by ILIL ARBEL
“Yes,” said Madame Koska pensively. “I do rely on it, obviously, and what is virtue, really? So relative… Well, you know about the attempted robbery at my atelier. There is not a single clue as to what took place, and I think the police will not pay much more attention to it. However, what bothers me is that the police officer asked me why I visited you. He knows you, or about you, since he said that you teach languages, among other things you engage in, whatever that means. I had to think on my feet, so I told him that I come to you to improve my English, take care of my Russian accent. I am not sure if he believed me.”
“I see,” said Mr. Korolenko. “So you think there is a chance that the real reason for your coming here will be discovered; yes, it would be embarrassing. But what you told him was clever, and I suggest that from now on I should come to the atelier, once in a while, to give you the lessons.”
“Exactly what I thought, Mr. Korolenko. And what’s more, we should allow ourselves to be overheard by the seamstresses as you correct my English. It’s always a good idea to hide something in plain sight…”
Mr. Korolenko laughed. “Shades of Edgar Allan Poe come to mind…”
“The Purloined Letter?” said Madame Koska thoughtfully. “Yes indeed…”
“You read Poe, Madame Koska?”
“I read many things,” said Madame Koska. “But yes, I am very fond of mystery stories. They are exciting, and I love puzzling over the solution.”
“I had no idea you were a great reader,” said Mr. Korolenko.
“It’s a habit,” said Madame Koska. “You see, I come from a working-class London family. I had no chance of getting a good education, though I wanted it very much, so I got into the habit of reading everything I could find. Later on in Paris I worked very hard both before and after I was married and had no time for formal schooling, but I went on reading.”
“Well, well,” said Mr. Korolenko. “How interesting… What other things do you read?”
“Literature, mostly. In English I read Dickens, Thackeray, and Trollope, among others… In French I like Hugo, Voltaire, Balzac, many more, really. Poetry, some philosophy… I tried so hard. It was not a systematic education, but it was the best I could do, and it became a part of my life. But yes, I read many mysteries, Arthur Conan Doyle as well as Poe. Have you read Émile Gaboriau? Interesting French crime fiction. And also I found out about this new author, a young woman, who recently published her first book. I think she is going to be very famous. She created a fascinating detective, a little Belgian gentleman, and the plot was very, very clever.”
“And do you keep up with interesting cases in the real world?” asked Mr. Korolenko.
“No, I don’t have time for the newspapers these days.”
“So I suppose you did not hear about the mysterious disappearance of a piece of Russian jewelry,” said Mr. Korolenko.
“No, what is it?”
“A brooch that had once belonged to Catherine the Great. Apparently, after the revolution it was placed in a museum in a little provincial town by the Baltic Sea, I forget its name, to protect it. The security was excellent, but against all odds, the brooch vanished from its case. The museum is devastated.”
“Catherine the Great? I don’t know much about her other than what my friend, Madame Golitsyn, told me about the scandal of her pregnancies.”
“Oh, yes, it was quite a story. I read her memoirs, and would you believe, she did not try to hide any of the scandals; some historians think she even exaggerated them. I wouldn’t be surprised; everything she did was larger than life.”
“She seems to represent Russia, to embody it, to so many people,” said Madame Koska.
“Yes, this is a good insight; she did in so many ways. Interestingly, she was not Russian by birth. She was born in Prussia and her name was Sophie Friederike Auguste von Anhalt-Zerbst-Dornburg. But once she married Peter the Third, she adopted Russia wholeheartedly and assumed the Russian persona in every way. She made Russia into a great power.”
“She must have left a lot of jewelry. Is this stolen piece important?”
“She used to be practically covered with jewelry when she received people each evening; she had a habit of dressing up even for close friends. People said she was dazzling. She was not a classical beauty, but there was something attractive, even compelling, about her. It was not the famous emerald brooch, by the way, that was stolen. That one is safe.”
“I really don’t know a thing about the emerald brooch…so what was this one?”
