by Sara Judge
‘When is the wedding to be?’ asked Tassya. ‘It must not be before my birthday, Petya. My celebration must come first!’
She was laughing as she gave her head an imperious little nod, the green velvet ribbon holding back her dark curls.
‘Probably in the autumn,’ said Sophia, glancing at Pyotr. ‘But there is much to be altered and improved here, Tassya, before I can set foot in my new home.’
‘Altered?’ Countess Irina looked across at the glowing, wine-red beauty with her ruby ring, uncertain what was meant by that remark. She did not like change and would not tolerate any upheaval in her life. ‘What do you intend on doing, Sophia?’
‘It will all be for the better,’ said Sophia soothingly.
Valerie hoped she would not be there.
‘The west wing will remain more or less as it is now,’ said Sophia, ‘although the kitchen needs painting and re-organizing. But the east wing is going to be re-opened and the rooms made ready for all the visitors we intend having. That is agreed, isn’t it, Petya?’
Pyotr nodded.
‘You will have your own suite of rooms,’ Sophia went on, patting the countess’s hand. ‘There are many upstairs that have been unused for years. So Pyotr and I will have our apartment across the centre, where the linen room and your present room are now, and you will have rooms in the west wing leaving the upstairs of the other wing for our children.’
Her yellow eyes were ablaze with excitement as she saw Mavara as she envisaged it – with Chinese wallpaper, and Persian carpets and elegant walnut furniture throughout the many rooms.
‘There is so much space,’ said Sophia. ‘It just needs filling with beautiful objects.’
Tassya was frowning. ‘What about me?’ she said. Her home was about to change before her eyes and, like her mother, she was not sure she liked the idea.
‘There are several rooms along that west wing, aren’t there, Tassya?’ Sophia turned her attention to the girl in the wheelchair. She was Pyotr’s sister and must not be left out of these splendid arrangements. ‘We will go and look tomorrow, dear, and I’ll tell you what I have in mind.’
‘What about Valerie Marsh then,’ said Tassya, drawing everyone’s attention to the startled girl, who had been contemplating her moments of approaching happiness with Pyotr.
‘Valerie must return to England,’ said Sophia quickly. ‘Don’t you agree, Petya?’
‘I think it would be polite to ask Valerie what she would like,’ said Pyotr. ‘She was invited to Russia by the Romanovs and, when she was no longer needed by them, I invited her to Mavara. What would you like to do, Valerie?’
For one dreadful moment Valerie didn’t know how to reply.
‘Everything has happened so suddenly,’ she said slowly, ‘I need some time to think things through.’
‘Nonsense!’ said the countess, rearranging the shawl around her shoulders. ‘There is no question of Valerie leaving here whilst I am alive. I need the girl, Pyotr, and find her a surprisingly useful companion. Quite intelligent for a foreigner,’ she said, her black eyes glittering, ‘and I cannot do without her. Make your arrangements, Sophia. Do what you will with my old home. But make sure of an extra room in my suite. Valerie Marsh remains with me.’
‘I think it would be best if we allowed matters to drop for this evening,’ said Pyotr, with a reassuring nod at Valerie.
Some time tonight he would go to Valerie’s room and talk to her. Tomorrow she would have to announce her intentions for the future.
‘Let us all have a good night’s rest,’ he went on, ‘and Valerie can tell us her plans in the morning.’
‘Very well,’ said Sophia.
Perhaps it would be a good idea if the foreigner remained at Mavara. Sophia was not sure she could tolerate her domineering mother-in-law even in her invalid state. And Valerie Marsh had been useful up till now. In the morning she would tell Pyotr that the English girl could stay.
That night Countess Irina was restless, worrying over the possibility of Valerie’s departure, and all the changes about to take place in her home.
After being woken on three different occasions, Valerie carried her bedding through and placed it on the floor in the old woman’s chamber. Exactly like a serving-maid, she thought ruefully, but her presence seemed to soothe the countess and she was not disturbed again that night.
However, being in that other room she was unaware of Pyotr’s attempts to see her. Nor did she get the chance to speak to him again as Sophia was constantly with him.
