‘I may be able to complete my business in less time. As soon as I do, and you’ve tired of the city, we’ll travel on to Moscow by train which, as I have my own railway car, will be more comfortable than a carriage. Once I’ve done what I have to there we’ll proceed overland by train to Britain, via Dover and the English Channel, visiting Konigsberg, Berlin, and Paris en route.’
‘You have business in every city?’
‘No, Konigsberg, Berlin, and Paris will be purely for our pleasure. I will however have meetings to arrange in London, which shouldn’t prove too onerous for you, as there are wonderful shops there.’ He rinsed the blade in the bowl of water. ‘The Crawshay works in Merthyr won’t prove quite so interesting or scenic but I’ll try to conclude my business there as quickly as I can.’
‘I’d like to see the town where Sarah, Glyn, Anna, and Richard came from, after hearing them talk about it. The Crawshay works are ironworks aren’t they?’
‘Yes.’
‘Aren’t they in competition with Mr Hughes’s works here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then why would Mr Hughes want to do business with them?’ she asked curiously.
‘Will you promise not to repeat what I’m about to tell you?’
‘Of course.’
‘It’s insurance.’
‘Insurance,’ she repeated in bewilderment.
‘The Tsar wants rails to build a Russian railway that will stretch across the country from east to west, north to south, and every other direction, connecting every major town and city in “all the Russias”. Mr Hughes has promised to deliver them but the works here has only just gone into production. It would be optimistic to believe that everything the New Russia Company will produce in Hughesovka will turn out to be absolutely perfect at the first attempt, so we’re making plans to secure a “just in case” backup source.’
‘You’ll import them from Wales?’
‘Only if we have to and only as a last resort, and even then we may have to lie as to where they come from to escape import duty.’
‘How will you import them – if you need them?’
‘As scrap iron to be melted down.’ He finished shaving and soaked a towel in hot water before wiping his face. ‘I’ll check my old room in Mr Hughes’s wing of the house. I’ll dress there and make sure nothing I’m likely to need has been left behind. He went into the bedroom. ‘This room already looks rather empty and forlorn.’
‘It does, doesn’t it?’
‘After we leave Wales we’ll resume our honeymoon. We’ll take the ferry back to France and return to my railway car. Travel south, pick up my yacht in Marseille, sail to Rome, Naples, Capri – you must see Capri – Sicily, and on to Greece, and Constantinople of course…’
‘Of course.’
‘Are you making fun of me?’ His voice was serious but his eyes shone.
‘Just a little, perhaps.’ She watched him over the rim of her coffee cup.
‘I was going to say, then on to Yalta so you can visit our summer house.’
‘From there into the Sea of Azov and back here by Christmas,’ she said hopefully.
‘Christmas may be a little ambitious.’
‘I wouldn’t like to be away from Kira and baby Pavlo and Edward too long. And Alexei and Ruth…’
‘Ruth is pregnant?’ he guessed.
‘The baby won’t be born until Christmas, I would like to be back for the birth.’
‘I can make no promises.’
‘I know.’ She rang for her maid to help her dress and pack the last of the things she wanted to take with her.
‘Except one,’ he qualified. ‘I promise to do all I can to combat your homesickness.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I know you’re going to miss your family and friends, especially Catherine. She’s been a mother to you.’
‘And father, aunt, and grandparents all wrapped in one.’
‘I promise you we’ll be back, princess. I just can’t promise you when that will be. But whenever it is, our house should be finished given the money that I’ve, or rather Hans on my behalf has, been throwing at the builders.’
‘You promised you would never call me princess again,’ she admonished him.
‘No I didn’t. The first time I took you on to my boat you asked me to make that the first and last time that I would call you princess. I didn’t answer and silently reserved the right to call you princess any time I chose to.’
‘If you must call me anything other than Sonya, I prefer “my sweet”.’
‘I’ll try to remember.’ He went to the door. Sonya waylaid and hugged him.
‘I’m only going to another wing of the house.’
‘I know, but I won’t see you until breakfast.’
He laughed and left.
