The Amber Keeper

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by Freda Lightfoot


  ‘I am, with Count and Countess Belinsky.’

  She nodded. ‘English governesses are very popular in Russia, and at least the pay is better than what we might expect to receive in service in England. Are you a good sailor?’

  ‘I have no idea. I’ve never sailed in a boat bigger than the steam yachts on Lake Windermere. I confess to being rather worried about that.’

  Laughing, she tucked her arm into mine, giving it a reassuring squeeze. ‘Come on, let’s find our cabins. I’m sure you’ll be fine.’

  As it turned out I was very far from fine, at least for the first twenty-four hours or so. After that the wind calmed down somewhat and the ship didn’t pitch and toss quite so badly, which meant my sickness gradually abated.

  Fortunately, I was not responsible for the children during the journey as they were with the Count and Countess, so I was free to spend much of my time with Ruth, and we were soon firm friends. We watched in awe as dolphins followed the ship, cheered at the first glimpse of land, and marvelled at the beautiful vista of mountains and forests. But I was unprepared for how bitterly cold it became when we entered the Baltic. I put on every warm garment I possessed, yet it still wasn’t enough.

  But if I’d thought that was cold, I soon learned the true meaning of the word as we approached St Petersburg. I saw small boats trapped in the ice, icebreakers moving back and forth as they attempted to free them. Our own ship cut through with relative ease, and my new friend kindly lent me a winter coat, which she called a shuba. It was well worn but far warmer than my own. And with my bout of sea-sickness long forgotten I felt a mix of excitement and nervousness at the first sight of this beautiful city.

  ‘Now we have to face Customs,’ she warned. ‘Just be polite and do as they say.’

  ‘But how will I know what they say since I don’t speak a word of Russian?’ I asked in alarm as we gathered our luggage and prepared to disembark.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll help.’

  The customs officials were indeed most vigilant and while allowing in the packets of flower and vegetable seeds I’d brought with me, plus fruitcake, playing cards and picture puzzles, they seemed to object to my books, save for a bible, which was most upsetting. I became almost frantic as I watched them take the books from me: Little Lord Fauntleroy and Little Women. A Christmas Carol by Dickens and several others that I’d brought to help the children learn English.

  Ruth began to babble to them in this mystifying language. I heard her mention the name Belinsky, which seemed to give them pause, and after a few more exchanges, the books were returned to my luggage. I breathed a sigh of relief, hugely impressed by my new friend’s fluency in the language.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she said, as we were finally allowed through. ‘They are always nervous of written material in case it is political propaganda. Censorship is rife here. However, I explained they were children’s books, and that you were employed by Count Belinsky.’

  I thanked her most humbly and was sad when the Countess approached to tell me it was time to go and we were obliged to part company. ‘Say goodbye to your friend now, Dowthwaite. Our carriage is waiting.’

  ‘I’ll see you soon, as arranged,’ Ruth whispered in my ear, giving me a quick hug. She had told me of the British and American Chapel which she attended in her free time. The church apparently provided a welcome social life for British expatriates in the city, including governesses.

  ‘You’ll make plenty of friends there, Millie. I think of it as my home away from home,’ she’d explained. It was a comforting thought. Then I climbed into the carriage and settled myself next to the children. My new life had begun.

  The family apartment was set in a grand building of impressive proportions fronting one of the canals behind the Winter Palace. It must have been some eight or nine stories high, from basement to attic windows, although I didn’t have time to count them as I helped the children out of the carriage. Perhaps I would be living up in the roof, in the attics, I thought. We were met at the door by a man known as the dvornik, or concierge, whose task was to protect the residents from unwelcome guests. He seemed to know the Belinskys well and rushed to open carriage doors and help unload luggage, bobbing and bowing the entire time.

  Ignoring the mounting pile of boxes and trunks in the street, the Countess sailed past, striking the dvornik with her muff when he didn’t move quickly enough to open the great doors for her. I offered him a sympathetic smile as I followed in her wake, to which he responded with a huge wink. The Count, I noticed, thanked the fellow most graciously and slipped him a kopek or two. This proved to be a telling indication of life in the Belinsky household.

