The Frost And The Flame

by Drusilla Campbell

  “Quite well, Madame,” answered Katia, her eyes lowered.

  “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that.” Elizabeth smiled, showing small pointed teeth. “One might even say that your improvement appears to have happened…overnight. I cannot wait to inform my dear husband. How gratified he will be!” She laughed shortly and without humour. Idly she played her hands through Mary’s fair hair. “This end of the palace has become quite a favorite place for him since little Mary came to visit. She is a charming child, of course." Elizabeth’s voice was acid. “What a pity she cannot think of anything to say.”

  Elizabeth stared at Katia, her animosity undisguised for, a moment. She was surprised when the convent girl did not look away this time, but instead held her eyes with a fury to match her own.

  ’The little bitch!’ thought the princess. ‘Now my husband has had her, she thinks she can lord it over me. Poor stupid convent mouse. If she knew what her future held, she would crawl to me, begging help.’ Katia blushed under the princess’ scrutiny but would not look away.

  All at once, Katia seemed most alluring to Elizabeth; and unwittingly, her mind turned to an old desire. Katia was like the girls she remembered from her own convent school days. Flawless creatures with wide gamin eyes and lithe bodies that had trembled beneath her touch. Reluctantly, she forced the images from her mind. It was so long since she had wanted someone of her own sex, she had thought that phase of her desires gone for good. The perverse longing had suited and pleasured her convent days well enough; but it could be inconvenient, not to mention dangerous, for a Romanov princess.

  She turned to Nikki. “How are you, Natasha? As healthy as our sweet Katia, I trust?”

  “Quite, Your Highness.” Nikki seemed to cringe from the woman’s nearness.

  “Marvelous, my dear.” The Princess smiled poisonously. “I am afraid I must leave you all now though I do enjoy your stimulating company. Particularly yours, Katia.” She kissed Katia’s forehead with cool lips and caressed her neck and shoulder lingeringly. “But I am sure you can find some entertainment while I am at Tsarskoe Selo with the Royal Family.”

  When she left with a shoosh of heavy maroon skirts and silk petticoats, Nikki threw down her handwork and cried, “What a dreadful woman! How dare she bear the same title as My Lady? She is fit for no place but the gutter!” With an effort, she stilled her shaking fingers to the discipline of lace work as Katia stared morosely at the flames leaping in the stove.

  Elizabeth confused and frightened her. It seemed to Katia that the woman had wanted to make her feel ashamed and embarrassed. And yet, at the same time, she seemed to encourage the relationship between Oleg and her. Katia turned the puzzle over in her mind but could find no solution to it. For all her fine education at Troitza, she had no skills with which to understand the sophisticated corruptions of St. Petersburg and the Romanov palace. Never had she felt more helpless, more in need of Alexei.

  ‘But even if he were here,’ she thought, ‘he would not want me now.’ A small tear formed at the corner of her eye, and she turned her head so Aunt Nikki would not see her brush it away.

  The afternoon wore on, and at four the nurse came to fetch Mary for her bath and supper. Katia gave her up unwillingly for she took some comfort from the child’s presence. It was as if Mary provided her with a purpose. Her life might be in ruin, but she could still love the little girl who so desperately needed loving. No matter what Oleg or Elizabeth might do, no matter what fate might befall her, Mary’s needs were real and constant, a channel into which Katia vowed to pour all her energies for survival.

  Katia and her aunt made an early supper that evening in the little sitting room that linked their bedchambers. Both women ate sparingly, and they found little to talk of. As they were eating their sweet, the nurse brought Mary, freshly bathed and warm in her long wool nightdress, for a goodnight kiss. The straw doll was tucked up under her arm; and when the nurse tried to remove the filthy poppet from her, Mary would not relinquish it.

  “It doesn’t matter, Nurse,” said Katia sadly. “Let her keep the doll. It is all she has.” She stared deep into the child’s eyes a moment searching for some sign of consciousness. There was none, but Katia had to believe there might be a light there one day. Mary was all she had to live for.

  A bit later, Nikki excused herself to dress for the evening. When she returned in her somber grey costume, she saw that Katia had not moved from her place at the table. She looked forlorn, and so like her royal mother that Natasha Filippovna had to marvel that others did not recognize the likeness.

