“Ah, but you must be prepared, Boris,” Vlasenko had said patronizingly. “It is not an easy matter to achieve a ministry position. I cannot promise anything.”
At that point, the governor casually mentioned a parcel of property adjacent to the Vlasenko estate that Cyril had had his eye on for some years. The governor left no doubt that it could be Cyril’s the moment a ministry position opened up for the governor.
Feeling quite high on himself upon his return to the house, Cyril accosted his son. Karl had retreated to his room immediately after Mass. He had always disliked large crowds, even more so tonight, since there were three or four eligible young ladies present and he was beginning to feel quite uncomfortable. The fact that they weren’t paying him much attention only made it worse; yet if they noticed him, their attentions would probably only compound his awkwardness.
Vlasenko didn’t bother to knock on the door. He barged right in. It was his house, after all, and he was master. Karl jumped, even though he was doing nothing more incriminating than sitting on the window seat, knees hugged to his chest, looking out on the freshly falling snow.
“There you are!” boomed Vlasenko, shutting the door behind him. “What in heaven’s name are you doing? There is a party going on, you know.”
“I—I thought it was over,” said Karl rather lamely.
“Some of the young people are going skating.”
“But it’s the middle of the night!”
“Who cares about the hour when you are young and have some gumption?”
“Must I go?”
Vlasenko shrugged and rolled his eyes with disgust. “No. As a matter of fact I have other plans for you.”
“Plans? For me?”
“Stand up. Let me have a look at you,” was all Vlasenko said in response.
Karl complied immediately. Vlasenko eyed his son carefully. The expensive suit that had been fresh and clean only a few hours earlier was now rumpled—or perhaps Karl just made it look rumpled and unkempt. Regardless, there was little that could be done about it now. Vlasenko didn’t have the patience to wait until Karl changed; a prime opportunity might be lost during the wait. Vlasenko believed religiously in seizing the opportunity.
“It’s time you made a man of yourself, Karl. You can’t spend the rest of your life cowering in some corner. You are a Vlasenko; you have reason to be proud.”
“I—I think the tour was quite beneficial—”
“Pshaw! Look at you! You can’t even speak without stammering. I should have taken you in hand long ago, but I always say, it’s never too late. Let’s hope so, at least.”
“But what do you want of me?”
“You need a woman.”
“Oh, Father!”
“Don’t worry. Even you should be able to handle what I have planned for you. She’s a mere girl, but she is a peasant . . . and you know how those peasants are. I’ll wager she can show you a few things.”
“What are you saying?”
“Do I have to spell it out? How else do you think a boy achieves manhood?”
“When I marry—”
“And what woman worth her salt is going to marry a milksop?”
“But—”
“Come along. Consider this my Christmas present to you.”
“Now?”
“Of course.”
Vlasenko nudged his son from the room and kept nudging him the entire five minutes it took to reach the study. It was in a quiet, isolated part of the house, even though most of the guests had by now settled into their rooms for the night. Karl looked increasingly pale as they went, and by the time they reached the study door, his complexion had taken on a greenish cast.
Before Vlasenko opened the door, he said sternly to his son, “I expect you to acquit yourself well tonight, Karl. This is your last chance. If you fail now, I am afraid there is no hope for you.”
Vlasenko opened the door and pushed his son inside. He paid no notice to the terrified expression on his son’s face.
Mariana had been told to wait in the study. It was a small room with only a few shelves of books, a desk, a chair and a divan. A fire burned in the hearth, warming the room considerably, and giving off light to augment that of a small oil lamp on the desk. The only redeeming quality of the room was a set of French doors that opened out onto a garden at the rear of the house. The view was rather dull now, with snow covering the ground and all the trees’ and bushes’ bare branches. Mariana occupied herself by gazing out at the falling snow.
Despite the warmth of the room, Mariana felt a chill and hugged her shawl closer to her. She was beginning to wonder what her duties would be, since she had not been asked to help the guests settle into their rooms. Perhaps, realizing she could read, they had some clerical work for her to do. But in the middle of the night . . .?
She was puzzling over this, quite deep in thought, when the door opened suddenly. Her head jerked up with a start, and the young Count Vlasenko stumbled through the open door. The door shut firmly behind him.
“Your Excellency,” she said with natural grace and respect, “it seems I have made a mistake and am in the wrong place.”
“What . . . what do you mean?” Karl stammered, finding his voice with difficulty.
“You obviously were not expecting this room to be occupied.”
“Who told you to come here?”
“Your father, sir. At least I thought he meant for me to come here.”
“Then he was right. Did he say what he wanted?”
“Only that he had work for me.”
“You are very pretty,” said Karl suddenly.
Mariana frowned slightly. “Thank you, Your Excellency.”
“It would have been better if you had been homely.”
“I don’t understand?”
“You have no idea what my father wanted?” Mariana shook her head. He gave her a somewhat sympathetic appraisal, then a half-smile bent the corner of his lips. Her utter confusion and innocence seemed to loosen his own fear. “My father wants to make a man of me. I think he wishes you to help.”
