‘Good morning, Romeo! Yes, I missed you too,’ Violet said, rubbing his ears. When she took a seat, Romeo plonked beside her with his head on her knee.
‘Hello, sleepyhead,’ Imogen said, putting down the newspaper.
‘You’re up early this morning.’ Violet poured herself a cup of tea. ‘That’s most unlike you.’
‘It’s a glorious day and I’m off on an adventure,’ Imogen replied, indicating her loose-fitting, white blouse, navy skirt and sturdy boots.
‘Sounds like fun. What kind of adventure?’
‘I’m going hiking up in the mountains with Audrey.’ Imogen averted her eyes as she buttered her toast. ‘She’s picking me up any minute.’
‘And anyone else going?’ Violet asked.
Imogen took a bite of her toast and marmalade, delaying her answer. ‘Actually, Tommy O’Byrne and Jim Fitzgerald,’ she replied nonchalantly. ‘Tommy has the day off.’
‘Sounds fun,’ said Violet, a twinkle in her eye. ‘Don’t fall down the mountain! But I guess if you do break an ankle, it’ll be handy to have a medical student close by.’
Imogen rolled her eyes. ‘Very funny. What are you going to do today?’
‘I thought I’d start sketching decoration ideas for the Russian Ball,’ Violet replied. ‘I’ve been meaning to do it for days, but I don’t know where the week has gone.’
Saunders appeared in the doorway. ‘Miss Williams and Mr O’Byrne have arrived to pick you up, Miss Hamilton.’
‘Thank you, Saunders. I’m coming.’ Imogen stood, dropping her napkin on the table.
‘Where’s Dad?’ Violet asked. ‘He’s usually down by now.’
‘He left early for golf. There’s a competition or something on.’ Imogen picked up her wide-brimmed hat from the sideboard and checked her reflection in the mirror as she pinned it on her head. She pulled on her gloves and picked up her bag.
‘I’ll come with you for a moment,’ said Violet. ‘I want to ask Tommy about Mrs Burke. He might have some news.’
The girls went out the front door and down the front steps, Romeo bounding ahead. Saunders followed. Audrey was sitting at the wheel of her green-and-silver tourer. Audrey and Tommy both jumped out to say hello.
Violet stared at Audrey’s outfit in surprise. Audrey was wearing a loose white shirt and a tight-fitting green cloche hat with tan gauntlet gloves, driving coat, knee-high boots and breeches.
‘Hello,’ Tommy called, sweeping off his tweed flat cap. ‘What a beautiful morning.’ He was dressed in baggy knickerbockers, an open-necked white shirt, vest and hiking boots.
‘Love your hair, Violet,’ Audrey cried. ‘It looks adorable.’
‘Thank you,’ Violet replied, self-consciously brushing back a curl.
‘What on earth are you wearing, Audrey?’ asked Imogen, putting her hand to her brow, pretending to be horrified.
‘Don’t scoff,’ Audrey retorted, handing Imogen a bag. ‘I’ve brought you a pair of breeches too. You can’t possibly walk in the mountains wearing a skirt.’
‘Breeches?’ Imogen laughed and exchanged a guilty look with Violet. ‘Whatever you do, don’t tell Daddy! I’d be disinherited.’
‘Why ever not?’ Violet said, raising her eyebrows. ‘It would be heavenly to have you in terrible trouble for once instead of me.’
Imogen poked out her tongue. ‘I’ll race upstairs and get changed. See you in a moment.’
Violet turned to Tommy. ‘I was wondering if you’ve heard any news about Sally’s mother.’
He smiled reassuringly. ‘Mrs Burke has been moved to the tuberculosis ward at Austin Hospital for Incurables. Luckily, Dr Trumble believes we picked it up early, which increases her chance of survival. But even if the treatment is effective, she’ll still need to be in hospital for months.’
Violet wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or worried. ‘Thanks, Tommy. I’ll let Sally know.’
A moment later, Imogen hurried out again, wearing baggy breeches instead of her skirt, a long coat over her arm. She stood on the top step and struck a theatrical pose. ‘Tada!’
‘Very daring,’ Audrey assured her.
‘But I brought a long overcoat, so I won’t shock Daddy when I get home,’ Imogen explained. ‘He hasn’t recovered from Violet chopping off all her hair.’
Violet pulled a rueful face.
