by Sara Judge
‘Of course.’ Pushing her dumbfounded husband out of the way, Mrs Lees climbed the stairs, her mind racing.
What was Valerie doing in the Siberian peasant’s apartment? And what had he done to her? If other ladies were present she supposed nothing immoral had occurred. But she had the distinct impression that Valerie was naked beneath that nasty fur. Had there been an orgy? One never knew what these foreigners would get up to next. And how had that nice count become involved? Dear me, there was so much she needed to find out in the morning.
At the top of the stairs she turned left, leading the way across the landing to a room where the maid was hastily making up the bed.
‘Hurry up, Katia,’ said Mrs Lees. Then she gestured to a comfortable armchair in the corner. ‘If you will put Valerie on that chair, Count Silakov, she can rest whilst a bath is run for her. Then she can go straight to bed. She looks quite exhausted, poor girl.’
Had she suffered a fate worse than death? Mrs Lees stared in horrified interest at the girl’s expressionless face. Something had happened to her. She didn’t look at all like the Valerie with whom she had travelled from England. Nor like the excited girl who had spent those few days at Christmas with them, and attended the Ball at the Winter Palace.
Mrs Lees didn’t believe it was only too much alcohol – there was something more. And that smell. Not alcohol but fish – that was it. Valerie smelt distinctly fishy.
Settling the drowsy figure on the chair and making sure the fur still covered her inert form, Pyotr straightened and walked back to the door, leading Mrs Lees politely by the arm. If only the maid would now take charge of Valerie, she could deal with the lack of clothing and the tell-tale bruises. Pyotr did not want the Englishwoman seeing any more of the young girl’s shame.
‘Mrs Lees,’ he said, pulling the door shut behind them, ‘may I ask one more thing of you, please?’
She nodded, wondering what else was to come. Russia was a barbaric land beneath its bright extravagant surface and she was missing the solid, sensible calm of dear old England more and more.
‘I would like you not to question Valerie too much in the morning,’ Pyotr said carefully. ‘If she wishes to speak, then it is quite in order,’ he added, noticing the woman’s air of disappointment.
Mrs Lees shrugged. ‘Very well, I will not ask too much. But I need to know something, Count Silakov. What do I tell her father? And what about the Empress? Should Valerie not be returning to the palace shortly? The Imperial family will want to know what has happened to her. We must all be informed about what has been going on, sir.’
‘I do not know myself.’ He raised his hands in innocent bewilderment. ‘I went only to collect Valerie Marsh and escort her back to Tsarskoe Selo, then discovered her in this sorry state. But I intend seeing Empress Alexandra at the first opportunity, and will inform her that Valerie is not well. Then I shall return for her, Mrs Lees, in a day or so and take her away from your kindness.’
Pyotr gave his disarming smile.
‘Forgive me for rushing away, but I must depart.’
He bowed gracefully before hurrying down the stairs and nodding at Mr Lees, who was still pondering in the library doorway. The front door was opened by a footman and then Pyotr escaped out into the courtyard to his waiting carriage.
‘Now for Tsarskoselsky Railway Station,’ he told the coachman.
Fortunately, Empress Alexandra was able to see him early the following day, and when Pyotr entered her private sitting room, she was quietly at her embroidery in the company of Anna Vyrubova.
‘Come in, Count Silakov,’ she said, glancing up at the tall dark-haired officer and thinking, once again, how remarkably handsome he was. ‘What is it you wish to see me about?’
Pyotr bowed then stood to rigid attention as he described what he had discovered the day before.
‘I would beg Your Imperial Highness,’ he ended, ‘to have this Grigorii Rasputin sent back to where he belongs. If he remains here in the west, he will be a constant danger to the young and innocent.’
No emotion stirred on Alexandra’s pale face, but her hands were still and her blue eyes became frozen.
‘Father Grigorii is returning to his village at the end of this week but will come back to us in the autumn, as he always does,’ she said. ‘You seem to forget, Count Silakov, that Father Grigorii is Our Friend and, as such, will always have our warmest regard and affection. I fear,’ she went on icily, ‘that little Valerie was overcome by her devotion to the holy man and allowed her emotions full rein. She probably also partook of too much wine.’
