‘Why, then, Ivan? Why?
‘White hares are the mark of a witch,’ he said slowly. ‘So I have heard.’
‘Thank you for telling me. Now I know why the creature is in my room, and I dare say you know who left it here, too. Oh, don’t worry; I won’t ask. Because you wouldn’t tell me.’ I walked round to take a closer look at the little creature crouching there. I could see by its stillness how frightened it was. Suddenly I was angry, not for myself but for the animal. ‘How did they find a baby hare in St Petersburg?’
Ivan shrugged. ‘The country’s not so far away, all the maids here are country girls, perhaps one of them brought the creature in from her home. And then there is the market on Vassily Island, there they sell everything alive on four legs or two that you can eat or pluck.’
I was a country girl too, and, the first surprise over, was not frightened of the leveret; I picked it up, stroking the soft warm fur. ‘And what will happen to the animal when you take it away?’
Ivan looked doubtful for a moment, and then made a twisting movement with his two hands.
I felt sick. ‘Go away. Leave the animal with me.’ He started to depart from the room, glad enough, I thought, to get away. ‘No, I’ve got a better idea. Go and get some straw and two boxes; the leveret can stay up here.’
‘Oh, but Baryshna.’ He started to protest, but I brushed him aside. ‘Get what I ask.’
I stood holding the baby hare till he returned, bearing two wooden boxes and a great armful of straw and hay, and with his grumbling help we created a pen for the hare where it was soon peacefully installed, apparently quite happy.
‘Now, go back downstairs and tell them what a witch I am,’ I said to Ivan. ‘And what this witch can do.’ He departed, grumbling.
I felt better because I had met hostility head on and outfaced it. But the episode sickened me. ‘Holy Russia,’ I thought. ‘Unholy Russia.’ Fortunately my uneasy thoughts were disturbed by Ariadne. ‘You are writing a letter,’ she said, coming into my room at that moment. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, but I had something to ask.’
‘Just a letter to my old nurse, Tibby,’ I said, without telling her that it was to say I was coming home, in time for Grizel’s wedding if I could. I knew I must tell her mother, and speak to Emma Gowrie, before I said anything to Ariadne.
But she had been diverted. ‘Good heavens, Rose, are you keeping a farm in your room?’
‘It was a sort of present. It won’t be here long. I shall find another home for it. What is it you wanted?’
‘I should think it would smell.’ She dragged her gaze away from the hare. ‘It’s my uncle Peter and Edward Lacey. They want you to come down. We are going to have some music and to dance.’
‘I thought you were doing that already. I heard music’
‘Uncle Peter can’t dance alone,’ said Ariadne plaintively.
‘But I can’t do that new dance you and Edward do.’
‘The tango. You can learn. We’ll teach you. Come on, the music’s delicious.’
She held out her hand and I let her lead me down. But before I went I took my letter to Tibby and handed it to Ivan, who was, as usual, lurking outside, and ordered him to see it was posted. I felt safer that it was off.
Peter met us at the door to the big drawing-room, where they had the carpet rolled back and the boards shining and bare. He had a gramophone record in one hand. He looked flushed and happy, younger than I had ever seen him look. He was about ten years my senior and as much younger than his sister, Dolly. It was a big gap, but Dolly had said there were two children in between who had died.
‘Ah, good,’ he said when he saw me. ‘She’s got you. Come along now. Lesson number one.’ He put the record on the gramophone and put his arm round me.
‘But I didn’t come to Russia to learn the tango,’ I protested as I let him lead me into the dance.
‘Not the tango,’ he corrected. ‘We’ve done that. This is the Maxixe. Just as new, and a shade more vulgar.’
‘Vulgarity is in the eye of the beholder, my boy,’ said Edward, dancing past with Ariadne.
‘I have a question to put to you,’ said Peter as we twirled.
I shook my head.
‘And again.’
‘No.’
‘And again,’ he said gently. ‘Why should we not marry? I could help you, I think. A sort of Prince Consort to your Queen at the Gowrie Works. The English like that sort of thing, I think.’ He was gently mocking me.
