Falling Stars

by Anita Mills

  The boy slipped inside and closed the door quietly. “I have come to help you escape them.”

  “Viktor—”

  “No—no, it is not impossible.”

  She clasped her arms more tightly, scarce daring to believe him. “How?”

  “They will not come down when I go back to school. I can take you to Paul and Olga, and they will not know until it is too late,” he answered simply.

  “And what of the driver? Or the coachmen? Or the ostlers? I thank you for the thought, but I’m afraid we should be discovered.” She forced a small smile. “I do thank you for the thought,” she said again.

  “Ekaterina, I will say you are my manservant.”

  She looked down at her bulging belly. “Like this?” she asked incredulously. “Viktor, it is obvious I am increasing.”

  “We leave at first light, and you will be bundled warmly against the cold. If you carry a heavy fur rug in front, none will notice,” he argued eagerly. “You have but to pull the cloak hood over your face, Ekaterina.” When he could see she was still uncertain, he added, “You can take some of your clothes in my trunks. Maria will pack them when everyone is asleep.”

  Maria. She shook her head. “I cannot leave Maria to Lena’s certain wrath.”

  “Bring her then. Ekaterina, it is your only chance to escape! Do you want Lena stealing your child from you? She will make him as weak as Lexy!”

  “And how do we get Maria out of the house?”

  “I told you—no one ever comes to see me away. I will say that you have sent her to procure some herbs for you in the village, and I will order a carriage to come for her there.”

  “Why would the same carriage not take her and bring her back?” she countered.

  “Ekaterina, they are serfs. Whatever I say, they must accept whether it makes sense or not. They do not dare to question me.”

  “But when Galena discovers I am gone, she will send after me. If not for me, for my child.”

  “We do not go to Moscow, Ekaterina. I will take you to Omborosloe, and I do not think Lena will wish to push Olga too far. Olga,” he declared somberly, “will not hesitate to spread the scandal to discredit her.”

  “If she has known all these years—”

  “Suspected—not known,” he corrected her. “It has been whispered, but not proven. Only I knew for certain, for I was with Papa when he caught them together at the summer house.”

  “Why do you do this for me?” she asked suddenly. “Why would you risk Lexy’s anger?”

  “Because of what Lena has done to him. She has made him into nothing.”

  The truth was so painful that she did not know if she could face Olga Vladimovna.

  It was as though he guessed her thoughts. “Paul will welcome you, Ekaterina—and Olga will also, for her own reasons.”

  “I see.”

  “It is your only chance.”

  “And the whole world will know what a fool I have been,” Katherine observed bitterly. “They will say I should have known he could not love a plain female.”

  “They will blame Galena Petrovna. And you are not entirely plain, Ekaterina—when you smile, you are not plain at all,” he reassured her awkwardly. “It makes your eyes shine.”

  She didn’t want to go to Omborosloe—she wanted to go to England. But England was so far away that it could not even be contemplated, given the weather. And if she stayed at Domnya, now that there would be no need for pretense, she would be reduced to nothing more than the oven Tati had said. She would be but a pitiful creature, and everyone would know it.

  “How long have you known?” she asked finally.

  “Since I was a small boy. I heard the quarrel, and I will always remember my father’s fury. If he had not died before he could do it, I think he would have given Domnya to Paul because of Lena.”

  She did not know what Lexy would do about the child, whether he would demand her own return or not, but she knew she could not stay there. She could not let Lena rear her son. She exhaled heavily, then raised her eyes to meet Viktor Volsky’s.

  “All right. I will go.”

  It had been an arduous three-day journey because of drifting snow and low temperatures, with Viktor, Katherine, and Maria huddled together beneath the fur rug in the carriage, taking turns being in the middle for the greatest warmth. No fewer than five times the driver and coachman had wanted to turn back, but Viktor managed to shout them down. It was a wonder, Katherine reflected wearily, that the poor fellows had not frozen to the box. They were used to it, Viktor said, but she knew better. They could not be.

