The Masters

by Christopher Nicole

  “Tsar Alexander had every reason to be harsh,” Anna pointed out. “His father was blown to pieces by an anarchist bomb. And he was honestly determined to bring about a measure of democracy, was he not?”

  “A measure.” Peter glanced at his aunt. “Don’t get me wrong, Aunt Anna. I am proud to be the twelfth Prince Bolugayevski. I am even prouder that I am prince by right of my mother’s blood as much as by my father’s adopted inheritance. But I can understand the feelings of the people...those of them that can feel, which means any of them who have managed to obtain the slightest education.” He gave a half smile. “In that at least I am entirely my father’s son.” Anna made no comment. She was happy to let him speak. They were alone in his compartment, to which he had invited her, alone; he was eager for an intimate discussion of the problems facing them. Well, she did not object to that; she had some speaking of her own to do. “Do you remember David Fine?” he asked.

  “Why, of course. The Jewish boy who was the son of the doctor on Bolugayen.”

  “Do you know where he is now?” Peter asked.

  Anna clasped her neck. “Don’t tell me he is dead?”

  “He may well wish he was dead. He is in Siberia. That is where all dissidents go, nowadays, when they escape the hangman.”

  “But what did he do?”

  “You may remember that he was involved with the Will of the People. He got Aunt Alexandra involved. But after Aunt Alix was killed, David began behaving very oddly. He went back to St Petersburg, and got involved with terrorist groups again. He became what is known as a Communist.”

  “You mean followers of Marx and Engels? It is much talked about in the States.”

  “Are there many Communists in America?”

  “Quite a few. They incite strikes and various sorts of trouble. But the Pinkerton people usually sort them out.”

  “Here they are sent to Siberia, when they cannot be convicted of a capital crime.”

  Poor David Fine, Anna thought. She remembered him as a pleasant if intense young man, and a fervent supporter of the family, if not the regime. Of course, that had been because of his adoration for Alexandra. But...she frowned. David would be nearly fifty, now. What an age to be exiled to the most remote place on earth! “What happens to the convicts in Siberia?” she asked.

  “They work, from dawn till dusk. And yet, you know, some of them come back with wives and children.” Another quick grin. “So they cannot work all the time.”

  “You mean some of them actually come back?”

  “Oh, most of them do. Many die as well, of course. But as far as I know, David Fine is still alive, and he may well be coming back quite soon. There is a rumour that Tsar Nicholas is going to pronounce an amnesty for his coronation. That means the country will be flooded with subversives, who will have to be arrested and either hanged or returned to Siberia all over again. But I do assure you, Aunt Anna, that there are no subversives on Bolugayen, nowadays. Our people are content,” Peter said. “It will be my aim to keep it so.”

  “I will say amen to that,” Anna agreed. “I can hardly wait to see the old place again. I only wish it could be in happier circumstances.”

  Peter gazed at her. “I wish you to know that I am very grateful for everything that you have done.”

  “Everything?”

  “I understand about that paper you signed. Everyone does. Well...everyone who matters. I would like you to feel that Bolugayen is as much your home now as it ever was.”

  “Why, Peter...that is a very sweet thing for you to say.”

  Again the long gaze. “I would like you to stay...for as long as you can. Bolugayen needs a woman in authority. I am away too much, with my regiment. I would not have it otherwise. I am a soldier. I wish to be a soldier. But I also wish a home, in good order, when I am not soldiering.”

  “You will have one, when you marry again.”

  “I have no wish to marry again, Aunt Anna.”

  Anna’s heart was pounding. To return to Bolugayen as mistress of the estate...yet she had to be quite sure. “You have two sisters.”

  “Half-sisters, Aunt Anna. I regard you as my nearest blood relative. Besides, you have spent enough time with Sophie and Trisha to evaluate them. Sophie was always odd. Do you know what happened on her wedding night?”

  “Until I got to Port Arthur, I did not even know she was ever married.”

  “She took one look at her husband’s penis and tried to throw herself out of the window. She had never seen one before. After that, she went into a state of permanent decline, and the marriage had to be annulled. She should be committed.”

