At length, slowly gathering clouds hid the northern lights from view, and the start of a fresh snowfall drove them back inside. But within the walls of the tsar’s brightly adorned Winter Palace, Anna did not feel the same warmth within her heart that she had experienced in the courtyard outside.
37
While her brother and her maid were exiting into the courtyard, Katrina rearranged herself for the seventh time on the velvet settee in the drawing room down the hall from her own quarters in the Winter Palace. With exacting care she smoothed out the brilliant blue folds of her gown, giving an extra tug to the bodice to achieve what she thought was the best effect from the scooped neckline.
It had been fifteen minutes since she had sent Anna on her errand, and Katrina’s patience had long left her.
What is keeping that girl? she said to herself. I’ll have her hide for dawdling like this!
But all her silent rantings and sharp sighs did nothing to make the time pass any more quickly.
As she sat on the elegant settee, Katrina tried to concentrate on more productive uses of her time, and attempted several more poses. Arm draped over the back, right foot extended forward, small glimpse of ankle revealed beneath her gown. No, that wasn’t quite right! She pulled in her foot, then laid back against the arm of the seat with both feet propped up on the settee, the back of her hand across her forehead.
Maybe that was best—both feet up. Katrina now practiced several varying smiles—ingenue, coquettish, vixenish, mysterious, merry.
It was a blessing there was no mirror. Poor Katrina had no idea how silly she looked. Within her beat the heart of a girl who would fain be a woman, yet she was still so childish as to imagine that she was achieving a ladylike pose.
Once she had mastered all the possible affectations that might potentially beguile Dmitri, she began to spend her endless artful energies on any number of verbal greetings into which she could infuse all the wiles it was possible for a feminine voice to muster.
“Good evening, Count Remizov. How kind of you to come!”
“Good evening, Dmitri!”
“Dmitri! I am so glad you came.”
“It is such a pleasure to see you again.”
But the phrase she most wanted the courage to voice, and the one to set her imagination soaring was:
“My darling! How I have longed to be alone with you!”
With the words she lifted her hand to the invisible count, who clicked invisible heels together as he took the daintily offered hand, and then pressed invisible lips against her smooth skin.
But impatience soon overtook Katrina once more. She jumped from the settee and flew to the door. Carefully she peeked out. Finding the corridor still empty, she fell to pacing and practicing her scenarios of greeting yet further.
The palace staff, trained in efficiency, kept all the important rooms in spotless readiness for the use of guests, especially on notable occasions such as this one. A bright fire burned in the hearth. Katrina grew warm with all her exertion, and thirsty too. She poured herself a drink from a crystal water decanter on the sideboard and took a long, lusty swallow from the glass.
The instant the clear liquid touched her pallet she realized her mistake. It was not water, as she supposed, but strong Russian vodka! The liquor burned her throat, and she barely managed to suppress gagging it all out on the floor.
That very moment the drawing room door opened.
Still choking, she spun around. There stood Dmitri in all his glorious, uniformed splendor. But all Katrina could manage from her distressed throat was a hoarse, croaking, “Dmitri!”
“Katrina, are you ill?” he asked in genuine alarm.
She coughed and attempted a lighthearted laugh. To the extent her paralyzed vocal chords would allow, she desperately tried to redeem herself by forcing as much grown-up charm as possible into her tone.
“No . . . no . . . not at all,” she replied in a loud whisper. She glanced at the crystal goblet she still held. “I thought it was water and I took a big gulp . . . but it was vodka.”
Dmitri laughed. His previous concern was immediately replaced with a teasing, playful glint in his vivid, dark eyes.
“I suppose that is why it is unwise for children to indulge in strong spirits.” He grinned broadly. “But in a few years, my dear Katrina, I will teach you how to drink properly, what do you say?”
This is not how it was supposed to go! thought Katrina. There was not a sign of the reciprocated affection she was sure she had sensed on the dance floor. Had it all been her imagination? Was she chasing an illusion of what would never be? Would Dmitri forever think of her as nothing but a girl?
