The Russians Collection

by Michael Phillips

  If Ulyanov was not that man, then who was? Paul would never find out cloistered in Siberia. If nothing else, Ulyanov’s presence had ignited in Paul a burning desire to be back in the trenches of change. He needed once more to be among the vanguard of the coming confrontation. He was no longer content to merely read and study and write and think.

  Mathilde saw this growing restlessness in her husband, and she waited with all diligence, and very little patience, for the mail each week. She wrote her uncle another letter, not overtly mentioning her earlier request, but merely to remind him that she and Gennadii were still exiles, still in Siberia.

  35

  Mariana sat in the parlor window seat of the Durocq’s boardinghouse, her new home in St. Petersburg, looking out on the street below. Outside, a steady flow of vehicles passed by, mostly well-appointed ones in this section of town, although an occasional servant’s drosky or city cab broke the monotony once in a while. Pedestrians were fewer—mainly delivery boys, and the like. The streets were a river of mud from the spring thaw.

  But it was not the vehicles, nor the passersby, nor even the warm afternoon sun streaming through the bay window that absorbed Mariana’s attention. Even the steady cannon blasts rending the clear spring air in monotonous cadence did not distract her from her pensive mood. She could not help keeping count with the cannon, however, for like everyone else in the city, she was curious about the news from the Imperial Palace. A third child had been born to Nicholas and Alexandra, and the country waited to hear if an heir had finally come to Russia. Three hundred cannon blasts would herald the coming of a male child, but if it were a female, only a hundred and one shots would issue forth.

  Unconsciously, Mariana counted, “Ninety . . . Ninety-one . . .”

  But of foremost concern to Mariana was not the status of the throne of Russia. She was thinking of her father. He was supposed to have come home over an hour ago to take her to luncheon. It was the third time in a row he had been late for an appointment with her, and she had only been in their new home for a week! Once, when they had made plans, he had not shown up at all. He always had a very good reason for his flighty behavior, but it was not a very good record for their new life together. Mariana was more disappointed than bitter about it. She had seen so little of him since coming to St. Petersburg, and her whole reason for coming in the first place was to get to know him better—an impossibility if he was absent most of the time.

  However, she had to admit that, in spite of this drawback, she was enjoying her stay in Russia’s capital. There was enough activity and excitement to keep a young woman amply occupied, and she was meeting many new and interesting people. Just among the residents of the boardinghouse, she had made several friends. And she was still trying to contact Stephan to let him know of the changes in her life, though she had thus far met with little success. She supposed she could have tried harder, but she was a little nervous about seeing him. What would he think of all that had happened? How would he take the fact that she was now a countess, and lived in a fine house? Moreover, what would her father think of Stephan?

  Dmitri was more apt to approve of someone like the young American, Daniel Trent. He had introduced his daughter to Trent with a broad grin and a twinkle in his eye. Mariana had to admit that Daniel was a nice young man, handsome, and rather intriguing with his foreign ways. He could be a bit overbearing at times, and not a little conceited. She didn’t like the way her father always seemed to be pushing them together. Daniel didn’t seem to mind; he was most interested in everything she had to say. His company was, she supposed, tolerable enough, especially in lieu of nothing better.

  Mariana was disappointed because she didn’t have more time with her father, but, on the other hand, he could be a trifle tiresome at times. His frequent absences had forced her to become independent, and she was finding that she liked being on her own. One day she and Daniel had gone exploring the city; another time Madame Durocq had taken her shopping and introduced her to the wonders of public transportation. The experience gave her the confidence to venture out on her own when no one was available to go with her. Sometimes she got lost, or took the wrong trolley, or paid a drosky driver an outrageous fare by mistake, but instead of shrinking from the challenge, she rose to meet it with anticipation.

  If she wasn’t getting acquainted with her father, Mariana was at least learning a great deal about herself. That momentous step of leaving Katyk had opened up in her a floodgate of new—or at least hidden—qualities and traits and desires. She began to wonder if her previous clinging to Katyk had come from insecurity because of her unknown origins. Perhaps she was afraid she would lose the secure and comfortable things she loved in Katyk if she struck out from her home.

  But now that she had done it, she found she still had her mama and papa, and grandparents and brothers, even though they were miles away. She was still the same simple peasant girl, even if many new dimensions were being added to her life. Remaining the same no longer seemed as vital to her as it once had been. She might change and grow, but each day she was becoming better prepared to accept those changes.

  “Ninety-six . . . ninety-seven,” came the voice of Madame Durocq from the parlor doorway. “Hello, my dear Mariana. So, will it be a girl or a boy?”

  Mariana turned to face her landlady. She was a very tall, beautiful woman of seventy. She had a regal appearance, with her long slim neck and thick tresses of white hair piled atop her head. Mariana thought the lady could be tsaritsa, even if she was too old to be married to the thirty-one-year-old tsar.

  “I don’t know,” answered Mariana. “I would think that just having a healthy baby would be joy enough.”

