by ILIL ARBEL
“Yes, I know, we married soon after.”
“His atelier became successful, as you know, but he did not give up his jewel thefts, and at some point the police suspected that the respectable couturier was the notorious cat burglar. So he decided to embezzle his own atelier and disappear, leaving you to face the music.”
“So there was no reason, other than sheer greed,” said Madame Koska. “Still, I must remember he taught me all I know about my trade.”
“He financed the atelier, originally, by money he got from the thefts, but yes, try to remember the good things,” said Mr. Korolenko. “What’s the point of dwelling on painful experiences?”
“None whatsoever,” said Madame Koska. “I will try to remember that.”
Entering the flat and hugging her friends, crying and talking and explaining all at the same time, took a few minutes, and then Inspector Blount came in with a middle-aged man who seemed to be in good health and even well groomed. Gretchen jumped at him screaming with joy and crying. Mr. Korolenko and Inspector Blount waited until the commotion subsided.
“Inspector, Grigory Orlov is most likely dead,” said Mr. Korolenko. “After being shot, he triggered a trapdoor and fell into the water.” Madame Koska heard and joined them quickly.
“I’ll have the area searched, but it seems pretty sure he is dead if he was wounded and fell into the water,” said the inspector. “Did you shoot him?”
“No, inspector, I did,” said Madame Koska. “He threatened me and advanced toward me with the intent of strangling me.”
“I see,” said the inspector, visibly impressed. “Good work, good work… I sure am glad I got you the gun. Madame Koska, this is Mr. Van der Hoven.”
“Yes, I gathered that, looking at Gretchen. I am delighted to see they had not harmed you, Mr. Van der Hoven,” said Madame Koska. “We did not know you were alive.”
“They preferred to keep me alive,” said Mr. Van der Hoven. “I was useful to them, up to a point. But they wanted to know much more. And they kept threatening me. Orlov wanted to take over my entire business in Polynesia and China and discover secrets of my clients.”
“But what could you do while you were held?”
“They said they would release me only if Gretchen found the brooch for them.”
“Did Mr. Howard know?” asked Madame Koska.
“Yes, the poor fool. He was blackmailed by them; they were going to destroy his reputation and tell the world about his little opium habit.”
“He escaped to Paris, apparently,” said Mr. Korolenko.
“He’ll be back, but he really is not terribly important,” said Mr. Van der Hoven. “I wish my sister had married a better man, but he is not all bad. We’ll fix this little matter and get him back on track.”
“But I still don’t know the fate of the brooch,” said Inspector Blount. “I have to start looking for it all over again.”
“No, you don’t have to,” said Madame Koska.
“But Orlov was the only one who could really lead us to the stolen brooch,” said the Inspector. “And he is dead.”
“Not exactly,” said Madame Koska.
“Whatever do you mean?” said Mr. Korolenko.
“I mean that after hearing something Grigory said, I know precisely where the stolen brooch is located, and I can lead you directly to it.”
The inspector stared at her as if she had lost her mind. Everyone else stopped talking and looked at her too.
Madame Koska laughed. “I really know what happened, Inspector. I know where the brooch is. Let’s go to the atelier, right now, and we can end this business.”
The entire group went downstairs, and at the atelier, Madame Koska led them to the main sewing room, and took them to the wall where the three samplers made by Natalya were hanging.
“Look at this sampler, please,” she said, taking down the pearl embroidery sampler. They all crowded to look at it, and suddenly Mr. Korolenko burst out laughing.
“This is beyond belief,” he said. “It was hanging here all this time!”
“So you recognise it?” said Madame Koska. “Am I right?”
“No doubt whatsoever,” said Mr. Korolenko. “But how can it be? How did it happen?”
“Will someone explain to me what this sampler has to do with the brooch?” said the inspector irritably.”
“Inspector, when Grigory stole the brooch, he brought it to Paris, and then to London, intending to sell it to a buyer who wanted it. But he was afraid to keep it with him in London, since by then the theft was notorious and he could have been traced from Paris. He must have known that I opened an atelier here, and having been in the business with me, he expected me to deal with embroidered and beaded clothes. There would be no doubt in his mind that I would have many fake jewels in my cabinets, boxes, tables, everywhere. He entered the atelier at night and hid it in the box that contained combination beads—some of them with fake rubies surrounded by pearls, some with fake emeralds, and some with fake sapphires. The brooch, made of a real sapphire surrounded with pearls, could be easily missed among the fakes unless one knew a lot about jewellery. It was the perfect place to hide the valuable object in plain sight.”
“He did not expect anyone to find it?” asked the inspector.
“No, since the collection would not be worked on for a week or two, he had plenty of time to recover the brooch. But when he tried, it was not there.”
