‘Give him plenty to drink,’ he advised both Marguerite and the nurse, who would be staying to help with the care, ‘because he lost a lot of blood when he suffered that wound, and try to feed him plenty of light and nourishing food. I’ll look in again later.’
He left the room, but on the way downstairs he saw that in answer to some heavy knocking at the entrance it was being opened wide. Immediately he recognized one of the Empress’s most important ministers, Count Batalov. He had come striding in, accompanied by four palace guards.
‘Where is Colonel Dashiski?’ the Count demanded of the footman who had opened the door.
Mikail spoke out strongly, causing all in the hall to look up at him. ‘I’m Dr Legotin. My patient is very ill and cannot receive visitors.’
‘Her Imperial Majesty has been informed that he was on the ship that arrived today and I have instructions to remove him immediately to the Palace where he can be attended by her own doctors.’
Mikail spoke sternly. ‘You must go back to the Empress and explain that to move him again now could be fatal! He is in a very weak state.’
The Count regarded him contemptuously. ‘One does not question an order from the Empress! So get out of the way!’ He moved to the foot of the flight.
‘No!’ Marguerite had come to the head of the stairs. ‘Dr Legotin is right! I’ll not allow it!’
The Count knew her and shook his head wearily. ‘Be reasonable, Madame Dashiski. I have no choice in this matter. Your husband is to be taken to the Palace immediately.’ He began to mount the stairs. ‘I don’t want to cause you or Count Dashiski any distress.’
‘Do you want to deliver him dead?’
He stopped and looked at her uncertainly. The doctor had already warned him. He could imagine the Empress’s terrible wrath if Dashiski did die after he had ignored those warnings. ‘Very well.’ He gave in reluctantly. ‘I shall inform Her Imperial Majesty.’
After he and those with him had gone she and Mikail exchanged smiles of relief.
‘Well done!’ he said. ‘That fellow would never have taken notice of me. And take heart. We’ve a fight on our hands to pull Konstantin through, but we have a chance to break the fever now that it’s certain he can stay where he is.’
Marguerite returned to Konstantin’s bedside and sat down to continue to put cool damp cloths on his forehead. Once he opened his eyes and knew her. He raised a hand towards her and she took it.
‘I thought you were a dream, Marguerite,’ he said almost inaudibly before closing his eyes again.
The nurse had returned with an egg-nog and managed to spoon a little into his mouth. He was sleeping again when once more there came a thunderous knocking on the door. Marguerite sprang up in alarm. Had the Count returned to repeat his demand? Once again she rushed to the head of the stairs and was in time to see the door opened to two palace guards, who promptly stepped in to stand rigidly to attention on each side of the entrance and it was the Empress herself who swept in. She looked up at Marguerite, her expression frantic.
‘Where is my darling boy? Is he really dying?’
‘My husband is sleeping,’ Marguerite replied coolly.
The Empress was already on her way up the wide staircase, holding her skirts so that her twinkling feet were unhindered and at the same showing inadvertently her heavily swollen ankles. At the top of the flight she stood for a few moments to recover her breath, her hand pressed to her chest, before she was able to speak. ‘Take me to him!’
Marguerite led the way and signalled for the nurse to leave as the Empress burst into the room and flung herself down by the bedside in a billowing of skirts. She snatched up Konstantin’s hand and pressed it to her lips.
‘Speak to me, my darling! Say that you know your beloved Elisabeth is here!’
Marguerite stood as if frozen, pressing her back against the wall in the shock of what she was hearing. Tom’s words came back to her. Still the endearments flowed.
‘You must not die, dearest heart! How would I live without your loving arms?’
Konstantin stirred and his eyes opened. As when he had looked at Marguerite, there was momentary recognition. He mumbled something, although neither woman comprehended what he said. Yet Elisabeth took his response eagerly.
‘Yes, you know me and you will get well and strong again. I shall take you with me now and care for you myself.’ She began rising to her feet.
