The Red Staircase

by Gwendoline Butler

  Ariadne laughed. ‘No, we don’t have either of those institutions. Oh, I think there is a sort of dame school in the village. No, that is our distillery.’ And, seeing my look of surprise: ‘Oh, yes, we make our own spirit, using our own grain. We sell it, of course.’

  ‘Ah!’ At last I knew where some of the Denisov wealth came from.

  Ariadne sat down on the soft carpet of pine needles and stared across the river. Her burst of unwonted energy was over and she seemed disinclined for talk. I sat beside her quietly, wondering if I too was one person in one place and another elsewhere. Certainly I felt that the Rose Gowrie I had been in Jordansjoy was on the move. That earlier Rose Gowrie had been a little – shall I say it? – passive. She had accepted too easily. Patrick Graham in part had already felt that the first Rose Gowrie was a silly child who deserved what happened to her. But I had shed that Rose, left her behind like a carapace I had outgrown. The Rose Gowrie I was getting to know now was asking a lot of questions.

  Ariadne rose and shook herself like one of the dogs. ‘Let’s go back now.’

  I stood up too. ‘I’d like to see the village.’ I had the wrong idea about the village then, and thought it might be a place to stroll and shop and gossip in, as at home.

  ‘Tomorrow. Tomorrow we will go to the village,’ said Ariadne dreamily.

  Tomorrow. It seemed quite close, I looked forward to it. But I was to discover that ‘tomorrow’ at Shereshevo meant ‘sometime’ or ‘any time’; it was a hope rather than a definite intention to act. Tomorrow could be infinitely far away.

  And in fact next morning Dolly decided that what, above all things, she wished to do that day was to sit under the mulberry tree at the back of the house and draw Ariadne and me as we read and worked. We were fairly caught, with no chance of bicycling off on our own.

  ‘What about my work? When am I to begin?’ I asked her.

  ‘Oh, I’ve told the steward to make some arrangements so you can meet all the women. We have to do it through him, or he would be mortally offended.’

  I could see there was a hierarchy at Shereshevo through which even Dolly must work. ‘Of course, they do anything I say,’ explained Dolly, seeing my thoughtful look, ‘but they also know how to be obstructive. Nothing one can easily put one’s finger on, but if something is not how the steward likes it, well – ’ and she shrugged – ‘nothing gets done, that’s all. He has much more power over the peasants than I have.’

  ‘I must be tactful,’ I said, thinking that it wasn’t my strongest point.

  ‘So you see we go forward slowly,’ pursued Dolly. ‘But I have some good news for you: your goods have arrived and I have had them placed in the library. My brother Peter brought them when he arrived.’

  ‘But that’s splendid.’ I got up, full of eager energy. ‘I’ll unpack them now.’ So Peter Alexandrov had arrived. ‘It was good of your brother to bring them for me.’

  ‘But why not?’ Dolly did not rise herself. ‘And take that lazy girl Ariadne with you.’

  But when I got there the boxes had been already unpacked by the servants and the contents of drugs, bandages and essential equipment had been neatly stacked beside them. I was a little annoyed, I should have preferred to do it myself, but there was nothing to be done. ‘They always do everything they can,’ said Ariadne, seeing my baffled look. ‘Especially if you don’t want them to.’

  ‘But I’m thirsting to be put to work!’ I complained. But plainly there was nothing for it but to return to the mulberry tree, and so the rest of the long morning passed by in idleness and chatter.

  When it was time for luncheon I went to my room to make myself tidy for the meal. Chancing to look out of my window, I saw to my surprise a group of peasant women clustered about the steps that led to the upper terrace. They were sitting there patiently with the air of having waited some time already, and of being ready to wait longer if they must.

  I went into Ariadne’s room where she was sitting dreamily doing nothing. ‘Why are all those women gathered outside in the garden? I saw them from my bedroom.’

  ‘Oh, the peasant women? Probably they have come to see Mamma.’ She looked round the room almost as if a group of peasants might swarm in through the door. ‘They always come to Mamma when they are in trouble.’

  ‘What sort of trouble?’

