by Anita Mills
“You are not abed, Ekaterina?” As she looked up, Alexei came into the room, carrying a half-empty bottle of vodka in his hand. He walked closer to stand over her. He was obviously more than a little foxed. “You did not eat much,” he muttered. “It is to be hoped you are not ill—we have too far to go in a closed carriage.
“I am not ill.”
“Then get up and go to bed.” He drank directly from the bottle, then wiped it with his sleeve. “Here—this will make you sleep better.” When she did not take it, he pushed it at her. “Drink.”
“You are disguised, my lord,” she told him disgustedly.
“Disguised?”
“Drunk.”
“If I am, it is none of your affair.” He set the bottle down beside her and began to undress. “Come on—we leave at the first light.”
Reluctantly, she rose and went to lie upon the bed. Turning her face toward the wall, she closed her eyes and pretended to fall asleep. She lay very still as she felt the feather mattress give beneath his weight. The room was quiet except for the crackling and popping of the fire.
He rolled against her back and reached his arm around her. His hand found her breast, and he massaged her nipple between his thumb and finger through the cloth. Still she did not move.
“Take off the gown,” he said thickly against her ear.
She neither stirred nor answered.
“You like this, you tell me,” he reminded her. “It is always ‘Lexy, hold me.’ Tonight I feel like holding you.”
“I don’t want to—not like this,” she said finally, her voice low.
“I have come to you, Ekaterina—you see? I am here. Now—” His hand slid lower, over her abdomen, to her hip.
“Lexy, you are drunk,” she whispered painfully. “I would that you did not ask it of me.”
“Lena spoils you,” he growled.
His mouth came down on hers, and his tongue forced its way between her teeth. She could taste the vodka, and it was as though every fiber of her being rebelled. She gagged and pushed him away.
“I’m going to be sick, Lexy!”
It took a moment for him to comprehend, then he pushed her away. “Boris!” he bawled for his manservant.
She lurched from the bed to the basin, where she was thoroughly, utterly ill. Bracing herself on her elbows, she heaved and heaved until there was nothing. Then she reached for the cloth on the turned wooden rung. Wiping her damp face, she faced Alexei.
He said something in Russian, then shouted again, “Boris!”
“It is all right—I am better.”
“I do not sleep with the smell of rvat!” he snapped.
Someone knocked on the door, and Galena came in. “What is the matter?” She saw the basin, then turned to Kate. “Oh, Ekaterina, I am so sorry! But what good will Boris do for her, Lexy? Here, ma petite,” she again addressed Katherine, “we must get you a clean gown.”
“He can clean this up,” he muttered. “And do not wait on her, Lena—there is Maria for that. You are beginning to act like an Angleechahnka!”
“You must not upset her in her condition!”
“Is that all you can think of, Lena?” he demanded angrily. “What of me?”
“You are drunk,” she declared. “Go to sleep, and I will tend Ekaterina.”
“Where in hell is Boris?” he repeated belligerently.
“I told him not to come.”
“The rvat—”
His sister removed the basin from the stand and carried it to the chamber pot, where she emptied it. Putting on the lid, she said, “There. It is done, and I will set the bowl out in the hall.”
“Lena, I have had enough of this!”
As Katherine watched, the Russian woman walked to stand over him. Leaning down, she brushed his hair back from his face, much in the manner of a mother tending her child. Then she pressed a kiss against his forehead. His arm came up to embrace her before she pulled away.
“Men! When they drink the vodka, they are as infants, Ekaterina. You must not worry over this. He will be fine in the morning.” Coming back to Kate, she murmured, “And now we will get another night rail for you, and you will go back to bed, n’est-ce-pas!”
As the older woman helped her out of the soiled gown, Kate whispered unhappily, “The fault was mine—I should not have denied him, but—”
Galena’s head snapped back, and she glared at her brother. “Lexy, you will kill the child!”
“Lena, you remind me she is my wife,” he retorted defensively. “Always you remind me.”
“She is the little mother!” Galena found a clean gown from one of the traveling boxes and slipped it over Kate’s head. “If he misuses you, you may come to my chamber, cherie,” she told her.
