Stefan had barely spoken to me since joining us. Even when I’d given him the Countess’s request he’d merely nodded and said, ‘As her ladyship demands,’ without even a thank you or any sign of gratitude. Why he fascinated me as he did, I had no idea, as he seemed an extremely rude young man.
For something to say to fill the uneasy silence between us I remarked upon the several small wooden sheds that littered the snow-covered hills and meadows around.
‘What kind of animals are kept in those?’ I casually asked, thinking of the cow byres back home.
‘Those are log houses where the peasants live,’ Stefan coldly informed me.
I flushed with embarrassment at my mistake and hastily apologised. ‘I beg your pardon. I didn’t realise.’
His smile was sardonic, with little sign of forgiveness at my ignorance. I had such mixed feelings about this man. I loved his smiles and occasional display of charm, yet there was something about him that felt almost dangerous. I forced myself to concentrate on what he was saying.
‘Peasants were granted their freedom and citizenship during the rule of Tsar Alexander II. Unfortunately, many were simply turned out to fend for themselves, without any land from which they could earn their living and enjoy that freedom. This has bred a long-festering resentment which led to the failed revolution of 1905, and very likely the recent assassination.’
My reaction to this was one of horror. ‘Oh, no, not another assassination? Babushka had told me about the bomb that killed Alexander II, but that was in the last century, a long time ago.’ I felt so ignorant on the subject of Russian politics. An innocent abroad, indeed.
‘Prime Minister Stolypin was shot dead at the opera last September. It wasn’t the first attempt upon his life. He always wore body armour and had guards to protect him against the revolutionaries, but it wasn’t enough to save him.’
‘How dreadful!’ I was at a loss as to what else to say, aware of a certain pragmatic quality in his tone, almost as if he thought the poor man deserved this terrible fate. ‘Why did they kill him?’
‘Stolypin had planned to bring in land reform to allow peasants to buy land, hoping to win back their loyalty to the Tsar. The middle classes and aristocracy did not agree. Also, back in 1905 Tsar Nicholas had allowed the formation of the Duma as an advisory elected body, with an agreement to grant it more legislative powers once it became established. Unfortunately, His Imperial Highness has not abided by that promise, apparently reluctant to relinquish any of his power which he believes to be God given.’
A harsh bitterness had crept into his voice, and judging from Stefan’s earlier reluctance to work for the Count, I began to wonder if he was actually in sympathy with these so-called revolutionaries. ‘So are you saying the Prime Minister’s plans weren’t working because some peasants couldn’t afford to buy land?’
He did smile at me then, as if pleased I was listening, which quite warmed my heart. ‘In a way the reforms caused yet more repression by dismantling agricultural communes. Thousands of people were executed or put into penal servitude when they protested. Stolypin even objected to trade unions. Their rights were being ignored. Whether his so-called reforms were for good or ill, nothing will come of them now.’
‘I see.’ I wasn’t entirely sure that I did see at all. But could that possibly be a note of satisfaction I detected in his voice? Surely no one would be pleased at the death of someone in such circumstances, even a politician who was apparently failing to deliver his promises? A little shiver went down my spine as I realised there must be much more to this story than Stefan was admitting. ‘Thank you for explaining this to me. I knew nothing of such matters, and might well have thought twice about coming to Russia if I had.’
His gaze was searching as he looked at me, as if memorising every feature. ‘Then I’m glad you didn’t know,’ he quietly remarked, ‘or I would never have had the pleasure of meeting you.’
Slightly unnerved by the soft intimacy of his words, I quickly turned away to look with fresh eyes upon what still appeared to be very like the cow byres we have in the Lake District. I felt a great pity for their occupants, who seemed to be treated little better than animals.
The Belinsky home, by contrast, was fabulous with a palatial grandeur, classical columns and a double flight of granite steps leading up to the magnificent entrance. Inside it was a picture of polished parquetry floors, crystal chandeliers, marble, mosaic tiles and gilt-framed furniture. The turquoise-painted walls of the main drawing room were adorned with delicate plaster figures, vases, dados and corbels. It was perfectly evident that the level of Count Vasiliy Belinsky’s riches was far beyond my comprehension.
