There was one of these speaking-tubes just before me now, in the library, its beautifully designed mouthpiece of ivory and bronze protruding from the wall. Dolly Denisov had told me that all the work had been done by one of her father’s servants, an ex-serf who was a skilled craftsman. Much of the furniture in the house had also been built by the carpenters and ciselleurs on their estate. It gave one a new idea of what the serfs had been, not all peasants by any means. Our dominie in the village near Jordansjoy, dear old Dr Rathmpre, had been a fine Greek scholar in his day, with a degree in the Humanities from St Andrews University, and he had instructed us in classical history, so that I saw one might draw a parallel between the slaves of Greece and Rome – where not all the servile had been illiterate labourers, but some had been men of infinite skill – and the serfs of Imperial Russia. One does not like to think that the Parthenon was built by slaves, but it might have been so. It was certainly true that many of the beautiful pieces of furniture and bronzes that I had already seen in some of the great houses in St Petersburg had been made by unfree hands.
I picked up the speaking-tube and blew down it. I heard my whistle go travelling through its length. Then distantly, distantly, a tiny little echo spoke back.
The echo, so remote yet so clear, startled me. I gave a gasp and the exhalation of my breath travelled down the tube and then back to me again. Some trick of the law of physics had produced an echo for me. Experimentally, I tried again. ‘Rose here,’ I called. This time I didn’t get an answer. There was only dead silence. Just as well, really, as it was rather spooky. After waiting a minute more I replaced the plug that stopped the mouth of the tube; I saw that it was decorated with a lion cut in low relief in bronze, and bore the initials of the Alexandrov family.
The shuffle of felt-covered feet, a noise I had come to associate with the arrival of a servant – for in the Denisov household all the servants were obliged to wear a soft, almost silent footwear – made me turn round. My own black Ivan was in the room. His eyes were on the speaking-tube.
‘There is no one at the end, my lady,’ he said politely. ‘The tubes are not used. No one attends to them.’
‘I was only playing a game,’ I said, ashamed at being caught at my trick.
He was silent, pursing his lips.
‘My own voice seemed to call back in echo,’ I explained. (Although why should I explain to Ivan? Yet his very silence seemed to call for an answer.) ‘It amused me.’
Ivan’s answer was to cross himself and say: ‘Those are accursed things, those tubes, and should not be used.’
‘Oh, there’s no harm in them, Ivan, they are useful devices in their way. Perhaps not necessary in a house like this, but in other establishments I should call them very helpful. You have certainly no need to be afraid.’ I spoke cheerfully, a little incredulous that so intelligent a man – and Ivan was that – could be fearful of a harmless contraption like a speaking-tube. But I supposed, underneath, he was a superstitious peasant at heart.
An opaque, blank look settled on his features, an expression I had seen on the faces of the other servants when Dolly or Ariadne spoke sharply to them. It could hardly be called insolence since they were, perforce, always so polite, but I noted a quality of stubborn resistance in it.
‘Yes, I see you don’t believe me, Ivan,’ I said. ‘But I assure you many houses in Scotland and England have them. People shout down to the kitchen for what they want.’
‘No one ever shouts down them in this house,’ he said gloomily. ‘But sometimes the servants down below whistle up them.’
‘Why do they do that?’
‘To raise the devil, I believe,’ said Ivan, even more gloomily.
‘And does he appear?’
‘Don’t ask me,’ said Ivan, crossing himself again.
‘Oh well, I won’t. But what is it you wanted?’
He bowed. ‘I am to conduct you up the Red Staircase to the Princess Irene.’
When I had least expected it, the summons had come. How convenient, I remember thinking innocently, that I should be free and Ariadne out with her mother.
