‘Your Imperial Majesty, I have just received word that the Lady Catherine is in St Petersburg, where the army has rallied to her! She is being declared empress in your stead!’
Peter turned ashen and uttered a kind of frenzied scream of fury, arching his back as if he had been shot in the chest, and shaking his clenched fists into the air. His one thought was that Catherine had thwarted his plan to have her incarcerated and had put his life in danger instead of hers. Then he gave way totally to panic.
Nobody could keep pace with the orders that he shouted out as he ran about like a dog chasing its tail. Someone brought him a decanter of burgundy and a glass, and he gulped down glass after glass as if he thought it would give him strength at this time of crisis. Vorontsova sobbed noisily as she watched his wild antics. He was drunk when he finally sat down and the chancellor was able at last to give him sound advice.
Peter did not even raise his head as he mumbled his replies. No, he did not want to go to Kronstadt where the troops would still be loyal to him. No, he would not ride at their head and march them to the city to put down the insurrection.
In the end the chancellor lost patience with such cowardice and did the unthinkable by wrenching the Emperor to his feet. With the waters of the Gulf of Finland lapping the shore of Peterhof it was not long before Peter was bundled aboard a vessel and found himself bound for Kronstadt with Vorontsova at his side while attempts were made to sober him up. But Peter’s failure to rise to the moment had lost him the day. Catherine’s envoy had reached the fortress first. A shout from Peter’s vessel that the Emperor was on board only met with a refused entry by the commander, a cannon blast across its bows a hostile threat to sink it in the event of defiance.
The chancellor still did not give up hope for Peter, who sat weeping. He tried to persuade this pathetic emperor that he could still win the day if he went ashore and addressed his troops courageously, but Peter sprang up in terror at the suggestion and bolted from him. When they found him it was if he had sought the safety of the womb again, for he had tucked himself away in one of the darkest corners of the hold, seated with his knees drawn up to his chin and his arms covering his face.
Soon afterwards he was landed back at Oranienbaum and went straight to bed, emotionally exhausted. Later, when a declaration of abdication was brought to him, he took up his quill without a murmur of dissent and signed it.
It was only when he heard the fate decreed for him, which was exactly what he had planned for Catherine, that he once again gave way to tears, high-pitched shrieks and protests.
‘No, no, no!’ he cried, falling to his knees and totally without dignity.
He was to be incarcerated in a fortress a great distance from St Petersburg, from which he would never be freed. Although he would be allowed some privileges, he would not be permitted to take Vorontsova with him. It was impossible to tell which of them shed the most tears or made the worst scene.
The Orlov brothers were made responsible for seeing him installed at the fortress. Marguerite happened to be with Catherine when she received an urgent message from Alexis. Marguerite saw how she turned ashen and read the contents twice as if to convince herself that what was written could be true. Then, her face wrenched by distress, she turned distractedly to Marguerite.
‘Peter is dead!’
‘Oh, no!’ Marguerite was equally shocked.
‘Alexis has written that it was an accident. Some kind of struggle. But everyone here and abroad will always think I had him murdered!’
Marguerite did not doubt that would be the case. All the time Peter was alive he would have been a potential threat to Catherine’s security on the throne, for there would always have been those prepared to launch a counter-coup d’état, seeing him as the true tsar. It was obvious to her that the Orlov brothers in their fierce loyalty to Catherine had decided to dispose of him for her. There was also the possibility, considering that all five were proud men with great love for Russia, that at the same time they had taken private revenge for the terrible humiliation they had suffered in being forced to wear the hated Holsteinian uniforms.
Peter was not given the pomp and ceremony to be expected at a former tsar’s funeral and was buried in civilian clothes.
With her new power Catherine was resolved to be as good to her people as she would be ruthless towards her enemies. She began writing what she called her ‘Great Instruction’. It was her blueprint for ruling wisely and justly, ensuring that there were fair trials in the courts with the accused innocent until proven guilty and abolishing all forms of torture, which was used so widely in Europe. Free schooling for both boys and girls was to be introduced with no corporal punishment allowed, and many other great improvements and benefits that would show the world that Russia was an advanced and enlightened country, both stable and strong and an example to all.
Pausing at her writing, she gave a thought for herself. She would extend this palace by another, which should be her own Hermitage in the heart of St Petersburg. A smile curled her lips. Maybe she would need to go on extending if the works of art and other treasures she intended to buy never stopped flowing in.
Twenty-Two
It was announced that the Coronation would take place at Moscow’s great cathedral in September. While Catherine spent the intervening time making changes for the good of her people as well as renewing alliances with England and other countries that Peter had severed, Marguerite and Jeanne supervised the sewing of the gown that Catherine was to wear on the great day. Already it was almost finished, many embroiderers having worked long hours.
‘You really did excel yourself with this design,’ Jeanne said admiringly when she and Marguerite left the atelier to go into her room to talk.
Marguerite smiled as they sat down together. ‘It is my Russian swansong.’
Jeanne looked at her in dismay. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I feel the time has come for me to leave Russia. If I’m to set my life on a new course I must do it now.’