Was it this contrast between rich and poor that explained Stefan’s harsh attitude towards the aristocracy, or was there more to it than that? I felt decidedly uncertain about his part in all the political goings-on he’d mentioned, and a strange reluctance to question him further on the subject. I had a great deal still to learn, not only about Russia, but also about Stefan himself.
I thoroughly enjoyed that first weekend in the country and had great fun tobogganing with the children as it reminded me so much of home. Every winter at the first sight of snow we would borrow one of my mother’s big tea trays and go off sledging down Benthwaite Crag. I certainly knew how to keep my head down and hold on tight when going round corners. Skating, however, was a skill I had never acquired as my father had always been rather nervous about how long the ice would remain solid on the lake.
‘Russia is different. The ice lasts for months,’ Stefan assured me as he set about finding me a pair of skates that fit. Snow was falling even as I ventured out onto the ice for the first time. Both children, even little Irina, were surprisingly skilled but though I was eager to learn and join in the fun, laughing along with them whenever I took a tumble, I cautiously kept to the edges of the frozen river.
Little by little I became more confident and steadier on my feet. I didn’t even mind the icy air whistling around me as I cautiously ventured a little further out onto the ice, although I did tug my fur hat closer about my ears.
‘I’ll have to leave you to it now,’ Stefan called. ‘I must go and feed the hens, and see to the horses. Just take things slowly.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.’ But as I half turned to speak to him, my feet did a crazy little dance, flipped from beneath me and down I went again. ‘Oh dear, spoke too soon. I certainly won’t be training for the Russian figure skating championship,’ I laughed.
Irina came swishing over to help me to my feet. ‘You can hold my hand, Baryshnya, if you like. I’ll help you.’
The children, and the other servants, always addressed me as Baryshnya ‒ Miss ‒ which made me feel slightly distanced from them. But then being a governess seemed to set me in a class of my own, which wasn’t always easy. Was that why I valued this growing friendship between Stefan and myself so much? I wondered. Or did I miss the kind of flattering attention I used to get from Liam? It certainly couldn’t be anything more than that, as he was not an easy man to get to know.
‘Thank you. That is so kind of you, Irina.’ I was growing very fond of this lovely little girl, who had the sweetest nature. Not at all like her brother. Together we skated very gently to and fro, Irina helping me to practise my turns and stops. Sometimes these worked quite well but at other times I would get in a dreadful muddle and end up skimming the ice on my bottom yet again.
‘Don’t worry, Baryshnya, it gets easier,’ she assured me, giggling as she dusted the snow from my coat once more.
‘I’ll take your word for it,’ I sighed, beginning to feel decidedly sore in various departments of my anatomy.
‘Take no notice of her. I’ll show you how it should be done,’ Serge said, circling around me, a great grin on his face. Then, grabbing my wrist, he started to drag me further out on to the ice.
‘Stop it, Master Serge, that’s far enough,
’ I protested, but he didn’t seem to be listening.
‘You need more space to skate properly. It’s no good hugging the bank. Keep going. That’s right. Come on ‒ faster, faster.’
My feet were flipping along like mad things, gaining momentum and moving as if of their own volition. I could feel myself losing control and fear shot through me like an icy sword. ‘That’s far enough Master Serge. Take me back at once, please!’ I shouted.
To be fair, he did pay heed to the panic in my voice, and perhaps thinking better of this naughty prank, began to slow his pace and turn for the shore, which was a huge relief to me. I was thankful, too, that he maintained his tight hold on my wrist. I could see Irina standing with her hands pressed to her mouth in dismay, anxiously awaiting my safe return. We’d almost reached her when Serge suddenly let go, and flinging up his hands, went into a little skid and skated right in front of me so that we collided.