The staircase to what I had begun to call the Red Tower seemed stuffier, the air more scented and dead than ever, and the Princess’s room, when I got there, was full of cigarette smoke. It was over-hot, too, as before, and artificially lit, although it was full daylight outside. I was taking in the details more fully on this second visit. I saw now that not only was the room full of furniture, but that every piece was covered with objects; several low tables bore burdens of silver-framed photographs, flowering plants (there were always so many flowers in Russia), enamelled boxes and porcelain figures. Even at a glance I could see that many of the objects were valuable, for instance an intricately-worked egg of silver and tortoiseshell on a stand of lapis lazuli; but others, like a papier mâché bowl of hideous red and a paper fan with a nasty bead handle, were rubbish. As I looked round I realised that the clutter and muddle reminded me of something. Then I saw what it was: our old nursery at Jordansjoy. This was a playroom for an old child.
Princess Irene was sitting up in her bed, wearing a brocade and fur jacket and a little matching turban, and smoking a small black cigarette. At my appearance she held out a regal hand. ‘Ah, so there you are. Gratified you came so promptly, most gratified.’ She didn’t sound it, more as if she had taken my appearance for granted.
‘Oh, I wanted to,’ I said honestly. ‘And fortunately Ariadne is out with her mother, so I was free.’
‘Naturally, I know where my niece is.’ She had a bed-table in front of her on which she was laying out a pack of cards in some elaborate-looking game. ‘She has gone to her dressmaker and taken her daughter with her. Peter has gone too, and much may he enjoy it. Dolly choosing a dress is a penance I would not wish on any man.’ She turned over a card. ‘Ah, the Queen, a good sign.’ She puffed at her cigarette. ‘Not that I believe the cards can really tell the future, at my age it is a little difficult to take that; but – ’ and here she gave an elegant shrug – ‘a little wink from the Fates is very acceptable.’
She gave a cough, a deep rolling cough that shook her whole body and left her gasping. Another wink from the Fates, I thought, and not such an agreeable one. The cigarette rolled from her fingers; I picked it up and put it on a silver saucer, which was half full of the cigarettes she had smoked already.
‘And have you told my niece that you have visited me here?’ Her dark eyes gave me a sharp look.
‘I think you know the answer to that question,’ I said slowly. ‘You who know everything that goes on in this house. No, I have not.’
‘Good. Good. Of course, she will discover and perhaps be quite cross. She has a temper, you know.’ Another sharp look here.
‘I can imagine.’
‘Not that it matters. I rather like to annoy Dolly.’ She gave a deep chuckle. ‘And it improves her complexion. She’s rather sallow, isn’t she? Don’t you find her sallow?’
Bemused and fascinated, I did not answer. It was true that by comparison with the vivid red mantling of Princess Irene’s cheeks, Dolly was lacking in colour.
‘You don’t answer. Very wise. I like a girl who knows when to keep a still tongue in her head. It’s a sign of good breeding.’
She was a wicked old thing and needed to be taken down a peg or two, I thought. ‘I wouldn’t speak about my employer, in any case,’ I said. ‘It’s good sense as much as good breeding.’
‘Dolly’s not your employer. I am. Aha, that startled you, didn’t it?’ And she leaned back on her pillows in triumph, only to burst out into one of those deep coughs again, so that I had to lean forward and retrieve another cigarette.
So the money that supported this luxurious household was hers? I was surprised, but I could accept it as the truth. ‘Perhaps you pay my salary,’ I began hesitantly. ‘But it is to be with Ariadne that I am here.’ And Shereshevo, I thought.
‘Pay you, do I?’ She gave me an amused look. ‘No, Dolly is rich eno
ugh to pay for anything she chooses to indulge herself with. No, but it was on my instructions she sent for you. And not for Ariadne. Nor any dirty peasants, either.’
‘On your instructions?’ I echoed. Yes, I could see her issuing her orders to Dolly Denisov. What I couldn’t see was Dolly accepting them.
‘And Dolly was pleased to oblige me. She likes to forget I am here, but once reminded, she knows better than to be too difficult.’ The diamonds on her fingers flashed as she moved the cards again. ‘I knew all about you. Your old cousin, Miss Gowrie, visits Dolly regularly. She’s full of gossip, which filters through to me. So I told Dolly to get you.’ The diamonds flashed again. ‘She took her time, she likes to tease me a bit, but you came at last. To me. She was pleased to do as I asked in the end. And she had her own motives, also, one does not doubt. And perhaps another voice than mine was added.’ Again came that malicious look. She means Peter, I thought. Peter wanted me.
