Princes and Peasants

by Catrin Collier

  ‘I do. That’s settled then.’ Levsky sat in the most comfortable chair in the room – the one he knew had been Nicholas’s. ‘Given luck, and with God on our side, John Hughes will soon smelt his first, and last, iron in his town.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hotel Hughesovka

  October 1871

  Glyn stubbed out his Turkish cigarette, rose from the chair he’d pulled up to one of the windows, and paced uneasily to the second window, although it offered no better view. He looked down on the crowd of workmen and builders milling below his first-floor hotel suite, hoping to see Alf Mahoney or his brother Edward, but he couldn’t spot either of them, although the first of the bullock carts had driven into the compound over half an hour before.

  He’d hated pulling rank, but he’d had to remind Alf twice that he was the man’s boss before Alf had agreed to meet Edward, Betty, and the rest of their party and escort them to the hotel. Alf hadn’t been his first choice, but Richard and Sarah had both refused point blank to meet Edward and Betty, reminding him that neither Betty nor Alice Perkins had spoken a word to them on the journey after discovering they were married.

  He’d reserved the largest suite the hotel had to offer for Betty as soon as he’d read her letter informing him she was on her way to Hughesovka. Aware that the hotel was almost always full, he’d estimated her arrival date and as a result had already paid a full week for the rooms to remain empty. As well as the sitting room, the suite had two double bedrooms, and he’d asked that a child’s cot be put in one. He’d negotiated the option of renewing the reservation for a further month but he hoped it wouldn’t be needed that long. A squad of Cossack soldiers was leaving for Taganrog in nine days to pick up supplies for their barracks. He’d requested and received permission for Betty to be allowed to accompany them and had put even more pressure on Alf to act as Betty’s escort, if necessary back to Wales.

  Alf had been as reluctant to agree as he’d been reluctant to ask. With the works on schedule to smelt the first full production of pig iron in January, Alf, like all the company employees, wanted to witness the historic moment.

  The snow that had been falling lightly since morning thickened as Glyn continued his study of the street. Eventually he saw Edward walking beside a man pushing a handcart loaded with luggage. It was hard, slow work over the heavily-rutted dirt street. Three women walked behind Edward, all swathed in thick woollen coats and shawls. The youngest carried a toddler. He could see his mother’s dark-eyed beauty mirrored in the child’s face. An overwhelming wave of love engulfed him. An emotion he was totally unprepared for. This child was his daughter. She had every right to expect him to love and guide her through life, to be with her every day…

  He turned his back to the window, took another cigarette from his packet and tried to compose himself. He was dreading the encounter with Betty. The more he considered the situation, the less certain he was of her reaction to the news that he’d already left her for his pregnant mistress. He realised he couldn’t predict her response simply because he didn’t know her well enough. She was his wife yet he didn’t know the first thing about her.

  When he heard the thumps and scrapes of trunks being hauled up the stairs, he opened the door. Four hotel porters climbed breathlessly on to the landing and dropped two enormous, snow-frosted trunks.

  ‘Where do you want them, sir?’ they asked.

  ‘One in each bedroom, thank you,’ Glyn replied in Russian.

  Betty appeared behind them. She stared at him for a moment then nodded her head. ‘Glyn.’

  ‘Betty.’

  ‘I trust you don’t expect me to learn that heathen language.’

  He didn’t reply. Standing in the doorway facing her he felt unaccountably foolish. ‘Did you have a good journey?’ he asked for the sake of saying something – anything.

  ‘That’s a ridiculous question considering you must have travelled the same way we did, on rough seas and over even rougher ground in the freezing cold, and now snow, in carts pulled by cows.’

  ‘Bullocks,’ he corrected without thinking. When she glared at him he remembered she couldn’t stand to be corrected – about anything.

  She looked around the corridor. ‘Is this the best hotel Hughesovka has to offer?’

  ‘It’s the only hotel Hughesovka has to offer.’

  ‘Alf said you wanted to talk to me before the others came up. They’re ordering food downstairs.’

  ‘I recognised Alice Perkins, but not the young girl.’

  ‘Martha, she’s our daughter Harriet Maud’s nursemaid.’