The impact on my shoulder sent me spinning out of control, heading towards the bank at great speed. Quite unable to do anything to stop myself, I cannoned into a ridge of snow and then bounced back onto the ice, where I heard a terrifying cracking sound. I fully expected to fall through to the icy water beneath. Fortunately, I was saved by a tree root that stuck out into the frozen river. I hung on to it like a life-line, which is exactly what it was. Puffs of my gasping breath misted the air about me, and I was so relieved to be at least lying still that it wasn’t until Irina reached me and cried out in horror that I realised one leg had indeed crashed through the ice. I couldn’t even feel it.
She quickly pulled the leg out and, small as she was, started to drag me to the shore, all the while shouting at the top of her voice. ‘Help! Help! Serge, run for help quickly. Baryshnya is hurt.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m fine,’ I assured her, though my head was still spinning and I was so cold I could hardly feel any part of me, let alone one wet leg.
I could hear voices as people came running: Stefan with a couple of footmen, who together dragged me clear of the ice. But it was only after they had carried me safely inside and Stefan had rushed to fetch a towel to rub my leg dry that I understood the reason for Irina’s panic. As he pulled off my boot, it seemed frostbite was already setting in, and while at first I felt nothing, later as my foot began to thaw out the pain was beyond description. Never had I known such agony. I felt certain I would not survive it and just wanted to lie down and weep, or rather yell, but Stefan refused to allow me to do that.
‘You must keep moving. Walk up and down, constantly. You’ll need to keep exercising that foot for days to get the circulation going properly,’ he insisted, not letting me sit still for a moment. ‘How did the accident happen? Why didn’t you stay close to the edge, as I told you?’
I darted a glance at Serge, who stood silently watching the efforts to save my foot. As he lifted his head to meet my gaze, I knew instantly that the ‘accident’ had been nothing of the sort. The tell-tale light of guilt in his dark eyes told me it had been entirely deliberate. He had fully intended for me to crash through the ice. That being the case, one frostbitten foot was nothing compared to what might have happened.
‘Well?’ Stefan repeated. ‘Why did you skate out so far on your first attempt?’
I gave a pathetic little smile. ‘Because I’m a silly young girl. But don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson. I shall take much better care in future.’ This last remark was directed not at Stefan but at quite another person altogether.
Following the incident on the ice, Serge issued another of his furious little threats. ‘If you tell Papa that it was me who knocked you over, I’ll say you lied and have you dismissed.’
I smiled down at him, feeling so sorry for this insecure little boy, thoroughly spoiled by his mother but feeling very much a failure in the eyes of his father, whom he was clearly desperate to impress. Did the Count deliberately ignore Serge in order to punish his wife for being so hard on Irina? What a pair they were. ‘I can’t think what you mean, Master Serge. My feet were quite beyond my control. It was an accident, certainly no fault of yours. Let’s forget about it, shall we?’
‘You aren’t going to tell Papa, then?’
‘Of course not. Why would I? You and I are friends, aren’t we? Why would you want to hurt me?’
There was disbelief and what might have been gratitude in his startled gaze. Nothing further was said on the subject and I kept my expression carefully bland.
Babushka had also accompanied us to the country, and sent a message with Nyanushki asking if I was well enough to continue with our occasional reading sessions.
‘I’m pleased Madame is here. It will be good for her to have a change of scene. And don’t worry, I’ll be glad of a sit-down after all this exercise for my foot. In any case, I’m very fond of the old lady and love spending time with her.’
The first evening I spent with her, reading The Old Curiosity Shop, which seemed to be one of her favourites, she was more interested in hearing about my ‘accident’ and if my foot had recovered.
‘It’s fine,’ I assured her. ‘Despite my foolish incompetence.’
Her brow creased in a doubtful little frown. ‘Was Serge involved in any way? As we know, my grandson does have a somewhat roguish sense of humour.’
He does indeed, I thought. A streak of mischief I neither understood, nor, with my limited experience, was able to control. I had hoped to win him round through friendship, but appeared to have left myself even more vulnerable to his naughty tricks. Nevertheless, I assured Babushka that her grandson was not involved, crossing my fingers against the lie, determined to give the boy a chance. ‘I will admit that I haven’t found him an easy child, despite your helpful suggestions. Do you have any more advice on how best to deal with him?’