  “Will you be alright, Katia? Can you forgive me for leaving you alone again?” Not Waiting for an answer, not really wanting to know the truth, Natasha Filippovna examined herself in the gold-framed mirror. She was dressed with the drab simplicity of a country nun, but she pinched her cheeks to enhance their color. “I am to see the Little Father himself for the first time this evening. He doesn’t see just anyone, you know. Josefinia says I am most fortunate to get an invitation. I could hardly turn it down, could I?”

  Katia spoke with gentle resignation, “Go, Aunt, and I pray you are made better by this man of God.”

  “Katia, what ails you today?” The clock chimed nine o’clock. “Dear me, I mustn’t keep Josefinia waiting. Perhaps tomorrow we two can have a nice long talk and you can tell me…”

  “Goodnight, Aunt. Go with God.” She did not look up from folding her linen serviette.

  Near ten, a maid appeared and helped Katia undress for bed. When the girl had gone, Katia lighted a candle; and, tossing a white satin wrapper over her sheer cotton nighty, she walked through the dark sitting room to the nursery a few steps down the hall. Two of the hall tapers had guttered; and as she made her way along the dark corridor, her heart was beating fast. A mouse skittered before her, and the silence in the palace seemed thick and threatening. Her hand shook; and her candle flickered, then went out. The nursery’s heavy oak door groaned as she opened it.

  “Good evening, my dear.” Oleg’s voice came from across the dark nursery. “Come in and close the door behind you.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  In the penumbra of candlelight, Katia saw Oleg on the bench near the nursery stove. He held Mary on his lap, his arm about her shoulders in a cruel parody of affection.

  “Come join our family circle, Katia,” he said sweetly and patted the cushioned seat beside him.

  Katia responded with starched formality. She would not step closer to him. “Mary should be in bed, My Lord. It is long past her bedtime.”

  “I told you to come to me, Katia.”

  “I would prefer to stand here, thank you.” Though her words were brave, Katia’s knees shook as she spoke; and her palms were moist.

  “Ah,” cried Oleg, as if seizing on an important point, “that is where we misunderstand one another! On the subject of preferences!” He sat Mary on the bench, then strode to Katia. She stepped away, but he caught her. Grabbing a fistful of long dark hair, he wrenched her head back and kissed her savagely. His tongue rasped into her mouth; his saliva mixed with hers.

  She pulled aside and spat. Her beautiful face twisted with loathing. There was a wild, animal fire in her eyes. “Never do that again! The taste of you sickens me. I would prefer a cur, a dog off the streets!"

  Oleg smiled a little. His convent angel was developing a colorful gift for language. He pulled her hard against him, feeling her supple curves through his dressing gown. Cruelly, he thrust his hand between her legs and held her, the heel of his hand grinding her nakedness painfully. “Sure you know by now, Katia, that your preferences mean nothing to me. You are an intelligent girl, and I thought you would understand that. It is so simple, dushenka. Only my wishes are of importance.”

  “I will leave,” gasped Katia. Despite the painful pressure of his hand, she struggled to be free. Nothing would make her submit a second time! Her cheeks blazed and her eyes snapped. “I will take Mary and leave tonight!”

  T
he prince laughed, enjoying Katia’s spirited show. With a sharp jerk, he pulled back on her hair. With her neck arched painfully, he stroked a line across her throat from ear to ear with his index finger. “You would not last until dawn in the streets of St. Petersburg,” he whispered as he thrust his hand inside her wrapper again and fondled her breasts. Between thumb and forefinger, he twisted the nipple. “And anyway, I would send Leo after you. He would make you return to me. Leo can be very persuasive, Katia.”

  “You cannot keep me prisoner!” She kicked suddenly and hit Oleg sharply in the knee. With a snap of exasperation, he released her and resumed his seat beside Mary.

  “Come stand before me, Katia,” he directed irritably. His lips were white and clenched tightly. It was not difficult to see that he was fighting for control of his impatience. “Come here now!”