“Me?”
“Y—You understand, don’t you?”
She shook her head briskly, although reality was, in fact, beginning to dawn upon her.
He took an awkward and uncertain step toward her. Mariana backed away.
“Please,” he said, “it won’t be so bad, really. I am a count, you know, and you are just a peasant. I would think it would be an honor—”
Suddenly all the proud and haughty blood from her mother rose up in Mariana, and every ounce of her became a noble princess as she glared at the pathetic man before her. “Just a peasant! How dare you! I wouldn’t care if you were the tsar himself, you have no right to treat another person as dirt!”
“I didn’t mean . . . that is . . . doesn’t this sort of thing happen all the time?”
“Never!”
“Look here!” His voice rose with some authority, but then, as if he was shocked himself at such an unnatural sound from his lips, he lapsed into his usual stammering uncertainty. “P-please, you must help me. If I fail now, my father will be finished with me.”
“Maybe you should stand up to him,” said Mariana, no longer feeling any reticence.
“Oh, no . . . no. That would never do. I will pay you. I will pay you a lot of money. I have it, too. You or your family will never have to worry about money again.”
“Nothing you can say will convince me to do this, Your Excellency. I think the only way you can become a man is if you stand up to your father.”
He laughed bitterly. “You don’t understand.”
“I wish to leave now,” said Mariana, stepping toward the door.
In his desperation, he suddenly found some boldness. Karl stepped to the side and blocked her way. “If you refuse, my father can make it very difficult for you and your family.”
Now she was angry. She had listened to enough of Stephan’s talk about the rights of man and human freedom to be
disgusted by what she was hearing at this moment.
“The worst you can do is kill us,” Mariana spat. “And my family would consider it an honor to die for such a cause!”
“You can’t . . . you shouldn’t talk like that,” said Karl. “I am not asking for so much—”
Mariana shoved past him, knocking him off balance. It took him a minute or two to right himself in order to pursue her. Mariana was nearly at the door, her arm extended to grasp the handle, when Karl reached her. His hand caught the sleeve of her dress with far more force than he had intended, and she wrenched away. The seam of the sleeve tore with a sickening sound. Both stopped dead still, and for a single moment all their attention focused on the torn dress.
Mariana recovered from the shock quicker than Karl and grabbed the door handle. She pulled the latch down and jerked at the door. It was locked. But how? Karl had not locked it after entering.
“My father won’t let us leave until you comply,” he said, again with more pleading than threat. Mariana glanced at the garden doors.
“Those are locked, too. I don’t even think there is a key.”
Mariana shrank back against the door, her previous boldness fading. Karl pressed closer. If he chose to force her, she would be powerless to fight him. Tentatively he touched her cheek with his finger.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said.
“Please!” she begged, biting back tears.
26
When the last guest carriage had departed the Vlasenko estate for Christmas Eve Mass, Stephan had been given his leave with orders to be back at the stables when the carriages returned from church.
He had to run most of the way to Mariana’s house in order to catch her family before they left for church. He got to them in time only because Anna and Sergei had stayed behind the others in order to wait for a tardy Mariana. He told them the bad news and intended to turn right around to return to the estate. But Anna insisted he rest a few minutes, dry his feet before the fire, and have some tea to warm his frozen bones.
Stephen relented. The prospect of another trek in the snow was not inviting. He felt bad that Anna and Sergei would have to miss most of Mass, but that didn’t bother them as much as the fact that this was the first Christmas Eve that Mariana had not been with them.
They left the cottage shortly after midnight. Anna and Sergei headed toward Akulin to join up with the family, and Stephan struck out toward the estate. He took his time going back; fresh snow had begun to fall, making the going a bit slower.
He arrived back at the estate only a few minutes before the guests began to return. He worked for a while taking care of the horses and vehicles, but they did not need as much help in the stables. Only about half the evening’s guests—those who lived too far away to go home—had returned to the estate to spend the night. Several of the men were sent home, Stephan among them. Normally he would have asked to stay on, but he thought that Mariana might be done with her work, and they could walk home together.
He went around to the kitchen to ask after her. The cook didn’t know what had become of her.
“The master came for her himself, that’s all I know,” said the cook.
“When was that?”
“Just after he returned from Mass. Half an hour, perhaps.”
One of the other peasant girls was getting her coat from a rack in the pantry and overheard the conversation. “Are you looking for Mariana, Stephan?”
“Yes. Have you seen her?”
“I saw her with the count a while ago. They went off together. They were talking with a footman—Igor, I think it was.”
Stephan spent some time searching for Igor, who was just finishing tending the last of the needs of the overnight guests.
“Is Mariana helping you?” Stephan asked. When Igor replied with a blank expression, Stephan added, “She is a peasant girl. She was with the count and they spoke to you—”
“Oh, that one!” said Igor, and he shook his head with disapproval.
“What’s the matter?”
“I didn’t like the look of the whole situation, but . . .”
“What are you talking about? What situation?” Stephan’s voice frayed with concern.