  ‘Oh, debts. They always seem to have debts,’ said Ariadne vaguely. ‘And illnesses, they always have those too.’

  ‘What a responsibility for her,’ I said. ‘It must weigh on her.’

  Ariadne shrugged. ‘If she is tired or doesn’t want to bother, then she just sends them away.’

  ‘But what do they do then?’ I was shocked at Dolly Denisov’s heartlessness, but it was in character.

  ‘I suppose they go to the steward, or manage on their own.’ Slowly Ariadne said: ‘Really, it is better for them to be independent and not to rely on my mother.’

  We went downstairs and consumed a leisurely lunch. Only as we were finishing did I casually bring up the subject of the peasant women. Dolly knew nothing about them. But one of the maids who was serving us did. It seemed that the women had come to see me – that the steward, having been told of my interest in them, had in fact summoned them; but, understanding that I was occupied, asked them to wait.

  I was aghast. ‘They have been waiting for me all this time, and I never knew!’ I said to Dolly. ‘Why did no one tell me? How could the steward arrange it so? I should have gone from home to home, making myself known, trying to be friendly, not have them summoned here to await my orders as if I was some sort of soldier. And then not to be there, to keep them waiting!’

  ‘Go out now,’ said Dolly calmly. ‘I don’t suppose they minded waiting. They never do.’

  Not so, I thought, they do mind, I’m sure of it. With a sick feeling that I had started off as badly as I possibly could, I went and faced the crowd of women.

  They let me come right up to them without moving; they were neither welcoming nor unwelcoming, just quiet. One or two were carrying babies, and several had young children with them. One old woman had her eyes closed as if she was asleep standing up, like a horse. Large black flies threaded their way lazily in and out of the group, as if they had brought the flies with them and the flies would stay with them. The air was hot and still and I could smell the poverty of them assembled there in the stale stench of their clothes. They must be hungry, and thirsty too. And I had nothing to give them but words.

  ‘I am sorry you have been kept waiting.’ I put my head up and spoke out, projecting my voice so they could all hear. But through sheer nerves my Russian vocabulary deserted me, and I could only stumble through a few sentences. ‘I have been asked by Madame Denisov to give you help in looking after the health of your families – some simple training in rules of hygiene and health care. I shall help you directly at first by myself with any problems, but my real hope is to train you to help yourselves.’ I looked at them, desperate for some response, but none came. I might have been speaking to a bunch of statues. Perhaps they didn’t even understand me. ‘I shall ask Madame Denisov to give me a room where I can set up a clinic. And also I will visit you, each of you, in your own home.’ Trying to get through, I said: ‘Please make me welcome. I want to be of use to you.’ No one moved, but I noticed they all continued to look at me. At least, they were interested. After a minute I realised that until I moved, they could not. I made them a deep bow, and turned back to the house. Oh God, did they understand that bow? I asked myself. I meant them to know I was their servant.

  As I moved away I saw that Peter had been silently observing me from under a tree. ‘You did well,’ he said.

  ‘I have started off just about as badly as I could,’ I said. ‘I wish I could have done it any other way. I ought to have gone first from house to house and had you introduce me. That way I might have had a chance.’

  But Peter was encouraging. ‘You spoke very well. I was impressed.’

  ‘Even then I expec
t I have said the wrong things. What will they make of the idea of me training them? A young girl, and some of them old women. As it is, I’ve probably alienated the midwife. I suppose there is a village midwife?’ This was to Dolly, who had joined us with Ariadne.

  Dolly nodded. ‘And she lays out the dead, too.’

  I groaned. ‘She’ll hate me.’ I shook my head. ‘I should have tried first to get her on my side. Why didn’t I think?’

  ‘Don’t make too much of it all,’ said Dolly. ‘They are just slow. They will come round.’

  ‘I should have planned more thoroughly. I see now I have accepted the whole idea of what I was to do too lightly. And yet I am qualified, or nearly. I do know a great deal. Oh, if only I hadn’t kept them waiting. Or if they had made some response.’

  ‘As to that,’ said Dolly slowly. ‘I’m not sure they understood all you said. You do speak Russian remarkably, considering. But your accent is one that would be strange to them.’

