‘That, too. I was thinking of how he acknowledged my little aunt sunshine, your mother, the Tsaritsa Catherine. What man, let alone the ruler of the most powerful and wealthy realm, ever does that publicly? Normally any sign of merit is solely theirs for the taking. But he crowned her!’
I nodded mutely.
‘I would love to stay longer but have to return to Courland. No one else has treated me – us – with so much kindness here in Moscow, or anywhere else, for as long as I can remember. Certainly no one in our family,’ she said.
‘You exaggerate surely,’ I quickly replied. ‘Ekaterina is difficult but not evil. ‘
‘She calls me Anna Ivanovna the Terrible.’
‘I like little Christine.’
‘That worm who calls Maja a witch who should burn in Hell? They both wanted to turn my mother’s most loyal maid out on the streets.’ Anna crossed herself. ‘When we were children back in Izmailov, nothing was ever too much trouble for Maja. A devotion such as hers is rare.’
‘Aunt Pasha, too, was always kindness herself to me,’ I started.
‘Count yourself lucky,’ Anna said, before hesitating a split second, fiddling with the hem of her cloak. Then she stilled, looking at me; her gaze seemed to pin me to the wall. The air around us quickened. ‘Why did you save Maja?’ Anna asked. ‘Did she offer you anything in return?’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘Such as? She is a maid. A servant, if not a serf.’
‘She has told you nothing then?’ Her gaze was as dark as a night-time forest.
‘What could she tell me that might be of interest to any of us?’ I shrugged.
‘Oh. This, that and the other. She knew all of Mother’s secrets.’ Anna seemed to relax. Who wanted their dirty family linen washed in public?
‘Anyway, I am not only grateful for your protection of Maja, but also for the friendly reception you gave Biren. I beg you will accept this little token to remember me by.’ She pressed a beautiful icon into my palm. It showed St Nicholas, the Patron Saint of Russia. Tiny, if flawless, diamonds framed the miniature, and the brushwork was exquisite; the saint gazed at me with large, mournful eyes. Icons such as these were considered a small window into Heaven. Didn’t she complain at any given moment that she was penniless? This gift was far too valuable.
‘I can’t accept it, Anna.’
‘Please. You must. It once belonged to my father, Tsar Ivan. It shall protect you.’ She folded my fingers around the icon – her gaze flickered when she saw the huge diamond ring next to the delicate sparkle of the frame. ‘Life is hard. Everything comes at a price.’
I turned the icon this way and that, making the stones in the frame sparkle, before piously kissing the saint. ‘Thank you. I shall ask Father for a matching necklace.’
‘I hope he fulfils your wishes faster than he does mine.’ She tugged at her finger with its double wedding ring, the sign of her widowhood.
‘What is it you wish for? Perhaps if you write to him once again… ’ I suggested.
‘Three hundred letters are quite enough, I think,’ Anna said curtly.
‘Three hundred?’ I was shocked. Finishing just one sheet of hand-writing exercises had been torture to me. ‘What did you ask him for, apart from more money and another husband?’
‘That’s about it. A home, a husband, a family. What else could a woman hope for? I was a virgin widow.’
I frowned. ‘A virgin widow? Is that something like a nun?’
’Kind of. I hope you need never know either state. And how should you, as future Queen of France?’ she added.
‘Nothing is determined,’ I said, but could not suppress a proud smile.
‘It can be only be a matter of time.’
‘Yes. Even more time.’
She shrugged. ‘Good things take a while, lucky Lizenka. My husband never touched me as a man.’
My heartbeat picked up. I thought of Buturlin’s fingers brushing my inner arm in the twilight of a tent pitched far away from the palace’s prying eyes; of his weight pinning me down for a heartbeat in the barge that had brought us to Moscow. I lowered my voice: ‘Touched you how exactly?’ I hoped for further revelations, holding my breath. Anna was a good confidante: closely related enough to enlighten me about the mysteries of men and marriage, yet sufficiently remote in both age and distance from court.
She weighed up my question: ‘It is not my place to tell you. You will lie with the King – as his Queen.’
I regretted her refusal but accepted it: ‘So be it. You, too, Anna, are a queen of sorts. You rule in your own right.’ I touched St Nicholas’ face. The icon lay open and flat in my palm. ‘Isn’t that extraordinary? No woman has ever ruled Russia.’