‘Forgive me, Your Imperial Highness,’ said Pyotr, trying to remain courteous despite his barely concealed rage, ‘but Grigorii Rasputin is known throughout St Petersburg as a lecher. And when Valerie went to ask his advice about my crippled sister, he assaulted her.’
Although confessing ignorance to Mrs Lees, Pyotr knew full well the reason for Valerie’s visit.
‘There are always unpleasant rumours circulating about the holy man,’ said Alexandra. ‘I know what people say, Count Silakov, and am not deaf to the gossip and scurrilous accusations. But folk are envious of his position at Court, and the fact that he is Our Friend, and will say anything to try to bring about his downfall.’
She turned to her companion.
‘Has Father Grigorii ever attempted an immoral act, or uttered a seductive word to you, Anna?’
Anna Vyrubova shook her head, glancing from the Empress to Pyotr.
‘I have often been alone with him, Your Imperial Highness,’ she said, in her little girl’s voice, ‘and he has never been anything other than a good and pious man in my company.’
‘My daughters know him and have enjoyed his friendship ever since their childhood,’ went on the Empress, her voice rising, ‘and we all love him as the saintly man he is. There is no question of suspecting his morals, Count Silakov.
‘Now I suggest you leave the palace and take a week’s leave, which should give you time to recover your senses. And I will make sure that Valerie Marsh returns to England.’
She glanced across at Anna’s downcast eyes and drooping mouth. Pity. They had all grown fond of the English girl, and Olga would be particularly upset at losing her. But young females were easily infatuated by a man’s deep voice and penetrating eyes, and Valerie Marsh had obviously succumbed to the warmth and kindness of their Friend.
Such a susceptible creature would have to go. There was no knowing what trouble she might cause in the future, and the man of God was of far more importance to the Imperial family.
‘She was only supposed to come here for one year,’ said the Empress firmly, ‘and it will be best if she returns home now to her own land and people. You may go.’ She inclined her head towards the young officer.
Bowing again, Pyotr retreated. As he reached the far hallway, a voice called his name and, looking up, he saw Grand Duchess Olga on the landing above leaning over the white railings.
‘Count Silakov, can you spare a minute? I am anxious about Valerie.’ Olga’s wide brow was furrowed in thought. ‘Do you know where she is?’
‘Yes,’ he said, making no move to ascend, ‘I know what has happened to Valerie Marsh and have just informed the Empress of the facts. She was most wickedly assaulted by Grigorii Rasputin, and is now recovering at the house of the Lees in St Petersburg.’
He heard Olga gasp, but ignored her.
‘I have been ordered to go away from here and Valerie is to be sent back to England. Good day to you, Your Imperial Highness.’ He gave a swift bow then turned and ran across the hallway and out into the huge courtyard.
Let Olga and her mother sort out their differences with the help of that silly female, Anna Vyrubova. He wanted no more of them for a while, and Valerie would also be better off without them and their insane devotion to the Siberian peasant.
Mavara. The thought came to him with a sudden surge of relief as he strode towards the stables. He would send Tassya and Valerie to the ge
ntler, friendlier south.
Unless, of course, Valerie preferred to return to England? But Pyotr did not believe she would. She and Tassya got on well together, Valerie could help his sister with his ailing mother’s demands, and continue to improve her Russian at the same time.
Then he would spend this week with Sophia, discussing and planning their wedding.
Once Valerie had been bathed and dressed in a clean cotton night-gown, very voluminous and provided by Mrs Lees, she was put to bed by Katia, and fell instantly asleep. She was not aware of the Englishwoman tiptoeing into her chamber later that evening, nor of Katia’s attempts to give her a glass of hot chocolate.
‘Never mind,’ said Mrs Lees, bending over the sleeping girl, ‘we will leave her now. I’m sure sleep will be the best medicine. But stay with her, Katia, do not leave her alone, and I will come and see her in the morning,’
Katia huddled in the armchair all night long, but Valerie did not stir until late the following day when the bright spring sunshine filtered in through the drawn curtains.