  Anna leaned forward to hold his arm. “You cannot do that.”

  “Of course I cannot do that: she bears my name, and we have the same father. But she will never live a normal life. As for Trish...all she thinks about is men.”

  “That is not unusual in a girl of seventeen,” Anna said carefully.

  “She will still never be capable of managing Bolugayen. These are not Bolugayevskis. They are English upstarts. Father’s children. They have not a drop of Russian blood in their veins. The same goes for Alexei,” Peter brooded. “Oh, he is a splendid fellow. But he again is entirely English.”

  “Which brings us to the most important question of all,” Anna said. “The heir. If you do not intend to marry again...it really is your business to do so, you know, Peter.”

  His shoulders hunched. “We must find an heir elsewhere.”

  “You are not going to tell me that you took one look at a woman’s vagina and tried to jump out of your window.”

  Peter gave a grim smile. “No, Aunt Anna. Georgei and I had very little in common. I loved Natalie. Thus I watched her die, in agony, and blood. And the baby too. He was actually alive, you know, when delivered. He lived for twenty minutes.”

  “Oh Peter...” She squeezed his hand.

  “I cannot inflict that upon anyone else.”

  “It is a passing distress.”

  “Perhaps. But I see no indication of it passing at the moment.”

  Anna looked out of the window at the countryside rushing by. What a generation, she thought. Peter has contempt for his English half-siblings...but he is as weak as butter himself. Yet he is right in his judgement on Sophie and Trish. I do not know Alexei well enough to have an opinion. Am I therefore the last true Bolugayevska? She thought of the ruthlessness of her father, who had punished transgressors without a moment’s pity or hesitation. Dagmar and Georgei Senior had been equally ruthless, and no doubt her younger sister Alexandra would have been so as well, had she been allowed to grow up.

  Then what of her? When she came down to it, she had been the most ruthless of them all — but her ruthlessness had been leavened with a streak of romanticism none of the others had possessed. Her courage and determination had carried her to the heights...and she had thrown it all away to marry Charles Cromb. But Charles was dead. And this frightened but so attractive man in front of her was offering her a chance to recreate the past. On her own terms, she was determined on that. “Very well, Peter,” she said. “I will stay and be Mistress of Bolugayen...until you decide that you have had enough of me.”

  “I will never do that, Aunt Anna.”

  “Time will tell. However, I will only stay on one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “That I am, Mistress of Bolugayen. Subject only to your ultimate sanction. I will have no interference from anyone save you.”

  He smiled. “I never expected anything else, Aunt Anna.”

  *

  Bolugayen, Anna thought when she awoke on the second morning. But first, Poltava, and the Bolugayen town house. It was that evening before they came to Poltava. Peter took the family to the house. The front doors were opened by flunkies, and Anna stood in the doorway, appreciating, remembering.

  Again, very little had changed. The drapes and carpets had undoubtedly been renewed, but in the Bolugayen colours: the house was still a mosaic of blue and gold
, so the change was more real than apparent. But here, too, there was now electric light, even if not yet a telephone.

  “Wow!” Duncan exclaimed. “This is a palace!”

  “Have you never been in a palace before?” Patricia asked.

  “We don’t have palaces in America.”

  “How odd. I thought you were filthy rich.”

  “I do not think anyone in America is as wealthy as the Bolugayevskis,” Anna said quietly. “And Duncan is quite right, we do not have palaces in America. But you will have to get used to them here, Duncan.”

  He followed her up the stairs. “Did you really live here when you were a girl, Mom?”

  “Occasionally. I spent more time out on Bolugayen.”

  “Wow! I can hardly wait to see it. How long are we staying?”

  “That’s something we have to discuss,” Anna said. They were shown into the guest apartment.

  “When you compare this with Port Arthur...” Duncan said.

  “Or Boston?” Anna asked, standing at the window.

  “Well...Boston is home.”

  Anna went out on to the terrace. It was dark now, and it was also very cold, although not at the moment actually snowing. “This is my home,” she said, hearing him behind her.