  ‘Oh, do you think so?’ I grabbed at the hope.

  ‘I do. Now, come indoors. We’ll give the women time to get back to the village, and eat, and then we’ll drive over ourselves and you can be introduced as you would wish. We can’t go to all the houses, but the houses of the principal men in the village, the ones who serve on the village council, you shall see.’ She had an air of resolution, and I could see that she had shaken herself out of her usual lazy calm.

  We rode in a smart little governess-cart, and I drove. A governess-cart, with its sideways seats, so that one has to twist at the waist to drive, is very safe and easy.

  ‘The reins mark my white gloves,’ said Madame Denisov, and she sat there looking picturesque and elegant with one hand on the little door that closed us in at the back. At her feet were several baskets covered with linen cloths. ‘And I see you drive well.’

  ‘But the mare is so clever.’ And indeed she was, knowing the road thoroughly and almost anticipating the slight direction I might give her on the reins.

  ‘Yes, Fanny goes beautifully,’ agreed Dolly, carefully brushing away a speck of dirt. ‘You must borrow her whenever you like and take her for a drive. She won’t let you get lost; give her her head, and Fanny will always get you home.’

  We were in the middle of Shereshevo before I realized we had arrived. A few houses stood together as if trying to form the nucleus of a village, but the rest were scattered here and there as if they were toy houses that a giant child had thrown from the skies. As we drew closer, though, I saw that I had been unfair. Although it was true that the houses were mere constructions of wattle and mud with turfs on their roofs, yet they were not hovels, and almost all of them were cleanly white-washed, with pots of plants at their windows. Moreover, a small patch of garden with vegetables and flowers had been created around most of the houses. I had to drive with care as geese, ducks and children – together with a wild-looking pack of animals rather like goats, but which I think were a sort of sheep – were swarming along the track that was the road. There were only three structures of any size in the village, of which the most prominent was the village church, a low white building with a stubby tower from which a bell was now tinnily clapping the hour. Opposite the church was the steward’s house which, although small, looked comfortable and prosperous, and where a plump woman was sitting on the verandah shelling peas into a bowl in her lap. She looked of a different status from the group of women clustered round the big iron pump – which was the other prominent object in the village, with three steps leading up to the domed hood in which it was protected.

  ‘My grandfather built that for the village,’ said Ariadne, seeing my eyes rest on the pump. I wondered why he hadn’t given the villagers taps and running water while he was about it, but no doubt that was expecting too much. After all, one or two houses in Jordansjoy still lacked mains water, although I think they mostly had their own pump.

  ‘Well now,’ said Dolly. ‘We are here on business. Stop, please.’ And she looked around her as if seeking something.

  I reined in the horse very near the pump. Dolly looked at the women, but obviously did not see there what she sought, because she said: ‘Ariadne, you go into the village shop and tell Madame Mozorov I want her to come with us.’ Ariadne still sat there. Dolly held out her hand to me. ‘I’ll take the reins. You go with Ariadne.’

  Reluctantly, Ariadne got herself up and out of the governess-cart, and I followed.

  ‘I didn’t realise this was a shop,’ I said to Ariadne as she led me up to one of the larger of the huts.

  She shrugged. ‘If you can call it a shop.’

  As we got closer, I could see that the door was festooned on either side with various saleable objects. A tin kettle and a pan hung above a pair of long felt boots, while facing them was a bunch of enamelled mugs hanging from a bit of rope threaded through their handles and suspended from a hook. A wooden tub, filled with what looked a pile of old rags, stood underneath these mugs; the rags were, in fact, strips of felt and were used, as I found out later, for repairing the felt boots. By it was another tub, this time of washing soda.

  Inside the shop it was very dark, in spite of the bright sunlight outside: dark and stuffy, smelling of old clothes and strange dried foodstuffs; but Ariadne led the way confidently forward and so I followed. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I could see that a waist-high wooden counter ran along one wall of the shop, with a door behind it opening into an inner room, and leaning up against the counter as if she had been there all day and might stay there all night, was a burly woman. She gave a little bob of a curtsey when she saw Ariadne. I earned nothing except an inquisitive look; it was a comprehensive one, however, and I felt she had taken in all she wanted to for the moment, and had registered it, and would presently think about it.