“No.”
As the door closed after the other woman, Katherine returned to bed. Lying down, she said nothing.
“You should not have told her,” he said finally. “You worry Lena.”
“I understand,” she answered tiredly. But she didn’t. “I just pray you will go to sleep until you are sober.”
He turned onto his side, his back to her, and grunted his good night. Within a few minutes, he snored lightly as he slept off the effect of the bottle.
She lay awake, swallowing back still more disappointment. She knew that part of the problem between them must surely be her pregnancy. But as she lay there in silent misery, she could not help thinking of how different Bell Townsend had been when she was ill. The self-centered rake had been the one to act promptly, while her own husband had responded angrily.
Had Alexei not slept, she would almost have dared to ask him why he’d married her. But too much of her wished to cling to the notion that he’d loved her, that once she was at Domnya, everything would be all right.
Nothing could have prepared Katherine for Domnya. Not St. Petersburg. Not Moscow. Not Alexei’s and Galena’s prideful descriptions of it. As tired as she was after sixteen days of traveling rough and muddy roads, with only half a week spent in Moscow, she could only stare when she saw her new home.
It emerged suddenly out of thick-timbered hills, sitting on a bluff above the Moscow River, a huge, gray stone house with blackened chimneys that disappeared into the gray sky. As the carriage wended its way along the crooked road, the skeletons of winter timber gave way to an open parkland, then to a snow-dusted brown lawn.
Finally, for the last quarter mile or so, ruddy-faced women, perhaps as many as one hundred, raked piles of frosted leaves, then gathered them in dirty skirts. Behind the house, a tall column of smoke curled its way into heavy, hanging storm clouds.
“They are late, Lexy,” Galena observed, her lips drawn thin. “It should have been done weeks ago. Now it will be too late to burn everything.”
He stirred slightly, then sat up sleepily. “We are almost home?”
“We are home.” She turned to Katherine, sighing. “The serfs are lazy when we are gone. I will discuss it with Popov tonight, and things will change. But,” she added significantly, “you will see that none is hungry or in rags here. It is a matter of pride to us that Popov does not allow it.”
“Popov?”
“He is the steward. Madame Popov oversees the kitchens and the housekeeping. Badin is responsible for the footmen and the wine cellars, and Raschev—”
“You give her too much to remember, Lena—let her meet them first,” Alexei cut in, interrupting her.
“She is Countess Volsky,” Galena countered. “They will expect her to know them. But perhaps you are right—if she greets Madame Popov, it is enough for today.”
Popov. Madame Popov. Badin. Raschev. It did not seem so difficult to remember four people. “How many staff are there?” Katherine asked.
“Inside or outside?”
“Inside, as I should imagine those to be my responsibility.”
“Well, you would have to ask Popov, of course, as I am not entirely certain. How many sweet cakes did we give in the house at Christmas and East
er, Lexy? Sixty, I think.”
“Sixty-five, Popov said. But he was bringing two more into the house before winter.”
Katherine nearly choked. “Sixty-seven servants?”
“Well, we are not so rich as the Sheremetievs, of course,” Galena conceded. “They have two hundred serfs who merely put on plays for them. But we do very well with what we have. Besides what there is here, Lexy has nearly two thousand people at Dyeryivuhee, where we spend the summers on the Black Sea.”
Katherine stole another sidewise glance out the window to the house, and her heart sank. She would not know where to begin learning how to be mistress of it. Her thoughts must have shown in her face, for Alexei’s sister leaned across the seat to pat her hand.
“You must not worry over anything, Ekaterina. I shall be with you to guide you. Other than learning some of the names, you need only be concerned with yourself.”
“I should wish to do what is expected.”
Galena’s fingers closed over hers, squeezing them. “What is expected, cherie, is a son for Domnya. It is all that is asked of you.” Her expression changed, and she spoke rapidly in Russian to Alexei. There was no mistaking that she was displeased.
He leaned forward to look for himself, then smiled wryly. “Well, Ekaterina, you shall see Paul—and Olga Vladimovna.”
