The Russians Collection

by Michael Phillips

  Sarah wondered briefly how Viktor would respond to seeing Katrina’s daughter all grown up and, as she had heard, bearing a striking resemblance to her mother. But she was not willing to find out just now.

  Well, she had to make the best decision she could. Sarah went to the desk, drew a sheet of stationery from a drawer, and wrote a note addressed to Count Dmitri Remizov expressing Viktor’s regrets.

  43

  Dmitri had not been present eighteen years ago on the day of his daughter’s birth. He had been in jail. It had taken several weeks for him to muster the courage to go to Katyk and face what awaited him there. But once there, seeing that beautiful, helpless little child, he had lost what little nerve he had left. And he had fled the responsibility, the grief, the reality of what his future might have been.

  Now, he hoped in one evening to make up for eighteen years of selfish neglect.

  Dmitri was not a sentimental man, but when Mariana had suggested having her party on Katrina’s birthday at the beginning of spring just before Lent, he had nearly wept. Eugenia had argued against it—what didn’t that woman find to argue about! She said she didn’t want the party at the end of the social season but at the beginning, when Mariana could take fullest advantage of it. But both Dmitri and Mariana prevailed against her, and she capitulated.

  The renters had vacated the Remizov’s St. Petersburg house, and it was now filled to capacity with over a hundred guests. Everyone of the Remizov status and above—none lower, to be sure!—had been invited. There were even several grand dukes and duchesses on the guest list, and two were in attendance. Many, Dmitri knew, had come out of curiosity, for the circumstances of Mariana’s peculiar upbringing and sudden appearance on the social scene had the St. Petersburg gossips’ tongues wagging. They all wanted to see this daughter of the once-regal Fedorcenko clan, a child who had been raised by common folk. Dmitri had kept vague the true extent of that common upbringing.

  And Dmitri and Eugenia Remizov were determined to give St. Petersburg society a sight they would not soon forget.

  They had gone deep into debt to cater the affair in a lavish style, shipping hundreds of rubles worth of wine, flowers, and fresh fruits up from the Crimea, hiring dozens of extra servants. And they had spared no expense in buying a lavish designer gown from Paris for Mariana.

  She would leave the St. Petersburg aristocracy breathless; they would remember, if they ever had forgotten, that the houses of Fedorcenko and Remizov had once meant something and would still deserve reckoning with in the future. Young male scions with important family names such as Gudosnikov, Cerni, Orlov, Durnovo, and even Romanov would beat down the humble Remizov door to get at Mariana.

  Dmitri and Katrina had produced a lovely child. They deserved some recompense now for all their pain and grief.

  Mariana had never been so nervous in all her life. In a few minutes she must leave her room and face a hundred strangers, all waiting to see her. She, who had never experienced a single jitter when performing before her whole village and half of Akulin, now had a knot in her stomach the size of a fist.

  “Mariana, these people are no different than the people at home,” she tried to tell herself.

  Her papa, Sergei, would have chided her at this unattractive sense of class consciousness. “People are people,” he would say, “who have wants and needs and faults and virtues in proportion to God’s eternal design.”

  But her new grandmother, Eugenia Remizov, had an entirely different viewpoint, and had taken great pains to drum it into Mariana.

  “We’ll get that peasant streak out of you, do or die!” Eugenia had told her several times in the last months.

  Mariana recalled with distaste the unhappy days of training with the countess. Eugenia was an exacting and stern teacher who believed one learned best through browbeating, belittling, and crushing of the spirit. Fortunately, Mariana had already experienced eighteen years of the best kind of instruction from her adoptive parents, so she wasn’t completely destroyed by her grandmother’s methods. But they left a bitter mark upon her.

  “Sit up straight at the table!” Eugenia ordered at one particularly daunting lesson. “You look like a moujik plow horse. You are a countess now—act it. Forget those unfortunate days in that dirty peasant village.”