‘Well, I think you both look utterly charming,’ Tommy said, offering Imogen his arm. ‘Shall we go fetch Jim?’
Saunders opened the rear car door for Imogen to get in.
Violet stood at the bottom of the front steps with Romeo as the hiking party drove off. Audrey gaily tooted the horn in farewell and rounded the carriage driveway.
Violet and Romeo headed back inside. The house seemed dark and quiet with Imogen gone. Upstairs, Violet could hear the murmur of voices and faint thumping as the housemaids tidied and dusted the bedrooms.
Violet sat at the table in the morning room, doodling scenes of children ice-skating in her sketchbook, but the drawings seemed lifeless.
Feeling restless and bored, she pulled over the newspaper that Imogen had discarded and began reading the headlines. Her eye was drawn to an article titled ‘Knight Versus Housemaid’ about the upcoming election, where Sir Robert Best was being opposed in the electorate of Kooyong by a housemaid called Miss Jean Daley. Violet enjoyed the incongruity of the image. A lowly, working-class maid challenging a wealthy male politician – maybe the world was changing. Violet hoped that the housemaid might prevail and be the first woman elected to Federal Parliament. But on second thought it seemed completely impossible.
Next she read the letters to the editor, focusing on local issues of the day, such as the Children’s Hospital, the spread of noxious weeds and the need for financial support for soldiers who lost limbs in the Great War.
Suddenly an idea came to her – perhaps she could write a letter or an article for the newspaper about the injustice that she saw with the wealthy suburbs and the poverty-stricken slums separated only by the river. Perhaps she could support her article with photographs of the living conditions in Richmond and Sally’s family’s neighbourhood.
Violet thought about her camera and realised that she now had two rolls of film to develop and print. Then she could write an article to go with them. She decided to ask Nikolai if he was available to take her to the photography shop in Burwood Road.
Rather than ringing the bell to call for the chauffeur, Violet went looking for him. She strolled out through the French doors of the morning room, onto the stone terrace and down to the lawns, Romeo following at her heels.
Hidden away on the southern side of the house were the kitchen gardens, the poultry runs and laundry yard. Coming around the corner, Violet saw Sally with a basket over her arm, collecting fresh herbs from the kitchen garden. Joseph was helping her. Both of them started when they saw Violet in the service area and quickly sprang to attention, Joseph tugging his cap and Sally bobbing her head.
‘I’m just looking for Nikolai to drive me on an errand,’ Violet said.
‘Would you like me to fetch him, miss?’ asked Sally.
‘No, no,’ replied Violet. ‘I can do it.’
Nikolai was in the bluestone cobbled courtyard of the old stables, washing the Daimler, wearing a khaki mechanic’s boiler suit. Sudsy water dripped onto the ground as he rubbed the sponge over the car. Romeo gambolled over towards Nikolai, trying to steal the sponge.
‘Careful, boy,’ Nikolai warned. ‘Mrs Darling will have your hide if you gobble my sponge.’
‘Oh, you’re busy,’ said Violet with a twinge of disappointment. ‘I was hoping you might be able to run me up to Burwood Road and then perhaps to Glenferrie Road so I can look at some material for the decorations.’
Nikolai straightened up, dropping the sponge back into one of the buckets. ‘I’m nearly finished. Would it be all right if I took you in about ten minutes?’
‘Perfect,’ replied Violet, feeling relieved. ‘I’ll just get my bag and hat.’<
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Nikolai wrung out a chamois cloth and began to polish the paintwork intently. ‘Miss Violet, I had an idea about your Russian Ball. I thought perhaps my sisters might be able to help you with some of the decorations and the entertainment.’
Violet felt a flash of excitement. ‘Truly? Could they?’
Nikolai nodded as he continued to polish. ‘I mentioned it to my sisters when I was visiting on my half day off, and we’d all like to contribute. We, of all people, want to help the starving Russians back home.’
‘Of course you do,’ Violet replied. ‘Well, that would be marvellous.’
Nikolai rubbed hard at a smear on the duco. ‘My three sisters are all excellent seamstresses, so they could sew the costumes,’ he explained. ‘And they can dance the old Russian dances. Plus, we know lots of people in the Russian community, so we can ask them to help too.’
The dry, lifeless list that Violet had written suddenly seemed alive with possibilities.
