It was a blustery autumn day, and the wind had streaked the sky, masking the sun with a scrim of thin clouds. Nikki could smell the winter coming, and yet stepping into the millinery shop was like entering a formal garden of prize spring flowers. The shop was small but perfectly appointed in furnishings of polished wood. On the several petite glass-topped tables were displayed a dozen of Madame Sophie’s creations for the coming season. The hats were frothy masterpieces ornamented with waves of sheerest veiling and flowers made of silk with jeweled centers. One hat in particular caught Nikki’s attention in the seconds before Sophie came forward to greet her enthusiastically. It was made of russet pheasant feathers. Atop the brim tucked in brown satin, nested a tiny bird delicately assembled out of feathers, gems and ribbon. It was the sort of bonnet in which even an old woman might look beautiful, Nikki thought as she reached for it.
Sophie urged Natasha Filippovna to try the hat, and when she did and they both saw that it was becoming, she insisted that she take it as a gift.
“It has been so long, Nikki dearest!” Sophie explained. “I want to give you something to say how much I missed you!” She hugged Nikki warmly and led her toward the door leading to the workroom in the back of the shop. “I’ve been as excited as a school girl waiting for you to come this afternoon. I want to hear everything about you. Simply everything!”
If the shop was a formal garden, Sophie’s workroom was a country garden gone wild, a chaos of colour that took Nikki’s breath away. The room was larger than the shop by almost twice, but there seemed not to be one inch of unused space. On two sides the walls were lined with shelves from which spilled a breathtaking assortment of hat-making materials. There were overflowing boxes of netting in every conceivable colour washing like spindrift over dozens of haphazardly piled rolls of ribbon: satin, velvet, brocade, embroidered cotton, silk. Piles of bows and artificial flowers—as fresh and bright as newly picked blossoms—spilled into trays of feathers and dishes of beads and buttons. The garden beauty of the place startled Natasha Filippovna into a smile, and she clapped her hands together with the delight of a child discovering an unimagined surprise.
“It’s lovely, Sophie!” she cried.
Sophie was obviously pleased. Her pretty dark face—almost, but not quite, plump—glowed with pleasure; and though she tried to dismiss her workroom as nothing of significance, it was obvious that she too thought the place quite marvelous and entirely deserving of Nikki’s praise.
“Forgive the untidiness,” she apologized, “but this is where I work and if I let the char into clean, she invariably loses something. Besides, to tell the truth, I rather like it this way.” She smiled the broad honest smile that Natasha Filippovna recalled from when they were girls.
At this moment another door at the back of the room opened, and an old woman entered bearing a heavy silver tray laden with their afternoon tea.
“Thank you, Mama,” said Sophie, clearing a space for the tray at the end of a worktable. In a few moments the old woman had set a pretty table with lace and damask linen, silver and delicate bone china cups and saucers. There were plates of pirogy and cakes; but when Sophie offered these to Nikki, she said thank you she wouldn’t, knowing that her over-snug gown permitted only tea that afternoon.
The visit began splendidly. Sophie was much as Natasha Filippovna remembered her; and though she felt the pinch of envy for her friend’s obvious success, the reunion made her forget her own woes for the space of an hour. It was almost as if she had left guilt and tragedy outside the door when she entered the millinery garden. She heard herself laughing like a girl, and she was greedy for all of Sophie’s news.
Sophie’s Army officer had risen to become a famous general, and he had remained true to his word.
“I was beside him when he died, Nikki,” confided Sophie. “His poor old wife was too ill to think of anyone but herself, and he said he wanted me to be with him at the end.” A large tear welled in Sophie’s expressive blue eyes, and she brushed back a lock of dark hair that had drifted out of place as she reminisced. Though twenty years had passed, Sophie’s gestures and expressions had not lost their girlish quality. “He always swore that he would care for me, and he did. I never lacked for anything.” She gestured to indicate the workroom. “He left me very well off, Nikki. He bought this shop because he knew I always had a talent for millinery. It’s worked out just perfectly. I even have the right patrons. Madame Sophie’s creations are all the rage this season!” She giggled as if her success were some naughty trick and poured more tea for Nikki. “But talk about yourself, my dear. What has life held for you these twenty years? I tried to reach you once or twice but they told me you were gone to the country somewhere.”