  “But they were happy days, Countess Eugenia—” Mariana could not bring herself to use any other form of address for the woman, and she had to admit that the fact that it bothered the countess gave her some pleasure.

  “I told you to call me grandmama!”

  “I—I try, but I keep forgetting. It’s all so new.”

  “You will pay me the respect due me, girl. You are not too long from the country for me to use a stick upon.”

  Eugenia paused and focused a cold, challenging gaze at Mariana. Katrina’s daughter met that gaze with a defiance that might have shocked her adoptive mother, Anna. The silent battle of wills raged for another moment or two; then Mariana pulled her shoulders back and straightened up, as she had been told, so that her spine did not touch the back of her chair. But she still wore the look of an arrogant princess on her face, making it clear that she was obeying in form but not in spirit. She wanted to learn the things Eugenia was teaching her, but she refused to be treated like dirt under a boyar’s foot.

  These confrontations, however, took their toll on Mariana in a much deeper way than the Katrina part of her would reveal. She didn’t want to hate this new grandmother, and desperately sought out the woman’s kinder, gentler qualities—only to be disappointed time after time. She often thought about going home to Katyk, but now pride, as well as a gamut of other motivations, held her there. More than anything she wanted to prove to Countess Eugenia that she was every bit the grand lady of the aristocracy that her mother, Katrina, had been.

  “Your mother was an arrogant, strong-willed thing,” Eugenia would rail at Mariana, “but she had all the grace and charm of an empress—not that stuck-up woman we have on the throne now, mind you—but the two empresses we had before her. You’ll never come close to Katrina, but at least you can learn how to hold a fork properly.”

  Mariana stuck with her lessons with dogged determination, never once receiving a compliment, except from her father, never hearing more from Eugenia than a begrudging, “I suppose that will have to do.”

  What made it worse was that Dmitri, who, for all his faults was an enjoyable companion, was seldom present, and Mariana was forced to spend every day with Eugenia. They had moved out of the boardinghouse when they returned from the Crimea at the end of summer, and she hardly ever saw the residents there who had begun to be her friends.

  Daniel had first been gone for a month on some assignment in the Netherlands. Since she was in the Crimea, she seldom saw him during the summer and fall. He came to visit her in the south for a few days; they had picnicked by the sea, strolled over miles of lovely countryside, and visited the quaint Tatar villages together. But when she returned to the city, regular visits were strongly discouraged by Eugenia, who noted a pattern she found unacceptable. For the most part the elder countess frowned upon “the crass and low-bred American.” Eugenia would insist, “You will marry into the aristocracy, young woman, and you will marry a Russian.”

  As for Stephan—well, he might have been Russian, but he was out of the question. Eugenia would have had heart failure if she had seen him around her granddaughter. Mariana need not have worried about that happening, however, for Stephan was so involved in his studies—and, Mariana feared, in other less savory activities—that she saw little of him. Now more than ever, when they did meet, they had to meet in secret.

  In all, it was not a happy winter for Mariana, brightened only by a brief visit to Katyk at Christmas. She gave more and more thought to just how far her sense of duty toward her blood father should extend. Yet if it had only been duty, she might have departed for Katyk long ago, her pride notwithstanding. But there was Stephan to consider; even though she saw little of him, it was much mor
e than if she had been far away in Katyk. And there was also Daniel. She had come to care very much for the young American and was reluctant to give up that relationship.

  At least Daniel would be at the ball tonight. There would be one friendly face in that crowd of strangers.

  She glanced in the mirror before her and decided that she was equal to anyone at that party. The reflection staring back at her was not repulsive. She didn’t much care for the way Eugenia had fixed her hair, piled on top of her head with a halo of baby’s breath and pearls—not real pearls, but good imitations, Eugenia told her—around the top curls. She thought it made her neck seem too long. But when she had demonstrated the planned style to Daniel two days ago, he had rather liked it. She could live with it for one night.

