‘It is.’ John chose to ignore Nicholas’s tone. ‘Language is going to be a problem until we master Russian.’
‘Or the Russians master English,’ Nicholas suggested.
‘It would be arrogant of us to expect the locals to learn our tongue, which is why I’m grateful for the expertise of bilingual speakers willing to interpret, like your son and Miss Sonya, Count Beletsky. Thank you, Miss Sonya, on the company’s behalf and that of my workers,’ John lifted his teacup in a salute to Sonya.
‘I approve, Sonya, order a carriage to take you.’ Catherine left her chair. ‘Please, gentlemen, enjoy the rest of your breakfast. I have matters to discuss with my son-in-law before my grandson returns. Nicholas, accompany me to the library, please?’
Nicholas hesitated but a glint in Catherine’s eyes told him she would brook no procrastination. He followed her.
Hospital, Hughesovka
September 1870
Peter picked his way across the road from Glyn’s house and studied the single storey building swarming with workmen. ‘This is perfect. One floor, so no energy-draining stairs to haul patients up and down, tiled roof, stone walls and floors, easy to keep clean …’
‘And bare,’ Sarah interrupted when she and Anna caught up with him. ‘Not a door, window, bed, or chair to be seen.’
‘It will soon be finished, sweetheart. All it requires is a little imagination.’ Peter slipped his arm around her shoulders.
‘Plus hard work. Don’t you think so, Anna?’ Sarah asked.
‘We can’t start cleaning until the builders have finished,’ Anna observed.
Peter watched the men working on the shell of the building. Not one gave him, Sarah, or Anna as much as a glance as they continued to shout at one another in Russian. ‘I wish Glyn were here.’
‘He has his troubles, we have ours. We can’t rely on him to sort out the hospital or do our job for us, darling.’ Sarah addressed the tradesmen more in hope than expectation. ‘Do any of you speak English?’
‘Yes, Madam.’ A labourer dressed in a long shabby black coat and wide brimmed black hat dropped a stack of wooden planks and joined them.
Peter held out his hand. ‘I’m Dr Peter Edwards. This is my wife, Sarah.’
‘Good day to you, sir.’ The man brushed his hands off on the front of his coat before taking Peter’s. ‘Madam, Miss.’ He lifted his hat to reveal a skull cap.
Sarah’s smiled faltered. Possibly it was her imagination, or antipathy to the man’s sardonic appearance, but she read hostility in his eyes. He was thin, painfully so, six inches taller than the tallest of his fellow labourers, stooped and slight compared to the rest of the square-built, thickset, muscular builders. He made no attempt to introduce himself.
‘How long will it take to fit the doors and windows and make this building habitable?’ Peter asked.
The man spoke to a fellow worker. After a short exchange, Peter had his answer, but not the one he wanted.
‘The overseer hopes to have stoves fitted in all the rooms by this time next week, Your Excellency. The doors and windows will take another two weeks. Possibly three.’
‘It’s a large building.’ Sarah couldn’t conceal her disappointment. After Huw had told them workmen had been burned in the brick factory she’d planned to spend the day making up beds and ministering to her first patients.
‘Where are people being treated now?’ Peter checked.
‘Father Grigor’s house, Your Excellency.’
‘I’ll never get used to “Your Excellency”. Please call me Dr Edwards. Could you give me directions to Father Grigor’s house?’ Peter had never worked so hard to elicit so little information.
‘It’s outside the Cossack village of Alexandrovka on the road to the shtetl.’
‘Is it far?’
‘About two versts.’
‘If we go to the office, we can ask Huw to find someone to take us there,’ Sarah suggested.
‘Has a caretaker been appointed for the hospital?’ Peter hadn’t yet given up on the conversation.
‘I know nothing about positions within the hospital, Dr Edwards; I’m only a common labourer.’
The overseer spoke in Russian.
‘He asked me to tell you girls came looking for work in the hospital this morning. They’re waiting in the building where the materials are stored.’
‘They’re nurses?’ Sarah asked.
‘They’re hoping to work as maids. You won’t find a trained nurse within a hundred versts. The nearest hospital is in Taganrog.’