“Ta zhenshcheena! Ta zmyiya!” Galena fairly spat the words out. “You must be careful, ma petite. She will poison you with lies.”
“As if she could,” Katherine protested.
“Good. She is the zmyiya,” she repeated. “A snake—a viper.” She looked at her brother. “How long do you mean to let them stay?”
“He was born at Domnya, Lena. I cannot—”
“Pah. He has a reason, and it cannot be good.”
As the carriage finally reached the end of the drive, it rolled to a halt beside a long stone side porch. Before the coachman could reach for the door, a girl flew out of the house her dark hair swinging over her shoulders.
“Lexy! Lexy!”
Galena frowned. “Tati also?”
He threw up his hands as if he were defending himself. “I wrote that she could come home to meet Ekaterina Ivanova. She will return to school next week.”
His sister’s lips pressed tightly. “You did not tell me.”
The carriage door swung open, and the girl stuck her head inside. “Is she here? Did you bring her?”
“Of course I brought her! Did you think I would leave her in Moscow?’” he countered, grinning. “Ekaterina Ivanova, this is Tatiana, our infant sister.”
“I am sixteen!” the girl protested. Her gaze moved eagerly to Katherine, and her smile froze. “Ek-Ekaterina,” she stammered. “I’d thought—”
“It does not matter what you thought,” Galena interrupted her coldly. “You must welcome Countess Volsky.”
“Yes—yes, of course. Your pardon, Ekaterina Ivanova—I did not mean to stare, but—”
“That is enough, Tati,” her sister said firmly. “I see that Paul has come and brought that woman.”
“She would not let him come without her. When I wrote, I only meant—”
“You wrote Paul? Tati, you know very well—”
“Well, it is not every day that Lexy takes a wife.” The girl hung her head. “I did not think he would mind if I told Paul.” Not daring to look at her sister, the girl added, “Viktor is come home also.”
“What?”
Tatiana turned to Alexei. “Well, you did not say I could not tell them!”
He appeared uncomfortable beneath Galena’s baleful stare. “No, no—it is all right. Ekaterina will wish to meet everyone, I am sure.”
“I have looked forward to it all the way from England,” Katherine assured her, smiling. “I have a younger sister also.”
“The coachman is waiting, Tati,” Galena reminded the girl.
“Oh-yes.”
Alexei went first, then turned to lift his sister down. As she straightened her travel-wrinkled skirt, he reached for Katherine. His hands caught at her waist, then he swung her to the ground. As a tall woman emerged from the house, her arms crossed against the cold October day, he stepped in front of Katherine.
“Nyivyesta?” the woman demanded.
“The bride is here,” Galena responded frostily. “Alexei, you will present Olga Vladimovna to Ekaterina.”
“He will present her to me,” Olga corrected stiffly. “It is my right.”
“Yes, yes—we all know you are a prince’s daughter,” Galena retorted, her impatience evident. “But you are Olga Volskaya also—wife to Alexei’s younger brother. Lexy?”
“Er—Ekaterina, as you have already heard, she is Olga, my brother Paul’s wife.”
“Prastoya!” Olga spat at him. “I do not kiss her!”
“Olga!” A tall, thin, almost austere man came up behind her. “There is to be no unpleasantness.” He turned his attention to Katherine and forced a faint smile as he inclined his head slightly. “Ekaterina Ivanova.”
Katherine was uncertain as to what she was supposed to do; nonetheless, she extended her gloved hand. “Paul?”
“My brother,” Alexei muttered.
As the man bent to kiss her fingers, he murmured, “You have surprised us greatly, Ekaterina. We had despaired that Alexei would take a wife. Indeed, it did not seem possible.”
He looked older rather than younger than Lexy, and aside from the height, there was little resemblance between them. He stepped back, and there was an awkward silence. Finally, he turned to his wife and said something in Russian. She glared at him for a moment, then stepped forward to clasp Katherine’s hands. Leaning forward slightly, she brushed an utterly impersonal kiss on each cheek.