‘But I came here to be with Ariadne, and to train the peasant women at Madame Denisov’s country estate, to help them look after their own health and that of their children. Madame Denisov invited me. Her letters were quite specific.’ I could be sharp too, when required.
‘So Dolly thinks. Or perhaps just pretends to think.’ The Princess flashed me a smile as bright as her diamonds. ‘But the fact is that you came here for me, whatever Dolly thinks, and I mean to have first claim on you.’
‘I don’t understand.’ But I did. Reluctantly, I did begin to understand a little. I had not forgotten how that dry, cold hand had warmed itself in mine. She wanted help from me. Why me? I was not sure. There must be plenty of nurses in Russia. But perhaps she wanted that little extra I might have. Everyone seemed to be tugging at me in this house.
‘I persuaded Dolly. I told her what a splendid companion you would be for Ariadne. She agreed, she was very willing. Dolly does not need my money, but she would like my emeralds when I die.’ She paused, then said grimly: ‘She will have a long wait. I don’t intend to die.’ Her ancient hand, loaded with jewels whose antique cut made them look older than she was herself, took my own. ‘I do not want to die, and with your help I will not.’
Now that her face was so close, I could see the seams and cracks into which her fine, old skin had crumbled; the rouge and powder accentuated rather than dimmed the damage the years had done. She was wearing a thick, heavy, musky scent that was like the smell of another century.
I withdrew my hand and stepped backwards from the bed. ‘No one can stop death. Not when it’s ready to come. Certainly not I.’
A spark of humour showed in those black eyes. ‘But one can procrastinate. Do you know how old I am? In one month I shall be ninety years old; I have procrastinated thus far, so why should I not postpone death for another ten years and for ten after that?’
‘But why me?’ I was amused, but also amazed at the conviction in her voice. ‘Why should you think I was worth bringing all the way from Scotland on the chance I could do that?’ If you truly did, I thought – because I still believed Dolly Denisov to be very much her own mistress and much more likely to follow her own will than the old Princess’s, emeralds or no.
She looked mysterious. ‘Ah, but you see it was foretold. In the cards. I set great store by the cards and they never let me down. I was told again and again that a girl like you would come from far away, and that through her I would be given great comfort, and that I would not die until she left. So that’s easy: you will not leave.’
I looked at her, half exasperated, half laughing. ‘My sister also foretold my future, although not from the cards. She foretold great happiness, wealth and a tragedy for me, but I don’t happen to believe it.’
Then Princess Irene clapped her hands. ‘Confirmation! The forces which one can only respect – ’ and here she crossed herself – ‘are interested in you. They communicate with each other.’
‘On the other hand, the forces didn’t happen to mention you,’ I pointed out cruelly.
‘But that doesn’t matter, naturally they would only speak of that to me. A great fortune for you, did you say, and yet a tragedy? Hmm. I wonder what that means? One can’t always take these things at their face value.’ She was laughing at me, mocking me, the old devil. ‘There are fortunes and fortunes. Anyway, you won’t go away and leave me to die, will you now? You couldn’t do it. I can see you’re a girl of affections. Sympathy, even.’
‘I won’t go before I have to; I certainly wouldn’t like your death on my head.’
‘Ah now you’re laughing at me!’ She clapped her hands. ‘The little moth flutters in the web. Good. That is what I like to see. Laugh on.’
‘Only a very little laugh.’
‘Well, promise me to stay. Promise?’ She was openly wheedling me now.
‘I promise.’ I held out my hand, and she held out hers, and we exchanged handshakes.
‘A bargain,’ she said with satisfaction. ‘Supposing I should live to be a hundred – without pain, of course. Here, give me that hand-mirror and let me look at my face.’ Silently I handed over the small silver object whose back was studded with sapphires. She looked at herself. ‘Yes, I think I shall do it. You’ve done me good already. I can see it in my face.’ And she pinched her cheeks to make the blood run. ‘Look at the colour there.’
‘There was colour in your cheeks before,’ I said.