‘And none ever will. I rule but in name,’ Anna said. ‘The true master of Courland is Russia. The Tsar will not let me leave there, ever.’
I turned over her hands and pretended to read her palms. ‘Anna Ivanovna, you rule, and you are much loved. I want to be Aunt Sunshine to your countless children.’
‘We’ll see. May God protect you, Elizabeth Petrovna.’ Anna rose brusquely and retied her cape, looking imperious and forceful.
‘Travel safely, cousin Duchess.’ I pecked her on the cheek and furtively sniffed at her skin. She smelled of crushed camomile and beeswax, a paste that was intended to preserve the pallor of the skin.
‘What are you doing?’
‘I want to see if you smell of butter,’ I admitted. ‘Ekaterina said you lathered yourself in it.’
Anna Ivanovna chuckled. ‘Her husband ought to have beaten Ekaterina even harder. I should take you to Courland with me. You are amusing, Cousin Lizenka.’
‘How long will it take to reach your country?’
‘Give or take a couple of swollen rivers, mud-torn roads and dozens of drunken ferrymen, anything between two and four weeks.’
‘Won’t you be bored?’
A slight flush crept over her cheeks. ‘Biren and I have bread and candles to distribute to the poor along the way. They will sing and dance for us in their villages. Also, my dwarf and my chambermaid take turns in telling us stories.’
‘What if they grow tired?’
‘I slap them or threaten them with the spinning mills.’ She said. ‘I like a good yarn about robbers and highwaymen. How about you?’
‘Nothing like hearing a good story.’ I eyed the icon once more. ‘St Nicholas reminds me of Alexey.’ There: I had spoken his name. Father should never know.
‘True,’ Anna said. ‘Poor Alexey. One more abominable thing that happened to this family.’
This family: Curse the Romanovs! I stretched out my bare leg on the bed, my calves shapely and my right foot small, white and plump. Yet I had kicked the Leshy into submission with it and could do so again.
‘Can’t you stay a bit longer with us?’ I asked.
Anna Ivanovna stood straight with a pride that could not be beaten out of her, whatever Aunt Pasha, her sister Ekaterina or life had thrown at her. ‘I prefer to jump instead of being pushed. Biren and I have not been invited to return to St Petersburg together with the court next week. Moscow will be dead once you all leave – neither dinners, balls, theatre pieces nor assemblées. Only merchants’ wives stick around, and the lower Muscovite boyars would laugh at us. I have enough of that every day in Courland: my own ladies-in-waiting ridicule me.’
I could not help but take her hand and she kissed my fingers. ‘Your kindness is a rare quality, Lizenka. I would love to spend more time with you. But I know better than to refuse the Tsar’s offer of a travel purse. He might change his mind any moment. Farewell.’
Taking leave is a foretaste of death. Outside, beneath the Kremlin’s Red Staircase, I heard horses neigh, a whip crack, men’s voices. Soon afterwards, the wheels of what must be Anna’s hired carriage hit the hard cobblestones. I skipped barefoot to the window, to see four strong ponies strung in single file gathering speed for their dive onto the tight, coiling roads of Russia’s former capital. Once
they were out of sight, I admired the icon that glittered in my palm still. I kissed the saint’s face, the enamel cool beneath my lips. Even though the icon’s diamonds were dwarfed by my ring’s single stone, it felt like the most valuable of my possessions.
27
As autumn’s last golden light soaked the October air, Karl von Holstein rowed alongside the Winter Palace. Dozens of swans – his heraldic beast – were harnessed to his gilt barge, fighting the Neva’s swell; the barque was decorated with garlands of evergreen. While his musicians aboard emulated the sound of the waves, he called up to the palace: ‘Tsesarevna! Lizenka!’
Anoushka looked up from the delicate watercolour she was painting, frowning. ‘What is that he’s saying?’
‘He’s calling, “Tsesarevna! Anoushka!”’ Mother shot me a warning look. ‘He is pining for you.’
‘Indeed – off you go.’ I pushed her out onto the balcony, where she stood and smiled, her face rising like a rosebud from the sable collar of her blue velvet cloak. She waved at Karl who, after a brief, surprised pause, was prodded by a Holstein minister standing behind him: he scattered ivy leaves and belladonna berries on the Neva’s silver waves, vowing his eternal love and complimenting Anoushka’s beauty.