  “Well, yes, I understand that. But...”

  “Prince Peter has invited me to stay, and act as Mistress of Bolugayen for him. At least until he either marries again or retires from the Army. I have agreed to do this.”

  “Stay here?”

  “Stay on Bolugayen, mainly. Stay in Russia, certainly. We have a house in St Petersburg as well, you know. I shall be going up there in the spring, for a visit. So we need to decide whether you wish to stay with me.”

  “Gee! You mean you want me to stay?”

  “No, I want you to go.”

  “Eh?”

  Anna went back inside, and Duncan closed the doors. “I do not think there is a future for you here.”

  He sat down. “But what about Trish? I know she’ll get over this Li-su thing, given a little time.”

  “Perhaps she will. And I will be honest. There was a time when I thought it might be possible for you to marry. However, I have now realised that is quite impossible.”

  “But Mom...”

  “Listen to me, Duncan. What you did was very wrong. I have no doubt at all that you were seduced, so I’m not blaming you. But it is necessary that you are separated...until your emotions sort themselves out.”

  “But...couldn’t we marry? I know we couldn’t do it here, but if we took her back to the States...”

  “No, you cannot marry. In the first place, it would be incestuous, no matter where it was done, and in the second, and more important, Trisha has to marry someone else.”

  “But...she’s not a virgin.”

  “If life were a simple business, it would be very boring.”

  “But...suppose she doesn’t want to marry anyone else?”

  “I do not intend to give her any choice in the matter.”

  “You?”

  “I have just told you, Duncan, I am to be Mistress of Bolugayen. That means I am also mistress of every living creature on Bolugayen. Most of all, my own family.” He opened his mouth and then shut it again. “You’re not going to tell me you’re in love with her?” Anna asked.

  “Well...I’ve never known anyone I liked so much.”

  “You mean, enjoyed fucking so much.” His head came up, and she smiled at him. “We are in Russia now, darling. I can say what I mean instead of mouthing absurd euphemisms. Well, you’ve had her. Now find some nice American girl to replace her.”

  “What about Li-su?”

  “Dear Duncan, can you seriously see yourself as a Harvard freshman with a Chinese mistress to go home to? It would cause a scandal you’d never live down. I can assure you that the girl will come to no harm,” Anna said. “You have my word on that. I will find her a husband in the village, and she will settle down to being a Russian housewife.”

  “I want to stay here. I want to explore this country. I want to go to St Petersburg.” He flushed. “I want to be a Bolugayevski. At least for a while.”

  “And so you shall. When you’ve graduated from Harvard.” Anna leaned across and kissed his cheek. “You’ve had a marvellous adventure. You’ve proved yourself a man, in every possible way. I’m proud of you. But you have your own life to live, and these people have theirs. You’re not really ready for life as a Bolugayevski, any more than Patricia could possibly exist as a Cromb. I give you my word, go home and graduate, and if then you wish to return here, you shall.”

  *

  As Peter had to rejoin his regiment, they spent only one day in Poltava before travelling out to Bolugayen. By now it was snowing quite heavily, and horsemanship of a high order was required. Anna was worried for Duncan, who although a capable horseman was not experienced in these conditions, but he managed well enough. Both Sophie and Patricia, on the other hand, rode like true Bolugayevskas, every now and again breaking into a gallop, snow flying from their horse’s heels.

  As for herself...Anna too galloped from time to time, feeling the icy wind caress her cheeks, while threatening to tear away her silk hat, however tightly tied it was beneath her chin. She drew rein on the hill overlooking the house. Here again, nothing had changed. She had grown to womanhood in that house, had been assaulted by her father and raped at Dagmar’s orders in that house…and still she loved it. Because it was in that house that she had first lain in Colin MacLain’s arms, and known happiness. And now she was going to know happiness again, because now she was going to be absolute mistress of the entire estate.