‘Do any of them speak English, Mr …?’ Sarah waited for him to give his name.
‘A few have been to English lessons, Mrs Edwards. I can’t answer for their fluency.’
‘Your English is excellent, Mr …’ Peter suddenly realised that the man could prove invaluable.
‘Kharber,’ Nathan replied reluctantly.
‘Would you be interested in working in the hospital as an interpreter?’
‘I have a job. If you’ll excuse me, I must get on with it before I’m fired for wasting my employer’s time.’
‘Strange man,’ Sarah followed Peter and Anna to a wooden shed.
Anna glanced back at him. ‘He looks sad.’
He doesn’t look strong enough for physical work.’ Peter stood in front of the open doors of the warehouse. ‘Well, you wanted ward maids and nurses, sweetheart. Looks like you have a week’s work sorting out which ones you’ll be employing.’
Sarah gazed at the scores of girls standing patiently inside the hut. ‘I hope at least one of them understands English.’
‘I’ll take a walk to the office and check if Huw has employed any staff for the hospital.’
‘Coward,’ Sarah called after him when a tidal wave of girls threatened to overwhelm her.
Dower House, Beletsky Estate
September 1870
‘How is Olga, really, Nicholas?’ Catherine demanded after the footman closed the library door.
‘You’ve seen her.’ He sat in an armchair.
‘Not for two days. You said she was too tired to receive me last night.’
‘She was sleeping.’
‘When I last saw her, she could hardly keep her eyes open.’
‘Olga has always tired easily. Meyer’s given her a tonic. It doesn’t appear to be working.’
‘You haven’t seen her this morning?’
‘Would you rather I disturbed her?’
‘I’d rather my daughter wasn’t worn down by constant pregnancies.’ Catherine sat on a chair that faced his. ‘This has to be the last child, Nicholas.’
‘Olga is my wife …’
‘Your wife. Not a brood mare. You’re killing her.’
‘Pregnancy is a natural state for a woman.’
‘Not nineteen times in nineteen years, it isn’t.’
‘Only twelve children have survived.’
‘You intend to impregnate Olga again after your thirteenth has been born?’
‘I intend to welcome as many children into my family as God chooses to send. Olga has a capable housekeeper, conscientious servants, a governess to teach the girls, and nursery maids to care for the younger children. My steward makes all decisions relevant to the estate in my absence. There’s nothing for Olga to do. She’s bored and as a consequence imagines pregnancy as an illness. Your constant fussing over her doesn’t help.’
Catherine pulled the bell pull. The butler entered. ‘Has my grandson returned?’
‘Five minutes ago, my lady. He’s talking to Mr Hughes in the dining room.’
‘Ask him and Mr Dmitri to join us. I’d like you and four footmen to remain in this room for the duration of our discussions. Order one of the maids to bring a tray of coffee and rolls. Alexei won’t have eaten.’
‘Yes, my lady.’
‘Is it necessary for us to discuss family matters in front of the servants, Catherine?’
‘Given your behaviour in Mr Edwards’ house last night, N
icholas, I believe it is.’
‘As you weren’t present you’re not in a position to comment.’
‘Alexei is a reliable witness.’
Nicholas left his chair, walked to the window, and looked out at the rain-ravaged gardens. ‘Do you intend to entertain Mr Hughes and his entourage every mealtime?’
‘They arrived at dawn. I considered it hospitable to offer them breakfast while their servants unpacked.’
‘Mr Hughes will be running his own establishment?’
‘As I told you.’
‘Someone has to say this, Catherine; as head of the family it falls to me. You are a widow and a widow cannot be too careful of her reputation.’
Catherine began to laugh.
‘I fail to see anything humorous in the situation.’
‘Your concern for my reputation is touching, Nicholas, but unwarranted given my age.’
‘Age is no excuse to flout convention. Mr Hughes is married and living apart from his wife.’
‘Careful what you infer, Nicholas. Mr Hughes’s domestic arrangements are none of your concern.’