“It’s a large sapphire, I believe, and yes, it’s an important, valuable piece. I am not sure who inherited Catherine’s jewelry, but I know that quite a bit of her collection found its way to museums after the Revolution. I imagine originally the pieces were given to her children.”
“A seamstress in my atelier has the same name as the father of one of Catherine’s children. Her name is Miss Natalya Saltykov.”
“Yes, some of the great families are still with us. A Saltykov working as a seamstress…it could break your heart.”
“Not my heart, Mr. Korolenko. I am a working woman.”
“You carry it off with great style, Madame Koska,” said Mr. Korolenko gallantly. “You look and sound like a high-born lady, and you certainly have aristocratic features.”
Madame Koska laughed. “Thank you, Mr. Korolenko. Madame Golitsyn always says I look more Russian than she does… Of course I work on the accent, and dress for the image; it pays off.”
“Yes, image is important in these strange times… So, on more immediate matters, we agree that I will come to the atelier for the next lesson, correct?”
“Yes, let’s do it. Of course I will still have to come here if I want to learn Russian…even if I am followed by the police. Incidentally, what did the police officer mean when he said you are engaged in other things, not just teaching languages?”
Mr. Korolenko sighed. “Nothing criminal, Madame Koska. I know it sounds like it, coming from a police officer, but I have never committed a crime. But I know what he meant… I sometimes translate documents for people who call themselves ‘businessmen’ and who expect me to forget the content as soon as I hand them the finished work, so I oblige and forget it. I can’t very well tell you more than that. They generally come from different parts of the world; I have many international connections.”
“I see,” said Madame Koska. “I won’t press you… I understand completely. One must survive! Well, shall we start with the lesson?”
“Madame Koska, may I come in?”
“Certainly, Miss Saltykov. Vhy, you are so early!” said Madame Koska.
“I wanted to see you before the seamstresses come in. I brought the first sampler.”
“But my dear Miss Saltykov, it vas only a veek ago that ve talked about it! You must have been vorking night and day!”
“No, not really. I am very fast, and this one was not difficult.” She took out a paper-wrapped package, undid the string, and took out the sampler. Madame Koska looked at it with admiration. It was intended to teach the women how to create delicate arabesques, which were so much in fashion. Natalya created it in successive steps. The first step was a round spot, about half an inch in diameter, and made from a few concentric circles that were shaped from small, bright red beads. The second step showed two more circles surrounding the red one, but in white. The third step showed how a line could be shaped from one more circle, done with glowing green beads; the line turned softly and gracefully into the shape of an arabesque. The forth step increased the width of the line, in light golden beads, and the fifth, final step, showed the start of a second arabesque, using the original bright red beads, flowing from the first.
“This is truly vell done,” said Madame Koska. “Every step is illustrated so clearly. Even a beginner can follow the sequence.”
“You see, Madame Koska, most samplers are not done with sufficient emphasis on training. The embroiderers usually wanted to create something beautiful and elegant,
so they limited their color palette for both beads and thread. The result was lovely, but seeing the steps was hard. My governess taught me that to make a proper sampler, you must use bold, contrasting colors. Then the steps can be followed.”
“You had excellent training.”
“Yes, dear Fräulein Strauss. She could do better Russian pearl embroidery than some of our own people. She taught me how to embroider long before my mother thought I was old enough to hold a needle, since I wanted so much to do it… Fräulein Strauss and I had our little secrets.” She suddenly laughed. “She also taught me how to walk with a book on my head… I did not appreciate it, nor the corsets she had me wear, or the idea that bonbons were so bad for your complexion… But I did love her.”
“But you should not have spent the money on a frame, Miss Saltykov. You must tell me how much it cost so I can reimburse you.”
“I did not spend anything… I still have a few frames the Tsarina gave me. She liked my work very much, and every so often she would ask me to do a little project for her. I always felt so honored when she did that. She gave me many frames so I would always have the right ones on hand. And now that she is gone… I would love it if they will be hanging in your atelier, Madame Koska. You make me feel at home, like my dear Tsarina used to…this is the first workplace I feel happy coming to every morning.” She touched her eyes with a handkerchief, which as always was beautifully embroidered.