  The porters left the trunks in the rooms. Glyn tipped them and murmured, ‘Thank you.’

  Betty sailed past him into the suite.

  ‘Shall I order something for you, tea or food?’ he offered.

  ‘Tea and sandwiches. Plain ones, cheese or ham, no foreign muck in the filling.’

  Glyn called to the porters who were halfway down the stairs, gave them Betty’s order, and returned to the suite. He closed the door behind him.

  ‘Why am I in a hotel room and not your house?’ Betty demanded.

  ‘I wrote to you. You obviously didn’t get my letter.’

  Alf came up the stairs knocked and dropped two bags just inside the room. ‘Excuse me, sir, Mrs Edwards,’ he backed out swiftly, closing the door behind him.

  ‘Why am I not in your house?’ Betty reiterated. ‘Don’t try telling me that you haven’t one. I’ve been writing to you at a private address, not a hotel.’

  ‘This is comfortable, isn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose it will have to do. Who’s paying the bill?’ Betty looked into the bedrooms, dropped her handbag onto one of the beds, pulled off her gloves and threw them on top of the bag.

  ‘I’m paying, at the moment.’ Glyn moved the chair he’d placed next to the window back into the group around the stove.

  Betty finally sat down. ‘You saw your daughter?’

  ‘Through the window. She’s beautiful.’

  ‘She’s a lot of work.’

  ‘You look well, Betty.’

  ‘Less of the soft soap. I know you, Glyn Edwards. You’ve a woman here, haven’t you?’

  ‘I wrote to you…’

  ‘You sent me more than one letter over the last two years.’

  ‘The one I’m thinking of asked you to divorce me.’

  ‘I received that letter.’

  ‘You came all the way here knowing I loved someone else?’

  ‘I came to reclaim my rights. My solicitor said I can do that. There’s a law. I can go to court and demand,’ she hesitated for a moment searching for the exact wording, ‘restitution of conjugal rights. That’s what I want. A judge can order you back to the marital home.’

  ‘What marital home, Betty?’

  ‘Your home.’

  ‘I don’t have one, and even I did there’s nothing left between us.’

  ‘There’s our daughter,’ she bit back.

  ‘Praskovia is pregnant.’

  ‘Praskovia.’ She repeated the name and flung it back at him. ‘What kind of a pagan name is that?’

  ‘A Russian name. I’ve never asked but the Russians probably consider our names heathen.’ He struggled to keep his temper.

  ‘It’s a whore’s name,’ she spat out.

  Glyn suddenly realised it wasn’t that he’d now stopped loving his wife. He’d never loved her. He’d married her as a young, naïve boy solely to discover the mysteries of sex. The revelation didn’t make him happy; if anything it made him despise himself even more. He had to concede that he’d used Betty, but he wasn’t prepared to spend the rest of his life paying for his mistake. ‘Why are you so determined to see only the ugly side of life, never the beauty, Betty?’ he challenged.

  ‘I see what you put in front of me, Glyn Edwards. The Lord only knows that is truly ugly, because you lead an ugly sinful life. And you’ve chosen an even uglier place to live it.’

  ‘If you won’t divo
rce me, I’ll divorce you.’

  ‘As I just told you, I saw a solicitor in Merthyr before I left. A good one, who knew how to charge, but he was worth every penny because he told me exactly how to deal with you. And just so you know, you can’t divorce me. You have no grounds.’

  ‘Try desertion. I invited you to come here with me. I bought you a ticket, but you insisted on staying in Merthyr.’

  ‘I’m here now, aren’t I? So how can that be desertion? We married before God and our families in chapel, Glyn. And I’ll see that we stay married for Harriet Maud’s sake.’

  ‘Then it will be a marriage in name only, Betty, because I’m not leaving Praskovia or our coming child.’

  ‘She’s a nothing – a nobody. I checked up on that too. Whores have no rights. Your house is mine. I’ll move in…’

  ‘I told you I don’t have a home or a house, Betty.’ He paced to the window, perched on the window ledge and faced her. ‘The house I live in belongs to Praskovia.’

  ‘You gave your house to your whore!’ Betty shrieked.