‘He may be a decade younger than you but I’ve no doubt the gossips would find that salacious. Older wealthy woman – younger man …’
‘Who is considerably wealthier than me. Enough, Nicholas!’ Catherine was relieved when Alexei walked in with Dmitri. The butler followed with the footmen and led them to the back of the library, within sight but out of earshot, provided voices remained low.
The maid brought in a tray of coffee, cups, and rolls and set it on a side table but Alexei made no move towards it. He faced his father.
‘Good morning, sir.’
‘Have you an apology for me?’ Nicholas demanded.
‘For what, sir?’
‘Leaving my house after I ordered you to remain in your room.’
‘You locked me in my bedroom. I had no wish to remain a prisoner.’
‘You still intend to work in your infernal modern industry?’
‘I do, sir.’
‘Although you know it contravenes all the plans I’ve made for you?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Why do you remain obdurate in defying me?’
‘I have my own ambitions, sir.’
‘I too have ambitions for my eldest son and heir.’
‘I have no wish to live the empty life of a country-based aristocrat, Father.’
‘I gave you a choice. You could go to the court at St Petersburg.’
‘Or to become a courtier and lackey, sir.’
Nicholas’s colour heightened to a rich burgundy. ‘You’re determined to follow a life of industry and engineering?’
Alexei paled in contrast to his father. ‘Mr Thomas has found my assistance helpful. I wish to continue working for him and Mr Hughes despite my lack of relevant education.’
‘Then I wash my hands of you.’ Nicholas reached into his coat pocket, extracted a coin and flung it at Alexei. It stung his son’s cheek before it fell to the floor. Alexei made no move to pick it up.
‘That is the last kopek you will receive from me. From this moment my house is barred to you.’
‘Mama …’
‘I forbid you to visit your mother, sisters, or brothers when they return for the holidays. Or attempt to remove any item from the room that was yours. Should you defy me I will denounce you to my fellow magistrates as a trespasser and thief.’
‘That is ridiculous, Nicholas,’ Catherine intervened.
‘You wanted your grandson, Catherine. You have him. He’s no son of mine. You are all the family he has from this moment on.’
‘And me?’ Catherine enquired. ‘Do you intend to stop me from visiting my daughter and grandchildren? Or prevent them from visiting this house?’
‘If I discover you’ve carried any messages from that … ingrate,’ he pointed at Alexei, ‘to Olga, or my children or servants, I will bar you from my house as well. That is my final word.’
Tight-lipped, Alexei continued to stand to attention. ‘May I take leave of Mama, my sisters and brothers?’
‘You may not.’
Alexei remained bolt upright, as if he were on a parade ground. ‘May I trouble you to put that in writing?’
‘Put what in writing?’
‘That you disown me and have no further interest in me or what I do. There is pen, ink, and paper on the desk.’
Nicholas went to the desk, scribbled a note, blotted it, and handed it to Alexei on his way to the door.
‘Goodbye, Father.’
Nicholas neither turned nor answered Alexei. The butler opened the door and accompanied Nicholas into the hall. The front door opened and closed. The sound of carriage wheels turning on gravel resounded outside.
‘Alexei?’
‘I’m fine, Grandmother.’
A pulse throbbing at Alexei’s jawline suggested otherwise, but Catherine didn’t contradict him. ‘That went better than I hoped. Dmitri, are the papers I asked you to draw up in order?’
‘They are, Madam.’
‘Alexei, you’ve turned your back on your father’s fortune, you will, however, inherit mine with the exception of an annuity I’ve left to Sonya.’
‘Of the two estates, your grandmother’s is of more value,’ Dmitri informed Alexei.
‘How can that be, when Nicholas inherited half my late husband’s assets in addition to the Beletsky fortune?’
‘Your estate is mortgage-free, Madam.’
‘Nicholas has mortgaged the house?’
‘The entire estate, along with the Moscow and St Petersburg houses and dachas.’
‘The money he inherited? Surely it hasn’t all gone?’
‘I’m not your son-in-law’s lawyer, Madam, but people talk within the profession. There are rumours the count is having difficulty meeting his obligations.’
‘Who holds the mortgages?’
‘Would you like me to make enquiries?’