I was delighted for my sister. Also, Versailles’ acceptance of Father’s offer of my hand felt imminent. Yet that meant leaving Russia: to root my country forever in my heart, I planned to go on a pilgrimage. Who knew how I should be able to honour my faith once I arrived in France?
In summer, I had walked from shrine to shrine, from chapel to chapel, until I reached a monastery. Mostly they were built on old Russian Orthodox earth, surrounding Moscow like a wall of faith. Now, however, a first thick snowfall allowed for a swift advance on the Monastery of St Sabbas by sled. I was looking forward to the journey through the silent, otherworldly beauty of the countryside.
On the morning of my departure, I went early to the small private Imperial chapel. Only the stables were a hubbub of activity – a string of strong, low ponies, their hooves as big as plates, was being harnessed in readiness to my sled. When I left after my prayers, the far-flung corridors of the Winter Palace were still eerily quiet. The flagstones were covered by a first rime and my breath clouded the still air.
Karl von Holstein stepped out so suddenly from his hiding place that I was startled.
‘Karl! You scared me,’ I laughed, pressing my hand to my pounding heart.
‘That was my intention,’ he chuckled, his face red.
‘What nonsense! I must be on my way.’ I stepped aside to pass him by, but he blocked my way so that I was forced to retreat. He followed, pushing me against the cold wall. I frowned. Was it counsel on Anoushka he sought? I should tell him all and everything about my sweet, sensitive, learned sister.
‘I know. There is nothing so attractive as a pious and principled maiden.’ He swayed on his feet yet managed a brief bow, his normally harsh Northern German accent slurred. Had he gone to bed at all last night? On his cheeks I saw a blond stubble as fair as his hair, which was normally covered by a wig; his lips, which were as full as a girl’s, were moist and his pale blue sled-dog eyes red-rimmed. The lace jabot at his neck was untied and sullied, his jacket crumpled and hastily buttoned – he looked to have been just recently thrown out of a kabak.
‘What takes you here? Are you thinking of converting to the Russian Orthodox faith?’ I asked coolly. ‘Otherwise it’s a long way for you to be from your quarters.’
‘My freezing quarters! I have found better, Lizenka. Trust Menshikov to know the best addresses in town. The rascal always chooses something close enough to his palace, though, so he can crash into bed with whomever he fancies… ’
Menshikov! I remembered the advice he had given Anoushka before Mother’s Coronation on how to behave with men, repeating some silly image of Ostermann’s about jugs and water being poured. What did my father’s favourite crony mean by leading my sister’s suitor into debauchery?
Karl bowed exaggeratedly. ‘I apologise, beautiful Princess. My ministers warned me not to offend the ears of any Tsesarevna, but only to flatter and please them.’
‘That is sound advice. Especially as Anoushka loves to listen to a good story.’
‘And what is it you like to listen to, my Elizabeth?’ He took a step towards me, trapping me between his arms as he rested his palms flat on the wall. Even though I had thought him slight, so close he stood a head taller than me. I fought the impulse to hold my nose as he reeked of the night before: spilled vodka, stale sweat and cold tobacco.
‘I am not your Elizabeth. It is enough for me if you make my sister happy,’ I said, yet I was aware of how alone I was with him here. The priest who had taken my Confession had certainly slipped back into the vestry and then from the chapel. My maids were busy packing my chest. My heart thumped and I tried to duck away, but he was faster, seizing my chin in one hand.
‘But I like the sound of it. My Elizabeth,’ he repeated, enjoying the words. ‘I have wanted you from the moment I saw you.’ His glassy gaze sized me up, and I was grateful to be wearing a dark, double-woven wool cloak, which shrouded me from chin to feet. ‘You know that, don’t you, little vixen? I think you play a game with me. The more you hide, the more I seek you. You are bewitching. Just to see you, is to want to—’
‘Stop!’ I ordered, disgusted by him, trying in vain to shake off his hand. Instead, he grabbed my face harder. ‘You have asked for Anoushka’s hand in marriage. Honour and love her, as I do—’
He snorted. ‘Asked for her? I was given no choice in the matter! I might as well wed and bed a beanpole. I will be covered in bruises after the wedding night after poking her bony little body.’