  ‘I gave it to the woman I love. The house is hers, Betty. As am I.’

  ‘And me and your daughter? You’d see us beggars out on the street…’

  ‘You’re in a hotel room that I’m paying for. I’ve given you a generous annuity. It’s more than enough to keep you and our daughter in the same style as any manager’s family in Merthyr. You can live well on the money I’ve given you without having to run the pub your father probably left you.’

  ‘I sold the pub to come here.’

  ‘That was your choice, Betty, not mine. Go back to Merthyr.’ He was tired. Tired of being in the same room as her, tired of arguing with her, tired of confrontation. ‘There’s nothing for you here.’

  ‘My husband is here.’

  ‘I’m not your husband, Betty. If I ever was I’m certainly not any longer. I’ll pay for these rooms until the Cossack soldiers return to Taganrog in nine days’ time and not a minute longer. I’ve already asked Alf to escort you to the port and back to Wales if that’s what you want.’

  ‘You can’t just wash your hands of us,’ she screamed as hysteria took hold. ‘I’m staying here.’

  He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Why, Betty?’

  ‘Because I have nowhere else to go.’ She began to cry. Dry, theatrical sobs designed to evoke pity, but Glyn felt only disgust.

  ‘Your life, your friends are all in Merthyr.’

  ‘Not any more. And don’t think my staying here means I’ll allow you to see Harriet Maud. I won’t, not until you start living with us again.’

  ‘Again? Betty, think – how many days have we lived together since we married?’ He kept his voice soft, low, in contrast to hers.

  ‘That wasn’t my choice.’

  ‘This town is no place for a woman or a child.’

  ‘Your whore lives here. Sarah Edwards lives here – although she’s nothing but a whore as well, marrying a boy young enough to be her son before Peter was even cold in his grave…’

  ‘You have no right to say that. You have absolutely no idea what Sarah’s been through or suffered.’

  ‘Suffered! Don’t talk to me of suffering. None of you have the faintest idea what suffering is. Living here off the fat of the land in sheer idleness. You haven’t had to lift a finger since you left Merthyr,’ Betty sneered. ‘I overheard Sarah and Richard talking to Edward on the journey here. You have servants. People to do your bidding. You all live in the lap of luxury…’

  ‘Luxury!’ Glyn repeated. ‘You have no idea how rough this town is, or the sort of men who come here looking for work. They own nothing and have nothing to lose. They live in holes they dig in the ground and they’d slit their own mother’s throat for a bottle of vodka.’

  ‘Then Hughesovka is no different from Merthyr.’

  ‘It’s different because it’s growing. There’s an acute shortage of accommodation. This hotel room is expensive. Neither I nor you will be able to afford to rent it for long, Betty, then where will you live? Be reasonable, what would you do here if you did stay?’

  ‘I’ll think of something.’

  The hint of triumph in the expression on her face alerted him. ‘Don’t you dare go near Praskovia…’

  ‘Or you’ll what, Glyn?’ she challenged. ‘I have the right to talk to my husband or anyone else I chose to in this town. Try and stop me and I’ll go to the police.’

  ‘That just shows how little you know about Hughesovka, Betty. There are no police. There’s a Cossack regiment of soldiers, who use their swords and guns in preference to conversation, and a fire brigade. When it comes to disputes between husbands and wives, there’s no one to listen. Especially to a complaint made in English.’ Glyn picked up his hat from the table.

  ‘I’ll go to Mr Hughes…’

  ‘With the workload he has, you wouldn’t even get an appointment. Besides, he would never interfere in a dispute between a husband and his wife.’ He opened the door. A waiter was standing outside with a samovar trolley set with cups and sandwiches. He waved him in and ran down the stairs.

  Alf, Edward, Alice, Martha, and the child were sitting in a corner of the dining room. He beckoned to Edward, who tossed his napkin on to his plate and joined him.

  ‘How did it go?’ Edward didn’t know why he was asking when the expression on Glyn’s face told him all he needed to know.

  ‘Betty’s refusing to leave Hughesovka.’

  ‘Why? There’s nothing for her here.’

  ‘I’ve tried all the arguments, Edward. Praskovia’s prepared a room for you. You could come with me now.’ He looked around. ‘Where are Richard’s brothers?’