  ‘Ah, good morning, Excellency,’ she said to Ariadne, not with any particular politeness. ‘I thought we should be seeing you.’

  I thought that Ariadne seemed the least little bit nervous of the shopkeeper. Nor did I blame her, she was a formidable looking woman. Ariadne said: ‘We are making a number of visits in the village and my mother wants you to come with us.’

  Without the least hesitation, Madame Mozorov said: ‘I can’t leave the shop.’

  ‘You will oblige her by coming,’ persisted Ariadne. ‘It’s what she wants.’

  ‘Oh well, if that’s what Her Excellency wishes, I suppose I shall have to obey,’ grumbled Madame Mozorov. ‘And my humble wishes count for nothing. Nor business. Well, I shall go bankrupt, that’s all, then you’ll see.’

  ‘It is your business, in a way,’ said Ariadne. ‘Miss Gowrie is going to meet people and some of them will be your patients, I suppose. Madame Mozorov is the midwife, Rose,’ she said, turning to me. Oh, my goodness, I thought.

  ‘I heard that Miss Gowrie met the women this morning,’ said Madame Mozorov sardonically.

  ‘I didn’t see you there.’

  ‘I wasn’t.’ She was folding a light muslin shawl over her head and shoulders. ‘I’m ready then.’ She stalked out of the shop, with Ariadne and me following.

  While we were in the shop Dolly had moved into the driving seat of the governess-cart, and when she saw our trio appear she touched the horse lightly with a whip and moved forward. And this was how we made our progress around the village: Dolly in the governess-cart, Madame Mozorov walking beside her, the two of them chatting companionably, and Ariadne and I walking behind.

  It was, I suppose, satisfactory. Dolly Denisov distributed the provisions she had brought with her; I met, cursorily, the wives and daughters and sisters of the leading men of the village, made no real contact whatever, and came away in a state of considerable dejection; and Madame Mozorov exerted her natural authority wherever we went and left us in a high good humour.

  ‘I see you think it’s all very strange, Rose,’ said Dolly, as we drove back to the house. ‘But it is the way it has to be done. I keep my place and they keep theirs.’ Still driving herself, she had taken a
different route home from the one out, and we were approaching a small, one-storeyed whitewashed building which lay not too far from the village and yet beneath the protection of the big house.

  Here Dolly reined the horse in. ‘My father built this place for the village council to meet in, but they never liked it, and prefer to meet around the pump as they always have done. So you shall have it for your clinic.’

  I looked at it appraisingly, noticing the clean, good windows and the chimney which meant a stove and hence the possibility of hot water (I had been worrying about this), and decided I liked it. ‘I wonder why the village council wouldn’t use it?’

  ‘There’s no accounting,’ said Dolly, whipping up the horse. ‘They said it was unlucky.’

  ‘And is it unlucky?’ asked Ariadne.

  ‘I have no idea. But the man who was building it broke his neck on the roof. That was enough for the peasants, I suppose.’

  Thank you, Dolly, I thought, for giving me an unlucky building, which the village hates, for my clinic. Then I seemed to hear Tibby’s voice speaking: Keep your spirits up, my girl, don’t give in.

  ‘Then I shall have to change their minds for them,’ I said, ‘and make it lucky.’

  And by the following morning I had worked out my plan of campaign. I cycled down to the pump in the middle of the village, and propped up my machine against it. No one was there except one solitary female child and a nanny goat. I had made a bet that it was the women’s meeting place during the day and the men’s in the evening. I stood there for a passage of time, quite alone except for the little girl, but was conscious of eyes on me. Feeling thirsty, I went up to the pump and, making use of the tin mug that hung there on a chain, I gave myself a long drink of water, sending up as I did so a prayer that I might not get typhoid or gastroenteritis as a consequence. But the village seemed to drink and survive, so the water was probably pure enough. In any case, I knew I had had a close brush with typhoid while working in Edinburgh, and having come through that I guessed I had a good natural resistance to the disease.