“Thank you, my dear,” said Madame Koska, touched. “I am not a noble creature like the Tsarina, may she rest in peace, but no one can appreciate your vork and loyalty more than I do.”
Natalya smiled happily. “Next week I will bring the second sampler. The first one was easy, the arabesque is such a clear design, since you just start with a center and build the rest around it. But the next one, with the combination beads, will be a little more complicated. May I choose a few beads and take them home?”
“Of course,” said Madame Koska. “Take as many as you need, and don’t forget to take plenty of those new, perfectly rounded pearls…the ladies might as vell get used to vorking vith the good ones since I vill never go back to the imperfect type. You plan to show them how to arrange the smaller beads and the pearls around the big combination, jewel-like beads, correct?”
“Yes, exactly,” said Natalya. “On the first step, you will see the big bead by itself, then on the second step, the bead surrounded with the first row of small beads, then a third with a few rows…and of course the gold thread, couched around the beads and unifying them.” She smiled again and went into the sewing room, and Madame Koska returned to the sketches of the Mistral collection she was preparing. Suddenly she heard Natalya give a little scream. She raised her head. “Miss Saltykov? Anything wrong?”
There was a moment of silence and then Natalya said, “No, nothing, I just stabbed my finger on a pin…everything is fine. I must wash my hand, though, there is a tiny bit of blood on my finger, I don’t want to stain any fabric.” Madame Koska heard her going into the wash room and went back to the Mistral sketches. The other seamstresses started to come in, and the work day began in earnest.
A few days later, Mr. Korolenko rang the bell and walked in. Finding Gretchen at the front desk, he explained that he came to give a lesson to the owner of the atelier. Gretchen took his name and went to call Madame Koska.
“Please come in, Mr. Korolenko. Miss Van der Hoven, if at all possible, don’t let anyone disturb me for the hour of the lesson, it’s too distracting.” Mr. Korolenko started and looked at Gretchen, his expression showing amazement. “Did you say Miss Van der Hoven? My goodness, are you Gretchen?”
“Yes, sir, I am Gretchen Van der Hoven,” said the girl, surprised. “Have we met before?”
“I knew your family when you were very small,” said Mr. Korolenko, “you would not remember me. But I can easily recognize you from the shape of your eyes and your coloration. It is very nice to see you again, Miss Van der Hoven.” Madame Koska took him to her office and closed the door.
“I wonder if she heard anything from her father,” said Mr. Korolenko. “I did not want to distress her by asking bluntly in your presence. Do you have any news of him?”
“Whatever do you mean, Mr. Korolenko? Her father died about two years ago, in an accident,” said Madame Koska.
“Died? No, no. Meneer Van der Hoven is not dead, Madame Koska. What makes you think so?”
“My friend, Madame Golitsyn told me so when I hired Gretchen on her recommendation.”
“She must have made a mistake. It’s a very unusual situation, granted, but I would be very much surprised if Madame Golitsyn does not know the truth…since she knows Gretchen well enough to recommend her to you.”
“But perhaps that is what Gretchen told her,” said Madame Koska.
“Perhaps…”
“So what happened to her father?”
“No one knows precisely, but he was involved with a crime ring in the tropics,” said Mr. Korolenko. “They are a very dangerous crime ring. Bootleg whisky to America, opium wherever it is wanted, jewel thefts, bank robberies…they have connections all over the world. The police thought he was one of the leaders.”
“Where do you think he is? From what you say, I imagine he was not caught by the authorities.”
“I am not even sure if the police are right and he is a criminal himself,” said Mr. Korolenko. “He would not be the first man to be hounded by this group, perhaps kidnapped by them. But either way, he would not be dead. He would be more useful alive.”
“Are you sure Gretchen knows all that?”
