Falling Stars

by Anita Mills

  He obliged grudgingly, much as an unwilling child. “I am sure you will enjoy warming yourself before the fire with the milk punch.”

  Bell’s nose wrinkled perceptibly, and Katherine hastened to assure him, “It is not at all what you would think—it is quite good.”

  “The milk—it is fermented,” Sofia explained. “And there are spices. If you do not know what it is, you like it.”

  “Yes—just don’t think about what you are drinking,” Galena said.

  “Good for the constitution,” Marshal Sherkov spoke up loudly. “I say we find the fire and share a few cups between us.”

  “Galena—” There was no mistaking Alexei’s impatience.

  She sighed expressively. “Always he can do nothing without me. Ekaterina, will you see to everyone’s comfort, ma petite?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  As they disappeared into Alexei’s study, a footman held the other door open. Waiting for Sherkov, who moved slowly, Bell leaned closer to Katherine. “We are not the only revelers, I hope?”

  “No. Galena has invited Prince Pahlin and his wife and the Rostophievs. But whether Count Zelensky is coming is as yet uncertain, because of the storm and the distance. Alas, but Anya and Prince Golachev cannot travel so far in the weather.” The light danced impishly in her eyes. “But you can hope Zelensky will not be here, for he is considered the most handsome man in all of Russia.”

  “I assure you I should welcome him. I tire of the role.”

  Sofia turned around. “And what of Paul and Olga? Surely they would wish—”

  Her husband grunted. “If Olga Vladimovna comes, it will be unpleasant. The woman rules Paul, and I cannot stand that.”

  “Yet you tolerate Galena Petrovna.”

  “She has no husband to rule,” he retorted. “Not that I did not pity Cyril Malenkov when he lived. It was a struggle between them.”

  “Aren’t Viktor and Tati here?” Sofia asked.

  “Yes, but I did not count them, for they belong here when they are not in school,” Katherine answered.

  The fire in the front reception room blazed invitingly, and the warm, enticing fragrance of sap floated in the air as the handful of green pine chips popped and crackled beneath the logs. A giant bearskin, its glass eyes fixed, stared incongruously from one of the lovely silk-covered walls.

  Bell took the steaming punch from a footman and studied the massive bear head. “Dashed big fellow, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes. Alexei hunted in Siberia with Prince Pahlin, and that was his prize,” Katherine murmured, looking away. “It seems such a waste that the poor beast must glare forever from a wall, doesn’t it?”

  Sofia looked at it, then shrugged. “Well, I suppose you could put it on the floor.”

  “Forgive me for sitting,” her husband said from the depths of a tall wing chair. “Old wound, you know.” His eyes took in the bear, and he nodded. “Magnificent animal—but dangerous. Poor Chelinsky was gutted in one swipe—got to be careful how you go about taking ’em. Alexei Petrovich is either a brave man or a fool—or both.”

  “Perhaps he had someone shoot it for him,” Sofia suggested. “It is not uncommon.”

  “Nyet. The beast charged me, and I brought him down. If you will examine the skin closely, you can see where the ball entered its throat before severing its spine.” Alexei walked into the room, his color heightened, and for a moment Katherine wondered if perhaps he’d been drinking. Taking a cup, he toasted the bear, mocking it. “May the best always win, eh?” He looked to her. “You do not have any, daragaya?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Poor Ekaterina—she has lived on digestive biscuits Lena orders from Moscow for her, but now she is better.” His mouth curved in a smile as he added significantly, “I told her she had to eat, that I did not wish a skinny son.”

  “Then you should have gotten a fatter wife in the first place,” Sofia told him. “What if the sons, they are short like her—and the daughters, they are tall like Alexei Petrovich—then what will Galena Petrovna think?” she asked slyly. “It would be a pity if they did not get your looks, I think.”

  “Galena Petrovna would love them,” Alexei’s sister said coldly. She swept into the room, stopping next to Katherine. “Really, Sofia, but you ought to drink that—I am told milk is good for the complexion.”