  “For you or me, yes; but not when you are tsaritsa of all the Russias, and you have already had two girls. It is the duty of the tsar’s wife to produce a male heir.”

  “Well, I feel sorry for her then.”

  Madame Durocq shrugged. “A small price to pay for the honor and luxury of being royalty. And we would all be less sorry if there is no heir to carry on the Romanov line.”

  “There are some in this city who wouldn’t be sorry for that.”

  “Hush, hush! dear child.” Madame Durocq glanced quickly left and right. “Please, do not speak such things in this house.”

  “It’s not as if I believe them myself, but—” Mariana stopped suddenly as the one hundredth cannon blast rumbled in the air.

  Madame Durocq came to the window and stood beside Mariana. They looked silently at each other as number one hundred and one fired. The sound rang in Mariana’s ears, echoing a moment before fading into silence. No more blasts came. Another daughter had been born to the royal family.

  “Ah, well, there’s always next year,” said Madame Durocq.

  “The firstborn, Olga, could be tsaritsa if it hadn’t been for Paul the First making a law that the Crown could transfer only through the direct male line.”

  “You do know your history, don’t you, child?”

  “My parents taught me all they could.”

  “And anything else besides history?”

  “Mathematics, science, grammar, and some English.”

  “So, why aren’t you at the university?” The landlady gave her a sly wink. “I’ll warrant you know more than Zorav.” Young Emil Zorav was their resident student.

  “The same reason the Grand Duchess Olga, or any of her sisters, can never be tsaritsa,” Mariana answered smugly. “I am only a girl.”

  “Tell me, why did the tsar, Paul the First, do such a dastardly thing? My education, especially in history, has been sadly neglected.”

  “Officially, it was because—”

  At that moment, a new arrival entered the parlor. “Good afternoon, ladies. I hope I am not intruding.” Daniel Trent stopped at the door and gave a little bow.

  “Not at all,” said Madame Durocq. “Come in and join us. We were just discussing why there must be a male heir. Mariana Dmitrievna was just expounding on Paul the First’s part in
all this.”

  “Paul the First . . . that would be . . .” Daniel paused, tapped his chin thoughtfully, then looked at Mariana for help.

  “Catherine the Great’s son,” Mariana replied. “And Paul so detested her that he wanted to make sure no other strong-willed woman ever again ascended the throne.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, officially, it was to end any future uncertainty as to succession.”

  “Well, having a female monarch hasn’t hurt England,” said Daniel.

  “Some might not agree with that!” offered Madame Durocq, then added quickly with a laugh, “But I am not one of those. If a woman is capable, why not?” Then to Mariana she said, “If you want to go to the university, you have my every blessing.”

  “And no one else’s, I’m afraid—at least until women are permitted at the universities.”

  “There are one or two colleges for women, even if they are not of the same caliber.” Madame Durocq sighed languidly. “It is unfair at any rate to waste such an education.” She paused, gave her head a little shake, and smiled as if to discount her mildly radical sentiment. “Now, children, I must be off. It has been a pleasure conversing with you.”

  She left the room like a fragrant breeze, and Mariana marveled again at the woman’s grace and elegance. Could a peasant girl ever hope to be so graceful, so lovely? Anna and Sergei had taught her many genteel ways, and in Katyk she had, compared to many of the other girls, seemed like a lady indeed. But here in the city, surrounded by such women as Madame Durocq, she felt her coarseness intensely.

  Daniel leaned casually against the window casement, propping a foot up on the seat where Mariana sat. “So, what’s this about you wanting to attend the university? You’ve never mentioned it before.”

  She marveled at his casual tone, but she supposed that was just the way with Americans. Anyway, he always showed such an interest in her that she couldn’t be too put off by him. And, the more she got to know him, the more her own interest in him was piqued. Yes, he could be abrasive and cocky at times, but those mannerisms only heightened her interest. Besides he was nice to look at—not handsome like Stephan, but undeniably not ordinary either.

  He wasn’t a large man, especially compared to Stephan, but she forgot that when she took the time to study him closer. His strong angular face, framed by a thick shock of unruly brown hair with a strand or two that persistently fell down over the frames of his wire-rimmed spectacles, featured high cheekbones and a firm chin with a distinct cleft in the middle. His full lips formed a perpetual smirk, and his dancing gray eyes supported the smirk with wry amusement. When speaking with him, she often wondered what joke she had missed, or if she were the joke. It was a bit disconcerting, and sometimes annoying, until his expression would suddenly soften and she would glimpse a rare moment of sincerity that made her think there was more to this fellow than he allowed to surface.

  “Oh, that’s all Madame Durocq’s idea,” Mariana said in answer to his question. “She was impressed by my education—for a peasant girl, you know.”

  “It is rather unusual, isn’t it? You may now be a countess, but you were raised in a peasant home. You have had a fascinating life. Where did you get your education? Did you attend school? I didn’t think peasant girls were encouraged in such things.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone with such curiosity, Daniel. It must be your reporter’s instinct.”

