“Listen, Mariana, you don’t have to worry about that—I’m not ready for marriage, either. But I can’t help how I feel about you. Let’s just be open to . . . well, to whatever happens.”
“Daniel! My father would never—”
“Hold on, Mariana! I didn’t mean . . . What kind of guy do you take me for?”
“Well, it just sounded like—”
But before she could finish, they were interrupted.
“There you are Countess Remizov. I was told my name was on your dance program and was wondering if you might honor me at this time?”
Mariana looked up, and several emotions colored her expression all at once—annoyance at this misunderstanding with Daniel, then frustration at being intruded upon. The unresolved problem remained hanging over them, yet her dismay was tempered by relief that they had been saved from having to confront the awkward topic. But the emotion that overwhelmed all the others was shock and revulsion at the person addressing her. It was Karl Vlasenko.
45
Karl must not have recognized her, or he had forgotten that awful incident two years ago. In either case, he spoke with a guileless innocence.
“I . . . I’m sorry,” said Mariana, gradually regaining her composure, “Count Vlasenko—”
“I am flattered that you know my name among so many guests. I did not think we had met before.”
He truly did not remember her from that awful incident two Christmases ago! The realization irked what small sense of political justice Mariana had. The peasant girl he had attempted to seduce had meant so little to him that he had not even bothered to notice what she had looked like.
“Of course, you wouldn’t remember, would you?” She could not help the lingering bitterness in her tone.
He frowned, truly perplexed. “I am at a loss, Countess.”
“Never mind. Maybe it’s best forgotten.”
“All right. And about that dance . . . ?”
“I’ve promised the next dance with—”
Suddenly Karl gasped as full recognition finally dawned upon him. “It’s you? But . . . but how can it be?”
“Maybe in the future you’ll be more careful of what peasant girls you insult. You never know when one will turn into a countess!”
Daniel cast her a look almost as puzzled as Karl’s. “Mariana, has this man offended you in some manner?” He stood, apparently ready to do battle.
“This is none of your business,” said Karl, his face paling at the menace in Daniel’s eyes.
“Listen here, buddy, it’s my business because the countess is a dear friend and—”
“Don’t worry about it, Daniel,” said Mariana. “It’s something that happened in the past. Since Count Vlasenko is a guest in my home, it is best forgotten.”
“You must understand, Countess Remizov, that I was not myself at that time. I—I . . .” Karl began, then prudently realized he should leave it at that. He didn’t like the look the American was giving him.
“Find someone else to dance with, Count,” Mariana said with all the haughtiness she could muster. “I am booked for the rest of the evening.”
Karl turned on his heel and limped away. He was more embarrassed and ashamed than angry.
“I tell you, Father, it’s true!”
“Impossible.”
“Countess Mariana Remizov is the same peasant wench you tried to force me to . . . well, it’s the same girl. I’m positive.”
Karl Vlasenko had cornered his father in a small anteroom off the main ballroom. They could hear the orchestra music and sounds of conversation. He had sought the elder count out immediately after the confrontation with Mariana. He knew how much his father liked to be privy to all the rumors and gossip in society, and was quite certain Vlasenko could have no idea about this tidbit. How could his father have known and then have turned around and pushed Karl into making certain his name was placed on the girl’s dance card? He couldn’t be that shameless . . . or could he?
“That was old Burenin’s granddaughter, wasn’t it?” said Cyril, his cunning mind starting to calculate what new possibilities this might present to him and his schemes.
“I don’t know. Who cares? When this gets out, we will be humiliated.”
“Don’t be a nitwit, Karl. Don’t worry about how this can hurt you. Think about how we can use it to our advantage.”
“I just want to forget about it, that’s all. And I hope she does, too.”
Cyril rolled his eyes and shook his head in disgust at his son. “Listen to me. They’re not going to want to make this public anymore than we do. Now that I think of it, there were some irregularities about the girl’s origins, but it was all kept very vague—something to do with foster parents because of a life-threatening danger. Anyway, they don’t want society to know the girl was raised in a peasant hovel. They will be quiet.”
“That’s a relief, anyway,” sighed Karl.
“Oh, you addle-brained numbskull! How could I have been cursed with such a son? I have to think. Go back to the party and see if you can make yourself less disgusting to the others. And for the time being, stay away from the young countess. There will be time enough for the two of you later.”
“What do you mean?”
“I never dreamed I could possibly make such a marriage for you,” said Cyril as if he were answering Karl’s question. “I might have been able to get you a girl with money, but never beauty. That bug-eyed, big-nosed daughter of Prince Solevarov has so far been the best I could do. But you’d like a beauty like Countess Mariana Remizov, wouldn’t you? Even if you wouldn’t know what to do with her.”
“Well, I—I—”
“Oh, never mind! Go back to the party and leave me alone.”
Karl obeyed without further encouragement. He disliked being in his father’s presence any longer than necessary.
Alone, Vlasenko paced the little room for several moments. He found a decanter of brandy and poured himself a glass as he continued thinking.