“So what happened?” asked Gretchen. “I always felt so guilty about my part in it…”
“I remember one morning Miss Saltykov and I were alone in the atelier. She was telling me about her idea of teaching the seamstresses better styles of embroidery and beading, and I told her to go to the sewing room and choose some beads to take home, since she wanted to work on the samplers after hours. I remember hearing her crying out about something, and when I asked her what was wrong, she said she just pricked her fingers. The reason I remember it is that I called the vendor to complain that they mixed pins with the beads and one of my seamstresses hurt her hands, and they assured me that this did not happen. So I assumed that the pin was dropped by one of my own people when they arranged the beads, and did not think about it until now.”
“So what really happened when Natalya cried out?” asked Madame Golitsyn, visibly worried.
“My dear, Miss Saltykov recognised the brooch immediately since she is a jewellery expert, from her old days at the court. No one else would… She took it, incorporated it into the sampler, and then framed it securely. No one noticed it; the brooch was hidden in plain sight.”
“Edgar Allen Poe again,” said Mr. Korolenko, laughing. “Why didn’t she tell you?”
Everyone looked at Natalya, but she remained quiet. Madame Koska suddenly noticed that Natalya had very little makeup left, and her hair was becoming loose; but she did not look upset or worried at all.
“But Miss Saltykov, you are not saying anything. Is this true?” said the inspector.
“Yes, Inspector, quite true,” said Natalya calmly.
“Miss Saltykov, why didn’t you inform the police, or at least tell Madame Koska that you found and took the brooch! This amounts to theft!”
Natalya got up in one quick motion, her hair becoming loose and the mane of ash blonde curls falling on her shoulders. She strode over to the inspector’s seat and stood very erect in front of him. He was so disconcerted he did not get up, but looked up to her face which showed intense anger.
“I could not steal something that belonged to me, Inspector,” she said in a low but clear voice.
“Belonged to you? The brooch is yours?”
“Yes, Inspector. The Tzarina gave me the brooch shortly before the Revolution. She said she wanted me to have it since it was a gift given to Catherine the Great by my ancestor who was her first lover and the father of her first child. I treasured it until these murderous peasants, the Bolsheviks, stole it. When I saw it among the beads in the atelier my heart nearly stopped…”
; “But you said nothing about it. Why is that?” asked Madame Koska.
Natalya turned to her and smiled. “Because I thought you stole it, and hid it there deliberately, Madame Koska. I was worried you would be arrested, that you were desperate and did not know what to do with it. Therefore, I freely chose to give it to you. As I once told you, you have taken the Tzarina’s place in my heart. You gave me self-respect by allowing me decent employment, you transformed my looks, and most important, you began to free me from my fears. I wanted to save you from the results of what seemed to be a desperate act or a silly mistake. Even if you stole it, you are not a thief! I had the right to give you the brooch and I did so. There is no theft involved.”
“You did not try to take it with you after the Revolution?” asked Mr. Korolenko.
“No, I was one of the stupid ones who left their valuables in a bank safe. As you know, the smart ones hid them in their clothes, corsets, toys, plaster casts, ink pots…but I was so sure it would all return to normal. Stupid, stupid! Sometimes I hate myself for it.”
“Remember Countess Vera Lobanova-Rastovskaya, Mr. Korolenko?” asked Madame Golitsyn. “She succeeded in hiding many jewels in her thick hair. The auction, when she came to Paris, lasted six days.”
“I remember,” said Mr. Korolenko. “Yes, she hid them brilliantly. But don’t hate yourself about all that, Miss Saltykov. Many of us thought it would be over soon; it was natural to think so.”
“There was no need to be so secretive about it,” said the inspector.
“No? You might have arrested any of us. You hate the Russian nobility like all middle class people do.”
“Not at all,” said the inspector. “We have our own royalty and we love them. In the past we welcomed the French nobility who escaped the guillotine. These days we are more than happy to welcome the Russian nobility. And now that we have nothing to argue about, Miss Saltykov, and your innocence is established, I would like you to know that I personally welcome you to your new home.”
Natalya suddenly smiled at him, a very sweet smile. “Really, Inspector?” she said. “Why, thank you. I should have realised it…” and she sat down and crossed her ankles in her own ladylike way. Madame Koska and Madame Golitsyn exchanged a swift look that said “She is learning fast” and only Mr. Korolenko noticed the exchange between the ladies and smiled to himself.
“So what is going to happen to the brooch?” asked Madame Koska. “Can Miss Saltykov keep it?”
“I am afraid not,” said Mr. Korolenko. “The police will take it, and it will be months, if not years, before all the legal issues and the decision as to whom the brooch really belongs to is decided. It’s a politically charged subject.”
“I don’t mind,” said Natalya. “I wish Madame Koska could keep it, or sell it and invest in the atelier. As for me, I have freely given it up when I gave it to Madame Koska.”
