Gypsy Jewel

by Patricia McAllister

  April had to admit that it sounded amusing. She had played at being a lady, and as Damien had so caustically suggested, why not try the real thing? It sounded like the ideal adventure to take her mind off a husband who did not want her anymore. Perhaps all men were not so immune to her. It certainly might prove interesting to find out.

  Chapter Sixteen

  THE SNOW HAD STOPPED by the time Ivanov’s sleigh moved through the massive gates and over the moat surrounding the inner circle of Moscow. Because there was no natural water barrier around the numerous palaces and cathedrals, the moat had been fashioned centuries ago with a slight diversion of the Moskva River.

  Tonight the magical aura of the Kremlin was enhanced by darkness, and thousands of lights highlighted the gleaming onion-shaped domes and the eagles topping them. As the sleigh slowed, allowing for other traffic snaking toward the Great Palace, April peered through the coach window and stared breathlessly at the wonderland that awaited her.

  Tapered gate towers flanked the entrance to the first building, the Cathedral of the Assumption. The white masonry was elegantly enhanced by curved arches that divided the stonework. A crown of five golden domes soared above them into the darkness.

  Two other smaller, but no less beautiful, cathedrals were followed by the Granovitaya Palace, also of white sandstone, but faceted so expertly that it flashed and glittered like a precious jewel. Reminded of her own diamond, April touched her neck, but then she remembered that she had taken it off and hidden it in a secret space she had found in the vanity in the Gold Room.

  Ivanov’s fiancée had apparently not known about the little false bottom on one drawer, because it was empty. April had decided her gem would be safer there tonight instead of around her neck in such a perilously low-cut evening gown.

  Ivanov pointed out the Cathedral of the Archangel next, built in the early 15th century. It was the traditional last resting place of the czars. The building resembled no tomb April had ever seen, with six huge pillars of frosty stone, five gold domes, and scalloped friezes that stood as art alone.

  Everything was white and gold on this magical night. She felt like a princess in the gold-trimmed sleigh drawn by four milk-white horses. The count insisted that his driver wear a gold-braided uniform as well. The hateful little Pavel had been nowhere to be seen before they left, so perhaps it would be a perfect evening, after all.

  The last cathedral, St. Basil’s, was the most magnificent of all just beside the Kremlin palace. April’s gaze went immediately up to the garden of domes crowning the structure, each one different, in color as well as style. Floodlights rendered the onion-shaped domes into nine jewels this night. She drew her breath and Ivanov was pleased and amused by her awe.

  Finally the Palace itself, rose-colored brick with towers and turrets to spare, proved their destination. After all the unique cathedrals and their painstaking architecture, this building looked plain. But the count cautioned her to withhold judgment until she had seen the interior.

  Instructions were given to the driver as they waited in line behind other brilliantly decorated sleighs. So many sleighs, April noted, were red. So, too, were many ladies’ gowns revealed as the women dashed laughing inside on their escort’s arms. Though red would always mean the color of death to her, April was able to appreciate the stark contrast of the shade against the sparkling snow this night.

  Soon it was their turn to disembark. Ivanov carefully lifted her down, folding her hand over his arm and assisting her up the icy stairs. It seemed forever before they reached the entrance, and the doors opened wide to admit the glittering throng.

  She chose not to relinquish her wrap to the doorman but asked to keep it until she could get warm again. Then her breath was struck from her. Never, in all her wildest flights of fancy, had April ever imagined such lush opulence.

  An ornate portal, gilded blue and gold, opened into the main chamber lit by massive chandeliers. Soaring columns imbedded with precious jewels and spiraling icons struck toward the round ceiling high above them. Everything was painted with excruciating detail of motifs, flowers and fans and tiny human figures. The floor was jasper and agate, polished to a high shine.

  Dazzled, April clutched Ivanov’s arm and let him lead her into the swirling gaiety. There were perhaps three hundred people present, though it was not pressing the limits of the room yet. Heads turned, whispers threaded among the masses, as the renowned Count Ivanov made his appearance with April at his side.