“Welcome to Russia, syistra,” she said, her voice flat.
“Thank you.”
Olga looked to Alexei. “She does not speak Russian?”
“She will learn,” Galena murmured. Then, unable to completely hide her triumph, she added smugly, “She will have much time while we are waiting for Lexy’s heir.” As the other woman reddened, she continued smoothly, “Yes, Olga—Ekaterina is byiryemyinnaya.”
Paul’s wife stared hard. “This is your doing, Lena—I know it!” she spat out. “Everyone knows Lexy would never—”
“That is enough, Olga.” Paul moved between her and Katherine. “It is between Ekaterina and Lexy only.” To Katherine, he smiled. “I wish you and the child well, my dear.”
“Tati said that Viktor is here.”
“Da. And as is always the case,” Olga said angrily, “he is in need of money.”
“That is not your concern.”
“He asks Paul, saying you do not allow him enough!”
“Alexei, I am cold,” Katherine said quickly, hoping to escape the hostility.
“But of course, daragaya. There will be time for more pleasantries later. Lena, perhaps you can see to arrangements for her.”
“We will find Madame Popov. Come, ma petite—you are not yet used to the climate.” Without waiting for Katherine, she brushed past her sister-in-law, her skirt swishing.
As Katherine passed Olga, the woman repeated, “Prastoya,” under her breath.
Once inside, Katherine hurried after Galena. “What is prastoya’!”
“I told you, she is a viper,” Alexei’s sister muttered. “Popov! Popov!” She pulled a heavy cord several times. “Imbeciles! I am surrounded by imbeciles!”
A stem, stiff woman, as gray as the dress she wore, came down the stairs. “Da, gaspazha?”
“Ekaterina Volskaya.”
The woman curtsied low. “Dabro pazhahluvat v Domnya, dahma.”
Recognizing the words for a welcome, Katherine smiled. “Thank you.”
Madame Popov appeared surprised. She looked to Galena. “Ana gavareetye rooski yazik?”
“Nyet. Angleechahnka.”
“She does not speak English?” Katherine asked with foreboding.
“No. She just asked if you spoke R
ussian. I told her you were English. It will not matter, cherie, for I will speak for you.” Galena ordered, “Krahsnaya spalnya.” As the woman nodded, she explained, “There—I have told her to put you in the red bedroom. It adjoins Lexy’s, and there is a sitting room and water closet on the other side.”
“Does anyone here speak English?” Katherine persisted.
“We all do—the Volskys are educated, Ekaterina.”
“But the servants—”
“Unfortunately, no.”
It seemed overwhelming. Katherine exhaled fully, then nodded. “I shall need a Russian tutor as quickly as possible.”
“Da, “Galena agreed. “And until one is found, I will help you. But not today, I think. We are both too tired, and Olga has made me out of temper.” She said something in Russian to the housekeeper, then turned back to Katherine. “She will show you up, and I shall come directly. But for now, I would see the men are careful with our trunks.” When she saw the younger woman hesitate, she urged her, “Go on—one of the maids will draw a bath for you.”
Daunted by being surrounded by people she could not understand and who could not understand her, Katherine followed the stern-looking woman up the stairs. At the top, the staircase spread out into a sort of foyer that tapered into a long, marble-tiled hallway ending in another, matching set of stairs that continued upward. Long Oriental runners muted her footsteps. Madame Popov stopped abruptly and threw open a door.
“Zdyiss.”
“Thank you.”
There was an awkward moment, then the woman nodded, obviously not understanding. Her expression utterly sober, she dropped another curtsy and was gone.
Katherine moved about the room in awe, touching the gilt trim on a chair, smelling the out-of-season roses in an exquisite Sevres vase. The awful thought that she, the plain Miss Winstead from Monk’s End, did not belong here stuck in her mind. Finally, she sank into a chair and waited.
“Ekaterina?” Before Katherine could answer, Tatiana slipped into the room. “I told Galena I would speak with the maid for you.”
“I am going to have to learn Russian,” Katherine said grimly. “And sooner rather than later.”