“The count told me to take her to the study, that he’d return later to tell her duties.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“It was the look in his eye, that’s what. I saw that same look the night he had another peasant girl come. But I am only a footman. What can I do?”
Stephan grabbed the footman’s arm, panic seizing him. “Where are they? Where’s the study?”
“Listen here, you can’t be tearing through the house stirring everyone up.”
Stephan grabbed the footman’s shirt front and shoved him against the wall. “I’ll stir both heaven and hell if I have to. Now, where?”
“You misunderstand me, young man,” said Igor, affronted. “You’ll only end up getting yourself in trouble and not helping your friend. You must get to the study from the outside. Go around the rear of the house. There is a door there . . .”
Mariana could hardly breathe. She pushed against the count, but he proved more formidable than his pale countenance hinted at. She could tell he was desperate. He might have found forcing himself on a woman disgusting, but the thought of facing his father and admitting his failure was even worse. He tried to kiss her, but she jerked her head away. He seemed genuinely hurt by her rejection, and part of her almost felt sorry for him. But this in no way weakened her own will and ability to fight.
“Stop!” she cried. “You must!” She struggled and felt his hold on her loosen.
At that very moment she heard a loud crash, accompanied by the noise of shattering glass. At first Mariana thought there had been some explosion at the garden door. The crash came again and again until the doors themselves flew open, the wood framing splintering from the force of impact.
On a gust of freezing air, Stephan stormed into the study. He had heard her cries and was primed and ready for combat; he cared not if it was with the count, or an army of Cossacks, or a mammoth bear.
When he saw it was the young count, and not his father, Stephan hesitated only for an instant, his face registering his surprise. But that did not prevent him from coming on like a wild bear or an army of Cossacks himself. He charged with all the fury of panic and fear and hatred.
Karl Vlasenko did not have a prayer of success from the start. No sooner had he turned upon hearing the first impact of the shattered door, than Stephan’s thick, powerful fist collided with Karl’s face. Blood spurted immediately from his nose. He stumbled back against the door, where only moments before he had pinned Mariana in his grasp. Karl raised his hands to make some defense against his attacker; but Stephan, no stranger to a good fight as one of seven brothers, quickly followed up his initial blow with a sharp right, then a left. Karl ducked in time to avoid the left, and managed to get in a rather negligible uppercut to Stephan’s ribs. It was not enough to cause much pain, but it did force Stephan to back off slightly in his attack.
“Wh-what is the meaning—?” stammered Karl.
Stephan replied to the half-formed question with another blow square to Karl’s jaw. And that was all it took. Karl gasped, his eyes rolling up into his head as he staggered back and crumpled to the floor.
Then Stephan heard a pounding on the study door. Several servants were arriving on the scene, responding to the noise of the break-in.
Only then, with victory secured, did reality begin to descend upon Stephan. He had worked around the estate long enough to know who the young count was, and he also knew what kind of mercy he’d receive from the hand of the elder count—that is to say, absolutely none. He had saved Mariana, and that was what really mattered. Yet there might still be a chance of escaping reprisals.
He took Mariana’s hand and raced through the splintered door, toward the garden wall. He boosted her over the icy wall, then scrambled after her. They said not a word to each other,
but ran in silence until they were half a mile from the estate.
27
The sky was so heavy with dark snow clouds that it hardly looked like morning at all. When Mariana awoke, she thought only minutes rather than hours had passed since the ordeal of the previous night. After she and Stephan had scurried over the Vlasenko garden wall, all she could remember was running in the falling snow, her feet and hands numb with cold, a terrible stitch in her side. She vaguely recalled entering the warmth of her mama and papa’s home and falling in tearful exhaustion into her mother’s arms. After that only her mama’s soothing voice and gentle arms registered in her memory.
Hardly noticing that the rest of the family had already risen from bed, she jumped up in a fit of urgency.
“Mama! I must have dozed off. Where is Stephan? Surely he must hide somewhere.”
Anna was kneading bread in the kitchen area. She placed an arm around her distraught daughter, careful not to get flour on her.
“Sit down, Mariana, and have some tea,” said Anna.
“But, Mama, there can’t be time! They’ll come for him—”
Anna gently nudged Mariana into a chair, drew a glass of tea from the samovar, and handed it to her daughter. “You came home nearly frozen, running all that way from the estate. You have slept for many hours, Mariana. Stephan has been gone most of that time. We believe he will be safe.”
“But where can he go? Surely not to his home; that will be the first place the count looks. And the storm . . . he isn’t out in the storm, is he?”
Anna wiped off her hands and sat down with her daughter. “Let me tell you everything I know so that your mind will be at ease.” Mariana opened her mouth, but Anna continued, silencing her. “Stephan brought you here last night and told us what happened. He, too, thought of hiding, but your father felt he would be safe from repercussions.”
“But, why? You know how vindictive Count Vlasenko can be.”
“If the count decided to bring charges against Stephan, he would run a great risk of losing face. Of course, he is a powerful man in the capital now and can do almost whatever he wishes, but I don’t think even he’d want to become immersed in such a sordid business, especially where his son would be involved.”
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