  The roads had been nearly empty of travelers, but every time she heard a horse or carriage, her heart paused. She did not believe she’d actually escaped Galena and Alexei until the coach came to a halt before Omborosloe.

  She was so tired, so very tired, and her feet were numb from the cold, so much so that she did not know if she could walk. While Viktor jumped down to explain everything to his brother and Olga, she and Maria remained pressed together beneath the fur, both shivering uncontrollably. If they were turned away, the maid predicted tearfully that they would die.

  “N-nonsense,” Katherine muttered, utterly unconvinced herself.

  It seemed as though they waited an eternity, but finally it was Paul rather than Viktor who opened the carriage door. “You must be careful of her,” he cautioned a man with him. To Katherine, he said, “Do not try to do anything—Ivan will carry you, Ekaterina.”

  She half rose to lean out the door, then quite literally fell into the manservant’s arms. He lifted her easily and started up the stone stairs, while Paul himself guided an unsteady Maria behind them.

  “Welcome to Omborosloe, Ekaterina Ivanova,” Olga murmured, leaning to kiss Katherine’s cold cheek. “What a terrible ordeal you have suffered, but you are safe now. Come, we must get you into something warm, and then we shall speak over some spiced tea—unless you prefer the coffee, of course.”

  “T-tea w-would be f-fine.”

  “Poor Ekaterina. Yelena will see you to your chamber and soak your feet in cold water,” Olga said soothingly. “Then I shall come up to you with the tea.”

  “C-cold water?”

  “Unless you wish to lose your toes. Already Viktor soaks his. That boy—what was he thinking to bring you out in such weather? But of course he had not the choice, little Ekaterina, for you could not stay at Domnya. How Lena must be vexed just now.”

  “Let the girl thaw out,” Paul spoke up. “You may pry later.”

  The man Ivan carried Katherine up the wide staircase and down a long hall to a bedchamber. Following him were Yelena and a stumbling Maria, who complained she could not feel anything either. Already, another two maids had prepared a pan of water and were in the process of filling a tub.

  There was a voluble exchange between Maria and the others before the little maid explained, “You cold, they heat you.”

  “I h-hope s-so. G-go warm yourself.” When the girl did not move, Katherine pointed at Maria, saying, “Tee—zhara.”

  Too tired to protest, Katherine allowed the maids to undress and wrap her in a blanket, then she sat shivering with her feet in the cold water. They stung and burned as the feeling came back. Satisfied, the maids gestured for her to lay upon the bed, where they pounded and pummeled the warmth back into her body. Finally they bathed her, letting her soak in the warm water until the chill receded from her bones.

  It was not until she was swathed in a heavy gown and another blanket and seated before a roaring fire that Olga came up to her. As Katherine watched, the other woman poured two cups of the steaming liquid, then added chunks of brown sugar and a finger of brandy to each.

  “This will make you feel better,” she declared, handing one over. She waited until the drink was sampled, then nodded her approval. “Yes, yes—much better.”

  “Thank you.”

  “There is no need to thank me, Ekaterina. I would do anything to deny Galena Petrovna Domnya—anything.�
� She drank deeply, then sighed her satisfaction. “Yes, you must stay at Omborosloe until the child is born. Galena will be in a rage, but what can she do, I ask you?”

  Katherine felt uneasy. “What about Alexei? Can he demand my return if he discovers I am here?” she asked nervously. “I don’t know anything of your laws.”

  “The laws are what Alexander chooses to make them.” Olga reached to pat Katherine’s hand. “My father is powerfully connected, so you must not worry. When we are done, Galena Petrovna will not dare show her face in Moscow or St. Petersburg,” she declared with conviction. “It will cost Alexei Petrovich Domnya to stop me from exposing him for what he is.”

  “Olga, all I want is a divorce,” Katherine protested. “And to go home to England.”

  “No,” the other woman contradicted, “you shall have revenge.”

  “I have to protect my child—I left Domnya to protect my child.”