  Mariana had wanted to wear green for the party. She recalled Anna telling her once about a beautiful green gown Katrina had worn to a ball and how it had made the princess’s green eyes dazzle. Mariana had desired to emulate her mother at her first St. Petersburg party. And, although she might not have been completely satisfied with many of her physical features, she did know that her eyes were quite pretty. “So like your mother’s,” Anna would tell her with admiration.

  But Countess Eugenia already had in mind what Mariana should wear for her coming out, and she was quite inflexible. And, though Mariana was beginning to learn, she did not yet know the manipulative subtleties her mother had so often used to get her own way.

  Thus Mariana wore a gown of cream satin and chiffon. An exquisite, elegant gown, for if nothing else, the Countess Eugenia did have good taste. The satin bodice had a demurely low-cut neckline trimmed in imitation pearls. Pearls also adorned the mutton-chop sleeves; the bell part at the top was of satin, and the lower sleeve to the wrist was of sheer chiffon. Layers of chiffon topped the trim satin skirt of the dress. Many women, including Eugenia, might have appeared washed-out in that cream color, but Mariana had spent last summer in the Crimean sun. Her golden skin, with the red highlights in her dark hair, gave her a healthy glow. She need not have worried at all about her long neck—no one would be focusing on that except as they scanned upward to her lovely face, firmly carved chin, well-defined cheeks, and especially the shimmering emerald eyes.

  Glancing at the clock on the mantel in her room, Mariana jumped up from where she sat at the dressing table. It was time to slip into her dress and make her entrance to the party. She had no maid to help her as her mother had, but, then, she would have felt absolutely awkward if she did.

  Mariana wiggled into the dress and was twisting around to try to fasten up the back, realizing for the first time just where a maid would come in handy, when there was a knock at the door.

  “It’s your père,” came a familiar voice.

  “Oh, Père, you are here just in time if you can help fasten my dress for me.”

  “I think I can do that,” said Dmitri, entering.

  Dmitri fastened all the little buttons on the dress, then gently turned his daughter around. He gasped when he saw the full effect.

  “My dear, dear child, look at you!” Tears welled up in his eyes, true tears that sprang from his heart. “Is it possible that you are even more beautiful than your mother?”

  “Never, Père, but thank you for saying so.”

  “I remember your mother’s coming-out party,” Dmitri said in a voice stiff with emotion. “It was the first time I had seen her in well over a year, and before that in my mind she had always been a child, my best friend’s little sister, nothing more. But when I saw her come down the stairs, my breath was literally taken away. She had become a beautiful woman, and I fell in love with her immediately.”

  Touched by his sincerity, Mariana put her arms around him and kissed his cheek. “Père, how I wish I could have known her, and seen you both together. Mama, that is, Aunt Anna, says Katrina loved you from the time she was a little child.”

  “It is true, but I was blind and dense, you know, and a little afraid, too, because she was so much younger than I. But we did finally get together, and she made me so happy, even if for just a short time. And you came out of that love, my dear Mariana. So good did come out of grief, after all.”

  “That’s what Papa says, that God brings good out of all things, for those who love Him.”

  “So true!” Dmitri gave his daughter a final appraisal, grinning with approval. “Now, I will leave so you can make your grand entrance.”

  “Père, walk down with me.”

  “No, no! This is your moment.”

  “It’s our moment, Père, ours and my dear mother Katrina’s. Let’s go together, as a family. And besides, I think my knees are starting to shake too much to make it alone.”

  “You would make it alone, Mariana,” he said with a kind of intense earnestness unusual to him. “But in memory of your mother, we will go together.”

  Mariana smiled with real love at her father. It was the first time that she was certain she loved him for himself, and not only for what he represented. They linked arms, left the room, and approached the stairs.

  44

  Mariana knew from the moment she descended the stairs on her father’s arm that she did not fit in this society. Not that she was in any way unfit, for despite Eugenia’s complaints, Mariana had learned her lessons well. She was as gracious and refined as many of the young ladies present, and what she lacked in this area she made up for in the simplicity of her charm, her winning smile, and her genuine manner.