But introspection was never Katrina’s weakness. She shook away the doubts and questions as easily as she would shake snow from her silken hair. She would not weaken and give up now. Defeat was not her style.
With renewed resolve, therefore, she installed a coquettish smile upon her lips.
“And what shall I teach you in return, Dmitri Gregorovich?” she purred coyly.
Dmitri’s brow creased briefly, as if for a moment wondering if he had misjudged Katrina. But the next instant his buoyancy returned.
“I will give your question further thought, my dear,” he laughed. “Is that why you sent your maid after me?”
“I hoped to see you . . . alone . . . so that I might extend my appreciation for so gallantly coming to my rescue earlier on the dance floor.”
“Entirely my pleasure!”
“And,” she hurried on, “there was one other matter I wanted to talk with you about.”
She paused and glanced shyly up at him. Dmitri waited for her to continue.
“We have known one another for years, Dmitri,” she went on. “And in the past I have always been glad that you were my brother’s best friend . . .”
She stopped, searching for the best way to proceed.
“Unless I am mistaken,” Dmitri put in lightly, “it sounds as if you are no longer pleased about that friendship. Have I done something to displease you?”
Katrina smiled. He had unwittingly given her the perfect opening.
“Oh, Dmitri, you could never displease me. But it is true, I can no longer be content to have you merely as my brother’s friend. That is . . . I want you to be more.”
“Ah, I see! You would like me to be your friend also, is that it?” He was not exactly making sport of her, although there was an unmistakable hint of lofty sophistication in his tone. Unfortunately, Katrina did not detect it, and continued to stumble forward into the awkward quagmire she was making for herself.
“More than that, Dmitri,” she said. “Surely you have felt it, too. I know you must sense the tingle of love that is growing between us?”
“Love, Katrina?” he said, lifting an eyebrow.
“Surely you cannot be blind to the fact that I love you. And I know you must feel the same toward me.”
Dmitri stood speechless for an instant or two, and Katrina was too inexperienced to determine the meaning, if any, in the peculiar look that flickered across his face. The faltering of his composure, however brief, was sufficient to give her young heart hope—a hope quickly dashed by the words which followed.
“Dear Katrina,” he said, fumbling for words, “I am . . . honored . . . to be the object of your youthful and innocent love.” Even as he spoke, Dmitri found himself assailed by many mixed emotions. Part of him knew he had probably encouraged Katrina’s feelings, for he did have a flirtatious streak. And that side of him, he admitted, had begun to notice that Katrina would not be a little girl forever. Perhaps he had been playing a more dangerous game with her than he realized until this moment. But if it had gone this far, it was now time to stop it, at least until she was a little older. She was only—what was it?—fifteen. Why, Sergei would thrash him if he even suspected him of taking advantage of his sister! “You are a sweet thing, really,” he went on after a moment. Then, pulling his self-assured, playful bearing back about him, he added
with more joviality than Katrina appreciated, “But you must know—your brother would have me drawn and quartered if he found me toying with his little sister’s affections!”
Alas, Katrina was no woman yet! She stomped her foot; she didn’t care how childish it looked! Then, noticing the glass of vodka still between her fingers, with a defiant glare she tossed the burning liquid down her throat.
“You are contemptible, Dmitri Gregorovich, to make light of me!” she shouted. “Open your eyes, you big lumbering fool. I am no longer a child! One day you will repent your patronizing words, I swear it!”
“Dear Katrina—come sit down a minute with me. Getting yourself drunk and red in the face isn’t going to help matters. Let us talk like friends.”
“I don’t want to be your friend!” she retorted. Notwithstanding her words, she allowed him to lead her to the velvet divan.
When they were seated, Dmitri took her hand in his. The feel of his touch soothed the anger that had flared to the surface, and set her heart beating with hope again.
“You are right, Katrina,” said Dmitri softly. “You are no longer a child. You are growing into a most beautiful young lady.” He paused, seeking the right words. “But look at me, Katrina,” he went on. “I am much too old for you right now. I am a soldier. I will no doubt be going to fight soon. I could not bear to break your heart.”