It was as she began to speak of her own life, that Natasha Filippovna’s good spirits failed her. Despite her efforts, she could not make her life in Three Rivers sound anything but dull compared to Sophie’s tales of romance in Paris and Berlin.
When Sophie asked, “But whatever made you go to Three Rivers?” Nikki could fabricate no lie grand enough to explain her sacrifice. Her explanation seemed hollow even to her own ears.
“I made an arrangement with my niece to raise her child. Once Mademoiselle Katia is married and safely taken care of, I will come into a little money of my own.”
Sophie lifted her carefully penciled brows. “And this Katia is her daughter?”
Nikki nodded, wishing, now that Katia’s name had come into the conversation, that the afternoon were over. She sensed their talk was moving into dangerous waters and that Sophie’s curiosity would not let the subject rest.
“I must be going soon,” she muttered, wiping her lips with a damask serviette.
“But you’ve only just arrived!” Sophie eyed her closely. “Is something troubling you, Nikki? I noticed when you first stepped into the shop you seemed to carry the weight of the world with you. It isn’t anything to do with Oleg Romanov is it?”
“What do you mean?” Nikki was caught off guard by the perceptive question. Had Sophie heard gossip?
“I only ask—and you mustn’t think I’m rude—because you’ve been away so long, and you might not know the things that are said about the Prince. His reputation is a scandal, Nikki. He’s quite as bad as his old father was. Worse probably. I only asked if he was troubling you because I know that if I had a young girl in my care, I wouldn’t want her spending time with such a one as he.”
“I haven’t been feeling well. That’s all, Sophie.” Her hands were shaking so; the cup clinked noisily against the saucer as she put it down.
“And she is a lovely girl, Nikki. I thought when I saw her at the theater that she reminded me of someone, but for the life of me I haven’t been able to think who. I didn’t know your niece, Katia’s mother, did I?”
“No.” Nikki was cringing inside.
“Well, I didn’t think so. Still, the girl recalls someone.” Sophie knotted her brows for a moment and then dismissed the thought. “Ah, well, it will come to me no doubt. You must have cared for your niece a great deal to accept such a bargain when I know how you enjoyed being with Princess Anna. We had great fun, didn’t we? Do you recall that season when we went with Princess Anna and Prince Ivan to Warsaw? What a gay time we had that year!”
For a while the women were nostalgic about that happy season in their lives. Sophie’s memory was formidable, and she even recalled the gowns they had worn and the names of some young diplomats who took them walking and tried to kiss them in a rose bower.
“Such a pity about Princess Anna,” said Sophie sorrowfully. “Were you in St. Petersburg when she disappeared?”
“I had left for Muscovy a little before. Princess Anna had given me a house on free ground in which to raise Katia. I went there, and shortly afterwards she disappeared.” Amazingly, Natasha Filippovna’s voice held steady though the hands clenched in her lap still trembled.
“What a terrible thing to kill oneself and with all those good years ahead. I know Princ
e Ivan was a brute, but he was old. If she had waited he might have died and then she could have had a fortune and her freedom too. Remember how beautiful she was? She would have had her pick of lovers. Why do you think she did it, Nikki? I’ve asked myself that question so often.” Sophie seemed genuinely sad recalling the Princess; and Nikki remembered that before she left for Paris with her lover, Sophie had been a favorite of Princess Anna’s. Even then she had designed wonderful hats, and Nikki’s memory held a clear picture of Sophie pinning floats of veil with jeweled brooches while the Princess sat at her dressing table smiling and eager to see the results of her handiwork.
“Why did she kill herself?” Sophie persisted.
“Prince Ivan was worse than a brute. He was an evil man who made her life a misery. There was no way for her to escape him except through death.” Natasha Filippovna shuddered at her own words.
Sophie appeared not to notice. “It’s strange, isn’t it, that you left and then she disappeared that way. Don’t you think you might have helped her if you’d stayed?”