  As was the case at Carreck Place when Lord and Lady Rumsley arrived home after a long absence, the entrance hall was lined with servants. I was introduced first to Mrs Grempel, the housekeeper, a hollow-eyed, stiff-backed woman of lean proportions who I soon learned loved nothing better than to engage in tittle-tattle. Anton, the French chef, came next, in his starched white cap. At first sight he appeared very full of himself but later proved to possess a delightful sense of humour, often having me in fits of laughter as he mimicked his mistress. There followed what seemed to be a whole tribe of maids and footmen, the entire household controlled by a very stern-looking butler known as Gusev.

  ‘Last but no means least is Nyanushki,’ Countess Olga informed me. ‘She looked after me as a child before caring for my own children. Now that they are too old to need a nanny she acts as companion to my mother, and is still very much a part of our family.’

  Klara Kovalsky, although she rarely used her full name, was plump and comfortable, wore her grey hair in a tight bun at the back of her chunky neck, and was more often than not to be found sitting in a corner knitting an endless succession of socks or scarves. I shook her hand and gave her a warm smile, hoping we could be friends. She gazed back at me blank-eyed.

  ‘Where is Maman?’ the Countess asked, speaking in French, perhaps for my benefit.

  ‘Madame has not been well today, milady. But hopes to be more herself tomorrow.’

  ‘Not hitting the vodka again, I trust,’ she remarked sourly.

  The old nanny protested. ‘Not at all. Merely a slight headache.’ The Countess appeared unconvinced, and, judging by the way the other woman avoided her probing gaze, I suspected she might have good reason.

  It was Nanny, or Nyanushki as I must learn to call her, who showed me to my room, which was not in the attics as it turned out.

  ‘The family occupies the entire east wing of the building,’ she informed me, panting a little as she bustled me into a lift, or elevator as she called it, carrying one of my bags while I carried the other. My trunk was to be delivered later by a footman. ‘The views of the city from the upper floors, you’ll find, are magnificent.’

  ‘Does the Countess’s mother live here too?’ I asked, as the engine cranked up and we slowly began to ascend.

  ‘She does. Her name is Raisa Ilyinsky, although I tend to call her Madame, and the children call her Babushka, of course, the Russian name for grandmother.’

  ‘I look forward to meeting her. And does she have a problem with drink as the Countess seemed to be suggesting?’

  Nyanushki shook her head quite vehemently. ‘Her only problem is with her daughter.’

  I thought it wise to ask no further questions.

  My room was right at the end of the passage, small but clean with little more than a single bed and a cupboard but perfectly adequate. I was greatly impressed with the apartment as a whole. It was vast enough to hold fifteen bedrooms, or so Klara informed me, in addition to the usual dressing rooms, study, drawing room, library, dining-room, kitchen quarters and so on.

  ‘I hadn’t expected the Belinskys to live in a flat,’ I confessed as she pulled back the curtains to let in more light. ‘I rather thought they would own a grand mansion on the River Neva.’
/>   ‘Many people in St Petersburg live in flats, even princes, although they often have the choice of living in a palace too. Nor is this the Belinskys’ only property. As well as this large apartment block, some of which they let out, they also own an estate in the country which we often visit at weekends, and for some weeks in the summer.’

  ‘I shall look forward to that. I’ll miss not having easy access to the outdoors as was the case at Carreck Place.’ A wave of homesickness hit me as I thought of strolling by the lake and pottering in the rock garden, of rambling the three miles from Ambleside to Kirkstone Pass along a road accurately called The Struggle on my days off. The stirring cry of a lone curlew and clash of a stags’ antlers at tupping time, the sweet woody scent of heather. Why had I never appreciated how fortunate I was to live in such a beautiful place? Here I would need to walk down several flights of stairs, or take the elevator before I could catch a breath of fresh air. Even the windows were tightly sealed against the cold. I felt suddenly claustrophobic, and home seemed very far away.