‘Please.’
Dmitri laid a sheaf of papers on the table. ‘Would you be so kind as to send for two of the gentlemen in the dining room, Madam, so they can witness your signature on these documents?’
Hospital, Hughesovka
September 1870
‘Your English is good.’ Sarah complimented Miriam, Ruth, and Yulia. ‘If you’re prepared to start as ward maids, I’ll give you the opportunity to train as nurses. But it will be a long and arduous course. Ruth, do you know the other girls here?’
‘Some of them, Madam.’
‘Please address me as Matron, not Madam.’ Sarah was taken aback by how easily the title had slipped from her tongue. If she’d remained in London she wouldn’t have been allowed to continue nursing after her marriage. If she’d opted for a career instead of marriage, she probably wouldn’t have reached the exalted state of matron until after her fiftieth birthday.
‘I need another twelve ward maids besides you, Yulia, and Miriam, Ruth. Would you help me interview the girls so I can choose those most suitable? The first question I need to ask is: are they prepared to learn English.’
‘There’s something I need to tell you, Madam … Matron. About Miriam and me.’ Ruth blurted. ‘We’re Jews, Matron.’
‘Yes.’
‘You knew, Matron?’
‘Given your names I assumed you were. I’m British.’
‘Some people might object to our working in the hospital.’
‘Why?’
‘The Russians tolerate Jews, Matron. They use the services of our craftsmen, but they expect us to live apart. They won’t like being looked after by us.’
‘Are you telling me a Russian would refuse to be nursed by a Jew?’
‘Yes, Matron.’
‘If a Russian finds him or herself in need of the services of the hospital they will either accept the staff we employ or go elsewhere for treatment.’
‘Then you’ll still employ Miriam and me, Matron?’
‘As I said. Now, let’s find twelve girls I
can train alongside you.’
HQ of the New Russia Company
Hughesovka, September 1870
Peter made his way along the muddy track and headed for an enormous, roughly built wooden shed. He smiled when he saw the amateurishly painted Cyrillic lettering over the door alongside the English sign. HEADQUARTERS OF THE NEW RUSSIA COMPANY. It sounded grand, but the building didn’t look as though it would afford any more shelter than the makeshift market stalls Eastern European immigrants threw up in Whitechapel back in London.
A queue of men, women, and children, most with bare feet, all in rags, snaked around the building. They stared at him curiously when he pushed open the rickety front door. It stuck on the uneven floor and he had to thump it to close it. Glyn and Richard were leaning on a chest-high wooden counter that separated the public from the office area. Huw was on the working side, rifling through stacks of maps. The sound of Russian conversation echoed through from a planking wall behind him.
‘Lost your wife already?’ Glyn asked.
‘She’s interviewing hordes of girls who’ve turned up at the hospital hoping to find work.’
‘You exaggerate.’ Huw’s eyelids drooped from lack of sleep. ‘There aren’t hordes of girls within walking distance of this place. However, there’s hardly any work for women. I’ve heard that that half the girls in Alexandrovka and three-quarters of the girls in the shtetl are hoping to find jobs in the hospital.’
‘It looked like hordes. We met a man who spoke English. He told us the hospital may not be finished for weeks.’
‘Regrettably he’s right. Was he Nathan Kharber?’ Huw handed Glyn a map.
‘That’s the name he gave us. He said the bricklayers who’d been burned are being looked after in a priest’s house.’
‘Father Grigor’s just outside Alexandrovka,’ Huw confirmed. ‘You’ll like Father Grigor, he’s the sort of priest who digs an old woman’s garden when she’s not well enough to plant her own potatoes. Nathan Kharber s recently returned from Paris. Alexei suggested he could be useful to us as he speaks French and German as well as English and Russian.’
‘I doubt we’ll need French and German,’ Peter observed.
‘You might not need French and German in the hospital, but once the furnaces are operational we’ll have a lot of vacancies, metallurgists, laboratory assistants, and the ilk. Mr Hughes will be more interested in the quality of a man’s work than the language he speaks. Have you all the maps you need, Glyn?’ Huw asked.
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