  “Ah, Lexy,” the other woman sighed, “but you must have the patience of a saint to live with her—no? And poor Ekaterina—what she must suffer here. Galena is so beautiful—so very beautiful—and—”

  “Ekaterina is not your concern, Sofia,” he responded curtly. “Galena will take care of her.” He touched Katherine’s shoulder lightly. “If you do not feel like eating tonight, you do not need to come down. I am certain everyone will understand.”

  “I am fine—truly.” Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a footman trying to gain his attention. “Lexy, there is Boris,” she murmured.

  His irritation evident, Alexei went to the door, where the man spoke diffidently, his voice so low that Katherine could not hear. Her husband barked brief orders, then came back to set his cup down. “My apologies, but there is business that cannot wait.” He beckoned to Galena. “See that Ekaterina does not tire herself.” Leaning toward her, he whispered something quickly, his lips so close to his sister’s ears that he appeared to kiss her.

  “Go on—I will attend to everything. You will have enough time before supper,” Galena answered him clearly in English. Turning to Katherine, she said only, “It is nothing to worry about.”

  He’d confided in his sister, not her, and Katherine felt as though Sofia Sherkova were staring pityingly at her. But Galena’s hand touched hers, squeezing her fingers momentarily. “It is nothing,” she repeated more loudly for them.

  “Ah, Ekaterina Ivanova,” Sofia murmured, “you let her manage everything for you? How very fortunate you are—but then she has always managed Lexy so very well.”

  “Teeshe,” her husband growled. “Astaf-tye yeyol” To Katherine, he said more kindly, “You must not mind her—it is that she is tired from the journey.”

  “Then perhaps Madame Sherkov would wish to retire to refresh her spirits,” Galena offered stiffly. “Popov! Popov!” Without waiting for him to appear, she marched to the door, the heavy silk of her skirt swishing against her petticoat. “He will see you are directed to your bedchamber, I am sure. Popov!”

  Apparently, she found him just outside, for she could be heard speaking tersely to him. Almost immediately, a liveried footman appeared, bowing from the waist toward Sofia Sherkova. “Slyedoo-i-tye zamnoy, Gaspazha.”

  “Nyet, “ she snapped. “Ya yishcho nye sabrahlsa!”

  Her husband rose unsteadily from his chair. “Well, I am ready, and if there is a fire in the chamber, I will go with you. My leg pains me, and I am tired. You can help me to bed and read to me.”

  She capitulated gracelessly. As the old man took her arm, Bell could not help smiling, thinking it was no more than she deserved. She passed him, her expression stony, and once she was in the hall, he heard her mutter, “One day everyone will know what she is. As for Ekaterina Ivanova, she is a fool that she does not see it.”

  “You chatter too much,” Sherkov told her bluntly. “I do not wish to hear it.”

  “Men are blind,” she complained. “Did you not see how she looked at Townsend? I wonder that Alexei Petrovich did not note it.”

  “It is not your concern.” There was a pause, then the old man added, “And if Ekaterina Ivanova would bed the Englishman, that is not your affair also. If I discover differently, there will not be enough of you or him to feed three crows.”

  “Gregori … Gregori … how could you doubt me?” she crooned softly. “Do I not show you—and am I not at your side every night? Besides, he is unable, the maids tell me,” she said. “Do you not trust me?”

  Sherkov’s answer was lost in the distance. Embarrassed that Katherine might have heard Sofia, Bell turned toward her. �
��The woman’s a fool, Kate.”

  “That should suit you.” But even as she spoke, she smiled. “You know, Bell Townsend, I never thought I should see the day when I actually wished for your company,” she said softly.

  “Blue-deviled?”

  “No. Homesick for England and Harry.”

  “As am I, Kate—as am I.” He went to the bowl and dipped another glass of punch for himself. Grimacing, he downed it. “I hate this place, you know.”

  “Here—or all of Russia?”

  “All of it. For one thing, it’s too damned cold by half, and for another, a man cannot get a decent drink. Vodka!” He fairly spat out the word. “It’s made from a damned potato!”

  “Poor Townsend,” she murmured.

  “You know what, Kate? I have even missed your barbs.”

  “Then it must surely be time for you to go home to England.”

  “Devil of it is, I cannot.”