But she did manage to comfort the countess by saying she had decided to remain with her for the time being.
On the morning of Pyotr’s departure with his betrothed, Sophia was dazzling in white lace with a straw hat decorated with blood red roses, and with rubies in her ears and the huge ruby on her finger. She looked so radiant that Valerie hoped fiercely that they hadn’t slept together.
Once Pyotr and Sophia were man and wife, she would have to accept their conjugal state. But the thought that they had already consummated their union was intolerable.
You had the chance, she told herself grimly, plumping up the pillows behind the countess’s back as if they were Sophia’s body, and you prudishly barred the door against him. Now she wished she had given in to Pyotr’s demands and enjoyed a few nights of bliss with her love.
But such thoughts were useless. All she could do now was wait at Mavara for Pyotr to come and tell her what to do.
The next weeks passed so quickly with workmen arriving and transforming the house into Sophia’s dream palace, that Valerie had little time to ponder her future.
Pyotr did not come down again until just before Tassya’s birthday, but Sophia came and went at unexpected intervals, making sure that the work was progressing to her satisfaction.
Early in July she arrived with news that had not yet reached Mavara.
‘Haven’t you heard?’ she said, taking off her wide straw hat which was decorated with red cherries this time, and flinging it on the floor as she collapsed onto the new Regency-striped sofa in the pink salon.
This room was at last completed and, because the weather was unpleasantly hot, Valerie and the countess and Tassya had all thankfully retired to the room at the rear of the house to greet their visitor.
‘Archduke Franz Ferdinand has been shot by a young Serb in Sarajevo, and Austria is furious!’ Sophia was enjoying the looks of bewilderment on the faces before her. ‘Has Pyotr not written to tell you, madam?’
Countess Irina shook her head. ‘No doubt I shall hear from him this week but that news is worrying. Is the Archduke dead?’
Sophia nodded.
‘Why is it worrying, Mama?’ Tassya gazed across at her mother looking bright and perky in strawberry pink cotton.
She was walking quite well now and had almost told her mother yesterday. But her plan was to inform them all on her seventeenth birthday, and she was not going to spoil the surprise. There were only three more weeks to go so she could be patient a while longer.
‘Why does it matter what Austria is thinking?’ she said.
Valerie, too, sensed the old woman’s concern, but had only a vague idea who Archduke Ferdinand was, and none at all about a Serb. What a strange name.
‘Because, you ignorant child, the Serbs are all Slavs and detest being ruled by two non-Slavic races – the Austrians and the Magyars of Hungary,’ said the countess.
‘And Franz Ferdinand was assassinated because he was Austrian,’ said Sophia. She leaned back against the pink and silver striped cushions and sighed. ‘Heavens, but it’s hot outside!’
‘His uncle, Franz Joseph, is the Emperor,’ said the countess, ‘but he is an old man and his nephew was going to inherit the throne of the massive Austro-Hungarian Empire.’
Valerie was very aware of her lack of education but, like Tassya, wondered why this assassination should be so important to the outside world.
‘What will happen now?’ asked Tassya, looking at her mother. B
ut it was Sophia who replied.
‘The Austrians are insisting it is Serbia’s declaration of war on Austria-Hungary,’ she said. ‘And Petersburg is fairly humming with talk of war.’
‘But it cannot possibly affect us!’ said Tassya.
If war came to Russia it would mean Andrei Odarka going into battle, and she had planned such a wonderful surprise for him. Pyotr had promised to bring his friend down to Mavara for her birthday party, so there couldn’t be a war to spoil everything!
‘We won’t go to war,’ said Sophia. ‘This has nothing to do with Russia.’
Valerie felt sick. If war came, Pyotr would be sent to the front and what if he should die? Why was Sophia looking so calm? Didn’t she care about her betrothed?
‘Russia is the traditional protector of the Slavs,’ said the countess hoarsely. ‘If Serbia asks for our help I am certain Tsar Nicholas will have to offer assistance.’
‘It won’t come to war,’ said Sophia firmly. ‘Pyotr says the Tsar will never agree. We are not prepared and besides, a tiny kingdom like Serbia is not worth fighting for.’