Where on earth was she? It took her some minutes to realise she was once again in the bedroom she had occupied at Christmas, the pretty room with windows overlooking the Neva River in St. Petersburg – home of Mr and Mrs Lees. But what was she doing there?
As she sat up, pushing back her tousled hair, a maid-servant moved quickly to her side.
‘Would you like some breakfast, bárishna?’ asked Katia, thinking how much better the English girl looked after a good night’s sleep.
‘I would love some coffee and some brioches, please. But what am I doing here? And what is your name?’
Valerie didn’t remember the maid from her last visit, but then the Lees, like all the other affluent people in the capital, possessed many servants.
‘I am Katia,’ said the maid-servant, bobbing a curtsey, ‘and you were brought here yesterday by an officer from the Imperial Guard, bárishna.’
Katia had noticed the foreigner’s bruised lips and marks on her neck and breasts, and had also smelt the wine on her breath. And she had assumed that the girl had taken part in some amusement for the soldiers.
Pyotr. Immediately Valerie’s mind began to function properly and she remembered his arms about her, and the joy of seeing him again, and the safety and happiness she had felt in his presence.
Then she remembered Rasputin and the terrible hours spent in his apartment, and the awful female disciples who had disregarded her cries for help and had even envied her being chosen by that monstrous man.
‘Nothing to eat,’ she said quickly, putting a hand to her mouth. ‘Just some coffee, please, black and strong.’
Katia curtsied again and hurried from the room. The English girl had gone deathly pale, with all the pink in her cheeks draining away and leaving her face the same bleached white as the sheets.
What had happened to her? Memories were certainly causing her distress today. But Katia had little sympathy for the newcomer. They were all the same, the gentry. Too much money, too much food and drink, and every luxury and comfort provided for them by the workers.
As Katia was carrying the tray upstairs, Mrs Lees met her on the landing and enquired about Valerie.
‘She is awake now? Thank goodness. I will take the tray and see to Miss Marsh myself, Katia. Go and assist Anna in my bedroom.’
Katia handed the tray to her mistress before going to join the other servant, and Mrs Lees took the coffee through to Valerie.
‘I am so glad you are feeling more yourself, dear,’ she said, setting the tray down on the bedside table, then perching on the edge of the bed and studying the girl.
Valerie was still very pale and her hair looked dreadful. Katia couldn’t have washed it last night. But at least she smelt fresher and her nightgown was clean.
‘Did you sleep well?’ she asked, hoping to hear what had happened in the Siberian peasant’s apartment.
But Valerie didn’t want to talk. She couldn’t force herself to speak of those terrible memories. As she poured a cup of welcome coffee and began to sip the hot liquid, she wished Pyotr would come and take her away once more.
She didn’t want to stay with the Lees, she wanted to forget all about St Petersburg. She didn’t even want to return to Tsarskoe Selo and the Imperial family. They had deceived her by their love and trust for that wicked man.
Suddenly she, too, thought of Mavara and the peace and calm of that oasis in the middle of the steppes. If Pyotr would only come and take her back there, she would gladly become his mistress and not care what anybody thought of her behaviour.
‘Valerie, are you all right?’ Mrs Lees was leaning forward, frowning. ‘Do say something, dear. You have given us all a dreadful fright and I must know how you feel. Is there anything you wish to tell me, dear? I shall have to write to your father, but really do not know what to say to him until you speak to me.’
Valerie was not sure how much Mrs Lees had seen or heard the night before, but she was determined not to tell her anything more today.
‘I am feeling better, thank you,’ she said slowly, ‘and am sorry to have caused you anxiety, Mrs Lees.’ She wanted to leave the house, but where were her clothes? ‘Is Count Silakov here?’ She put a hand to her brow. ‘I can’t remember how I got here. Did you invite me, Mrs Lees?’
If she rolled her eyes and continued to look stupid, perhaps Mrs Lees would call for Pyotr to come and take her away. But she needed proper attire once she got out of bed. Where was her blouse, and skirt, and shoes?