After he’d gone Sonya sat on the bed and looked around the room. The house Roman was building in the town would be beautiful when it was finished, but if they moved into it on their return, she realised, she had spent the very last night not only in her room, but in the house that had been home to her ever since she could remember.
The momentous change in her life had happened almost without her even noticing it.
Hughesovka
May 1872
Sonya stood in the hall alongside Sarah, Ruth, and Praskovia, part of yet separate from the bustle around her. Already she felt like an outsider, watching a scene she no longer had a role in. Then she looked past the men gathered around Roman and Mr Hughes and saw her Aunt Catherine watching her. She crossed the hall and embraced her.
‘No tears.’ Catherine warned ironically considering her own eyes were damp. ‘Time passes so quickly you’ll be back here before you know it.’
‘Before you’ve even had time to miss me.’ As Sonya hugged Catherine, she noticed for the first time how old and frail her aunt had suddenly become.
‘Don’t forget to send me postcards from every city you visit so I can see how much has changed in the world since I travelled with your uncle.’
‘I’ll look for the very best scenes that I can find, and I’ll write at least once a week to let you know all my news.’
Catherine looked over Sonya’s shoulder for Roman. He saw and read the signal in her eyes. He joined them and gently extricated Sonya from her aunt’s arms.
‘Time we were off, pr –’
‘Say “princess” and I’ll start calling you “frog”,’ she warned.
The ensuing laughter lightened the atmosphere. Richard, John Hughes, and Glyn shook hands with Roman and hugged Sonya. Glyn was the last to say goodbye to Sonya and claimed a kiss.
‘As your koumbaros I believe I can do that.’
‘You can indeed,’ Father Grigor asserted, before following suit and kissing Sonya’s other cheek.
‘Cousin,’ Alexei gave her a bear hug.
Sonya stared into his eyes. ‘Look after your wife – and daughter.’
‘It’s a boy,’ Alexei said firmly.
‘Girl,’ Ruth countered.
‘Ruth and I are right, Alexei, I see you surrounded by women for the rest of your life. At least nine girls?’ Sonya winked at Ruth.
‘At least,’ Ruth agreed seriously.
‘Then pity help me!’
‘You need women to keep you in order,’ Sonya teased before saying her goodbyes to Praskovia, Sarah, and their babies.
‘Anna begged me to ask you to stop off at the hospital,’ Sarah said. ‘Poor girl was quite tearful this morning at the thought of you leaving. If you do stop off and she does cry, don’t worry, we’ll soon dry her tears.’
‘I’ll write to all of you…’
‘Not in the same week or you won’t have time for anything else.’ Impatient with the prolonged leave-taking, Roman took Sonya’s arm and hooked it into his own. Too choked to speak, Catherine kissed his cheek and held Sonya briefly in her arms for a final embrace.
As Roman led Sonya to the door she looked back at Praskovia and Sarah’s babies.
‘The next time I see those two they’ll be running around.’
‘With our daughter calling out to Aunt Sonya to come and play,’ Ruth smiled.
‘I’ll be her cousin twice removed,’ Sonya reminded.
‘I prefer aunt – and godmother. We won’t have her christened until you’re back,’ Alexei said.
‘Just make sure you return within forty days of the birth so you can stand godparent,’ Father Grigor cautioned.
‘We’ll try.’ Roman eased Sonya out of the door. ‘We’ve kept Manfred, Hans, and the coachmen waiting quite long enough.’ He helped Sonya into the back of the carriage he’d chosen for the first leg of their journey. Another three of his carriages carrying his staff and a wagon filled with their luggage were ranged behind.
‘I feel like royalty,’ Sonya pulled down the carriage window and waved to the assembled estate staff as they drove through the gates of Catherine’s grounds and headed for the town.
‘You are, but very minor. When we reach St Petersburg you’ll discover princes and princesses are absolutely the lowest grade in the aristocratic pecking order.’
‘I don’t even want to be in the pecking order.’ She sat back in her seat. ‘I’m exactly who and where I want to be.’
‘Which is?’