Nikki had grown quite irritable. “Oh, who can say about such things? And anyway, what difference does it make now? Princess Anna is dead, and it all happened long ago.”
“Hmmm.” Sophie cut herself a sliver of gooey cake. When she had popped it into her mouth, she licked her fingers like a child. Then she said, “I know you think I’m a prying old busybody, and I know I used to be a terrible gossip, but believe me I’ve learned to keep silent. I really have. I’m still as curious as ever, though; I can’t pretend I’m not.” Sophie leaned across the table and asked in a lowered voice, “Tell an old friend your secret. What did your niece give you to keep you away from Petersburg so long?”
Natasha Filippovna was stymied for a moment, unable to answer. “Quite a lot,” she finally blurted, “Well, it would have to be! I wouldn’t spend my life in the country for the Czarina’s crown jewels.” She shook her head, incredulous at Nikki’s sacrifice. Then she thought of something else. “Why didn’t you raise Katia in St. Petersburg? Or even Moscow would have been better than Three Rivers.”
“There were…reasons for choosing the country.”
“It all sounds so secretive, my dear. More like a royal…” Sophie looked at Nikki suddenly, “…arrangement.” There was a long moment of silence as Nikki fidgetted, and Sophie’s eyes grew wide with wonder. “Katia is her daughter, isn’t she! Of course she is! I recognized something about her eyes but couldn’t say for sure until just this minute. But I’m sure now. Katia is Princess Anna’s daughter, isn’t she?”
“You’re as fanciful and silly as you ever were, Sophie.” Nikki held herself stiffly erect as she stood and pushed back her chair. Reaching for her beaded reticule, she said, “I really have to say goodby now. The time is flying, and I have so many things to do at the Palace. I hope…”
Sophie hurried to her friend and embraced her. “I’ve upset you now, Nikki dearest. I never meant to do that!” She stamped her small foot in a girlish way. “I try not to speak my mind, but the words just come out despite my efforts. I must beg you to forgive my clumsiness. I never should have pressed you so far. If I had known…”
“Katia is my niece’s daughter, Sophie.” Nikki heard her voice rising. “That is all you know. She comes from a family of boyars, furriers and trading people. Her parents died of a fever when she was an infant, and I promised to care for her. This other business is nonsense. I don’t know how you can think such a thing of Princess Anna. God rest her soul.” She was walking toward the door as she spoke, avoiding Sophie’s perplexed gaze.
“Yes, yes, of course. I swear I’ll never breathe a word, not a hint. Again I ask you to forgive…” Before Sophie could finish her sentence, Natasha Filippovna had opened the door into the shop and was walking as quickly as she could toward the street door. “You’re angry with me, Nikki. Please don’t be.”
“I am not in the least angry. But I have so many things to do! I can’t spend all my afternoon gadding.” Her hand was on the door knob.
“You must take your new hat, at least!” Sophie held out the magnificent pheasant-coloured creation, but Natasha Filippovna didn’t notice. She was through the door and out into the chilly street and did not look back though she heard Sophie calling to her from the open shop door.
In the carriage seconds later, she leaned against the leather upholstery first sighing with relief and then weeping with regret and fear. She knew she had not fooled Sophie with her protestations and alibis. If anything, she had only made herself appear more guilty by leaping to her feet in that way and barging out of the shop with hardly a thank you or goodby. She felt a pang of loss. She might at least have taken that beautiful hat!
Sophie knew! Katia’s terrible secret was no longer a secret; and Sophie, though she claimed to have reformed her gossipy ways, would not be able to keep her news to herself. Natasha Filippovna could easily imagine her letting some hint slip to one of her titled patrons. The word would spread, and in hours even Oleg Romanov would know that Katia was his…She couldn’t bear to think of it! Like a slave’s burden, the worries about Katia and Oleg, about her own health, and her bargain with the Princess descended on her shoulders; and she felt herself pinned beneath them. Trapped and bound for punishment. Her stays tortured her ribs, and it hurt when she breathed. She was sweating heavily as she wept and gagged for breath helplessly.
If Oleg knew who Katia was, there was no telling what he would do to her. Now at least she did not appear to be badly treated by him; but if he learned of their blood relationship, Natasha Filippovna knew he might stop at nothing. Even murder. He would punish Katia as a way of punishing his hated mother.