  “Yes, yes—of course. But you are in no condition to travel now, anyway—and there is the weather.” Olga finished her cup, then set it aside. Rising, she towered over Katherine. “You must leave everything to me, Ekaterina, and Galena Petrovna will wish she had never been born. I suggest you let Yelena warm your bed that you may rest. You have suffered a terrible shock, and it cannot be very good for you or the child.”

  After she left, Katherine sipped the rest of her brandied tea slowly, thinking that Olga Vladimovna was as managing as Galena. But there was no warmth or kindness in her, not even in pretense.

  Rested, bathed, and dressed in a burgundy velvet gown, Katherine went down early to sup. She hoped to find Viktor, but discovered Paul instead. He came out of his study, and when he saw her, his expression was somber. For a moment, she thought he meant to tell her that Alexei had sent someone to take her back to Domnya.

  “Ah, Ekaterina, you are looking better.” But as he spoke, he did not look at her. “Would you care for some wine or tea before dinner?” He held the door as though he did not expect her to refuse.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Tea—or wine?”

  “Wine will be fine.”

  “Good. We have some of the French variety, I think.” Gesturing to a chair with one hand, he pulled the bell cord with the other. “Some of the champagne, Ilya,” he ordered the servant who came. Turning back to Katherine, he studied her for a moment, then sighed. “First, Ekaterina, I must tell you I am sorry for what you suffer at the hands of my family. Given the circumstances, it was wrong of Alexei to marry anyone.”

  “I was a fool,” she admitted simply. “I should have known he did not care for me.”

  “No, no—he can be quite persuasive, I am sure.”

  She did not spare herself. “He only wanted a child for Galena.”

  He nodded. “Lena grieves for the babe she lost.” He moved away to stare into the flames that licked the neatly stacked logs on the grate, then he cleared his throat. “I do not fault Viktor for bringing you here, but I fear you have not improved your situation.”

  Her heart thudded painfully and her stomach knotted. “I see. You think I should go back.”

  “Not at all.” Returning, he poured two glasses of champagne and handed her one. Sipping his, he looked over the rim. “I think, Ekaterina, that you must do what is right for yourself and your child.”

  “But Viktor said I should be welcomed here. And Olga—”

  “My Olga and Galena are very much alike, I am afraid, although each would deny it.”

  “She said I could stay—that I could stay until my child is born.” She felt a sense of hopelessness. If he turned her out, she had nowhere to go. “Please—at least that long.”

  “Ekaterina, where the babe would have been Galena’s treasure, it will be Olga’s pawn.”

  “I’m afraid I do not understand, sir.”

  “Paul. We are family, Ekaterina Ivanova, and I want to help you.” Again he peered at her above his glass. “My wife, I am afraid, is so taken up with envy and perceived slights that she will do anything to bring my sister down. I, on the other hand, do not want to see my family ruined.” He finished his champagne and set the glass on the table. “I think, Ekaterina, you must decide whether you would have revenge or the child.”

  She stared into her champagne, thinking perhaps she’d had too much, that perhaps her brain was too fogged to follow what he said. “You think Lexy will attempt to take my babe?” she asked him.

  “I think that if you tell this tale of incest, they will make every attempt to put you in an asylum, my dear,” he answered soberly. “And if they do not, Olga will trade the infant for Domnya.”

  “Not while I breathe,” Katherine declared. “I should rather die than raise my child at Domnya.”

  “Alas, but that too can be arranged. My wife, Ekaterina, is a Narransky—and the Narranskys have intrigued for centuries. What they dare not do openly, they will achieve anyway—by exploiting weakness, by threats—and sometimes by poison.”

  “Are you saying Olga would have me killed?” she asked incredulously.

  “I am saying she is not beyond it—unless you are willing to let her use the child to bring my brother down.”

  She sat very still, her mind trying to understand that she faced the possibility of an insane asylum or death, that she’d allowed herself to be caught between two scheming women. Putting aside her glass, she clasped her hands in her lap and tried to think rationally.

  “There is nowhere else to go, I am afraid,” she said finally. “Unless—no, it would not serve,” she decided. “He came here to escape scandal rather than cause one.”

  “An Englishman?”