I could do with that sort of help, I thought, remembering my troubles at the Works and the unresolved worry over the theft of explosives. But it didn’t seem a basis for marriage.
‘It’s no good; I’m going home. At least, I think it would be better.’
‘No.’ He stopped dancing. ‘Now it’s my turn to say no. And I say it with great firmness. No, no, no.’
‘Let’s go on dancing. The others are looking.’
‘Listening, too, I expect, and I don’t mind.’ He looked determined and angry. ‘Edward and Ariadne know all I want to say to you. Or they can guess.’
‘But I might mind,’ I said, exasperated.
He dropped his arm from my waist and gave me a hard look; too, too perceptive, as always. ‘There is the conservatory next door. We could always step in there if you prefer,’ he said politely.
‘Thank you, no, I didn’t mean that.’ I was struggling to get back the position of advantage I had lost. ‘Shall we go on dancing? And not talk.’
‘I don’t promise not to talk.’ He had never sounded happier, nor been a more entertaining companion. He was very nice and very rich. And, after all, Patrick had betrayed me twice. ‘You’re a very apt pupil, Miss Gowrie. Don’t we dance well together?’
‘You don’t expect an answer to that,’ I said breathlessly, as we sailed around the floor.
‘Don’t I, though? Don’t you think I’ve earned one?’
It was true, and it brought me up short. There must be an end to my procrastination.
‘I shall go home to see my sister married,’ I said, standing still. ‘I’ve had enough dancing. I’ll go to my room. I have some more letters to write.’
‘That’s an excuse.’
‘Yes, of course it is.’ And I hurried out of the room, closely followed by Peter, who stopped me at the foot of the stairs.
‘Rose, don’t run away.’ He stopped, put his hand to his head, and said: ‘My God, there’s water dripping on me.’
We both looked up the stairs and there was Ivan, on the curve of the stairs directly above us, carrying a shallow bowl from which water slopped. Some fell on me at that moment.
‘Now you’ve been christened … Ivan, what are you up to?’
‘Carrying water to the animal, Excellency,’ called Ivan. ‘Animals must have water.’
‘Water, animal?’ Peter was hurrying up the stairs with me after him and Ivan plodding doggedly on, the water in the bowl swinging to and fro more dangerously with every step. ‘Put the bowl down, man, and explain yourself.’
‘I’ll tell you,’ I said hastily, and in as few words as possible, but without mentioning witches, I told him about the hare.
He burst out laughing. ‘My dear girl, do you mean to say that you are planning to share your room with a hare?’
‘I wanted to make sure it was safe.’
‘The creature can live in the kitchens of this house. I promise you it will be safe. I can give you my word.’
‘I am afraid it will be lonely.’
‘Then it shall have a companion; we will get it a mate.’
I was laughing myself now. ‘Oh, Peter, the kitchens will be full of leverets, the whole place will be over-run.’
‘The kitchens of this house are big enough to contain a few hares if that is what will make you happy. This house is like Russia, there is room for everything in it.’
I thought it was true: the old Princess in her tower, Dolly and Peter on their levels, the servants in the basement, all shade
s of opinions were represented in this house and could live together.
I felt happier than I had been for days. ‘Oh, thank you truly,’ I said to Peter. ‘You are kind.’
Before Ivan’s interested gaze, Peter took my hand in his. ‘Do I have an answer?’
‘Yes. The answer is yes.’ Then I said: ‘On conditions. Yes, it must be a marriage blanc, a marriage of convenience. To help me with the Gowrie Works. I can’t give more.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I know young women in Russia who want to emancipate themselves do contract such marriages. I have come to believe it’s what I must do. If it sounds cold, forgive me. Love doesn’t enter into it. Liking yes, love no.’
Peter gave me a long look, then without taking his eyes from my face he said: ‘Ivan, you can continue up to Miss Gowrie’s room with your load.’
Then as Ivan reluctantly took himself off, Peter kissed me.
It was not a passionate kiss. It was gentle and affectionate. I did not respond, but I knew he had accepted my bargain. How pleased Dolly would be. And how angry that furious old occupant of the Red Staircase!