  This time, some new tone in his voice compelled Katia to obey though a part of her was still looking for escape. Oleg leaned back into the pillows on the bench and took a small ruby-handled knife from the pocket of his brocade dressing gown. He began cleaning his fingernails casually.

  “I find your spirited nature quite exhilarating, Katia.

  I confess that it is one of your most alluring qualities and promises me great pleasure. However, I am becoming impatient for I am a busy man with great demands on my time and energy. I believe that I have been more than a gentleman in permitting your idiosyncrasies of health and affection. But let me remind you that I tolerate this child and your greedy aunt for one reason only. I am sure you understand my meaning so I will take no further time explaining reality to you. The moment has come, I think, for an object lesson you will not forget.”

  As he spoke, Oleg was thinking how beautiful and desirable Katia was with her cheeks brightened by fear and indignation, the flimsy nightclothes clinging to her warm body. “You belong to me, Katia. I will not let you free until I have tired of your body. Before you interrupt, hear this: you have no choice but to obey me. I am a Romanov prince. In pursuit of my pleasure, I will stop at nothing.”

  He made a sudden movement and grabbed at the doll in Mary’s arm. Holding the poppet by the foot, he dangled it before Katia.

  “Mary is important to you, isn’t she, Katia? You feel responsible for her. And well you might. What happened to her is your fault, isn’t it? Has it occurred to you that perhaps she would have been better off dead like the others? The ruby-handled knife glinted bloody in the firelight. “What kind of life can it be for her without speech and only a doll to love?”

  When the child turned to Oleg, her expression was blank, more distant from reality than ever. He held the toy before her and whispered, “Watch closely, little girl.” The knife blade flashed in the candlelight as he placed it at the doll’s throat and with one deft, bloodless stroke, severed the head from the body.

  “I told the Little Father about the child, Mary,” Josefinia Rupenskaya was saying to her friend Natasha Filippovna that same night as their carriage hurried along the twilight streets of St. Petersburg. “He believes he can help her to speak. He says the suffering of little children quickens his power.” Josefinia’s portly face was radiant as she spoke of the priest. “If you are really fortunate, after a few of these visits you may get to speak with him about the matter privately. It would be a wonderful experience for you, Nikki.” She grasped her friend’s cold hands and squeezed them tight in her fervour. “Sometimes it is as if the Little Father were Christ himself. I swear the sacred power pours out of him. He’s clever and ambitious like all these healing priests, of course. I am not naive, my dear. I know he is using us on his way to more elegant and generous patrons. Nevertheless, I cannot help believing in him. His goodness and the miracles he brings about are unquestioned. Oh, you’ll see, Nikki; the man’s power is formidable!”

  Nikki nodded doubtfully. “Will he cure my indigestion?” she asked petulantly.

  “Of course! And the palpitations too if you are truly contrite and confess all your sins to him. The pain disappears miraculously then. I’ve known it to happen many times. Do you recall those sick headaches of mine? Well, they haven’t bothered me now for months. Not since the Little Father began helping me. Let me tell you .'…” And so on and on; but Natasha Filippovna’s mind was troubled, and she didn’t listen.

  It was a warm summer evening; and the sun lay low on the horizon, red as a Persian orange. The gilded domes and spires of St. Petersburg blazed with the ruby-gold light. The waters of the broad-running Neva and its labyrinth of twisting canals dazzled before Nikki’s eyes, but she was blind to the beauty around her. Her thoughts were dark and worrisome and, by now, all too familiar. Of late, she had thought of almost nothing but pain and Katia. Pain and Katia: the two had almost become one and the same in her mind. It seemed she couldn’t see or talk to the girl without suffering some new complaint.

  She tried to believe it was only the waiting and the indigestion that troubled her. True, the rich life of St. Petersburg had beguiled her in the beginning; and she had no one to blame for that but herself. Still no matter how she scolded, Nikki’s mouth still watered as she thought of the delicacies she had enjoyed during her first two months in the city. There had been feasts of cinnamony Spanish chocolate and custards smooth as rose petals. Wine, pastries, pâté’s, sauces rich with cream. Her starved country will could not resist the feasts of St. Petersburg. Now God was punishing her for her gluttony.

