage was to make amends for stealing a neighbor’s horse a few years ago in his village of Pokrovskoe.”

  Alex knew this as well. Rasputin had lived a wild life as a peasant. Many said he still did.

  “His supporters aren’t apt to give much credence to that,” he said, “even if it’s true. It merely emboldens them to rally against his persecutors.”

  “I suppose you’re right, Colonel.”

  “This individual in St. Petersburg you mention, perhaps he’s an acquaintance of mine?” he asked, wondering if she referenced her beau. He could hardly imagine a young woman with her qualities not having a suitor.

  “Professor Matvey Menkin, my uncle on my mother’s side. Have you heard of him? He’s written several articles in educators’ journals and is now doing research for a book on a matter of Jewish interest.”

  This was the second time she’d mentioned her Jewish connections, as though placing a bulwark between them. Her face was a lovely mask, her eyes veiled. What were her motives?

  Before he could respond, his attention shifted across the room. Madame Zofia appeared with a gracious smile, escorted by General Viktor.

  A moment later, Tatiana swept in, followed by the elderly Crow sisters. Their eyes were bright with apparent excitement over introducing their newest find in the world of mysticism. Between the sisters stood Grigori Rasputin.

  This, thought Alex, with a sense of grief, is what our Russian nobility embraces as their spiritual shepherd.

  He glanced at Karena, encouraged by a look of dismay as she bit her lip and lowered her eyes. Fyodor’s soft face was blank; he stared, took out his monocle, cleaned it with his kerchief, and placed it in his eye.

  Around the room, guests fidgeted and chattered like nervous birds. Alex knew they all hoped to witness a miracle from this supposed man of God.

  Alex marveled that Rasputin could find a following in the parlors of well-educated men and women. Deception, he decided, was not limited to the peasants. Something that Michael had written him in a recent letter jumped to his mind: “When men do not receive the love of the truth, they are vulnerable to strong delusion.”

  Alex glanced at Tatiana. Her cheeks wore a pink flush. She’s awed by his presence! Alex made up his mind that he must confront her over this.

  Rasputin wore a
dark, soiled tunic over peasant trousers bloused into scuffed boots. His long hair was drawn back and looked as unkempt as his beard. Women said his eyes were mesmerizing, that he had an ability to exert a bizarre force of will with them. Alex found them shrewd.

  “Curious,” Alex murmured to Fyodor. “Could he have learned the art of hypnotism? maybe on one of his pilgrimages?”

  “Perhaps,” he replied quietly. “I don’t trust him, but in St. Petersburg, one risks his career by saying so. My father is now one of several physicians to the Romanov family, so I must watch what I say.”

  “Oh! Then Dr. Zinnovy’s no longer head of admissions at the medical college?” Karena asked.

  “I believe he remains in charge until the end of the year. I’ve no notion who’ll take his place. Some say it will be a woman—Dr. Lenski,” Fyodor said stiffly. “She is his colleague and a friend of the countess.”

  “Dr. Lenski?”

  Alex looked at Karena, whose voice had revealed sudden excitement.

  “You sound as if you know her,” he said.

  “My mother knew her well. They were roommates during their studies. They’ve not seen each other in years, but I’m sure Dr. Lenski would remember.”

  “Then Madame Peshkova is a doctor?” Alex inquired.

  “I’m afraid not. She left the college to marry my father. She remains the village midwife and medical practitioner. I’ve been going with her on her calls since I was eight.” She smiled. “Do you wonder that I desire to enter medicine?”

  “A worthy ambition. So Madame Peshkova must have many old friends from St. Petersburg,” Alex said.

  “Oh yes, letters are frequently exchanged, though she has no time for visits. When Natalia and I were younger, we would go to the Roskov residence for Christmas festivities, but our parents remained in Kiev.”

  “Then Dr. Zinnovy must be a medical school friend of your mother, as well.”

  “He was one of her instructors.”

  “I see.”

  She looked at him, a flicker of alertness in her eyes as she seemed to wonder what motivated his interest.