  Peter had sent gallopers ahead, and despite the snow, the villagers had turned out to greet their returning master, and his aunt. Anna had no doubt that quite a few of the older people remembered Dagmar’s days, and that a considerable proportion of them had had a hand, quite literally, in Dagmar’s death, but they all cheered and welcomed her. The family had to wait in the cold outside the front porch while the leader of the tzemstvo, the village council, read them a speech of welcome.

  Then it was into the warmth of the great hall, where as in Poltava the servants were lined up to greet them. “Welcome home, Your Excellency,” said the butler, bowing.

  Anna frowned at him; he bore a strong resemblance to Rurik. “You’re not another of Igor Bondarevski’s sons?”

  “I am Gleb, Your Excellency. Rurik is my younger brother.”

  “That is splendid,” she said. “We shall have lots to talk about. Holy Father!”

  She extended her hand, and the black-robed priest bowed to brush it with his lips. “It is an honour, Countess.”

  Countess! How good it sounded, after all these years. “Don’t tell me you also are from Bolugayen,” she chided.

  “I am from Poltava, Your Excellency,” the young man said.

  “And your name?”

  “Father Sviatoslav, Your Excellency. I mourn Father Sergei.”

  “As do we all, Father. I shall come to hear you, on Sunday,” she promised. He kissed her hand again.

  “Are the preparations all made?” Peter asked.

  “As you required, Your Highness,” Father Sviatoslav said.

  “Tomorrow morning,” Peter said, and looked around the waiting faces. “I wish to see you all in the small parlour, as soon as you have settled in,” he announced. “One hour. Then we will have lunch.” They hurried to their rooms. Peter accompanied Anna up the huge staircase to her old apartment. “I had this prepared for you,” he said. He opened the door for her.

  She went into the sitting-room, gazed about her. “Why, this is exactly as I left it, thirty-two years ago.”

  “Papa would have it so,” Peter explained, and gave a half smile. “I think he always knew you would return, one day.”

  She glanced at him. “You know about your father and me?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you do not mind?”

  “I wished you
had stayed, then, and married him, instead of the American. What children you would have had.”

  “Close the door,” Anna said. Peter obeyed. Anna went into the bedroom. She heard him behind her. “Your mother and I hated each other,” she said. “Do you remember that?”

  Peter had been here in this house, a seven-year-old boy, when she had been in this room, Dagmar’s prisoner, condemned to a daily ration of outrage and humiliation. “I remember,” he said.

  “What are your feelings about that?”

  “That my mother was a very wicked woman.”

  “Did your father ever speak of her? Or your stepmother?”

  “Never. In my hearing, anyway.”

  “Yet you hated your stepmother.”

  Peter shrugged. “I did not say I hated her. She merely held a rank and a title that was yours, by right.”

  “Suppose I told you that the decision was mine?”

  “That would not alter the fact, Aunt Anna.”

  They gazed at each other. “So, now you give me back what is rightfully mine,” Anna said softly.

  “Now I correct a great wrong,” he said.

  “You dear boy,” she said, and was in his arms. His hands slid over her shoulders, seeped up to drive themselves into her hair, slipped down her back to caress her buttocks. His lips coursed across her face, kissing her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, her chin before finding her mouth. She pulled her head back. “I can’t give you an heir, Peter,” she said. “Even if it would not be incest, I am too old.”

  “Do you think I care about that? Oh, Aunt Anna...” His hands slid round her hips and came up to the front of her habit, seeking the buttons. “I adore you. I have always adored you. I love you, love you. Every time I fucked my wife I dreamed it was you. I remember you so well from when you lived here...”

  “Even what your mother had done to me?” She was making no effort to resist him, as he finished unbuttoning her habit and then sought the smaller buttons on her white blouse.

  “Why do you think I hate her?” He pulled the blouse apart and bent his head to kiss the tops of her breasts, while she herself helped him deal with the straps which held up her petticoats and uncover her nipples. There was, after all, only seventeen years between them. But so much else. He had been a little boy when she had left Bolugayen, and she was a young woman. Now she was an old woman...well, she thought, middle-aged. And he was a handsome, virile man.