This was such a wealth of knowledge regarding the girl that he could not resist the temptation to bend his mind toward ways of using it. The obvious was to use his hold over the peasant part of the clan to induce Mariana to marry his son. That would insure the Vlasenko hold on the Fedorcenko interests for his future progeny—if his weak-willed son had it in him to produce heirs. Nevertheless, sentimental interest in the Vlasenko name had only a small part in Cyril’s designs. His largest concern was with himself and his immediate future.
So, though a marriage would be a nice touch to his plans, it was merely icing on the cake rather than a goal in itself. He needed money now, and he wished to receive satisfaction over Viktor while they both lived. The girl might not fit into this plan—even he was not crass enough to use her to extort money from Viktor. Or was he?
He smiled, then shook his head. No, it was just too risky, and he did have his Imperial position to worry about. Both the Fedorcenkos and the Burenins were too proud and arrogant to cower under such pressure.
Still, he wouldn’t give up on the girl right away. If there was a way to use her, he’d find it. If not . . . well, there were other ways to get at Viktor.
Cyril swallowed the rest of his brandy and returned to the party.
46
For the next few weeks after her coming-out party, Mariana was caught up in a whirlwind of parties and social events. She had little time to ponder her dilemma with Daniel and Stephan. And she managed to avoid Daniel, who had been sent out of town on an assignment.
She saw Stephan only once, but for a change it was because she was too busy for him! And she had to admit that she didn’t feel in the least guilty about it; how many times had he put her off with his activities? Nevertheless, she did often wonder what would become of them, and if she would ever have the nerve to tell him about Daniel. She was a little afraid of what his reaction would be; at times she felt like an unfaithful wife. But he had left her to go off to seek his life, and he had always been the one re
luctant to talk seriously about marriage. What more could he expect? Did he think she would wait forever?
But she had once been so certain she loved him, and wasn’t waiting part of true love? Hadn’t her mama, Anna, waited for her papa even when it had seemed utterly impossible that they would ever see each other again? It was all so confusing. She didn’t have the patience to analyze it, so she allowed the situation to move along at its own pace, making no firm moves in either direction. She avoided both men and wrapped herself up in frantic activity.
In her logical, rational mind she knew she was eventually going to be forced to confront the situation head on. But her more optimistic, perhaps irrational, side thought it was senseless to stir things up before it was necessary. And when she did see Daniel or Stephan, she didn’t wish to disrupt their time together with uncomfortable facts.
Enough was happening in her life as it was—attending parties, meeting new people, especially new young men. Several were showing an interest in her. And Princess Marya Gudosnikov, Natalia Fedorcenko’s dear friend, offered to sponsor Mariana at a private school for daughters of the aristocracy.
“You deserve it, dear girl,” said the woman. “It is no fault of yours that you’ve been deprived of such advantages. And I would like this chance to honor the special friendship I had with your grandmother, Princess Natalia.” She placed pointed emphasis on “Princess Natalia”; she wanted no one to mistake which grandmother she meant. Marya Gudosnikov couldn’t stand Eugenia.
Mariana didn’t know quite how to feel about this offer. In the past she had never been much interested in education; as a peasant girl it would have benefited her little in practical ways. But since her fortunes had changed, she had begun to look upon her future differently, and she was wrestling with what and who she might one day become. A formal education might broaden her possibilities. Thus, the idea of going to school appealed to her.
But the school, Countess Elizaveta’s Institute, was a boarding school, as were all such schools. It might mean getting out from under the thumb of Countess Eugenia, but it also would most certainly mean severely limiting her time with her father, and with Daniel, and even Stephan. The young ladies at the institute were kept in a very protective environment, allowed to leave only for Christmas, Easter, and summer holidays.
Mariana decided to see if she could gain admission to the school. The possibility was questionable because of her age—girls usually began long before age eighteen. Princess Gudosnikov used her influence to get permission for Mariana to take an entrance exam that, because of her extensive informal education, would place her nearer her own level at the school. She might only have to attend two or three years of the usual seven-year course.
Thus, for the time being, she was satisfied to let the flow of events carry her along, rather than make an affirmative stand of her own.
The parties and new social commitments created a somewhat superficial picture that all was well. She began to believe that she had made the best decision—no decision at all—regarding Stephan and Daniel. And with other young men now paying court to her also, what did it matter if those two in particular were informed about the other? That was how things were done in such casual relationships between young people. Stephan and Daniel would surely realize that; both were experienced men of the world.
But all her rationalization did not prepare her for the jolt she received on a particular day in late May. Mariana and Daniel were taking the steamer down the Neva to the Summer Gardens. They struck up a conversation with a young man who was a student. When this student learned that Daniel was an American reporter, he informed them that he was at that moment on his way to a rally at the university, and that if Daniel wanted something truly important to report to his readers back in the States, he ought to join him.