  Within minutes, her resemblance to the former court beauty Ekaterina was noted and exclaimed upon. There was clearly a shock to be had for those who recalled the green-eyed Circassian Cat. Rumors whirled wildly as to this young woman’s identity.

  Surprised by the intense stares, but not shaken, April kept her head high. She was such a vision that even those who did not know of Ekaterina or the count’s notoriety gazed with fascination upon the proud, obviously titled young lady.

  Everyone but Princess Tatiana Menshikov, who was interrupted in her husky oratory with a handsome young nobleman by someone who rightfully predicted her outrage.

  “Katya!” The hiss escaped her lips as her dark eyes widened with shock. Then, realizing there was no way her old rival could have returned from the dead, Tatiana stared hard at Ivanov and his unpleasant surprise. “What is Vasili up to? I certainly must find out.”

  She brushed past her own fawning admirers to stalk directly up to the count, who had paused to speak with another aristocrat.

  April was the first to see the fox-haired woman storming toward them. The lady was petite but commanded great presence, especially in a blood-red silk dress. Her neckline was shockingly low, almost baring the entire rounded upthrust of her bosom. And there, nestled in the valley of her breasts and surrounded by a soft ruff of red fox, was a ruby as large as an egg.

  Wondering what twisted the pretty features of the lady into such a scowl, April glanced up to Ivanov. But it was not he whom the other woman had fixed her furious stare upon.

  In a moment, silver fox and sapphires clashed with rubies and red fox in a dazzling display. Tatiana halted and took in her rival’s French gown and fresh young beauty with an insolent up-and-down perusal and then turned on Ivanov with a soft snarl.

  “How dare you presume to bring your whore here.”

  April gasped, hardly daring to believe she had heard such speech from a lady. Who was she? And why didn’t Ivanov confront her for the insult? Instead, he emitted a low laugh that enraged the woman.

  “My dear Tatiana, I must correct the mistake. This is a distant relative of mine who has come to visit. I can assure you her bloodline is as flawless as her face.”

  “Relative? A likely story.” Still, Tatiana paused as she took in April’s regal bearing. The little vixen was matching her stare for stare, and clearly had no sense of manners. Draped in deep blue, with the Ivanov family sapphires dripping off her slender neck, she did indeed resemble royalty.

  Tatiana was further incensed seeing her guests were so intrigued by Vasili’s lady. The vixen could have been Kayta in the flesh, and the princess recognized the gown that Ivanov had chosen with care, just as she had never forgotten the insults that Katya had dealt her so long ago. The Circassian beauty had always made Tatiana feel like a clumsy peasant. And now she was confronted with her virtual double.

  “If you wanted a stir, you have made one,” Tatiana granted Ivanov in a nasty tone. She continued to ignore April, who was beginning to bristle. “I suppose I cannot throw you out, seeing as you are one of the boyar, Vasili, but see that you keep the chit in hand tonight, hmm? And if you behave yourselves, you can stay for the special entertainment I’ve commissioned tonight.” She licked her lips, thinking of the musician. “I guarantee you will be as enthralled as I.”

  April tried hard not to say something rude to the woman, and the only thing stopping her was the fact she did not want to embarrass the count, who had been kind to her. She was glad she was not Russian and subject to this angry
woman’s rule. Princess Tatiana surely made life miserable for anyone she disliked.

  April was relieved when Ivanov suggested they move on. He had no intention of abandoning her to the curious stares of the crowd, who were all wondering what his new mistress had done to infuriate the princess. Some of them rightfully suspected that it was not April herself, but her beauty and her uncanny resemblance to Tatiana’s old rival that caused such an upset.

  Nevertheless, Tatiana’s scene only attracted more, not less, notoriety for the latest arrival. The men were eying April with open speculation. The women, understandably less pleased to be overshadowed, were anxiously trying to win back their escorts’ attentions.

  After he coaxed April to surrender her fur wrap, Count Ivanov swiftly led her away from the main floor where the crowds milled restlessly, to a secluded passageway beneath a series of marble pillars.