‘What?’ I asked, not understanding his words.
‘It is you I want. Consider my offer. Versailles will never take you. Anoushka and you were both born illegitimate. But I understand what made your father marry your mother: like her, you are as warm and vital as an animal. I am ready to overlook the flaw in your birth and one day I will make you Queen of Sweden. You will have as much winter darkness and ice and snow in Stockholm as you do here. You’ll feel at home there.’ Before I could react, he grabbed my head between his hands and forced his wet, slobbery mouth onto mine. Suddenly, he was everywhere: holding my hands and trying to pin me against the cold, hard stone. His tongue prised open my lips and I gagged at the sensation. No! I had fought off the Leshy, so why should I suffer him?
When he came up for air, still restraining my wrists, I bit his lip as hard as I could, tearing it and drawing blood. He recoiled with a shout, touching his mouth. I used the opportunity to ready myself to retaliate, not knowing where I should hit him – I just wanted to be free. I kicked him hard between the legs. He howled like a dog, which pleased me, and so I jerked my knee up once more, hitting him right where it had hurt him so much, harder than before. He bent double, coughing and gasping: all the blood seemed to drain from his face. He crossed his hands in front of him and fell to his knees, fighting for breath.
I stepped away from the pillar, running my fingers over my bruised lips; with trembling hands, I rearranged my braids. Red- hot anger seared me: for Anoushka’s sake, and for the hurt and anguish Karl had caused me. As he started to lever himself up, I kicked him once more, as hard as I could, in the chest before stepping away, leaving him sprawling on the ground.
‘Shame on you, Karl,’ I told him. ‘I shall try and forget this and even pray for your putrid soul during my pilgrimage. But I warn you: honour my sister! She is worth a dozen of you. Failing that, I shall see that the Devil comes to get you.’
He rose at last, pain, anger and the lust for revenge crossing his face. I held up my hand. ‘Don’t you dare come any closer. Never, ever again. Otherwise I shall let my father know what you did, and he will have you thrown from the spire of Saints Peter and Paul at dawn. No – I shall push you myself, your head twisted towards the north-west where Sweden lies, or Holstein… or Hell itself for all
I care! Then you will never be king.’
He stared at me, weighing my words, not sure if he could believe them.
I seized my chance to back away, turn and leave, willing my steps to remain steady though I shook like a leaf. He did not follow me but I felt his gaze on my back. Only when I had turned the corner did I allow myself to run, flying back to my rooms, where I urged my maid to hurry up and finish packing.
I wasted my time on that pilgrimage: however hard I tried, my soul would not settle, and my spirit would not be cleansed by prayer as usual. Karl’s face intruded into any thoughts and I felt his loathsome lips on mine. I fasted in an effort to purge myself of the memory of his hands on my body, before eating as much as I could to fill the aching void the encounter had left in me. Finally, I asked a novice to cut a hole in the ice of the monastery lake for me, taking a plunge there at dawn while she stood guard. I shook in the morning chill and gasped at the icy shock of the water on my bare skin, hoping in vain to wash away any trace of Karl.
Yet more than his touch, his words had upset me: how could he speak like that about Anoushka? Granted, he had been drunk or hungover; in that state I had observed my father kiss man, woman, dog and donkey at his feasts, where he also freely insulted friends or even trained his whip and his cudgel on them. Come the next day, all was forgotten. Finally, I decided that it was better to let matters rest: any other course and I risked breaking Anoushka’s heart.
When I returned to St Petersburg in time for Yuletide, her betrothal to Karl was announced.
The ice on the river lay an arshin thick and was as shiny as a mirror, icicles chiming in the trees along the quayside, when we accompanied Anoushka and Karl to the chapel. Dogs, reindeers and ponies dragged our sleds, their reins adorned with silver bells, tinkling the sweetest melody. Anoushka outshone the thousands of candles that Father had paid for. When he folded her slight fingers into the Duke of Holstein’s hands, I could still remember the feel of those paws on my body. The bite on his lip had healed; he avoided my gaze as thoroughly as I did his. Just thinking of how close he had been to me, and the violence of his advances, gave me goosebumps. Only Anoushka’s adoring gaze at her future husband gave me hope.
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