Mariana was not anxious to become involved in any of this, but the steamer was already in the process of stopping at University Quay on Vassily Island, and Daniel was so eager to see what was happening, he practically had one foot on the dock. She didn’t want to go on to the gardens alone, and wasn’t ready to go home either. If she had complained a bit, she would have dampened Daniel’s excitement and he would have felt duty-bound to stick with their original plans. But she didn’t have the heart for that. So she disembarked with Daniel and they walked to the Academy of Sciences.
About a hundred students were gathered in the square in front of the academy. She thought such a large gathering must be illegal, but there were no police evident, and the demonstration appeared peaceful enough. Several young men were making speeches at a makeshift podium on the steps of the building.
“I tell you, comrades,” shouted the present speaker, “this land is like the river that bisects this city! In winter she is bound by ice and snow, but when spring comes, those chains are broken! She flows free and full and is a living thing again! Break, too, the chains from the backs of the people and they will stretch and live and be free!”
This brought on great ripples of applause from the throng, and a few shouts:
“Break the chains of oppression!”
Daniel had taken out the little notebook he always carried in his pocket and was madly scribbling notes, all the while moving into the midst of the gathering. Mariana spied a bench on the far edge of the grassy square and was tempted to have a seat there and wait for the demonstration to end. She tried to get Daniel’s attention, but he was too absorbed in the speech to hear her above the noise of the crowd. She glanced wistfully at the bench but remained at Daniel’s side.
“There is no man alive who doesn’t wish to swim in the river of freedom!” continued the speaker, sticking with the analogy that seemed so successful.
“Except the oppressors!” responded a voice from the crowd.
The voice had come from nearby and Mariana glanced that way. Suddenly she gasped, and her stomach jumped. It was Stephan, standing not three feet in front of them. He was waving a fist in the air and caught up in the proceedings; with his back toward them, he did not notice Mariana’s presence.
All at once she felt like a criminal caught in the act of theft. In a panic, she tried again to get Daniel’s attention.
“Daniel!”
When he made no response, she tugged more persistently at his sleeve. “Daniel!”
“This is great stuff, isn’t it?” he murmured distractedly, still writing, eyes still fastened on the podium.
“Daniel, I want to go.”
“Huh?” He glanced at her. “Now? But I want to get some interviews.”
“Well, do what you wish. I’m leaving.”
“But I might need you to interpret.” He seemed more concerned over that than over her departure.
“I’m sure you’ll manage—”
But she was cut off by the last voice she wanted to hear at that moment.
“Mariana? Is that you?”
The speaker had finished and, in the lull between speakers, Stephan had turned around to converse with some friends. It was then that he saw her.
“Why, Stephan Kaminsky! What a surprise!” she said in a thin, nervous tone.
“It is far more surprising to see you at a political rally.” Stephan walked up to her; but as he spoke he eyed Daniel, who was obviously with her.
“Stephan,” she said quickly before either of the men could state anything to the contrary, “this is Daniel Trent, an American newspaper reporter. He’s come to the rally to make a report to his paper. I—I’m his interpreter.” Then turning to Daniel, she added, “Daniel, this is Stephan, a student here at the university. Stephan is . . . a friend from my village.”
The two men shook hands, Western style, both seeming to accept Mariana’s introductions and explanations. They seemed quite oblivious to her awkwardness.
“An American, eh?” said Stephan. “I hope you are not one of those bourgeois capitalists come to further oppress the Russian masses—”
“I’m a newspaper reporter,” Daniel replied, as if that should once and f
or all settle his political alliances. “But what’s wrong with capitalism, anyway? It hasn’t hurt our country; we are one of the most advanced civilizations in the world. And I doubt that a little capitalism would harm this country. No one can disagree that there’s great need here which some capital investment could only help.”
“In Russia, it would only help the aristocracy to line their pockets with gold while the masses starve. But it is no different in America, where the few are amassing great fortunes, while the proletariat fall into penury.”
“The difference,” rejoined Daniel, “is that in America all men have an equal opportunity to broaden their fortunes. I’ll not say there are no problems in our society. I know of some places where there are terrible conditions for workers, and shameful poverty—and I greatly sympathize with them. And I have no doubt your complaints are justified regarding Russia. I’ve visited some of the factories in this city and some of the slums, and even the worst in America don’t compare in utter depravity. But blaming all your woes on an economic system seems to me to be a waste of energy.”
Another speaker had begun. Daniel and Stephan, followed by a somewhat bemused and apparently forgotten Mariana, moved to the fringes of the gathering, not losing a beat in their conversation.
“So, what would you blame?” asked Stephan.
“There’s no simple answer to that, but I’d say the prime culprit would have to be the autocracy. Let’s face it, where a people’s freedom is crushed, apathy will flourish.”
“Who said this, about freedom and apathy?” said Stephan. “It contains much truth.”
Daniel shrugged, a bit puzzled. “I did.”
Though skeptical that such wisdom could have originated from an American capitalist, Stephan admitted, “I like that. It says a lot about what has happened in Russia. Perhaps you ought to go up and make a speech.”
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