‘Do you remember nothing, Valerie?’ Good heavens, the girl had lost her wits!
Valerie shook her head and gave a feeble smile.
‘Are you going to accompany me back to England, Mrs Lees?’
This was intolerable. Mrs Lees tutted and rose to her feet.
‘No, Valerie, we are not returning to England and Count Silakov went back to Tsarskoe Selo yesterday. He had to explain your absence to the Empress. Now I shall have to send a message to the palace and ask what is to be done with you.’
She walked out of the bedroom with her thoughts flying. As she hurried down the stairs she called for her husband, but Mr Lees had already left for the bank. So she would have to cope with this situation alone.
She would send the message to Anna Vyrubova and hope that she was readily available and would know how to contact the count.
Mrs Lees was vexed. Here she was with a girl who had lost her memory and her clothes; who had arrived in a sorry state at her house; had been dumped upon her, if the truth be told. And her husband had gone off as if nothing untoward had happened, leaving her alone with Valerie.
What if that peasant should arrive on her doorstep and demand the return of Valerie Marsh? What if he came rolling drunk up to her door and accosted her?
Mrs Lees’ heart began beating hard against her whalebone stays. This sort of thing would never happen in their nice, refined residence in St John’s Wood.
With trembling fingers Mrs Lees picked up her pen and began to write.
Chapter Thirteen
Mavara
Pyotr returned to Bolshoi Prospect as promised, and whisked Valerie away much to her own and Mrs Lees’ relief. He brought some of her clothes and belongings with him, as well as a little note from Olga, which she had not yet read.
‘You may go back to England, if you wish,’ he said in the carriage, which took them to pick up Tassya at the Lukaev’s mansion.
He was determined not to force her to do anything against her will. But he hoped very much that she would agree to going down to Mavara. She could help to care for his mother there, and would also be good company for Tassya. Dashka had been left at the palace. There were servants enough to assist Valerie at Mavara.
Fortunately Valerie agreed.
‘There is nothing I would like more,’ she said, looking at him with gratitude as the carriage travelled along Nevsky Prospect. ‘I love your home and would love to help there. When will you come to join us?’
<
br /> England held no appeal and she would think of something to tell her father. All she wanted now was to spend the rest of her life near Pyotr.
She would stay at Mavara until he came to join her, and then do whatever he asked of her. But during that time she was going to have a spring clean. She would roll up her sleeves and work as hard as any of the servants. It seemed that Countess Irina had to spend most of her time in bed so with both her and Tassya as semi-invalids, the house needed a strong healthy person to put it to rights.
Valerie was going to enjoy herself and she would be doing it all for the man she loved. ‘Tassya believes I asked for your assistance because of Mother’s ill-health,’ said Pyotr. ‘And as the Imperial family are always away during the summer months, I said they had granted you leave to help with Mother and Tassya.’
‘What about Sophia?’ asked Valerie. ‘Does she know what happened?’
‘Of course,’ said Pyotr. ‘It was Sophia who told me where you would be. Her maid, Vera, heard you and Tassya talking when you went to have tea there, and she told her mistress about your plans to visit Rasputin. You really have her to thank for your rescue.’
Now, standing at the open window of the compartment, looking down at Pyotr on the platform beneath her, Valerie knew everything was going to be all right. She had to accept Sophia in his life, but knew also that there would always be a small place for her in his heart,
‘I will help at Mavara all I can,’ she said, smiling down into his brilliant eyes.
And Pyotr, seeing her framed in the open window, small and soft and dove-like in her faded grey-blue travelling suit, realised she had recovered from her recent shock. Now that she was in the cheerful company of Tassya, she was beginning to blossom into the fresh and pretty Varinka he had known previously.
The red plush seats of their compartment folded down at night making two beds, and Dunya had been provided with a rug so she could sleep on the floor between them. There was a little room at the far end, which contained a basin with hot and cold water, and a closet, and Pyotr felt the girls were sure of every comfort.