‘I hope he is right,’ said the countess, looking at her future daughter-in-law with speculative eyes. ‘Tell me, how is my son?’
‘He is very well,’ said Sophia, smiling and fingering the ruby on her hand. ‘He will be coming down with Andrei for Tassya’s birthday, and sends his love, madam. Let us hope the weather will have cooled down by then. I came away from Petersburg to escape the heat, but find it even hotter down here.’
Rising gracefully to her feet, Sophia walked across to the fireplace to ring the bell set in the wall beside the pink marble surround. The grate had been cleared of ashes and scrubbed clean. She frowned as she studied the empty space.
When Feodor entered in answer to her ring, Sophia told him to tell her maid-servant to bring a fan.
‘And we need a great vase of flowers, Feodor, a crystal vase,’ she said, ‘and masses of blooms. Have them picked and sent in at once.’
Behind her the countess chuckled.
‘You’ll get no blooms in this heat, Sophia. A few geraniums, perhaps, but they are the only flowers surviving in the garden and Conrad told me yesterday that all the water barrels are empty.’ She seemed to find pleasure in thwarting the younger woman’s extravagance.
‘Then I shall have flowers sent here from town. It is only a matter of organization, Countess Irina.’
‘And finance,’ put in the other swiftly.
‘Water can be brought up from the lake – I presume that has not run dry?’ said Sophia.
At that moment Vera arrived with a white lace fan, which she handed to her mistress. As Sophia began to fan her face Valerie wondered if the unusual red of her cheeks was caused by the heat, or by annoyance at the countess’s words?
The weather remained oppressively hot and Valerie often remembered the Crimea, and those blissful weeks spent there with the Imperial family. Although that visit had been so much earlier in the year it had felt like summer down by the Black Sea, with the deliciously cool sea breezes, the light clothing they had worn and the lack of physical exertion.
At Livadia Palace, Valerie had not had to run up and down stairs obeying the demands of a querulous old woman, nor had she been confined for many hours to a hot and stuffy room.
She had suggested sitting outside on the verandah at the rear of the house, or beneath the huge mulberry tree that shaded a wide area of the yard. But Countess Irina preferred staying indoors.
She seemed to take pleasure in moaning about the hammering and banging of the workmen, as well as the discomfort of the one room that she and Valerie shared until the suite in the west wing was completed.
The countess only consented to being brought downstairs when Sophia came to visit, so for once Valerie looked forward to the beauty arriving at Mavara.
Tassya she seldom saw and Valerie regretted their continual enmity. She had tried talking to her, but Tassya no longer accepted her friendship and lived a secret life with Dunya downstairs.
When Sophia visited, Tassya showed interest in her company, like her mother, and the two appeared to get on well. But the moment Sophia returned to St Petersburg, Tassya withdrew once more into her private world.
Valerie was sure her legs were improving and remembered how Tassya had vowed to surprise them all on her birthday. If this small miracle did occur, perhaps Tassya would be friends with her again?
She missed Pyotr dreadfully and longed for his strong, masculine presence. If she were in his arms, hearing his loving voice, feeling his body against hers, she could face the world with confidence. But on her own in this dusty, noisy, house with only the company of an ailing embittered woman, Valerie was continually fearful.
What would happen if war came to Russia? What would she do if Pyotr was sent away to the front and she was left at Mavara with Tassya and Sophia and Countess Irina? What would become of her if he should die?
Chapter Fifteen
At the end of July Pyotr returned accompanied by Sophia and Andrei Odarka, as he had promised his sister.
When the group from St Petersburg arrived at Mavara, Valerie was overjoyed to see his tall figure leaping down from the carriage. Both he and Andrei were still wearing their white summer uniforms with gold buttons and braid and epaulettes glinting in the sunshine. But as they were eager to change into light attire, they went swiftly to their rooms promising to join the ladies shortly on the verandah.
Conrad had met them at Kamenka railway station and he and Feodor helped to carry the luggage upstairs. Vera went with them to see to her mistress’s unpacking and Sophia joined the countess and Valerie on the verandah.