  But she simply did not enjoy herself in such company. Conversation was shallow, meaningless flattery was rampant, and few of those present ever looked anyone in the eye. Laughter was formal and restrained, if there was any at all; the food was little appreciated, even though it was such a feast as Mariana had never before seen.

  It was supposed to be a party, but no one seemed to be having any fun.

  Eugenia and Dmitri seemed to think it a grand success, but Mariana kept remembering the riotous gatherings in Katyk. True, there was sometimes too much vodka and the men often got drunk, but aside from that no one would question that everyone had a good time. Perhaps the difference was that here all the guests seemed too worried about making certain impressions, saying the right things to the right people, and avoiding committing any mistake that could tarnish their social standing.

  The bright spot was Daniel who, though well accustomed to society affairs, said he’d never much enjoyed them himself.

  While they were dancing to a Strauss waltz, she voiced her insights to him.

  “Believe me,” he said, “society is the same the world over.”

  “But you’re not shallow and empty, Daniel.”

  “What would you expect from a saintly, perfect specimen such as myself?” He grinned playfully.

  “You know what I mean. You may not be perfect, but you are real, and that is the difference.”

  “I’m sure you’d find that true with at least some of these people if you got them alone. You know, mob influence, and all.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” She didn’t sound completely convinced. But of one thing she was certain. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t come, Daniel. You are like an oasis in a desert to me.”

  “Do you think I would have missed this?” He drew her closer and gazed down at her. “You have been my oasis, Mariana. I came a stranger to this land, wondering if I’d ever fit in, or find a home—and I found you! You have taught me to love Russia, Mariana, even as I have come to love . . . you!”

  “Oh, Daniel!” She didn’t know what else to say.

  “This isn’t exactly how I wanted to say this, Mariana, but, let’s face it . . . this was inevitable and I’m glad it’s out.”

  “Let’s go outside a moment, Daniel. They’ve got the terrace lit up for the guests. Perhaps we ought to talk.”

  A servant was sent to retrieve their wraps, and once they were adequately bundled up, they went outside. Only a handful of guests had ventured out-of-doors, for even in March it wa
s cold and snow still covered the ground. It was not difficult to find a secluded little nook. The terrace and surrounding garden was not large, but if they spoke in quiet tones they could talk without being heard. None of the others present were interested in eavesdropping, anyway.

  The cobblestone floor of the terrace had been swept clean of snow, and baskets of fresh flowers and greenery had been set all around. If one did not look too far out onto the still-barren garden, it almost seemed as if spring had fully come. The chill in the air quickly dispelled that notion, but it was a lovely setting nonetheless.

  Mariana and Daniel found a vacant bench and sat down. They were quiet for a moment until Mariana realized how much she enjoyed having Daniel close to her.

  “You were right, Daniel, about what you said before—this was bound to happen. We have become close. Yet, to think that someone as special as you should feel that way toward me . . . it’s very flattering.”

  “I don’t mean to flatter, Mariana. It was my clumsy way of expressing my heart. I guess I can write this kind of stuff better than I can say it.”

  Her own heart was pounding. Why couldn’t she just accept his words and leave it at that? Why spoil it with the truth . . . if indeed it was still the truth. She should have told Daniel about Stephan long ago. She just hadn’t planned on becoming so close to Daniel. She hadn’t even liked him much at first. But he was so attentive and interested in her, it was easy to forget his tendency toward arrogance. What did she owe Stephan, anyway? At least Daniel paid attention to her and wasn’t wrapped up in his own life as Stephan was.

  “Daniel, I care a great deal for you also. More than I ever wanted to. But I am so confused lately. So much has changed for me. Sometimes there are aspects of my old life that I miss . . . and wish I could have back. But my new life is an exciting adventure, too, and I anticipate what’s ahead for me. Don’t you see, this is no time for me to be making commitments—that is, serious commitments to men. Sometimes things are so muddled for me, I just don’t know what I want.”