‘Don’t give in to his demands. He twists his foolish mother round his clever little finger, doing exactly as he pleases, knowing she will never reprove him. It does the boy no good at all. A firm hand is what he needs if he is not to grow up as manipulative and selfish as she.’
I was astonished by the bitter candour of these remarks; she was surprisingly critical of her daughter, but took care not to show it. ‘I do try to be firm, but the boy has a mind of his own,’ I said.
‘I’m afraid he does, and of course he is very jealous of his little sister, believing their father pays her far too much attention.’
‘I did wonder about that. It’s a great pity brother and sister can’t get along better.’ Refilling the old lady’s tea cup, I chose my next words with care, making them sound light and frivolous. ‘She does seem to be her daddy’s girl. Whereas I do sometimes think that the Countess would have preferred another boy rather than a girl.’
She looked at me then with the kind of expression my own mother would have described as inscrutable. ‘There are times when a child is not welcome no matter what its gender,’ she said.
I frowned, in my innocence not fully understanding what she could mean. ‘How sad for the Countess not to have wanted any more children, when Miss Irina is so sweet.’
‘Some matters are best not investigated too closely.’
Inclining my head in polite acknowledgement, I returned to The Old Curiosity Shop and continued reading. Whatever secret she was hiding, the old lady obviously had no intention of sharing it.
FOURTEEN
I had so much to tell Ruth the next time I attended the British and American chapel. ‘I’m not sure I like your friend Stefan very much,’ I said as we sipped tea and ate slices of seed cake. ‘He seems rather militant.’
She gave a little shrug. ‘He certainly has a different view of life than we do, but then he has good reason to.’
‘Really? Why is that?’
‘For one thing, he’s Russian, and we’re English. How can we possibly understand how he feels about things, however sympathetic we might be to his cause?’
‘Wha
t cause would that be, exactly?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t expect me to explain. Ask Stefan if you’re really interested.’
I thought about this for a while as Ruth joined in the general chat with the other British governesses. I assumed she meant defending the poor, which seemed a rather risky pursuit judging by what he’d told me. I did sometimes see what might be termed peasants attempting to board a tram, only to be pushed off again by the conductor, claiming they were drunk when they were obviously only fatigued. On one occasion it had been a woman with a child in her arms and I suddenly found myself leaping to my feet, telling the conductor in my bad Russian that the woman was with me. I even paid her fare, for which she was most grateful.
But how involved was Stefan? Just because he sympathised with their plight didn’t make him a revolutionary. Or did it?
Interrupting my thoughts, Ruth whispered in my ear. ‘In point of fact I rather think you like him more than you care to admit. I’ve seen your expression when he’s around. Your whole face lights up, and you can’t take your eyes off him.’
‘That’s simply not true,’ I hissed under my breath, but she only laughed. Were my feelings so transparent? I felt instantly ashamed of nursing secret desires for this good-looking but complex man.
‘Actually, I think he’s rather taken with you, too. What would you say if he were to ask you out?’ she teased.
‘Don’t be silly. It isn’t worth considering. I have enough to worry about with my new job without adding further complications to my life. I’ve certainly no time for romance or to allow myself to be flattered by charming young men.’
‘So you do think him charming, then?’
I blushed. ‘That’s not what I meant. In fact, he’s the absolute opposite at times. I’m saying that keeping the Countess happy takes all my time and energy. She is not an easy woman to please. Can we change the subject, please?’
Our visits to the country estate became more regular after that, and the Countess would frequently send me on some errand or other in search of the impossible. She made no allowance for the fact that in the country it was but a tiny village shop, that I couldn’t just pop along to the Nevsky Prospekt. One afternoon she sent me on just such a wild goose chase for a particular type of expensive chocolate. When I returned with something entirely different, she reacted with a childish show of temper.
The Amber Keeper Page 12