‘Oh, bless you, Nikolai. I’ve been thinking and thinking about how to get everything done and make the ball as authentic as possible. This is a perfect solution.’
Nikolai grinned, his toffee-coloured eyes sparkling. ‘Well, perhaps if you wrote down a list of what you’d like, I could take it to the girls and see what they can help you with?’
‘Or better still, perhaps you could take me to meet them and we could talk about it,’ Violet suggested. ‘That would be much more efficient.’
Nikolai nodded. ‘They should be home this afternoon, but they don’t have a telephone, so I’ll send a note around to check. Would you like me to take you over for tea?’
Violet did a little hop. ‘That would be perfect.’
Violet went upstairs to fetch her hat, gloves and new chocolate bag, together with the camera and the exposed films. She collected up her drawings and notes for the ball and folded them away.
After Violet had dropped off the film, Nikolai drove her across the river to Richmond and down Swan Street. He parked the car in a narrow stone laneway behind the shopping strip.
‘My family lives above one of the shops,’ Nikolai said, pointing up to the second storey. ‘Are you sure you want to come up and meet them?’
Violet craned her head to look. The area behind the shops was stacked with crates, boxes and garbage bins. The strong stench of rotting rubbish and rancid cooking oil came through the open shop window. Nikolai looked embarrassed. ‘They’ll understand if you’d rather not.’
‘Of course I’m coming,’ replied Violet. ‘I’m looking forward to meeting your family.’
They climbed up the rickety wooden stairs at the back of the building. At the top was a small landing with a blue front door and an old wash tub planted with flaming orange poppies and blue forget-me-nots. A collection of old buckets were planted with lush green herbs – chives, parsley, dill, chervil and tarragon.
Nikolai knocked on the door and it was opened by a blonde-haired girl with very pale skin and brown eyes. She looked to be about the same age as Violet.
‘Nicky!’ the girl cried with delight.
‘Anoushka-myshka,’ Nikolai replied with equal enthusiasm. He turned to Violet and gestured. ‘Miss Violet Hamilton, this is my sister, Anastacia Petrovna Khakovska.’
The two girls shook hands and exchanged greetings. Violet noted that Anastacia also spoke excellent English with a soft Russian accent.
‘Khakovska?’ Violet asked. ‘I thought your surname was Khakovsky.’
Anastacia and Nikolai laughed.
‘In Russian, the ending of the name changes depending on whether you are a female or a male, so the feminine version of a name usually ends in “a”,’ Nikolai explained. ‘Russians always have three names. Their first name is followed by a patronymic name, which indicates who your father was, and lastly your family name.’
‘That sounds confusing,’ said Violet, wrinkling her nose.
Anastacia led the way into the apartment through a short hallway. At the back, overlooking the laneway, were two small bedrooms and a bathroom. Violet glimpsed beds covered in colourful patchwork quilts of scarlet and indigo as she passed.
The rest of the family was gathered in the living room overlooking the street at the front, working on their embroidery. The other two sisters rose from their chairs and nodded their heads in greeting. Violet was immediately struck by their appearance: they were all tall, fair-haired and slender with brown eyes. They seemed unusually graceful, like a corps of prima ballerinas, and were dressed stylishly in flowing day dresses, white stockings and low-heeled strap shoes.
‘Mamma, may I present my employer’s daughter, Miss Violet Hamilton,’ said Nikolai formally. ‘My mother, Elizaveta Ivanovna Khakovska. And my sisters, Miss Tatiana Petrovna and Miss Ekaterina Petrovna.’
These sisters looked to be about sixteen and seventeen.
‘How do you do, Miss Hamilton?’ Mrs Khakovska asked. ‘Please take a seat. Can we offer you some tea?’
‘Delighted to meet you,’ Violet replied, shaking her hand. ‘Tea would be lovely, thanks.’
Nikolai’s mother was slightly shorter than her daughters and looked careworn, but like her daughters, she was smartly dressed and stood with her spine straight and chin high. Violet suddenly felt underdressed as she sat down in the velvet armchair offered to her.
She glanced around the living room in surprise – it was beautifully but simply furnished with armchairs grouped around the fireplace, a writing desk near the window, and a timber table and dining chairs at the far end. A faded Persian rug covered the floor. The furnishings were of good quality but somewhat worn. Attempts had been made to hide the worst of the wear with well-placed cushions and throws in warm tones of crimson and rose, contrasted with forest-green velvet. Framed watercolours hung on the walls, vases of flowers brightened the room, and a number of old photographs stood on the mantelpiece in silver frames. The room was far more like what one would expect in a genteel but impoverished country house than an apartment above a busy shop.