“You are not that old, Dmitri,” said Katrina, her smile returning.
“Too old for the fifteen-year-old daughter of Prince Fedorcenko, however beautiful she may be! Your brother would only kill me! But your father would do much worse if he discovered that I had allowed you to fall in love with me.”
“Are you saying,” said Katrina, looking deep into his eyes, “that you could love me if it were not for them?”
Dmitri returned her gaze, seeing perhaps for the first time in those large, liquid eyes the woman that Sergei’s little sister was on the verge of becoming. But before he had the chance to reply, a sudden impulse overcame Katrina.
“Anyway, it’s too late, Dmitri Gregorovich! I am in love with you, whatever my father or brother think!”
She leaned forward, threw her arms around Dmitri’s neck, and kissed him full on the lips. For the first instant of the impulsive act, the ecstasy was just as she had imagined it would be. As she touched him, she could feel Dmitri’s lips quiver in response. She felt the warmth of his body and sensed the acceleration of his heartbeat as his hand momentarily sought her shoulder. She melted into his embrace, hardly noticing at first the pressure of his hand as it began gently to ease her away. Yet another moment their lips lingered, pressed together, hesitant . . . then it was over.
Rather than push her away, Dmitri withdrew, then abruptly stood up. His face was red, with alternating fits of paleness, as he spoke.
“Katrina, we must stop this at once. If someone chanced in and your father heard of it, I would be bound for Siberia within the week!”
“No one will know of it,” laughed Katrina gaily.
“You will soon have swarms of men at your beck and call. But if I value my life, I cannot be one of them.”
“Are you going to marry Marie Andropov?” Katrina shot back, the bite suddenly returning to her voice.
Her question, as unperceptive and abrupt as it was, seemed to steady the young count. He laughed, as much with relief as with cocky bravado.
“Marry? Ha, ha. Goodness no! A man’s freedom is too precious to relinquish so readily.” Here he was on safer ground than with Katrina’s arms coiled around his neck on the settee.
“You’ll never marry, I suppose?” Katrina’s caustic tone revealed a hint of the pouting child.
“Only if I find someone as special as you, dear little Katrina.”
“Don’t make fun of me, Dmitri! I’m still furious with you for treating me like a baby!”
“Forgive me, dear. I will in the future make every effort to behave toward you as the young woman you are. But you must promise me something in return.”
“What is it, Dmitri?” she asked, her submissive tone contradicting her declaration of anger. Even now, she would do anything he asked.
“I want you to forget all this business about love—at least in my case. Don’t waste your precious feelings on me.”
“I could never forget—”
He stopped her, placing a finger to her lips.
“Promise me, Katrina.”
His touch sent tingles down her spine. “And you’ll treat me as a woman if I do?”
“By all means.”
She put her fingers to her chin in a thoughtful, debating gesture. Still she thought to lure him along with her adolescent games. She could not perceive that all her desperate striving after womanhood was having just the opposite effect—emphasizing rather than concealing her immaturity.
Finally she looked up at Dmitri, drawing her words out with intentional reluctant resolve.
“Well . . . perhaps that is a good enough bargain—for now,” she said. “Though without the right man to love, I don’t doubt that I shall pine away and die a premature death.”
“Nonsense! I am the one who need worry about such things, not you.”
“Don’t say it!”
“War is surely coming,” he persisted. “When I go away to fight, Katrina, perhaps you might write me a letter.”
“Oh, Dmitri, will there really be a war?”
“Without a doubt. My guess is that we will march by the beginning of Lent.”
“That is only two months away!”
“It will be a comfort to know I have a friend back home praying for me.”
“Oh, I will! Every day.”
Impulsively he reached forward from where he stood and took her chin lightly between his fingers. “You see, our being friends is a good idea already.”
The disarming grin that accompanied his words melted the ire which threatened to erupt again in Katrina’s breast, especially as they were immediately followed by an invitation she could not refuse.