‘But you’ve already done a host of new designs for the Empress that have yet to be made up. She will always want you on hand.’
‘I’ve already spoken to her about the matter. She is very understanding.’
‘But you’ve never expressed any wish to leave Russia!’
‘I know. Part of my heart will always remain here. How could anyone ever forget that wonderful golden light that often suffuses the whole city as if it has escaped from the glories within the palaces? I’ve grown to love this country in all its seasons, perhaps most of all in its snows, even though that may sound strange. Yet who could not respond to those glittering days when hoar frost gives its own beauty to everything?’
‘Yes, it’s pretty enough,’ Jeanne admitted in an understatement, seeming to think about it for the first time. ‘Where shall you go? Back to France? You’re not intending to marry Tom Warrington, are you?’
‘He has not asked me.’
‘But he will if he thinks he is about lose you.’
‘Inwardly he is still grieving for Sarah. There is nothing binding in our relationship.’
Jeanne snorted. ‘That is more or less what you said about Jan van Deventer when all the time you were in love with him, whether you realized it or not.’
‘I know I was now,’ Marguerite admitted frankly. ‘That’s why I need to leave and make a fresh start for the second time in my life. I could not endure to stay here watching and waiting for him for ever in vain. When he did not come back in the spring it was exactly what I had feared when we parted. He will never come back now.’
‘So what are your plans?’
‘I’m going home to France. One of the Empress’s diplomats is leaving for Paris the day after the Coronation and the Empress has generously allowed me to accompany him and his retinue in a carriage to myself. As you will remember, Madame Fromont bequeathed me her house and so I’ll have a home waiting for me. There is also the money that I have saved, and that will enable me to establ
ish my own dressmaking salon with a full atelier of seamstresses. All that I have done here should give me an open door to design and make for the ladies of Versailles.’
‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic, but I’ve no doubt that you’ll be a success. My old man is surely dead from drink by now. So I’d come with you and be your head seamstress if it were not for having my son here and looking forward to grandchildren one day. I had hoped you would design his bride’s wedding gown.’
‘I can still do that. I’ll arrange a meeting with her.’
‘That’s good of you.’ Then Jeanne narrowed her eyes on a sudden thought. ‘Tom worked in France before he came here, didn’t he? I suppose he could get work there again.’
‘No doubt he could.’
‘You’re not telling me anything more for the present, are you?’
‘I’ve told you everything. But I will add that, as you know, I have been through one disastrous marriage and, much as I long to have a family, I don’t intend ever to make the same mistake again.’
Marguerite got up to leave, but before she reached the door Jeanne spoke again, making her halt.
‘Where shall I send the Dutchman when he comes looking for you one day? Paris? Or England?’
Marguerite turned, her face full of anguish. ‘He would have returned in the spring if he had still wanted me. Now, if by some rare chance he does ever return, it will be for his work here and nothing else. That’s why I have to leave.’
Jeanne sighed and made a little gesture of sympathy as Marguerite went from the room.
As expected, Tom reacted to Marguerite’s decision to leave Russia in much the same way as Jeanne had done.
‘Leaving?’ he echoed incredulously. ‘Surely not now when you and I have become so close?’
‘So we have, Tom, and I’m glad of it.’
‘But I thought that at last you truly cared for me!’
‘I do, Tom. But not as you would wish. That could never be. This has been a time of reparation for Sarah’s sake without anything that would have caused her hurt in her lifetime.’
‘But she wanted more for us! When she knew she was dying her dearest wish was that you should take her place as my wife.’
‘I don’t doubt that was what she wished, but she was too understanding to impose that request upon me, wanting only that I should find love in my life.’
‘Haven’t you found it with me during this time we have been together?’ he entreated.
She shook her head. ‘No, Tom.’
‘I’ve been so careful this time not to rush you into anything! Do you think I’ve not wanted to kiss and hold and possess you every minute that we’ve been together?’
‘Of course I’ve known, dear Tom,’ she said compassionately, thinking how often lust could be confused with love and that that was basically what he had always felt for her, even though she had not realized it when Sarah was still alive. ‘I understood at once why you put a limit on your stay in Russia this time. It was because you thought that now you were a widower and I had lost my husband six or seven months would be all the time you needed to win me for yourself. But that was never a possibility. In any case, I could never replace Sarah. You’ll love her until the end of your days, no matter who else you take into your life.’
His face was stark as if accepting reality for the first time. As she left him she thought how she would always remember the happier times when Sarah had been with them.
On Coronation Day Marguerite was waiting at the cathedral to be able to arrange the Empress’s gown to perfection before she made her stately way up to the altar and the pomp and ceremony of crowning that awaited her there. The cheers and shouts of ‘Little Mother!’ could be heard long before Catherine’s coach drew up outside, escorted by cavalry, having been timed to travel slowly in order that the enormous crowds could glimpse her dazzling appearance when she passed by. Then Marguerite was so busy for a hectic few minutes, bending and kneeling to eliminate the slightest unruly fold in the Empress’s skirt and smoothing out the hem that she scarcely looked up.