I heard Peter say something in Russian under his breath. Then I remembered something. ‘Oh, Peter, I’ve sent off a letter saying I am coming home.’
‘Very well, then we will send another saying that you are not.’
‘Yes.’
‘And Rose, since we cannot go to see your sister married, for I can’t spare you and won’t let you go away for a moment, then we must get her and her husband to come to your wedding here.’
‘Grizel and Archie? Oh Peter, do you think we could?’
‘Nothing is easier.’
And when he said it like that, it seemed so. Tentatively, but with pleasure, I began to appreciate the power and pleasure of my new position.
Although Peter was enthusiastic about welcoming Grizel and Archie, he was adamant about not including Tibby in the invitation, and nothing I could do would make him change.
‘No. I am not allowing that old woman near you until my position with you is firmly established,’ he said. ‘She has a bad influence on you. If she comes out now, you might never marry me.’
‘Oh Peter, no. You misjudge Tibby.’
‘Let her wait. When you and I have been married for a good time, she can come on a visit. But I want to be sure of myself first.’ He smiled at me. ‘I want you all to myself.’
So, when my letters home went off, they included an invitation to Grizel and her Archie, but there was no offer to Tibby. The pain she would feel – but never admit to – was a blot on my general feeling that I was doing what was right. I would make it up to Tibby later.
I suppose the happiest person of all was Dolly Denisov, whose plans had worked to perfection. She had me and the Gowrie Works now allied to her family as she had wished. And I suspected that she did not believe overmuch in the marriage blanc.
But I had made it clear to Peter that there would be nothing else. ‘If you fall in love with someone else, then we can divorce. That seems easy enough in Russia. But what I want is the stability of your name and position to help me with the task my godfather has left me. There are tremendous problems.’
‘You know how much I want to help.’
‘Yes. And it is important to Russia. Dolly says so, and I believe her. But there’s something else. I feel as though my godfather has deliberately left me with a problem, a puzzle if you like, in the Gowrie Works. That he saw an answer and wanted me to find it out if I could. Perhaps he thought I was the only one among his descendants who would find it. He was a strange old man. And in addition, I am afraid that someone may be using the Gowrie Works to abstract explosives.’
‘I could investigate that,’ he said with a frown. ‘Indeed I will and must.’
The arrangement between us seemed the easier because I knew that Peter was not in love with me. I suppose I represented a ‘good’ match to him, as he did to me. And Dolly, his sister, wished for the marriage; this had influenced him, no doubt. And he liked me, of course. But direct, swift, physical desire did not exist. On this matter, after Patrick, I could not be mistaken. I was grateful for its absence now, but on the contrary I should have been alerted.
There was one other thing I had to stomach, and I surprised myself by my reaction to it. I had always thought of myself as a sceptic rather than a declared agnostic – for Tibby would never have countenanced agnosticism – but in any event, not quite a believer. Yet when I was required to join the Russian Orthodox Church I found out I was, at heart, a member of the Church of Scotland.
The two were not incompatible, however, Dolly said, and one faith need not drive out the other. It was she who made my duty clear to me, and organized my reception into the Russian Church. Only that way, she said, could I fully occupy my new position as a woman of property. Peter said very little; I don’t think he cared, but he didn’t say no either.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Soon, with all necessary speed – which was not, after all, so very fast, this being Russia – the formalities connected with a wedding between a British subject and a Russian were set in train. The British Embassy had to be told. I went there myself. Fortunately I knew Muriel Buchanan, the Ambassador’s pretty, talkative daughter, and she eased my path, looking at me with frank interest as I told her what was planned. ‘I keep a diary, you know,’ she said, ‘and you and your wedding will certainly be in it.’ I was surprised at how much I had to do and how many documents I had to produce, even my birth certificate, which naturally I did not have with me. Miss Gowrie was a great help here, as it appeared that she had been present at my birth, or more or less, and so was able to prove I existed …
My reception into the Church and my clothes seemed to be the chief things on Dolly’s mind. All she let show, anyway. Our announcement seemed to have caused her no surprise. ‘I’m so pleased, my dear,’ she said. ‘Marry soon, I should. No sense in hanging about. I knew you would come round to it in the end. It’s such a sensible arrangement.’ I had discreetly whispered that it was a marriage of convenience only. She merely shrugged. ‘In that case, marry all the sooner.’