  ‘You’re very young,’ Nyanushki was saying, critically assessing my youthful appearance although I felt I’d aged ten years during the long journey, being rather tired and bleary-eyed, and strangely disoriented.

  ‘I do have several years’ experience in service,’ I said, in an attempt to reassure her, ‘if admittedly only a few months of that spent caring for children. I trust you’ll be able to fill me in on what I need to know.’

  ‘Hmm, I may have to if you’re to keep her ladyship happy. We used to have a French governess here so I’m familiar with that language, but you’ll need to quickly learn Russian.’

  ‘Perhaps you will help me with that too?’ I asked.

  She considered this, arms folded across her cushioned bosom. ‘And would you in return help me to improve my English?’

  ‘I’d be honoured.’

  She gave me a sudden wide grin, revealing yellowed crooked teeth, accompanied by a brisk nod of her round head. Perhaps I had made a friend after all.

  Little time was allowed for me to unpack and settle in, let alone rest, before a maid came knocking at my bedroom door to announce that I’d been called to the Countess’s boudoir to receive my instructions. I quickly washed my face in cold water from the jug, tidied my flyaway hair and hurried after her. The Countess was tapping her nails in impatience as I entered.

  ‘Ah, there you are. I engaged you, Dowthwaite, because of your ability to speak French. Nevertheless you are here primarily to teach my children English, and help them acquire good English manners.’

  ‘I understand, your ladyship.’

  ‘Mornings and early afternoons you will give French and English lessons. Irina will also require drawing and sewing lessons. She already has a tutor who teaches her the pianoforte. Serge is learning to play the violin.’

  I was privately quaking at the responsibilities facing me. Was I, a nineteen-year-old girl with very little education, even up to the task? Yet I knew I must appear confident, and be far more polite and humble towards the Countess than in our earlier encounters.

  ‘Will the children be allowed time for play, since they are both so young?’ I enquired politely.

  ‘Serge will have time each afternoon to fish and sail, and enjoy other sports considered suitable for a young gentleman. And they can both skate, of course.’

  Oh dear, I thought. Yet something else I would need to learn. ‘I wonder if perhaps Nanny might help with teaching sewing as it is not one of my strengths?’

  She frowned, rather disapprovingly. ‘You will have to ask her, but you must work hard to improve your skills.’

  ‘Of course, your ladyship,’ I murmured, meekly bobbing a curtsey.

  I believed she was about to dismiss me and half turned to go, but she stayed me with a flick of her hand.

  ‘You will be aware of the close links between Russian and English royalty. Tsar Nicholas was of course the nephew of Edward VII and is cousin to your new King George V, whom he resembles to such a degree they could easily pass for brothers. This means there is a passion for all things English amongst the more liberal-minded aristocrats. But do not imagine everyone feels that way. Certainly the conservative types don’t. My husband, fortunately, is one of the more liberal-minded gentlemen, and is keen for his son to adopt the finest of English education and manners. It will be your task to provide that.’

  ‘I shall do my best to fulfil his wishes, your ladyship.’

  ‘It will also be your responsibility to plan the schoolroom in true English style: a new toy cupboard, book shelves, whatever you think appropriate.’

  ‘I shall set about devising a plan forthwith,’ I agreed, secretly finding the idea quite daunting, although I could at least use the schoolroom at Carreck Place as a model.

  ‘You will also be required to find someone able to carry out the work. I sacked our latest carpenter for incompetence.’

  I shivered at the prospect of suffering a similar fate, but merely gave a compliant nod.

  ‘My son must look the part of a young gentleman, which is why I purchased several new items of clothing for him while we were in England. Please see that the clothes are properly taken care of.’ She gave a fond smile at this, but I couldn’t fail to notice that she made no mention of Irina.