  “Yeah, that’s it,” he said somewhat vaguely. He had suggested to Dmitri that they not mention the article to Mariana. Dmitri’s own behavior had become unnatural and affected after learning about the article. He was constantly saying, “You ought to write about this,” or, “Isn’t that a delightful story? Make sure you quote me correctly.” As if Dmitri were not in love with himself enough, the prospect of the article only made it worse.

  As soon as he met Mariana, Daniel knew she was going to be the core of his story. He didn’t want to risk “ruining” her also. He thought the story would be best if Mariana were not inhibited. But now that he was getting to know her personally, he felt odd about the subterfuge. He thought it was time to at least “test the waters.” She might well not be affected at all by such knowledge.

  “You have an interesting story, Mariana,” he said. “It might be something people’d like to hear.”

  “How awful.”

  “Awful?” That was not the response he wanted. “Why?”

  “It’s going to be hard enough for me to fit in around here,” she answered with conviction. “Becoming a public spectacle would only make it worse.”

  “Well,” said Daniel quickly, “you have no need to worry. There’s plenty of other news to fill the papers.”

  He said no more on the subject. His first instinct was right, as usual. There was no need for her to know what was going on—at this point, anyway. Once she saw his story in print she would be thrilled. What was even more important, George Cranston was thrilled right now with the idea and was waiting anxiously for the first installment. In the meantime, it would be important to the story for Mariana to remain as natural and uninhibited as possible. He supposed it was a weakness of his—one he was sure to regret one day—but he believed no sacrifice was too great to make to get a story.

  “So,” he went on after a brief pause, “your adoptive parents must be pretty unusual for you to have turned out as you have. And I must say, in my opinion you have turned out wonderfully!”

  She squirmed a bit under the intensity of his praise, even if she did enjoy it. “My parents are unusual—” She stopped suddenly. She had almost said too much. One of the last things her parents told her was that her papa’s true identity must still be kept quiet. “Sometimes servants are favored by their masters, and educated along with the master’s children,” she said by way of explanation. “That’s what happened to my parents, and when they left his employ and returned to their village, they wanted to pass on what they had learned. I guess we are an unusual family . . . in many ways.”

  “Then, you really don’t want to go to the university?”

  “I never even considered it before.” She thought of Stephan, how a university education had been such a consuming desire of his. “I suppose I never saw the use of it. Like all the other girls in my village, my lot in life was to marry and have babies. What good is an education for that?”

  “Your mother put her education to good use.”

  “Maybe it will be useful for my brothers. At least they might have a chance of getting a university education. Tell me, Daniel, are there many women in colleges in America?”

  “More than ever before. Oh, they have had to fight for it, but why shouldn’t women have a good education?”

  “You Americans are far more progressive than Russians. If women in your country are fighting for an education, it will be decades before women here can even approach such a dream.”

  “Yeah,” Daniel agreed. “Things don’t exactly move like lightening around here.”

  They laughed. Then Mariana gave a shrug. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I didn’t want an education in the first place. This all started because the tsar had another daughter.”

  Daniel focused an intense gaze at her. “Mariana, what do you want from life?”

  “Once I knew exactly what I wanted,” she said thoughtfully, “but now I have no idea at all.” She glanced out the window as a cab pulled up in front of the house. Leaning forward, she parted the lace curtains a small crack and peered more intently. The short, stout figure of Monsieur Durocq emerged from the coach. Sighing, she leaned back against the wall. “Everything has turned upside down since my father came for me.”

  Daniel frowned with concern. “In a negative way, Mariana?”

  “Not really. Not entirely. But everything is different now . . . and I doubt I can ever really go back to the way it was. If I had been unhappy before, it might have been easier to take all this change, but I was content with my life as it was. Now, you see, I expect so much
more.” She suddenly shook her head with disgust. “Oh! I don’t know what I am talking about. I am pining away over nothing—buying trouble, like my grandpapa says, when there are better things to do with the few kopecks I have!”

  Downstairs, as Monsieur Durocq came into the house, they could hear him speaking with the doorman, then the door closed and the muffled sounds of his footsteps ascending the carpeted stairs filtered into the parlor.

  As he passed the open parlor door, he paused to greet the two young people. He was a round-faced energetic man, always in a hurry or about some important business, though he was never brusque or short-tempered. He grinned at the pair lounging at the bay window.

  “Ah, Mademoiselle Remizov, Monsieur Trent, how nice to see you!” Durocq had a way of making even a simple greeting sound important, as if he were addressing royalty. “And it is most fortunate to find you, mademoiselle, so conveniently. Anatoly had a message for you which he received shortly before my arrival; he sent it with me to pass on to you. Why he did not bring it to you immediately, I do not know, but you know how servants are these days. . . .” He shook his head with dismay. “Anyway, I suppose we must humor him to some extent, just to be on the safe side.”

  Mariana frowned, puzzled both about the message and the cryptic remark about the doorman Anatoly.

  Daniel noted her expression. “Monsieur Durocq believes the doorman is a police informer.”