“No, I am not really sure, despite the notoriety of the case. Her relatives might have wished to keep it from her, and thought it best to tell her he died. But since it was in all the newspapers for months, how could she not see it?”
“I don’t believe Gretchen has ever opened a newspaper in her life, Mr. Korolenko. She is very sweet and friendly, but the most childish, scatterbrained little creature.”
“Then she certainly changed quite a lot from the precocious, intelligent child she used to be. I remember her very well, always with a book in her hands, or engaged in her homework.”
“You would never see her do so these days. Her only interests revolve around fashion, society, dancing and such like things. I suppose she might have changed as she grew up and realized that she was so stunningly beautiful.”
“I think it’s best if you don’t say a word about what I told you to anyone, Madame Koska,” said Mr. Korolenko.
“Of course I will say nothing.”
“Good. Shall we start your English lesson? Perhaps you could go out for a second, bring something to this room, and leave the door half open so everyone can hear us?”
“Indeed, I shall do so right away,” said Madame Koska, laughing. “The things we must do to earn a living… Here is a woman born and bred in London, hiring a Russian gentleman to teach her to speak English without an accent. I must be careful not to be too successful about it in one lesson, Mr. Korolenko.”
Annushka, I have to tell you a strange story,” said Madame Koska as soon as she entered her friend’s apartment, before even taking off her coat.
“You look worried, Vera. Something is wrong? Do sit down and tell me.”
The ladies went into Madame Golitsyn’s drawing room. It was not a luxury apartment, of course, but nevertheless it had a style, an air, which Madame Koska always enjoyed. Madame Golitsyn furnished it in the old Tsarist style which had so much French influence. A golden silk scarf graced the cherished piano that Madame Golitsyn would never give up, its long fringe almost sweeping the floor. An enormous black shawl, made of warm wool and embroidered with intricate and colorful flowers, served as a throw over the big sofa, a creamy-white lace tablecloth covered the table supporting the whispering, singing samovar, and a few softly tinted watercolors on the walls made the place elegant and comfortable. The rose potpourri that Madame Golitsyn kept in an old alabaster bowl delicately scented the warm
air. Madame Koska sighed, took off her coat and sat at the table. She stared at the samovar as if she had never seen it before, and drummed her fingernails on the tablecloth. The samovar sang and its shiny brass exterior gleamed softly.
“Well?” said Madame Golitsyn, bringing a heavily loaded tea tray to the table. “Clearly something is upsetting you. What happened? Not another attempt to break in, I hope?”
“No…it is something Mr. Korolenko told me. Annushka, I promised him I would not repeat it, but I must consult you. It’s a complicated matter and you must never tell anyone. According to Mr. Korolenko, Gretchen Van der Hoven’s father may not have been in an accident at all, and possibly he is alive.”
“What? How can that be? Her relatives told me…”
“I know…but Mr. Korolenko said that Meneer Van der Hoven was involved with a crime ring in the tropics, and disappeared without trace.”
“A bit dramatic, isn’t it? People don’t just vanish,” said Madame Golitsyn, setting up the table with two cups, saucers, and matching cake plates of fragile china patterned with roses and a touch of gold around the rims. She arranged the utensils carefully. To the best of Madame Koska’s knowledge, even when entertaining close friends and relatives, Madame Golitsyn never used anything but her good silver. “Annushka,” she said suddenly, “do you ever use utensils that are not made of silver? I mean when you are alone?”
“Never,” said Madame Golitsyn. “Why should I use anything but silver? But this is a ridiculous non-sequitur, so how does Mr. Korolenko know about Meneer Van der Hoven’s disappearance?”
Madame Koska shrugged eloquently. “He seems to know many things, some of which I would rather not know myself…but anyway, this is supposed to be a very dangerous crime ring, with operations involving such things as opium and bank robberies and jewel thefts and what not. However, Mr. Korolenko does not know the level of Meneer Van der Hoven’s involvement.”