‘I cannot allow it!’ Marguerite stepped forward. ‘The doctor insisted he is not to be moved.’
Elisabeth swung round, her eyes blazing and struck Marguerite full across the face. ‘How dare you forbid me, seamstress!’ she thundered. ‘Konstantin does not belong to you! Nothing belongs to you! Not this house or anything in it! All of it is mine! He spent his last night before going to war with me!’ She prodded a finger into her own chest. ‘You’ve only had him as a husband because I allowed him a wife! Now I’m taking him back where he belongs to get well again!’
She made for the door, giving Marguerite a great thrust out of her way as she went from the room. Descending the stairs, she gave orders to the guards below. They in turn signalled to two more, who had been waiting outside with a stretcher. They came running up the flight to take the sick man from his bed. Marguerite had to watch helplessly as Konstantin was wrapped in a blanket and then carried from the room. She went to the window and saw him placed along the seat of the waiting coach, the Empress cradling his head in her lap.
The nurse had returned to the room and as Marguerite looked dully towards her she hurried across. ‘Your lip is cut, madame! There is blood! Let me see to it.’
Marguerite sat numbly while the nurse tended to her. She supposed one of Elisabeth’s rings had slashed her and she could feel that her lip was swollen. But that was nothing compared with all that had been revealed during that terrible scene.
She had truly believed that there was no longer anything between Konstantin and the Empress, no matter what had happened in the past, but now she realized that he had lied to her consistently, even to telling her that he had purchased their house himself. Instead, it had been given to him by his lecherous benefactress, together with everything else. How could he have been so weak, so greedy? Yet she knew the answer. The truth was that he had never been able to free himself from the spell that Elisabeth could cast over men.
When Mikail called in later he was dismayed to hear that Konstantin had been taken away after all. He also saw that Marguerite was still in a state of shock and tried to cheer her.
‘I trained under one of the imperial doctors. Dr Samsonov is a good man. I’m sure he will do his best for your husband.’
She nodded. ‘I know he’ll not lack care.’
‘Would you like to invite me to have a glass of cognac with you?’
She was jerked out of her lethargy as he had hoped. ‘Forgive me! I should have offered you some refreshment from the start.’ Then she smiled, realizing that he thought it was she who was in need of it. ‘I’ll pour it myself for both of us.’
He sat with her for quite a while and she was glad of his company.
‘Shall you visit Colonel Dashiski tomorrow?’ Mikail asked.
She shook her head. ‘After what happened here with the Empress today I think the Palace will be barred to me.’
‘Was it so bad?’
‘Worse than anything you could imagine.’ She touched her cut lip significantly.
He whistled under his breath. ‘I see what you mean! But I’ll find out your husband’s condition from Dr Samsonov and report to you.’
‘Will there be anything to report, do you suppose?’ she asked anxiously.
He hesitated. ‘He should not have been moved, of course. But he survived the voyage, even though the state of his wound had deteriorated on the way. Provided his fever subsides and his strength is built up again we can allow ourselves to be hopeful.’
After Mikail had left again she wandered aimlessly about the house, remembering how she had gradu
ally come to find pleasure in its graceful rooms and fine proportions. Now it seemed like a prison. Yet, in spite of her bitter disillusionment, she would have to stay until Konstantin was on the path to recovery. His life was at stake and if he should express a wish to see her in extreme circumstances she would go to him. The Empress would not deny his request.
Before she went to bed a note from Jeanne was delivered, giving the good news of finding her son, who had been fighting as a mercenary in various conflicts over the intervening years. Marguerite was so glad for them both and read the note twice over.
When finally she went to make ready for bed she sat for a long time looking at Jan’s painting. Once again it was like an anchor to her. Something to contemplate and ponder over, always intriguing her even while it gave her peace. She knew that even if Jan had been in St Petersburg, she would not have turned to him this time in her troubles. This was a matter she had to sort out for herself and her whole future depended on it.