It was not until the ceremony was over and the crowned Empress came back with immense dignity through the bowing and curtseying of all present in the cathedral that Marguerite was able to take in her truly magnificent appearance for the first time.
Catherine held the gold and bejewelled spectre in her right hand and the jewel-studded orb in her left, her rustling silver gown glowing with the gold-embroidered, double-headed Russian eagles that patterned her skirt profusely, a single one enhancing her bodice. This imperial pattern was repeated on her purple-velvet mantle edged with ermine, which flowed from her shoulders. The rise of her breasts showed above a deep frill of silver lace with diamond ornamentation, the pure sparkle of which was echoed in her glorious new crown. It rose bulbously, dazzling the eye with its diamonds like so many captured stars and topped by a priceless ruby that flashed its fire. Marguerite caught her breath with pleasure as many others had already done. Catherine gave her a special smile as she went by to emerge from the cathedral into the autumnal sunshine and meet the thunderous cheering of her people.
A short time later when the Court was back in St Petersburg again, Catherine gave a great ball at the Winter Palace and Marguerite was invited. When the evening came she joined many hundreds of guests flowing up both sides of the enormous double staircase of white marble in a vista of tall pink pillars and gold ornamentation. At the head she went through the open gilded doors and on past the rotunda within to enter the vast golden stateroom hung with enormous chandeliers of crystal where three thousand people or more were gathering and moving freely about. She thought that indeed this beautiful palace was truly out of a magical Russian fairy tale.
She stayed long enough to talk to a few people whom she knew and have some refreshment from the silk-draped and flower-trimmed buffet tables in an adjoining salon of almost equal size. Then she faced Catherine with a deep curtsey for the last time. The Empress rose to her feet and kissed her farewell on both cheeks.
‘May good fortune go with you, Marguerite,’ she said fondly. ‘My coronation gown, which is truly your masterpiece, shall always be kept here in Moscow.’
Next morning Jeanne, Isabelle, Sophie and Violette gathered to see Marguerite depart. They had previously given a farewell party for her, together with husbands and, in Jeanne’s case, a son and his betrothed. All of the French women were wiping their eyes as they hugged and kissed her in turn. Then she stepped into the carriage, the signal for starting the journey having been given. The convoy moved forward, escorted by armed guards. From the carriage window she waved to the little cluster of her friends until they were lost from sight. She was not aware that from a distance Tom had also watched her depart.
Some time afterwards at the now empty Dutch apartment Marinka returned, as Marguerite had instructed, to dust and give a last wash to the floors in order that everything should be left spotless for the next tenant. She had just finished her task, the soapy water in her bucket almost as clean as when she had started, when there came a knock on the door. Wiping her hands on her apron, she went to open it. Jan van Deventer stood there.
‘Is Madame Marguerite at home?’ he asked with a frown.
‘No, mynheer. She has gone.’
He saw now that the hall was empty of furniture. ‘You mean she has taken other accommodation?’
Marinka shook her head. ‘She has left Russia.’
His face set grimly. ‘For England, I suppose.’
‘No. For France. To Paris. She intends to open her own dressmaking salon there.’
He seemed to look even fiercer. ‘How long since she left?’ he demanded. ‘A month? Six months?’
‘No, mynheer. About two weeks and a day.’
‘Then she is still on Russian soil. Thank you, Marinka. You’ve been extremely helpful.’ He turned and went away down the stairs.
He had only arrived in St Petersburg that morning, having made the long journey over past weeks from
Archangel, where he had followed up the trail of a young local artist, whose work had proved to be as good as he had been told. He intended to offer one of the three paintings he had purchased to the new Empress.
At the Winter Palace he was surprised when Catherine gave him an audience as soon as his name was presented to her. He was smiling broadly when he left again and it had nothing to do with her taking all three paintings. She had commissioned him, as well as another agent known to him and with whom he would cooperate, to buy up on her behalf any great private collections of works of art that came on to the European market and he knew of two already, one of which was in England and the other in France. He could tell that she intended to fill her beautiful palace with the greatest treasures to be found anywhere in the world. A highly intelligent and intellectual woman, who loved beauty in all its forms, was about to change and benefit Russia for evermore.
In her carriage Marguerite looked out at the endless grassy plains. Horizons in this country, stretching as it did halfway across the world, always melted away into the sky as if it had no end and no beginning. How small everywhere else would seem to her in the future! Even her homeland, in spite of its size, would surely seem strange and almost miniature to her after all this time. Soon she would be in Riga, where so much of importance had begun and where her last link with Russia would be severed. Yet she would always have the pearl-and-diamond brooch, pale and sparkling as the Russian snows, which Catherine had given her as a keepsake.
Suddenly there seemed to a commotion ahead and her carriage stopped abruptly. Before she could make any move to look out of the window the door was jerked open and Jan, his clothes dust-streaked from days of hard riding, threw himself into the carriage and on to the opposite seat.
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