  NINE

  My first day was spent largely unpacking all the goods brought from England, which illustrated just how spoiled the children were, as the many boxes and trunks were stuffed with a variety of expensive clothes and toys. For Serge a model railway, toy steam engine, bats, balls, tops and whips, lead soldiers and clockwork toys by the score. For Irina there were skipping ropes, a pretty china doll and a tiny dolls’ house complete with miniature furniture. The little girl was thrilled.

  ‘Thank goodness she wasn’t ignored completely,’ I whispered to Nyanushki, who scowled and quietly hushed me. She was right, of course. I really must learn to guard my tongue.

  I began at once to draw up a list of requirements to refurbish what was actually a rather drab schoolroom with only a small table, two chairs and an old box far too small for the toys. A new look would be no bad thing, but a considerable amount of work would need to be done to meet the Countess’s high standards, and time was of the essence.

  The next afternoon was cold and damp, and both children protested vehemently when I insisted that a walk was necessary despite the inclement weather. ‘We English believe that fresh air is good for you, as is plenty of exercise. But we’ll keep it short today as it looks about to rain.’

  Nyanushki came with us to make sure I didn’t get lost, and we took a turn about Alexandrvovsky Park, the children grumbling and dragging their feet the entire time.

  ‘Can you skate?’ Nyanushki asked. I pulled a rueful face, making her laugh.

  ‘You’ll soon learn. I’m sure the children will help teach you.’

  Noticing the smirk on Serge’s face I rather thought he would look upon this deficiency as an opportunity for making me look stupid. He may have been only eight years old, but he was a wilful boy with a defiant streak in him.

  Later, I took the children, dressed in their best, down to tea with the Count and Countess, as instructed, urging them to be good in the hope they would not embarrass me. No sooner had I taken my seat than a large metal tea urn was set before me and, overcome with panic, I realised that I was about to embarrass myself.

  ‘I assume you’ve operated a samovar before?’ the Countess asked with a knowing smile.

  I’d never seen one in my life before. Fortunately, there was a certain familiarity about the tap from which the hot water must flow, if not the way the tea pot sat on top of the vessel to keep warm. It rather reminded me of the tea urn used by the Women’s Bright Hour at our local chapel, except that, nestling in a space below this one, I could see the glowing red of charcoal that kept the water hot, and hear it hiss and spit as i
t simmered gently within.

  Turning the tap, I poured the scalding water into the tea pot, serving the tea with only the slightest tremor in my hands. The children sat stiffly in their seats, Irina’s small greedy eyes firmly fixed on a plate of lemon wafers. I knew the children must wait to be offered something to eat so I gave her a stern glance, warning her to be patient.

  Serge quietly slid under the table and began to unfasten the laces of my boots and tie them together so that my feet were linked. I glanced anxiously at the Countess, worrying she might have noticed and wondering if I should chastise the boy. But on seeing what he was doing she began to chuckle. ‘Serge does so love a practical joke.’

  Paying no attention to the antics of his son, the Count was talking about his day which had apparently been even more wearing than usual. ‘The Tsar and Tsarina are in temporary residence at the Winter Palace, instead of hiding away at Tsarskoe Selo, which must be a good thing. Unfortunately, Nicky is as obsessed with petty rules of etiquette as ever, insisting people stand in the proper order of hierarchy. Obeying correct protocol and deportment, and using the right dishes for his bread and butter, seems to be far more important to him than the problems of the nation.’

  The Count bit into a small sandwich, accepting the tiny porcelain plate the Countess quickly handed to him without a murmur.

  ‘The fact that peasants are still suffering abject poverty, and the working class possess few rights and constantly go on strike in a frustrated effort to better their lot, seems to pass him by. His desk was yet again littered with reports and papers I very much doubt he has troubled even to read.’ He gave a little shake of the head in despair.

  ‘Did he listen to you?’ Countess Olga asked, reaching for a slice of cake.

  ‘Oh, he always listens,’ her husband said. ‘Most politely. Whether he acts upon my advice is quite another matter. He is far too much under the thumb of his bullying uncles.’

 

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