Several weeks went by before word came from the Palace that Marguerite was permitted to visit the invalid. She went full of trepidation that Konstantin had taken a turn for the worse, for he had hovered between life and death for quite a while before Mikhail’s reports had begun to be hopeful. She found Konstantin in bed still looking very ill with an almost translucent pallor beneath the remains of his tan. He was propped up against pillows in a room in the Empress’s apartment. He gave the bedcovers a pat for her to sit down there and she did as he wished.
‘Why haven’t you been to see me?’ he demanded irritably in greeting, not noticing that she had failed to kiss him. ‘I’ve asked for you to come many times.’
She had no intention of worrying him with the true facts of the case in his present condition. ‘I believe you were too ill at first to have any visitors. We can talk about all the other reasons when you are home again.’
‘Nothing wrong, is there?’ he inquired querulously with a frown.
‘Everything is in order.’
‘Good.’ Then his expression softened, showing his pleasure in seeing her. ‘I’ve missed you, Marguerite. I want to come home, but I haven’t put a foot out of bed yet. The Empress fusses over me all the time. It’s almost as if she relishes having me shut up here all to herself.’ He raised himself up, catching at her hand. ‘See if you can get those damn doctors to say I can come home.’ Then he fell back again on the pillows, momentarily exhausted by the small exertion he had made.
‘I’ll do my best.’ It seemed to her that the Empress had taken jealous possession of him as she had done with both of Catherine’s children. ‘But I must go now. I was only allowed two or three minutes.’
He swore fiercely in exasperation. ‘I can’t take much more of this molly-coddling!’ Then, as she reached the door, he sat up again. ‘I love you, Marguerite. You do know that, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I do,’ she replied.
Closing the door after her, she paused for a few moments, a hand over her eyes in despair. All fondness for him had long since drained away, leaving only tolerance. Yet he did love her. She knew it, but in spite of his present attitude towards the Empress he would ever be held in thrall by her, no matter how much he might long to escape now or at any other time.
She told Mikail of Konstantin’s request, but after he had spoken to Dr Samsonov he reported that it was in vain.
‘The Empress will not hear of him leaving yet. At least you know he is receiving good care, and his recovery does seem assured.’
A few days later Marguerite received a summons from the Empress to attend her. Expecting to hear some report on Konstantin’s progress or even more lenient visiting to be conceded, she arrived at the appointed time. Elisabeth greeted her smilingly as if nothing untoward had happened between them. ‘Well, Madame Dashiski? Where are the new designs?’
Marguerite looked at her in astonishment. Did the woman imagine that everything could go on as before?
‘There are none, Your Imperial Majesty. My designing days are at an end.’ She saw Elisabeth’s eyes narrow for a matter of seconds as they looked at each other in full understanding.
‘What nonsense!’ Elisabeth exclaimed dangerously, the smile gone from her face. ‘Your work must continue. Such talent cannot be discarded so easily.’ A deep threat came into her voice. ‘I’m sure you wish to be at home when Count Dashiski returns after his convalescence.’
Marguerite thought of the warning Konstantin had given her some time ago when she had wanted to defy this cruel, despotic woman, but she would not be beaten down this time. ‘Naturally I do. Where else should I be?’
Elisabeth thought how swiftly she would have had this proud-faced creature shut away for defiance if she had not wanted the continuation of gowns made up from those imaginative designs.
‘I shall be sending your husband to the Catherine Palace to recuperate. He has a persistent cough left over from his fever, but that will soon go. You shall accompany him and supervise his nursing. In such a setting your own work should flourish extremely well. Is that agreeable to you?’
Marguerite realized a bargain was being struck, but still she was not ready to acquiesce. ‘It would be better for Konstantin to remain at home now that the winter is here.’
‘No. Now that I am about to depart for Moscow he can no longer remain under my care. Since the doctors have agreed with me that he should be in harmonious surroundings to stimulate him out of his listlessness, the Catherine Palace is ideal. It’s only a short journey from here and he has always liked being there.’