‘Painted on. You are laughing at me again.’ She lay back on her pillows, determined to teach me a lesson. ‘Oh, that pain. It’s the pain when it comes that will kill me. You can stop the pain.’ Her voice was rising. ‘When it comes, it comes here, over my heart. It’s coming now. Take it away from me.’
Through the door behind her bed appeared the small, squat figure of an elderly woman wearing a long, dark blue dress and white apron. Her hair was braided all over her head in tiny little plaits, and on top of them she wore a white cap like a little scarf.
With a hostile look at me and a ‘Go away, Baryna,’ she hurried over to the bed. ‘Mistress, mistress, speak to your Anna. You will make yourself ill.’
‘I am ill, you fool. Go away, I tell you. Rose, Rose Gowrie, come here.’
I did not move. Not one step would I take.
‘Do what her Excellency says, Baryna,’ ordered Anna sullenly.
‘She’s not ill,’ I said. ‘She’s just pretending.’
The old lady stopped her moans and lay back on the pillows, staring at me.
‘You can’t deceive me,’ I said. ‘I know whether you are in pain or not. And the pain, when it comes, is not in your heart, but deeper down in your guts.’
Anna gave a shocked little cluck at my bluntness. The Princess coughed, her shoulders heaving, but with laughter. I had passed some sort of test. All the same, she was a sick woman and my trained eye detected and interpreted the great pulse banging away in her throat.
‘Calm down,’ I said. ‘And no more tricks, or you will be ill.’ She was running a risk, staging little scenes like this.
‘Anna, bring me a drink.’
‘Water only,’ I said severely.
The Princess pulled a face. ‘Did you think I would ask for vodka? Only peasant women drink vodka.’ She accepted a tall glass from Anna and sipped it serenely. But since the glass was coloured deep blue, I was unable to see if the liquid it contained was water. I doubted it.
‘About that great fortune you are to have.’
‘A solid, heavy fortune, I think my sister called it,’ I said, remembering.
‘Well, you must not expect it from me.’
Indignantly, I said: ‘I never thought of such a thing for a moment. That would be detestable. Stupid, too.’
‘No, as you say. And yet people do think such things. Such a thought comes into the mind without much effort. It is true I am a rich woman, but my fortune must devolve upon my great-niece and nephew. There remain the jewels which my lover gave me, but those too are promised to Dolly. So you see, you can have no hopes from me.’
‘
I don’t think nature intended me to be rich,’ I said soberly.
‘No, it might not be a material inheritance that was meant. There are spiritual ones,’ said the Princess, with an intent look. ‘You have the face of a girl who might have a serious spiritual journey to make.’ She was talking, half to herself, hardly at all to me. I heard her murmur: ‘Child, in your prayers be all my sins remembered.’
Of course,’ I whispered, anxious to reassure. ‘But are they so many?’
‘Yes.’ The word ended on a gasp. I saw the vein in her throat grow and become purple like a grape. ‘More than you know. I have been a wicked woman.’
Urgently I said: ‘Where is your medicine? You have some drops to take?’ She couldn’t answer. I turned to the old maid. ‘Anna, you know, I’m sure. Fetch me her medicine.’
At once Anna produced from a capacious pocket a tiny glass phial. I looked at it, assessed its contents as amyl-nitrate, and snapped it between my fingers and held it under the Princess’s nose so that she could inhale the fumes. All the time I could hear Anna’s jealous voice grumbling away.
As the vapours rose and entered her lungs, so the Princess relaxed; it was very quick, in a minute she was breathing easily.
‘Well, that’s better. So that’s the pain, is it?’
‘One of them,’ she managed, and even smiled wryly. ‘I have several devils that torment me.’
Angina, I thought, and the pain coming because her heart muscle is short of oxygen. But I also thought that she had another and more serious ailment, an obstruction of the gut somewhere which caused even more prolonged pain. And yet I doubted if she would die of either just yet. She was tough.
‘You have violet eyes,’ she murmured, staring up into them as I bent over her. ‘Women with violet eyes always have a sad destiny.’ She was an inveterate romantic.
The Red Staircase Page 8