‘Mrs Nadolnaya, in a coach with Mr Nadolny, heading north.’ She leaned on his shoulder and watched as the buildings on the outskirts of the embryonic town came into view.
‘Do you want to stop off at the hospital?’ Roman asked when they reached the main street.
‘Please,’ she reached for his hand, ‘but only to see Anna.’
‘And the other nurses?’
‘Whoever’s on duty.’
‘I’m not jealous of Nathan Kharber. Not now I’ve enticed you into my bed and my life and you’re wearing my ring. Slow down please,’ Roman ordered their driver as they drew closer to Koshka’s house.
The driver reined in the horses. Sonya looked up and saw a black veiled figure sitting at one of the first floor windows.
‘I suggested we stopped to say goodbye but she refused, on the grounds that it wouldn’t be socially acceptable for a young, newly married, respectable woman to call on a lady of her profession.’
‘Perhaps a small family dinner when we return?’
‘I will try to persuade her.’ He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. ‘It seems like the whole town is out to wave us off.’ Roman saluted Vlad and Alf who were standing in the doorway of the New Russia Company headquarters. He turned and saw Anna leaning on the gate of the hospital. ‘Stop, please,’ he called out to the driver.
Sonya opened the door, climbed down, and hugged Anna.
‘You’re a good friend, Sonya. I love you and I’ll miss you.’
‘I’ll miss you too, Anna, and I’ll write. Don’t work yourself to death while I’m gone and keep an eye on Ruth for me.’
‘I’m hoping to deliver her baby.’ Anna stepped back so Yulia, Miriam, and the other nurses who’d come outside could say their goodbyes.
Sonya glanced over her shoulder at Roman who hadn’t left the carriage. ‘I have to go.’ She looked towards the door as Nathan walked out flanked by the porters.
‘We all wanted to wish you and Prince Roman well.’
‘Thank you, Kolya, Bogdan, Maxim.’
‘Miss … my apologies, Princess.’
‘Please call me Mrs Nadolnaya, Dr Kharber, it’s who I am now,’ Sonya said as she shook Nathan’s hand.
‘We’ll miss you,’ the nurses chorused.
‘We’ll be back, if not at the end of this year then early next.’ Roman left the carriage, shook Nathan’s hand without looking at him, kissed the girls’ cheeks, and gave Anna an extra hug. He helped Sonya back into the carriage.
Sonya leaned out of the window as they drove off. The girls and Nathan had returned inside but Anna and Maxim had remained at the gate and were still waving.
Roman wrapped his arm around Sonya’s shoulders. ‘We’ll be back.’
‘I know we will.’
‘But not until you’ve seen a great deal more of what this world has to offer.’
Sonya leaned out and returned Anna’s wave. Maxim had retreated to the hospital but Anna still stood, alone and forlorn, at the gate.
The carriage turned a corner and she was lost to view.
Epilogue
Owen Parry’s cottage, Broadway, Treforest, Pontypridd
1956
After eighty-four years I can still see that train of carriages, bearing Roman Nadolny’s blue, red, and white coat of arms, bumping towards the steppe over the rutted street strewn with building rubble. The snow had gone, the last vestiges melting as the sun had risen that morning. A few householders, Praskovia, Madam Koshka, and the hotel manager among them, had planted fruit trees in their gardens. Some had taken well and the air was redolent with the scent of cherry and apple blossom.
Although dawn hadn’t long broken, traders were setting up their stalls in preparation for the weekly market. A Cossack woman was unpacking loaves of bread as long and thick as a cavalry officer’s thighs from her cart, and arranging them on a barrow covered with a white embroidered cloth, edged with crochet. A Russian peasant was building pyramids of vegetables on the stall next to her. Further down the street Levi and Ruben Goldberg were hooking sides of beef, mutton, and goat around the shuttered stall the shtetl carpenter had designed and crafted. Ruth said it was the first time a Jewish trader had dared venture outside of the shtetl to offer wares to Christians. A German trader had brought cooking pots; lacking a stall he was laying them on a length of tarpaulin on the ground. A Pole was displaying bags and baskets to advantage on a trellis of scaffolding, a Lithuanian dried fish, and a Turk was unwrapping his spices next to a dairyman’s wife who was selling milk, sour cream, and cheeses.