Marguerite saw that further opposition would be useless. Elisabeth had made up her mind and there was no changing it. ‘How soon should I be ready to leave with him?’
‘According to the doctors, he will be fit to travel next week.’
When the day came they travelled in a closed sledge through the snow-covered countryside. Konstantin, who had not yet regained his full weight, still had the look of an invalid in his features, but he was in high spirits at being away from the Palace at last. Yet he had not lacked company during the latter weeks of his recovery, for fellow courtiers and friends had come to see him, bringing bottles of vodka and plenty of talk and laughter. But now the Court had departed for Moscow for Christmas and it would be quiet again at the Winter Palace.
‘Now we can make up for lost time, Marguerite,’ he said cheerfully as they were driven along.
He had been too ill to know anything of the terrible scene with the Empress that had taken place at his bedside and Marguerite had said nothing about it to him. But as soon as he was fully recovered their parting must come about, for she knew that he would still go running to the Empress whenever she crooked her finger.
The Catherine Palace looked extraordinarily beautiful in the snow. The lack of leaves on the trees enabled a full vista of it to be seen from the approach through the gilded gates. The white marble statues bordering the drive all wore caps of snow and the curious winter light enhanced the Palace’s golden splendour.
Servants ran to help Konstantin into the Palace, but he refused their assistance, making his own way up the snow-cleared steps with the aid of a cane. Indoors the welcome warmth from the tall, handsomely tiled stoves enveloped the two arrivals. Konstantin hurled his hat and gloves aside and flung off his sable coat, letting it drop to the floor.
‘I feel better already!’ he declared.
In many ways it was a lovers’ palace – not only because of the beauty of both its exterior and interior, but because it was possible to dine alone without the intrusion of servants at a table that could be raised up through the floor, fully set with dishes for the meal. Sometimes Marguerite and Konstantin took advantage of it, but not as lovers.
‘I have the desire, but not the strength yet,’ he said regretfully when they parted one night at her bedroom door. She made no reply.
At first the time passed comfortably for both of them. There was a splendid library in the Palace where they both liked to read. Soon they had plenty of vis
itors, people they both knew, who were living at country estates in the neighbouring district, but when Konstantin was totally exhausted afterwards Marguerite had tactfully to limit the visits.
Unless it was snowing hard or dangerously cold she took a daily walk. Paths were cleared daily between snowfalls until there were high white walls each side, making it impossible to see anything except the tops of the bare trees. Konstantin, using his cane for support, took his exercise indoors along the enormous length of the exquisite golden enfilade that went on and on through many rooms.
‘It’s like walking through the gates of Heaven,’ he joked wryly one day.
At first she went with him, but he felt increasing humiliated by his slowness in regaining his strength and by his constant attacks of coughing, which frequently made him halt for minutes at a time.
‘Don’t follow me about!’ he snapped irritably at her one day. ‘I don’t need you to watch me all the time!’
After that she did not accompany him, but instructed his valet to be in range unobtrusively, for the parquet floor was well polished. Once he deliberately left his cane behind, but fell so heavily before he could be saved that it was sheer good luck that he did not break any bones.
As Konstantin slept a great deal in the daytime, Marguerite worked during these hours, taking the colours of the many beautiful rooms as her inspiration. The glorious Amber Room with its inlaid amber panels, which she thought must be a wonder of the world in itself, gave her the idea for a gown of ruched cream silk with amber beadwork. An azure drawing room with silk-upholstered, blue-flowered walls inspired another, and even the Pompeian greens in her own bedroom resulted in a unique design.
She and Konstantin spent Christmas on their own, but when they were invited to a party at New Year he insisted that they go.
‘After all those weeks in bed and then coming here I need to see some life again,’ he declared. ‘I’m going mad from boredom in this place.’
He was also becoming increasingly concerned over his lack of libido. One night he came to Marguerite’s bed, but it was useless and he sat on the edge of the bed in despair. She began to wonder if his persistent cough indicated that he was more ill than the doctors had realized.
To Dream of Snow Page 25