  ‘With Richard. He met us and took them to your house. What about Betty?’ Edward looked through the door at the rough-looking men who’d crowded around the bar. ‘Will she be safe here?’

  ‘Safer than anywhere else in Hughesovka. The hotel employs its own bruisers to clear out the troublemakers.’

  ‘If you’re sure the women will be safe…’

  ‘I’m sure provided they don’t go outside. You’d better warn them the streets are dangerous. You can see my garden from here.’ Glyn pointed to the gate. ‘Praskovia’s made a meal. You’re welcome to join us whenever you choose.’ He strode off.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Glyn Edwards’s house

  October 1871

  ‘Damned woman wouldn’t listen to a word I said. She’s determined to stay here. I don’t want you talking to Betty if you see her in the street, Praskovia, and I need to know immediately if she dares to knock on this door. No matter where I am, you send for me right away. Understood?’ Glyn ordered.

  It was the first time she’d heard him speak so vehemently. ‘If you don’t want me to talk to her, Glyn, I won’t. But what about your daughter?’ she ventured. ‘She’s little more than a baby. This argument between you and your wife is none of her doing.’

  ‘I know.’ Defeated he sank down on the sofa. ‘But Betty made it plain that she doesn’t want me to see or speak to Harriet. I might not know my wife very well, Praskovia, but I do know what she’s capable of.’ He looked up. He’d never needed the love mirrored in Praskovia’s eyes more. ‘If I let her, Betty will use Harriet Maud to blackmail me, and I refuse to allow her to control and manipulate me, or threaten our happiness.’

  ‘You really think she’ll stay in Hughesovka although you told her you intend to ignore her.’

  ‘I think she’s petty minded enough to stay and try to damage us in some way, although I made it clear that all I want from her is a divorce.’ He reached out for Praskovia’s hand. ‘I told my brother you’d prepared a room for him here. I know the house is full at the moment…’

  ‘I like it that way.’ She sat on his lap and stroked his cheek.

  ‘You can’t be serious.’

  ‘My mother is too busy cooking for everyone to find the time to quarrel or find fault with me. The maids and Pyotr have plenty of work to do and
when they’re working they have no time to think of things to complain about. And with Anna on evening and night shifts and Sarah back at the hospital in the day, and you and Richard, and soon your brother and Richard’s brothers, in and out of the house at all hours, there’ll always be someone here for me to talk to.’

  ‘You won’t need too many people to talk to when the baby arrives in the spring.’

  ‘It’s good to have people we care about, and who care about us, living in the house.’

  ‘It is.’ Glyn would never have admitted it to Praskovia lest he alarm her, but he was thinking more of the advantage of having Edward’s and Richard’s muscle in the house than company for Praskovia when he wasn’t home. He wouldn’t put it past Betty to hire thugs to attack Praskovia if she thought it would succeed in persuading him to return to her. He made a mental note to tell Pyotr not to allow his sister to go anywhere alone.

  Catherine Ignatova’s house

  October 1871

  The senior footman, Marat, was waiting anxiously in the hall when Catherine and her butler, Boris, returned from helping Father Grigor and his cook, Brin, serve bread and soup to the poor in the makeshift kitchen Brin had set up in the headquarters of the Fire Brigade.

  Boris helped Catherine remove her cloak, shook the snow from it, and handed it to Marat. ‘Is there a problem?’ he asked when he saw the expression on Marat’s face.

  ‘Count Beletsky is here.’

  ‘Didn’t you inform him that madam wasn’t at home,’ Boris reprimanded.

  ‘Yes, sir, but the count refused to leave. He said he had urgent family business and would wait for madam.’

  Catherine checked all the doors in the hall were closed before speaking. ‘Where have you put the count, Marat?’

  ‘In the anteroom off the back porch, madam. He wanted to sit in the library or the drawing room but I told him they were locked and I didn’t have the keys.’

  ‘Excellent choice of room, Marat,’ Catherine complimented. The anteroom off the back porch was where tradesmen waited to be paid. ‘Bring me tea in the library, please, then you may show him in. Boris, please accompany me.’