  Or was he making her atone for her part in a cruel bargain of deception?

  Why was God punishing her? Was not a bargain a bargain? She had only done her part. She wanted praise for that, not blame.

  She tried to block the thoughts, but they came anyway.

  Nikki recalled how, in the beginning, the bargain had seemed simple and fair. Princess Anna Romanov had been indiscreet in love; and the Lady Natasha Filippovna Kalino, friend and lady-in-waiting to the princess, had been entrusted with the care of the love child, Katia. She had been given a house on free land in Three Rivers and a generous annual allowance in return for her promise to see to the child’s welfare and keep her identity a secret until such time as it might be disclosed safely. To seal the bargain, the princess had promised one final reward. An emerald necklace—four heavy teardrops on a white gold chain intertwisted with a string of diamond beads, a fortune in precious gems—would be Nikki’s when Katia’s future was secured.

  ‘Such a simple bargain,’ thought Natasha Filippovna.

  Or so it had seemed until now when, through the tricks and turns of fate, Katia had become Oleg Romanov’s favorite. Nikki shuddered at the thought of what she knew to be true: Katia and her half-brother were lovers. She had left the girl alone one night too many.

  ‘I must stop this!’ she told herself. Oleg must never know, but what could she do that would not endanger Katia and reveal her true identity? What could she do that would not break her bargain with the princess and lose her all hope of gaining the emeralds? She stared disconsolately into the streets of the passing city. Vendors crowded the roadway, hawking drink and pirogy. But Nikki was too far lost in thought to be tempted even by the enticing aroma of freshly baked pastry.

  “Did you hear me, Nikki?” Josefinia shook her friend by the arm. “I was pointing out Senate Square where the revolt took place last winter. But we’re past it now. Kominski Park is just ahead.”

  The carriage swung into a cobbled side street bordered on one side by canal and on the other by a strip of formal parkland beyond which Nikki saw an old neighborhood of substantial, square-fronted residences. The heavily treed atmosphere of Kominski Park was gloomy after the boulevard, and all at once Nikki regretted having come with Josefinia. She regretted everything. During prayers that night, her devotion was extraordinary, and she wept pitifully when the Little Father blessed her and told her that in time the pain would go. She must trust in him and purge her soul of sin.

  She wasn’t listening to him. Instead, she seemed to hear Katia crying out against a background of demonic laughte
r.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Near the end of August, Katia made her first public appearance as the ward of Prince Oleg Romanov. As they entered the huge brightly lighted ballroom of the Imperial barge, all heads turned to scrutinize Oleg Ivanovich’s ward. She felt her cheeks blaze under the inquisitive stares, imagining she had no secrets from the crowd of bejeweled nobles.

  “Keep your head up,” whispered Oleg through his teeth as he smiled and dipped his head graciously to left and right. “Make me proud.”

  If it would have freed her of Oleg Romanov, Katia would gladly have shamed them both right there before the assembled royalty of St. Petersburg. But she knew better than to anger or embarrass him. He had been her lover now for six weeks; and she had quickly learned to fear his temper, and the back of his hand had more than once left the taste of blood in her mouth.

  “Smile, my dear. After all, you are a guest at the most elegant affair of the summer season and not walking to the guillotine. Smile. I want everyone to see what a beauty my little ward is.” Oleg laughed and pinched her cruelly beneath the arm as he continued to nod and smile at the other guests. The tears sprang into Katia’s eyes, but she bit her lip to keep them back.

  She wore a gown of dark blue silk velvet, one of dozens made especially for her by the Romanov seamstresses. A fine web of gold lace held a sparkling of minute sapphires to the full puffed sleeves and decorated the border of the plunging neckline. Her hair was drawn back into an elaborate twist at the nape of her neck, and a series of dainty curls framed her face, accentuating her youth and apparent innocence. The combs that held her hair in place were tipped with still more sapphires, so that each time she turned her head, countless blue gems glittered in the dark tresses. Oleg matched her in elegance in a dark blue velvet coat, cut away to reveal a pale green brocade waistcoat. A sapphire-tipped pin held a swirl of blue lace at his throat.