  “Yes. And I do not even know where he is.” She looked at her hands. “Before Christmas, he was with Marshal Sherkov and his wife. Now he has removed to a hotel somewhere in Moscow.”

  “Could you trust him, do you think?” he probed gently.

  The image of Bellamy Townsend came to mind. She shook her head. “I don’t know. I have no claim on him, other than he is my brother’s friend.”

  “Could he perhaps be persuaded by money?”

  The irony of everything bore down on her, and she smiled wryly. “Unless he has lost it, he is possessed of a considerable fortune. Besides, I cannot think he would help me, for he has such a shocking reputation that we both should be ruined. I do not think he would risk being ostracized forever for anyone.” She studied her hands again for a moment. “Indeed, I know he would not. He has run from every scandal of his making, so why should he wish to embroil himself in mine?”

  “I see.” He put his fingertips together and contemplated the fire again. “Well, then I shall have to think of something else, n’est-ce-pas? In the meantime, you must not worry. You have—what?—three months perhaps?” he guessed.

  “Yes.”

  “It is enough time to discover a way out, I think.”

  “Ekaterina Ivanova, you are down early,” Olga observed, coming into the room. “Ah, Paul, you have entertained her, I see.”

  “Yes.”

  “I have told her we will protect her.”

  “But of course.”

  “You see, Ekaterina? You will stay here with us, and Alexei will not dare demand your return.” She looked around briefly, then asked her husband, “But where is Viktor?”

  “He is more afraid of Galena than you are, my darling. He has already left for school.”

  “The Volskys!” she spat out. “They are all weak men.”

  Surprisingly, Paul did not dispute it. “What are we having for supper tonight?” he asked as though he’d not heard the other.

  “Lamb, dumplings, sour cabbage soup—too much to remember, I am sure. “We did not expect a guest, but no doubt the cook will manage. If you are finished, Ekaterina, you may come with me, and I will show you Omborosloe. It is not,” she declared with a withering look at her husband, “nearly so big as Domnya.”

  Katherine covered her empty glass with hand. “Er, I find myself rather tired from the journe
y, and if you do not mind it, I should prefer to finish my champagne.”

  “Champagne?” The other woman’s eyebrow lifted. “You gave her champagne, Paul?”

  “To celebrate her escape, Olga,” he told her.

  “Ah, yes—a celebration is in order. Little Ekaterina, we have but begun. Before this year is out, we will live at Domnya,” she predicted smugly. “You will go home in triumph.”

  “I don’t—” Katherine caught his warning look. “That is, I hope that Lexy will not be there.”

  “Humph! He will be most fortunate to be here, if I have anything to say,” Olga assured her. “Very well, you may drink your champagne without me.” She looked down to where Katherine’s feet were visible beneath the hem of her gown. “How long have you had that?” she asked suddenly.

  “What?”

  “Those ankles.”

  “You mean the swelling? For the last several weeks, I’m afraid,” Katherine admitted ruefully. “Increasing tends to make one rather ugly, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, I do not like that. Paul, do you see? We must have the doctor to examine her.” She smiled thinly at Katherine. “Nothing must happen to the child, Ekaterina.”

  “He won’t come in this weather, Olga,” her husband reminded her. “As he gets old, he prefers to stay by the fire, mumbling over his vodka. Would you have a drunkard tend her—or do you not think perhaps she ought to see Karasov?”

  “In Moscow?” Again, her eyebrow rose perceptibly. “Why would you say that?”

  “Because you are concerned. Kanin is worthless if anything goes wrong.”

  “It is something to consider,” she conceded. “Yes, for once, you are right. I do not like those ankles at all. When my sister Natalya swelled like that, she lost the child. And I am sure it would ease Ekaterina’s mind to know that everything is all right.”

  “Perhaps you should go with her,” he suggested.

  “Why would you say that? You know very well that I despise Moscow in the winter. Unless the czar is there, it is a worthless place.”

  “Ekaterina knows no one there.”

  “She will know you,” Olga declared with a finality that brooked no argument. “You will take her.”