‘Oh, we’re going to,’ said Peter. ‘Almost at once, don’t you think, Rose?’
‘Just time for Rose to be received into the Church – they can do you quite quickly – and arrange your clothes. There won’t be time for anything elaborate. Not that simplicity is quick. But just a few things now, then afterwards …’ She looked at me appraisingly. ‘I have always wanted to see you in one of Poiret’s oriental ensembles, they would suit your style. You have the necessary panache to wear them, and the height.’ And here she sighed, for she herself was small and inclined to plumpness.
We were to have a whole floor of the Denisov house made over to us to live in, this being the custom. Our living there was quite taken for granted, and never discussed at all. In fact, I saw now that Peter’s living en garconnière in his own flat had been unusual in his class. As our rooms were already fully furnished, I had no duties of the sort Grizel and Archie had in getting their home together. ‘A pity, really,’ I said to Peter, as we strolled round the set of rooms, viewing what would be our home. ‘I should have enjoyed it.’
‘Later, later.’ He gave me an affectionate smile. ‘You shall have carte blanche.’ He waved a hand. ‘Throw this lot out.’
‘They are valuable antiques.’
‘Perhaps we won’t actually throw them on to the streets.’ He traced an idle finger across the dust on top of a piece of onyx. ‘We might keep them better dusted. Really, Dolly’s servants are an idle lot. Inertia is their chosen vice.’
‘How hard you are on them.’
‘Nothing they don’t deserve,’ he said briskly. ‘Come on, let’s continue looking around these rooms. You will have your maid with you, of course. This will be her room.’
He showed me a square box of a room with no windows.’ It’s not very big,’ I said doubtfully. ‘Anyway, I have no maid yet.’
‘Well, you must choose one
. Dolly will help.’
‘And what about Ivan? Shall I still have his services?’
Absently he said: ‘I may send Ivan back to Shereshevo. He has served his purpose here.’ He was studying the room thoughtfully.
I was surprised. ‘What purpose was that?’
He brought his attention back to me. ‘Why, to look after you, of course. We had to provide someone for you who could speak some English.’
‘How carefully I was prepared for!’ I exclaimed. ‘But I’d like to keep Ivan.’
‘We’ll see how we get on. But let’s continue our tour.’ And together we strolled round the half-dozen rooms that made up our apartment.
‘I suppose I shall get used to being surrounded by Louis Quinze furniture and sleeping on a bed that was built for Marie Antoinette,’ I said finally.
‘Only built for her; she never paid for it,’ said Peter. ‘I’m not sure if my ancestor did either, to be quite truthful. I rather think that it was one of the spoils he brought back from France after Napoleon had been defeated.’
By the bed was a large porcelain figure of a little black boy wearing a turban and carrying a flambeau. Behind him was a large gilt mirror in which Peter and I were reflected. Between the mirror and the bed, the gold enamelled mouthpiece of one of the speaking-tubes protruded. But the horrid thing was that the mouthpiece looked like great, thick lips.
‘Only the speaking-tube is free of dust,’ I said. ‘Does it still work? It might be useful.’ I went over, removed the cap and spoke down the tube. No word was returned to me, just silence.
‘I told you they are never used,’ said Peter, watching me. He sounded uneasy.
‘Oh, don’t worry,’ I said, putting the plug back in the tube. ‘I won’t be imaginative!’ But I thought to myself that some voices never stop calling, and this speaking-tube seemed to have a mouth and might have a voice. ‘All the same I don’t like these tubes.’
‘Then they shall be ripped out.’
‘No, leave them. I can see they are beautifully done, and who knows, they may be useful in the end.’
Peter was delighted. ‘Spoken like a true Russian. That’s the spirit that has preserved them all these years.’
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