  “Surely by now Hopewell must know Fanny lied.”

  “Everyone says I will have to wait for the spring thaws to travel much beyond Moscow. It took us two days to get here, when it should have been a matter of a few hours. Unlike England, where a coach can make ten miles to the hour, we are fortunate to have made ten hours to the mile.”

  “It isn’t quite that bad,” she corrected him, smiling.

  “Dashed near it. All right—Sherkov boasted to me that we made three miles to the hour, Madame Honesty.” Still carrying his glass, he moved to look out the window. “Look at it—and they say much of the country is worse.”

  “I take it there is much snow in Moscow?”

  “Snow?” he said, choking. “Kate, you have no notion! I have not seen anything like this since the Frost Fair!”

  “That wasn’t very long ago,” she reminded him.

  “But that was an aberration! Here they expect this.”

  “Well, at least you have Sofia to comfort you,” she observed wickedly.

  “Like a plague of locusts,” he muttered.

  “You know what ails you, Bell? You have made a conquest you cannot escape.”

  “The devil I have,” he retorted. “And she isn’t a conquest, I assure you,” he added, shuddering. “I can scarce abide her.” Turning back, he sighed. “I’m removing to a hotel when I go back to Moscow.”

  “You could stay here, I suppose.”

  For a moment, he considered it, then he shook his head. “No. The next thing you’d hear is I am dangling after Galena Malenkova—or you.”

  “Nobody would believe it about me.” Her hand rested on her stomach.

  “How are you, really?”

  “Once the sickness passed, everything was fine. I told you—sometimes I am homesick, but that’s all. As you can see, I have filled out considerably.”

  His gaze rested briefly on her larger breasts, then returned to her face. “Most definitely,” he said, teasing her. “And you are treated well?”

  “I should have expected that from you,” she admitted, blushing. “And, yes, I am pampered and cosseted until I cannot even do my own buttons.” It was her turn to sigh. “If anything, he treats me too well, as though he fears I am too fragile for any use.”

  “And Galena?”

  “She is worse. If she could, she’d put me in a glass case until the babe comes. I am to do nothing, Bell—nothing. One would think I am a queen awaiting the birth of the royal heir.”

  “And you do not like it—the hoyden in you rebels.”

  “Not the hoyden,” she corrected him. “The woman.”

  “Tired of your golden cage already, Kate?”

  “No, of course not!” she snapped crossly. “Everything is fine!” She caught herself. “I’m sorry—I don’t know what it is about you that makes me want to rip up at you. If I just had Harry to talk to—” She looked up at him. “You are all I have of England over here, my friend, so I must learn to hold my tongue, mustn’t I?”

  “How you have sunk,” he murmured, “to have to call me a friend. Time was when you could not abide the sight of me.”

  “That was then,” she admitted candidly. “Now I have longed to hear you speak my native tongue the way God intended it.”

  Before he could say anything further, Galena returned, obviously disgusted. “That Sofia—she has no breeding! Sometimes I think Gregori discovered her among the camp followers!” She put her arms around Katherine, hugging her affectionately. “She is jealous of you, ma petite, for you have Lexy. For years she has made the eyes at him.”

  “I should rather think her jealous of you,” Kate responded.

  “If she is, she has no reason.” Galena’s gaze moved to Bell. “You do not think I cast out the lures to you?”

  “No.”

  “Good. We are friends then, Townsend. Now, it is not enough that we must sit cooped up together in the house, I think. Tell me—do you skate? Perhaps later Lexy—”

  “Not in years, I am afraid.”

  “Then you must learn.” Abruptly, her manner changed. “Poor Bellamy, you are tired of Sofia already—I can see it. Where could I send you to escape her, I wonder? Perhaps you could make mischief for my brother Paul. You almost make me wish Olga Vladimovna could see you … now she would be a challenge for you.”

  “Dahma?” The man Boris stood uneasily in the open doorway.

  Alexei’s sister frowned her displeasure. “Shto?”

  Katherine could not understand his answer, but seeing that Galena’s frown deepened, she tried to intervene. “What is it?” she asked quickly.