“I say, this is a highly commendable attitude,” said the inspector. “We appreciate it.”
“I feel the time has come for me to give up the past anyway, Inspector,” said Natalya seriously. “The brooch belongs to a bygone age. I have started a whole new life.”
“I am happy to hear it,” said Madame Golitsyn. “We must adapt. Yes, we were nobility in Russia. But here we can be perfectly happy as middle class.”
“I am happy, Aunt Anna,” said Natalya. “I think I can get used to not being a countess, forget the Court, and live life as it is.”
“Miss Saltykov, we are now parting company, but I will always think of you as a countess,” said the inspector with unexpected gallantry.
“Parting company?” asked Natalya innocently. “Not at all. I am sure you will want me as witness, or whatever it is that is needed regarding the business of the brooch…and it will take a long time, as Mr. Korolenko said. I expect to see both of you again.”
“Yes, that is so, actually,” said the inspector, visibly cheered. “Well, it’s very late. I should be taking the two of you home, Madame Golitsyn. I hope you won’t mind riding in a police car.”
“Thank you,” said Madame Golitsyn. “Not a bit of it; we will like riding in it, won’t we, Natalya? It’s a new experience… My dearest Vera, I will sleep tonight, knowing you are safe. But what about Mr. Van der Hoven? Where do you plan to stay?”
“Tonight, at a good hotel,” said Mr. Van der Hoven. “Tomorrow, we should go home.”
“Home?” asked Madame Koska. “Where is it?”
“The house the Howards had occupied belongs to me, Madame Koska. I just lent it to them,” said Mr. Van der Hoven. “May I use your telephone? I’d like to call a hotel or two.”
“I am coming with you to the hotel,” said Gretchen, holding tightly to his arm. “I’ll never let you out of my sight again.” Mr. Van der Hoven laughed and patted her bright amber-coloured hair.
“Your daughter is wonderful, Mr. Van der Hoven. A perfect little vendeuse, did not even need training, and the most accomplished mannequin,” said Madame Koska.
“I will still come to work, Madame Koska, if father does not mind.”
“Until you go to university, my dear,” said Madame Koska.
“Yes, but when I am finished,” said Gretchen, “I will come back! I think the world of haute couture is more interesting than teaching…” Suddenly she gave Madame Koska a sly smile. “Madame Koska! I think your lessons with Mr. Korolenko really paid off. You are speaking with a much better accent, you are actually pronouncing the W!”
“How about that!” said Madame Koska calmly. “It must have been the shock that released me from the speech pattern. I heard such things happen after a shock. And indeed Mr. Korolenko is a splendid teacher, so I must have been ready for just such an event.”
“Yes indeed,” said Gretchen. “I did read about it in a very strange German book by Dr. Freud…”
Everyone left, and no one noticed that Mr. Korolenko remained sitting comfortably in his armchair, except Madame Koska.
“Mr. Korolenko, I think we deserve a glass of wine and some light supper,” said Madame Koska. “I never had any dinner, and I am sure you did not either.”
“That will be wonderful,” said Mr. Korolenko. “Indeed I have not had anything and it’s quite late.”
Madame Koska prepared a few sandwiches, poured the wine, and invited Mr. Korolenko to the table.
“And now,” said Madame Koska, as they were eating, “I can finally concentrate on the Mistral collection. I am free of the fear of someone breaking in any time.”
“You are free in every way, Madame Koska. It’s all over.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your husband is dead.”
“We are not entirely sure of that, Mr. Korolenko. Not unless they find his body.”
“He is dead for sure. But in the end, what difference does it make? You were never married to him; he was an Orlov, not a Koska, it was a sham. You are free either way, Vera.” He got up and took both her hands in his. “Won’t you ever allow yourself to love again?”
“Possibly, my dear Dmitri, quite possibly,” said Madame Koska; she did not pull her hands away. “But right now, as this ridiculously dramatic affair is behind us, I have the Mistral collection to think about.”
“And after that?”
“After that… I don’t know, I’ll have to adjust to the new circumstances.”
“I would like to be a part of the new circumstances.”
Madame Koska looked at the attractive face and warm brown eyes and smiled. “You will always be welcome to be a part of the new circumstances,” she said.
“Then I am going to translate what you said into believing we have an understanding, Vera,” said Mr. Korolenko, still holding her hands.
“I can accept that,” said Madame Koska. “And in the meantime, Dmitri, when should I come for my next lesson?”
Ilil Arbel enjoys writing in a variety of genres, including mythology and folklore. Her published works include short stories and folktales, and she has contri
buted articles on the subjects of natural history, personal histories, biography, health, education, social commentaries, and Judaic myths.
Ilil has a Ph.D. in the field of Liberal Arts, specializing in mythology and folklore. Ilil has lived and studied in Tel Aviv, Paris, and New York, and currently resides in Manhattan.