  Leaf-embossed arms and ornate shell designs covered the beautifully carved stone that yawned to the ceiling several stories overhead. Tiers of icons, lit by the chandeliers, reflected dazzling jewel-like colors overhead. April craned her neck to take in all the wonder of it, but Ivanov urged her along to a decorative stairway of mosaicked lapis lazuli stone leading up in a graceful spiral.

  April’s velvet skirts flowed after her as they ascended, and she was prompted to ask, “Where are we going now?” She noted they were the only ones headed upstairs.

  “You will see,” he said mysteriously, and smiled at her curiosity. He was privy to a great deal of knowledge about the Kremlin, and intended to presume upon it fully in order to win the lady’s admiration.

  Soon they were standing in a long, seemingly endless hall, whose filigreed walls of reds and blues were heavily overlaid with golden friezes and depictions of various saints. It was the most beautiful place April had ever seen, and she was overwhelmed by the opulence of it. Life as a Romany under the open sky had never prepared her for such magnificence. She felt she could drink it in forever, parched for knowledge as she was, and for once she had no trouble concentrating upon Ivanov’s words.

  “Now you see why the first boyar and bishops that stood here swore that they had a glimpse of heaven,” Ivanov said softly. To speak loudly would have shattered the moment, and they both knew it.

  “It is so beautiful. It must have taken years,” she whispered, hearing her voice echoing endlessly down the foiled corridors.

  “The palace is new compared to the rest of the buildings in the Kremlin. The others took centuries to design and perfect. But all serve to remind man of his insignificance, I think.”

  “I can hardly believe men designed this,” April said, daring to reach out and touch a depiction of a praying saint on the nearest wall. “It seems the work of angels.”

  “You know of angels? I assumed Romany were godless,” Ivanov remarked with surprise.

  “We know of different religions. My mother, Tzigane, was Christian. She often told me stories from the Bible.”

  Ivanov was pleased. “It will be important for you to attend church while you are in Moscow. Others will be watching for that. I am relieved that you are not totally ignorant in that area.”

  He saw April’s eyes flash like Katya’s had as she looked at him. “Have I proven myself ignorant in so much already?”

  He was taken aback but secretly thrilled by her show of spirit. This was working out better than ever he had dared to hope. Katya was not gone, she was here right now staring at him with those fiery green eyes he knew he could not resist. Ah, to crush her in his arms again, to bite her flawless neck, to make her his …

  “Have I?” April repeated sharply, wondering why he was gazing at her so oddly. Sometimes she felt as if he was not paying attention at all.

  “Of course not,” he soothed her, taking her hands in his own and patting them in a fatherly fashion. “I just want you to be happy, my dear. And if others ostracize you, you will find acceptance difficult. You agreed to let me guide you into Moscow society. I am only advising you on the proper course to take.”

  “And what should I know about tonight? Will someone try to trick me into revealing who I really am?”

  “Perhaps,” he admitted. “We must be careful at any rate. The Princess Menshikov unfortunately took a dislike to you. In her jealousy, she will look for any opportunity to effect your downfall.”

  April was beginning to enjoy the challenge of it. She would dearly love to frustrate the vicious Tatiana. If she was found out, little harm would be done anyway. But if everyone truly believed she was one of the elite … who knew what chaos she could wreak? It sounded like justice to her. For years gaje had maligned and injured her people. It was time they received what they so often gave.

  Offering him a brilliant smile, she said, “Don’t worry. The princess will not succeed. Tonight, at least, I am here to stay. Will you please take me back downstairs?”

  As they turned to leave, April’s glance took in a portrait hanging nearby. She paused, struck by the man in the picture. He was a tall, dashing aristocrat wearing a red-sashed uniform. His hair was blond and his eyes, kind and merry. When she sucked in her breath, Ivanov glanced over and immediately tensed.

  “Who is that?” April whispered, inexplicably drawn to the painting with a pull too powerful to ignore.

  Ivanov shrugged impatiently. “I believe that is Prince Andrei Petrovna. He died a long time ago. Now come along, April. Your admirers are waiting … and so am I.”