But what could Nikki do? She plunged her fists into the upholstery again and again. She had nowhere to go, no one to ask for help. She was powerless.
The bright heavy tears streamed down her cheeks, streaking her rouged face and blinding her eyes. She would never get her reward!! The emeralds were lost to her forever. She had lost all right to them. She thought of eighteen years in the country and of her wasted youth, and the despair was like a knife that twisted and turned against her heart.
Where could she go? Who would help her?
Abruptly she called up to the yantchik. He didn’t hear her the first time, and she had to repeat herself, yelling.
“Kominski Park!”
The Little Father would help her. He had the Power.
Chapter Twenty-six
Alexei Romanov did not sleep well on the night after the ball. He awoke with first light and lay staring at the tiled mosaic ceiling above his bed. The morning had a bad feel to it. His thoughts were of Katia. He clearly understood and believed that she loved him; yet he was not a love-besotted adolescent who could overlook her nervousness, her fear whenever he approached her. She had changed since their first meeting in Muscovy when she was a blithe girl; and he wondered who or what had been responsible for this alteration. Now she seemed even more vulnerable, and this encouraged his protective instincts. He was troubled by many things, but he knew one truth for certain. He must get Katia away from the Romanov palace and the corrupting influence of St. Petersburg as soon as possible. He had watched her with Oleg at the masquerade ball. Though she held her mask high he did not need to see her face to know that Katia feared Oleg and cringed from his touch. During the night he had terrible dreams of them together, but by the light of day he couldn’t face the possibility that his beloved was anything but innocent.
Just after six, Petrov—the servant Alexei suspected of being Elizabeth’s spy—brought him a light breakfast of fruit, cheese and rye bread, and a samovar of hot tea. Alexei was dressed and having his second glass when Jake entered the room escorting a frightened looking Imperial messenger bearing word from Czar Nicholas.
After reading the note, Alexei said, “Tell His Majesty I understand and will do as he directs.”
When the man was gone, Alexei spoke to Jake. “Well, my friend, it seems our time has come at last
. The Czar has written that in a few days time we will be gone from Russia.” He gripped Jake’s shoulders with affection. “First, I must do my Czar’s bidding, tovarich. Then you and I will take the first of my vessels leaving for Van Diemen’s Land. In less than six months, you will be with your own people once more. I promise you that, Jake.” To himself, Alexei made another oath. ‘And Katiana will be with us!’
Jake’s troubled expression drew Alexei’s attention. “What’s the matter?”
The bodyguard hesitated a moment before he signed his response. The girl had not returned and neither had Prince Oleg.
“But they left early. I thought…”
“Regardless of what you thought,” said a sugary voice from the doorway, “my husband and Katiana Danova have been gone together all night.” Elizabeth stood just inside Alexei’s room, still dressed in her night clothes of lace-bordered satin, her heavy black hair held untidily in place with pearl and tortoise-shell combs. She dismissed Jake with an imperious flip of her hand, then took a seat at the table and helped herself to tea from the samovar.
“It would have been a perfect night for us to be together, Alexei Stephanovich. I waited for you.” She gazed at him, her eyes languid and heavy-lidded, then turned to select a purple grape from the crystal fruit bowl. She peeled it carefully. “Why did you stay away, Alexei Stephanovich?”
He had his back to the fire; his high-booted legs were set a stride apart. Hands clasped behind his back, he was staring down, apparently intent on the floral swirls of the French carpet at his feet. “I had a taste for solitude last night,” was his only reply.
“You hardly lacked for sociability at the ball, however.” Elizabeth speared the peeled grape with a long narrow ivory-handled fork. “I suppose you know you made a spectacle of yourself chasing all over the Winter Palace after that little nobody.”
“A dance and a few moments’ conversation can hardly be called a spectacle in this town and among your friends in particular, Elizabeth. Now tell me: where did Oleg take Katia?” When Elizabeth’s answer was a snicker, Alexei grabbed her wrist and held her hard. “Tell me where they went!”
The Frost And The Flame Page 24