She looked fresh and lovely in a cream muslin frock edged with honey-coloured lace. Her shiny black hair was curled into ringlets reaching to her shoulders, and her wide-brimmed straw hat sported a honey-coloured ribbon with a bunch of velvet primroses clustering on its brim.
Was this the same straw hat redecorated to match each outfit? Or did Sophia possess as many different hats as she did dresses? Valerie could not control a twinge of envy.
‘It is good to be down here again,’ said Sophia, walking along the verandah to peck at Countess Irina’s cheek, then sitting beside her on one of the cane chairs. ‘After we have had tea I shall have a look around. I hope the men have almost finished now.’
The countess’s suite of rooms was complete and she and Valerie had moved into the west wing to space and comfort. They had a bedroom each, linked by a sitting room decorated in apricot and leaf green, and a small bathroom next to the countess’s room.
Despite all this indulgence, however, Countess Irina was not happy. Tucked away over the west wing she felt isolated and no longer part of the household.
‘We will need more servants,’ she said. ‘Feodor cannot manage with so many extra rooms to clean, and Valerie has much further to walk with our meals and the errands she does for me.’
Valerie’s heart lifted in gratitude. So the countess had noticed what she did.
‘We will employ many more servants, do not worry, dear madam,’ said Sophia.
At that moment Tassya was wheeled through the open glass doors by Dunya, and her chair placed beside Sophia’s. Valerie was at the end of the verandah, but she didn’t mind the far corner as it allowed her a good view of everyone else.
Tassya had insisted on being rushed away when the noise of arrival had been heard in the courtyard. She wanted to make sure her hair was neat and she looked pretty for Andrei. Tomorrow was The Day and she could scarcely wait to show them what she had achieved. All due to Father Grigorii. Then Valerie would have to acknowledge that he was a true man of God, and her brother and Sophia would realize he was a miraculous healer.
Valerie, looking at Tassya’s crisp lavender-blue cotton frock, with matching ribbons in her hair, longed for another dress. A best one, which she could wear on special occasions like tomorrow. Even Countess Irina had asked for her faded, mushroom-coloured moiré to be bro
ught out from the cupboard and made ready for her daughter’s birthday.
All her hopes were pinned on Pyotr, and their future life together. But how could she ever see him alone?
The room she now occupied was reached through Countess Irina’s bedroom and the linking sitting room, so there could be no nocturnal visits from him unless he played Romeo and appeared at her window from the top of a ladder.
Tassya, who caught sight of Valerie’s small smile, wondered what was passing through her mind? She shouldn’t have secrets. This was Tassya’s birthday and all the attention should be centred on her.
‘We are having a picnic down by the lake tomorrow,’ she announced loudly, ‘and Mother is coming in the trap, and Conrad and Feodor and the other servants are bringing the cart filled with food and drink.’
‘How nice,’ said Sophia. ‘But not during the day, Tassya, it will be far too hot.’
‘In the evening.’ Tassya nodded. ‘And we’ll fish for cray fish. Valerie, I hope you will join Dunya in her fishing. She is very good at it.’
Countess Irina tutted as her daughter burst out laughing.
‘I will gladly help Dunya,’ said Valerie, wondering what the hilarity was about. ‘But she will have to show me what to do. I’ve never been fishing before.’
As Tassya roared with laughter again, joined this time by her maid, Pyotr and Andrei came out onto the verandah dressed in their light blouses and baggy trousers.
‘What’s all this merriment about?’ asked Pyotr, walking over to kiss his mother then moving round behind her cane chair and resting his hands on the back of it.
This way he was standing close to his betrothed, but could get a good look at Valerie at the same time. It was disconcerting to see that she had grown even thinner and appeared drawn in the face so that she looked much older than her nineteen years. Compared to the glamorous Sophia, his little Varinka was as worn and wrung out as an old dishcloth.
She needed money spent on her, he thought, new clothes, and a kinder way of life. Valerie Marsh was no servant, but a lady of quality. Yet here at Mavara her life had reached a very low ebb.