  Reluctantly tearing her eyes from the man’s in the picture, April let the count escort her back to the festivities.

  THE RED VELVET SEATS were plush and comfortable. April sat beside Ivanov and arranged her skirts, looking curiously about the hall. Most of the crowd had emerged in this large auditorium of sorts, above an onyx and marble parquet floor. On the second tier, they were just above the center stage.

  All around them chairs creaked and groaned with boyar nobility. Ladies tittered behind their hands, whispering and exchanging final juicy bits of gossip before the performance. The men craned their necks for another glimpse of the new beauty at Ivanov’s side. April felt the weight of their stares but did not return any of them. She knew Ivanov sensed them too, and a half-smile played about his lips.

  “This entertainment will be over soon,” he assured her softly. “Afterward there will be dancing.”

  “It will be a long evening then,” she murmured back, seized by the knowledge of something about to happen when the lights overhead gradually dimmed. Then a spotlight appeared on the stage below them. April watched impassively.

  Suddenly she clutched Ivanov’s sleeve like a vise. “No,” she whispered fiercely.

  But he grabbed her hand and restrained her where she sat. Her aching heart was forced to recognize Damien striding across the stage, handsome and proud as a panther. She heard the soft aahs of the ladies around her as they drank in his savage good looks. Yes, that was what gaje hussies liked, a real man. April fought the bitter stabs of jealousy and longing as Damien struck a pose and started playing.

  She was scarcely conscious of the music this time. It was haunting and lovely but it flowed over and around her without penetrating her to the core. April refused to let it do so. What they had was over, gone. He had left her without a backward glance. She tried to summon unconcern.

  Instead, tears threatened. Ivanov looked at her sternly. She could not help it. She trembled, the tears spilling silently over her cheeks. It took every ounce of strength she possessed to stay there and listen to Damien perform.

  But the music floating over the crowd had drawn their attention away from the new beauty. Few had heard such pure strains in their lifetime. He was a rare talent for he played with passion, not mechanically. It touched their hardened hearts and brought tears to eyes besides April’s.

  In the prime seat over center stage, Tatiana preened like a red bird. Czar Nicholas himself shot her a glance of appreciation and an approving nod. Though Moscow boasted of being the cultural center of Russia, it had
been sorely deprived of quality performances during the war.

  Still, everyone could sense a slight something missing. The music Damien played was for dancing. In the mind’s eye, the vague shadow of a beautiful girl whirled to the lively refrain. It seemed only right somehow.

  And Damien himself was conscious of the empty spot beside him, where no laughing green eyes challenged him to play faster and faster. His grip tightened vise-like upon the bow. Where was she now? In Ivanov’s bed perhaps, or gracing the saffron sheets of that vile Gold Room?

  Glancing up, he faltered. Surely he was imagining things. The harsh glare of the spotlight was blinding, and for the most part he kept his eyes fixed on his violin, but for a moment he thought he had seen a familiar fair face reflected in the crowd above him.

  No, April would not be here. She would have refused to come. As she should have. To be near Damien now was to court danger, as he was close to his goal. Just yesterday he had sent another missive to Lord Raglan regarding the latest movements of the Russian army. He had only two birds left now, and he must make them count. He also knew what a veritable fountain of information Tatiana would be, for she was General Alexsandr Menshikov’s niece. It would be foolhardy of him to pass up the opportunity.

  Of course, it was not without dire risk. Tatiana might recognize him eventually. If she did, it would mean terrible consequences for both him and his countries. But he knew he must take the chance. If necessary, Damien would find a way to silence her.

  The thought repulsed him, but so did the lusty stares the princess had been giving him all week. He would have no difficulty getting Tatiana alone tonight, he knew. And as he also recalled, she drank a great deal. He remembered the fiery redhead of twenty who had talked his ear off after a liberal dose of vodka.

  Finally he finished, having played nonstop for almost an hour. The applause was stupendous. Damien bowed and waved, but was anxious to escape the spotlight. The moment he had left, the buzz of conversation filled the hall.