“Your brother tells me I am to be honored with a dance with you this evening,” he went on buoyantly. “We had best hurry back to the ball before it is over and the opportunity is lost.”
He took her hand and pulled her to her feet. “Come on.”
Katrina returned to the tsar’s party. But her dance with Dmitri was nothing so grand as the way she had imagined it. Though the sweet taste of his lips still lingered on hers, his words of rebuff had destroyed her blissful fantasies. It would have been best to say nothing, leaving her free to happily dream of her Russian Apollo. Now she had only the emptiness of a failed confrontation.
Her fancies had been shaken back down to earth for this night, but the determined spirit of Princess Katrina Fedorcenko would assert itself once again.
38
The days following the evening at the Winter Palace were dreary indeed for Princess Katrina Fedorcenko. Her hopes of a future with the man of her fantasies momentarily dashed, she could not even indulge pleasurably in daydreams, for there was nothing in life to look forward to. Her dark mood translated into surly and selfish behavior, of which Anna took the brunt.
Katrina flew into a rage over a wrinkle in her clothes, lukewarm chocolate, or unmanageable hair, and Anna’s existence for the next week was miserable. Anna found herself wondering if life in the kitchens under the oppressive hand of Olga Stephanovna might not be an improvement.
She tried to do all that was required of her and kept her complaints to herself, although Nina once remarked under her breath, “You’ll break your neck trying to please that one, Anna!”
As the days passed and Katrina gradually lifted from her melancholy, a new ambition seized her. She would no longer be a child, whether Dmitri himself took notice of the fact or not! She would reshape her image, her whole self and style of life. And the first place to begin was with her rooms! She would confer with a decorator. Then she would order new furnishings, new wallpaper, new paint . . . new everything! She would disman
tle all the rooms, which still retained many remnants of the nursery, and turn them into a lady’s apartment.
Any one of the toys or colorfully clothed mishkas, Anna knew, would have pleased a child in Katyk for a lifetime. Her own favorite was the brown, cuddly bearbushka with her dainty basket and broom, wearing a braid-trimmed red calico dress and apron, and a black, embroidered kolkochnik with short train atop her head. She looked just like the famous old woman wanderer in the Russian folktale. Anna had admired the stuffed bear where it sat on a shelf every time she entered the room. Yet now it was fated to be thrown in a box and taken away with all the rest. Just like the bedroom of lovely blue satin and lace, it was probably never to be seen again.
On the first day of the great dismantling, Princess Katrina had jumped out of bed hours earlier than usual. Her eyes glowed eagerly as she hurriedly dressed herself.
“Today, Anna,” she said, “we are going to clean out these rooms! The workmen will be here after breakfast.”
Within two or three hours the place was bustling with activity, servants moving about as Katrina gave out orders like a general.
“Send someone to the cellar for crates,” she called out. “Then get two or three men in here to move out the large pieces of furniture. Well, hurry up, don’t just stand there!”
On altogether unrelated business Nina chanced by. The moment Katrina spotted her, she zoomed forward and began reeling off commands.
“I’m sure my mother can spare you,” insisted the princess in response after Nina had attempted to wriggle out of the young lady’s clutches. “I’d be surprised if she is even awake yet.”
Such a well-founded argument was one poor Nina could not refute. They both knew that it would be hours before the lady of the house so much as ventured from her room. Nina was therefore sent to recruit additional servants while Anna continued under Katrina’s watchful eye.
For the remainder of the morning a steady flow of servants came and went, some hauling heavy loads, others carrying cleaning gear to scour the walls and floors suddenly left bare. For the first hour, Nina could be heard grumbling under her breath about the demeaning character of such labors for “the princess’s personal maid,” though she made sure her murmurings were not heard by the princess’s daughter. Midway through the morning she managed to excuse herself in order to attend to the needs of her own mistress, and she remained as far away from Katrina as possible for the rest of the week.
The Russians Collection Page 24