  “That woman! She says the chimney of her fireplace smokes!” Throwing up her hands in disgust, Galena added irritably, “I would she choked from it! But it is not your worry, Ekaterina—I shall tell him to carry her complaint to Madame Popov.” She reached to pat Katherine’s cheek. “You, little mother, must rest for your child’s health.” Before the younger woman could protest, she whirled to snap an order to Boris, then called out loudly, “Maria! Maria! Syaychass.’”

  “Really, but I don’t—” It did no good, for Galena was not listening to her. Instead, she swished imperiously to the bellpull and yanked it almost violently.

  “Da, dahma?”

  “There you are, you lazy creature! You will put your mistress to bed—and see that she does not rise until it is time to dress her for dinner!”

  “I am not tired, Lena,” Katherine protested. “And there will be other guests. I don’t—”

  “Nonsense,” Galena declared. “You must take care of yourself.”

  She made Katherine feel like a child herself, but the younger woman forced herself to admit Alexei’s sister meant it as a kindness. Reluctantly, Katherine capitulated. “Well, I do not promise to go to bed, but perhaps I shall read. I am nearly finished with Pride and Prejudice again.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Galena murmured dismissively. “You may read it in bed. And if you do not wish to skate, Townsend, perhaps you will wish a fire in your chamber. “Boris! Now, where is he? Boris! These serfs,” she muttered, “they are like children. I have to watch them all the time.”

  The man returned, his hands held behind his back, his head lowered submissively. She said something in Russian that made him pale, then she turned back to Bell.

  “You may follow him upstairs, and Popov will see that your trunks are delivered to your chamber.”

  She was too forceful, too imperious for a woman, and he did not like it. “Actually,” he drawled, “I was thinking of calling for my cloak and walking outside to see the inimitable Domnya. I am afraid Sofia prattled about the place all the way here.”

  Katherine stared at him. “In this weather? Bell, you said you did not like the cold!”

  “I need air. I’ll see you at supper, Kate. Galena.”

  As he escaped, Galena shrugged, then turned to Katherine. “That poor man.”

  “Bell?”

  “Ah, such a waste,” the Russian woman murmured. “When Gregori was still trying to get up the stairs, Sofia told me he h
as lost his virility.”

  “He is old, Lena.”

  “Not Gregori, little one—Townsend.”

  Katherine stared, then she shook her head. No wonder he remained in Russia. But she supposed if it were true, that it was nothing less than his just desserts. For him, the pursuit of females had been his life. It had to be much as if Harry discovered his luck at the gaming tables deserted him. Yet, for all that she did not approve of his life, she could not help feeling sorry for him.

  It was summer, and the fields were a rich, deep green. Her pony picked its way across the shallow ford as she leaned forward, eager to catch the first glimpse of him. Behind her, her sister complained. And then the black lacquered carriage came around the curve. She spurred the spotted pony, urging it forward, hoping to be the first to greet him. The carriage stopped in the road, and her father stepped down, his arms outstretched toward her.

  “Aieeeeyeee! Aieeeeyeee! Aieeeeyeee!” Somewhere in the distance, a child screamed, intruding on her dreams. She lay there, her mind still grogged with sleep, thinking she’d only imagined the terror she’d heard. Then there was no mistaking the running footsteps on the stairs, the shouts of servants calling for help.

  She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. The awful stench hit her then, and she had to lean forward, her head between her knees, to keep from gagging. She swallowed hard and waited for it to pass. She felt clammy, nearly too sick to rise. And still there was the strange, sickly sweet smell—as though someone roasted a suckling pig in the house.

  “Maria—” she called weakly. There was no answer—only muffled sounds coming from somewhere down the hall. “Maria—” she tried again.

  Finally, she rose shakily. Picking up the wrapper on the bedside chair, she pulled it on and tied it, then found her slippers. The smoke burned her eyes. Dear God, is the house on fire? she wondered. Covering her nose, she moved to the bedchamber door, opening it.

  A group of people were gathered near the end of the hall. As Katherine stared, more men ran up the back stairs. Then Galena saw her.

  “You must go back, Ekaterina—this is not for your eyes.”