Hughesovka was growing and all I wanted to do was hold up my hand, halt progress, and freeze it in that exact moment. I hated change and I recall feeling both angry and bereft as I watched Roman and Sonya drive out of town on that beautiful May morning in 1872. I knew Sonya hoped to return before Christmas; Roman, more cautiously, had suggested they would be away for a year. None of us suspected that four long years would pass before they returned.
Perhaps I was averse to change because I had lost so many people I’d loved. My father, mother, three of my brothers, and my two sisters, Dr Peter Edwards who had been so kind to me – all had died long before the Biblically allotted span, and all before my fifteenth birthday. There were also other losses, not as devastating, but still losses that affected me and made me yearn for a security I hadn’t felt since my father had been killed ‘by the iron’.
Richard was a loving and kind brother, but much as I adored Sarah I felt I’d lost something of his loyalty towards me when he married her. Glyn and Praskovia, Alexei and Ruth: they were thoughtful and caring, but they had one another, while I had no one to love who was solely special to me.
So I threw myself into the one institution that, although constantly growing and changing, needed me – the hospital. I started my shifts early and remained on the wards long past the time they were due to end. When I wasn’t actually caring for patients I studied every textbook and copy of The Lancet I could lay my hands on. I volunteered to help Dr Kharber in surgery every time he called for a nurse to assist, and overloaded myself with work because it was preferable to dealing with the loneliness that gnawed at me even when I was in a room full of people. I think I found that solitude bit even harder and more painfully when I was in company.
Sarah made a point of visiting the hospital every day, but gradually over those four years, without either of us actually noticing how or when it happened, I assumed responsibility for more and more of her duties, including the nurses’ training, the ordering of medicines and supplies, and the drawing up of staff rotas, for the porters as well as the nurses.
I was honoured when Sarah and Richard asked me to stand godmother to my nephew Edward, who soon beca
me ‘Ted’ simply because that was his first word. I also stood godmother to Glyn and Praskovia’s son Pavlo, and Alexei and Ruth’s twin daughters, Olga and Catherine, named for Alexei’s mother and grandmother. The first – but not the last – pair of twins I delivered.
Before Roman and Sonya returned, there were more babies. Another boy for Glyn and Praskovia, whom they named Tom, and Sarah and Richard’s daughter, Maryanna.
The one person who seemed to understand that it was possible to feel acutely lonely even when surrounded by people was Catherine Ignatova. I grew to know, admire, respect, and gradually love her during those years. At the outset of our relationship I felt she solicited my companionship as a substitute for Sonya’s – and Olga’s, the daughter she had lost – but I soon realised how wrong I was.
Catherine saw beyond the façade of competence I cultivated and strove to show the world. She saw my insecurities and understood just how terrified I was of making mistakes, not only as a nurse but socially. She taught me that all men – and women – even those with titles, are equal, and the only thing that matters is how we live our lives between birth and death and the kindness we show to one another.
She sent me notes, inviting me to share meals with her and always phrasing them so it sounded as though I was the one bestowing the favour by visiting her. She invited me to spend my days off at her home, and sought me out at the parties and social events that became more frequent as the works grew in capacity and output and Mr Hughes and his managers finally found the time for leisure.
Catherine organised balls, card parties, dinners, and recitals. Mr Hughes invited musicians, dancers, and actors to perform in Catherine’s home, and on the makeshift stage he had constructed in the hall at company headquarters as an interim measure until he could build a theatre. He chose the companies, and paid all their expenses to travel to Hughesovka as well as their fees.
Occasionally I saw Alice Perkins, now Razina, and Glyn’s wife Betty at the market or in the street. Like Glyn, Richard, and Sarah I always acknowledged them, although they invariably looked straight through me, just as they did the others, including my younger brothers Morgan and Owen. I presumed that Betty and Alice spent most of their time running their boarding house and surmised that they probably invested as much effort in avoiding us as we did them.
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