Nikolai pulled over a dining chair to sit beside his mother while Anastacia left to fetch the tea things from the kitchen, which was hidden behind a painted folding screen.
‘I hope you don’t mind if we continue with our needlework,’ said Tatiana, who looked to be the eldest girl. ‘We are working on some frocks for a client and need to get them finished by Monday.’
Violet looked at the silk evening dresses that the three girls were embroidering by hand. Each dress was very different – one in vibrant watermelon, one emerald-green and one in silver – but all were decorated with ornate beading and embroidery. Violet bent closer to Tatiana’s emerald frock with its delicate gold detailing.
‘How exquisite,’ exclaimed Violet. ‘These are some of the most stunning evening dresses I’ve ever seen.’
‘I’m glad you like them,’ Tatiana replied. ‘Katya designed them based on the latest looks from Paris. We sew them for Madame Collette’s in Collins Street, and we hope to find a few private clients of our own.’
‘We’re starting our own label,’ Katya said as she sewed tiny silver beads onto the sheer chiffon. ‘We’re thinking of calling it Mademoiselle Perrot.’
Violet noted that Katya’s French accent, like Nikolai’s, was perfect.
‘We think it will appeal to the ladies of Melbourne more than Miss Khakovska,’ joked Tatiana.
‘I love the name Perrot,’ said Violet. ‘It sounds very stylish.’
‘Perrot means “little Peter”,’ explained Tatiana. ‘And our patronymic name is Petrovna, which means “daughter of Peter”, so we thought it was apt.’
‘Or we could just call ourselves something English, like Peters,’ suggested Nikolai, joining in the conversation. ‘Australians don’t like foreign-sounding names, as we’ve discovered. French is very appropriate for a fashion house, but a Russian name arouses instant suspicion.’
‘Truly?’ Violet asked, but then she thought back to Sally’s suspicions that Nikolai might be
a Bolshevik revolutionary. ‘I suppose many people are wary of foreigners.’
‘We just need to start building up a clientele of our own,’ Katya said. ‘Eventually we’d like to acquire some beautiful rooms on Collins Street, modelled on the great couturiers of Paris. Tatiana and I worked for Madame Chanel when we were living in Paris.’
‘Coco Chanel?’ asked Violet, surprised. The famous designer had taken the fashion world by storm with her understated elegance. Before the war, women used to wear fussy clothes and tight corsets, but Coco’s designs were much more comfortable. ‘That must have been an extraordinary experience.’
Tatiana nodded as she snipped the gold silk thread with a fine pair of scissors. ‘Madame Chanel was a compassionate supporter of the Russian exiles in Paris, and she was very kind, teaching us about haute couture – or high fashion. We worked on the beading and embroidery finishes, and modelled the clothes for special events.’
‘Her fashion house – her maison de couture – at Rue Cambon sold everything an aristocratic lady would need,’ Katya added. ‘From exquisite ball gowns, to sporting attire, hats, bags, fans – even jewellery and perfume. So one day we hope Mademoiselle Perrot will have a maison like that, dressing all the most fashionable women in Melbourne.’
Tatiana sighed, putting down the frock she was beading. ‘But that dream is rather a long way off for now.’
Nikolai’s family was charming, and he seemed different around them. Nikolai is more relaxed, Violet thought, less like a servant. Not that he’s ever really behaved like a typical servant … Perhaps he’s just less guarded.
‘Well, let me know when you do open, because I’ll be your first client. And I’ll drag all my friends along as well,’ Violet promised. ‘I would love an elegant gown like one of these for our Russian Ball.’
‘We’d be delighted!’ Katya said. ‘I can see you in a filmy green-and-silver silk chiffon, to bring out the colour of your extraordinary eyes.’
Violet was thrilled by the compliment. ‘That sounds heavenly. Do you make tea gowns as well? I think I need a completely new wardrobe.’
‘We can make anything you need,’ Tatiana replied with a chuckle. ‘And I promise that we can do it for a fraction of the price you’d pay in Collins Street.’
The Lost Sapphire Page 15